Wicked Sin

by Ainsley Booth

  “There’s a guy loitering out front, FYI. He hasn’t tried the front door or the intercom.”

  There are a few other agencies in this building, and people are allowed to wait in the parking lot. But our general practice is to keep each other, and our clients, appraised of people at the entrance. Just in case it’s someone we know—and want to avoid.

  I peer at the screen.

  I don’t recognize him. Tall, fit, with dark hair, long on top—enough that he could tie it back if he wanted to, but he clearly doesn’t—and short on the sides. He’s wearing jeans and heavy boots, and a leather jacket even though it’s close to ninety degrees outside.

  He looks like an extra from a show about a romanticized biker club. No, he’s too good looking to be the extra. He looks like the star.

  He looks like sex on legs.

  He looks, most definitely, like danger.

  But I stare danger in the face and give it the finger, so whatever, I don’t care.

  Shrugging, I pull my phone from my bag. “I’ll steer clear of him, thanks.”

  She waves goodbye, and I head for the stairs. As I take them down to the lobby, my phone starts to vibrate with the incoming messages I’ve missed while it was turned off today. I slow down as I hit the ground floor, scanning the space beyond the locked entrance. I could check those messages, but that guy has wandered away from the entrance, so now’s a good time to get outside and make sure the door locks behind me.

  Digging out the key fob for my car, I shove through the door, catch it as I step out, and push it closed again in one fluid motion. If he’s loitering to get inside without permission, it won’t be because of me.

  I beeline toward my car. When I’m thirty feet away, I tap the fob.

  Nothing happens. Nothing from the car, anyway.

  The guy—taller and bigger out here in the lot—appears to my right. “Ms. Reid?”

  I keep going. Maybe he’s a process server. Maybe he’s paparazzi. Whoever he is, whatever he is, we’re not doing this here. Damn it, how did he find me? I tap the key fob again, and the lights don’t flash. Fucking hell.

  “A moment of your time, please.” He says it like it’s not a request. And then he flashes a badge. “LAPD.”

  That pulls me up short.

  The cops?

  Inside my bag, my phone vibrates against my thigh.

  I’m starting to think I should have checked those messages before I stepped outside. “I’m running late for something,” I lie.

  “I’m Detective Vasquez,” he says, like I didn’t just tell him I can’t do this right now.

  Or ever.

  “No, thanks.”

  He laughs. “That’s not a response to what I just said, princess.”

  I whip my frowning face around so I can glare at him. “Excuse me?”

  He doesn’t blink. “Excellent. Now that I have your attention—”

  “How long have you been loitering here in the hopes of accosting me?”

  “A while. I have some questions for you. If here isn’t good, we can go down to the precinct.”

  It’s been a while since I’ve been questioned by the police. Not long enough to forget all the rules about not exposing myself to any legal liability. “I’ll call my attorney.” I don’t have a lawyer right now, but I can find one. My name is good enough to ensure someone would get a decent payday out of whatever bullshit this is.

  He frowns. “Were you instructed to say that by your father?”

  “I haven’t spoken to my father in over a year.” I definitely should have checked my messages. Cold dread slithers through my belly. “What’s happened?”

  One eyebrow jacks up. Shit. “You haven’t heard.”

  I point to the building behind me. “I turn my phone off when I’m at work. I’ve been here all day.”

  “Your father was arrested today.”

  Again. The proper sentence there should be, your father was arrested again today. It’s happened before, it will happen again.

  I force an I don’t care smile to my face. “That sounds like a personal problem for him. I don’t have any contact with my parents.”

  Anymore. The proper sentence would be, I don’t have any contact with my parents anymore. Qualifying words matter. They’re the difference between the truth and something that falls short of honesty.

  “Do you watch the news?”

  “No.” I give him my best cool, I-can’t-be-bothered look. It’s none of his business that watching the news is triggering for me, and I avoid it for my fragile mental health.

  “Can we go somewhere to talk?” He points at the building. My office. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you. We got a tip that you’re moving stuff out of your car.”

  “What!?” My mouth drops open. “No. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Sure. Sure. If it is, this is easy enough to clear up. Would you just open your trunk for me?”

  “You have no basis for a search. You said yourself that something happened today, with my father, and that’s probably—”

  “I can get a warrant, Ms. Reid. And I can wait here, in front of your office, until it arrives. Or you could quietly cooperate, and we can go our separate ways before anyone notices that you’re being questioned by the police.”

  “That sounds like a threat, officer.” I tap my key fob again. Still, nothing happens. Fuck.

  “It’s detective, actually.”

  Who the fuck cares? “I think my battery’s dead,” I mutter. “I must have left the lights on.” I make another attempt to open my car. The fucking fob isn’t working, and I want to throw it across the parking lot, but that won’t help me get away from this situation.

  “Ms. Reid—”

  “Leave me alone, okay? I don’t know anything. I don’t want to know anything. I haven’t done anything wrong, at least not lately, and—” I spin away from him, desperate to get to my car now. I break out into a run as he reaches for me, and I try the fob one more time as he spins me around.

  Everything happens at once. A pop. A sharp, awful bang.

  A heavy thud against my back, like someone just shoved me.

  Heat.

  Weird crackles.

  And then nothing.

  3

  Luke

  Her fucking car just exploded.

  Glass everywhere, bright fucking light.

  Why the fuck are we not dead?

  Nothing ever truly prepares you for a car bomb—what the fuck—but that was not supposed to fucking happen here. Today. With this case that was just supposed to be a pain in the ass hoax call confirmation.

  We’re still standing, so it wasn’t a very good car bomb at least. My ears are ringing, and I see spots, but Taylor’s gone completely white. She can’t pass out on me here. Not if cars are exploding.

  We don’t have time for reactions. I grab her and turn, pulling and pushing to get her in front of me. Put myself between her and the parking lot. “Go,” I order. “Run for the building.”

  “It’s locked,” she gasps. I see her lips moving and hear the words on a bit of a delay. Whatever that explosive was, it was loud enough to give my head a good ring. “My card—” She looks back toward the parking lot. Her bag is lying on the concrete, contents spilled everywhere. No, we’re not going back for it.

  “Corner.” I point, and when she doesn’t move, I shove her. As nicely as one can in a life or death situation. We need to get to cover.

  She stumbles as she runs onto the grass, and I realize she’s in heels. I’m willing to carry her if I God damn need to, but she picks up her feet and scrambles forward, faster now.

  My hearing is coming back and beside me, Taylor is sucking in big, gulping breaths.

  I pull my phone out as we round the corner of the building. I need backup right the fuck now.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  I give the dispatcher my name and badge number, and report what I know. Explosive device detonated, address, no injuries
but potentially an unsafe scene. “Advise the bomb squad the device may not have completely detonated. Live explosive potential. There was a blast, enough to feel a heavy pulse, but we weren’t knocked down.”

  The dispatcher repeats the address to me, confirming it. “Two patrol cars are on the way, detective.”

  “Helicopter?”

  “We’ll patch you in so you can talk to the eyes in the sky.”

  I suck in a breath. Fuck.

  “Are you visible from the road?”

  “No. We took cover around the corner of the building.” I look at Taylor. “How many people are inside?”

  She blinks at me and shakes her head. “I don’t know. A few, at least. We’ve got two volunteers in our office.”

  “Civilians need to be evacuated,” I bark into the phone. I look at Taylor again. “Is there a back entrance?”

  She nods, her face drained completely of color.

  “Hey, stay with me,” I say.

  In my ear, the dispatcher catches that. “Still no injuries, detective?”

  “Ms. Reid may need medical attention for shock.”

  “Ambulances are on their way.” The beats of an emergency response. They’re second nature to me now, and I sink into that.

  Just another job.

  Just another lucky break that means I live to see another day.

  But Taylor doesn’t have that advantage. And as I sit back on my heels, as I settle myself into the task of seeing the crime scene as a puzzle to be solved, she lets out a shuddering breath and topples sideways.

  4

  Taylor

  “Whoa there,” I hear. A low, warm voice right in my ear.

  Hands on my shoulders haul me upright.

  I just want to go to sleep.

  “Keep talking, Taylor.”

  “Can’t,” I mumble.

  “You know anyone who might want to kill you, princess?”

  Kill me.

  Cold sweat slicks my body as I start to shiver.

  “You’re okay. You’re alive.”

  I guess so.

  “Can you open your eyes for me?”

  I blink slowly. It feels like sandpaper, dragging my eyelids up my eyeballs. My face feels puffy and tight.

  All of me feels tight. It doesn’t matter how big a gulp of air I try to take, it’s not enough. My chest is constricted and my head feels like it’s wrapped in a vise.

  “Ms. Reid. Look at me.” The cop—the detective—is squatting in front of me, holding me up against the wall.

  “Shouldn’t move an injured person,” I whisper. Oh, good. Words. Nice to be able to talk. Might pass out, but at least I can talk.

  “You aren’t injured. You’re freaking out. Try to slow down your breathing.”

  “What?”

  He moves around me, his hand sliding over my shoulder and into the middle of my back. I focus on that. His hand. Warm. Alive.

  We’re alive.

  My car blew up. The tightness grows.

  “Let it out. Exhale. More. Exhale. Slow it down.”

  I shrug off his touch. “I’m fine.”

  I’m not. But I can hear sirens now. Distant, but getting closer. Detective Vasquez mutters something that sounds like code, and I realize he’s on the phone.

  “I need you to walk,” he says. Not code. I blink at him. “Up you get, princess.”

  Oh. Me. I stumble to my feet and he takes me by the arm, leading me to the back of the building. My building, which I brought a car bomb to, apparently.

  I’m the worst employee ever.

  Oh, God. Hysterical laughing burbles up inside me, and then it’s sliding out in wild, choking sobs. Not laughter really at all. I stumble again, but then a cop car is there. A woman in a uniform runs toward us and takes my other arm. Detective Vasquez tells her something that I miss, and she lets go. He’s got me, apparently.

  He opens the back door and guides me to the seat.

  A seat in the back of an ordinary LAPD cop car.

  People like me usually get to turn ourselves in with high-priced lawyers at our sides.

  Not that I’ve ever had to do that, but I’m aware of the process.

  I don’t care. My thighs are shaking.

  The air conditioning feels good, and I close my eyes.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says. I hear it dully through the roar in my ears.

  I nod as tears slide down my face.

  5

  Luke

  It doesn’t take long for the cavalry to arrive. Three cars, then two more. I task the next uniform I see to securing the perimeter, and then point at the third. “You.” I flash him my badge, then gesture to the first car. “Watch her. Flag me if she moves. The second the ambulance gets here, have her checked out for shock.”

  Our chopper is circling overhead, and I press my phone to my ear again, eager to hear their radio feed. “Negative. No suspicious movement on Eagle Rock. I’ll circle back.” My phone beeps. Call waiting. It’s the captain. I switch lines and answer the call. “This is Vasquez.”

  “This escalated quickly,” she says crisply in my ear. “Give me the quick report because you know the next call is going to be from the Secret Service for reasons neither of us properly understand.”

  “You’ve got as much information as I do. Unexpected car bomb in our definitely-not-a-real-suspect’s vehicle. Detonated when Ms. Reid pressed her key fob to unlock the car. Uh…” I do the quick math in my head again. “Fifth push of the button. Something went wrong with the explosive, though. Maybe only partially detonated. Won’t know until the bomb squad gets here. Ms. Reid is unharmed but distressed. She’s secured in my car at the moment, and I’m doing a quick walkthrough before I hand off control of the scene and escort Ms. Reid to the hospital. Partly to have her looked at, and partly to get her into a secure location where I can question her without being obvious about it. She’s not particularly cooperative.”

  “Did she deny the drug possession charge?”

  “We didn’t get that far into the conversation.”

  “Any chance she blew up the car herself to dispose of the evidence?”

  I laugh out loud. “Stranger things have happened, but I don’t think so. Plus if she did happen to have that pre-rigged, which would be wild, she did a shit job. The car isn’t demolished. Once the bomb squad clears it, forensics will be able to confirm the presence of drugs.”

  She sighs in my ear. “All right. Keep me posted on what they say, and keep Ms. Reid occupied until you know one way or another. The feds are going to be alarmed. I wouldn’t be surprised if the FBI is involved by the end of the day.”

  Bombs tend to get attention. Which was probably the point, and something the Secret Service seems to have shit the bed on anticipating. “I’m not handing over the investigation.”

  Another pause. “Let’s discuss this further when you get to the station.”

  I’m not taking Taylor Reid anywhere near the Secret Service or the FBI until I know more about my crime scene here. “It’ll be a while. You know how emergency rooms can be.”

  “Understood.”

  “I could be dancing right now, Captain.”

  “You and me both, Vasquez.”

  Once the bomb squad and forensics team arrive, my car is cleared to be moved from the parking lot. I pull it around to the back of the building where I find Taylor sitting in an ambulance, giving one-word answers to the veteran female paramedic looking her over.

  She’s still pale, and dark circles have formed under her eyes.

  “Knock-knock,” I say from the open door at the back.

  They both turn and look at me.

  “Detective Vasquez,” I say to the paramedic.

  Taylor rolls her eyes. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I wasn’t introducing myself to you,” I point out.

  That gets me a faint smile.

  If her attitude has returned, that’s a great sign.

  “She’s refusing transport to the hospital
,” the paramedic says. “But she should see a doctor. Sleeping tonight is going to be hard.”

  “Sleep is for the weak,” Taylor mutters.

  “I’ll take her to the hospital,” I say.

  The her in question gives me a look of alarm. “You will not.”

  I give her the blandest look possible then follow it with a not-at-all-serious threat. “Then I’ll arrest you.”

  That gets me a wide-eyed what the hell’s with the overreaction, dude look from the paramedic.

  I shrug. I think I have Ms. Reid’s number, that’s all.

  Taylor narrows her eyes. “Maybe I’d rather take the ambulance.”

  “That’s an option, for sure.”

  But she shrugs out of the blanket they’d wrapped around her and nods. “No, it’s okay. You can take me. I don’t need…” She waves her hand around the interior of the ambulance. “This is overkill.”

  The paramedic gives her a form to sign, and then she’s free.

  She stops when she steps into the sunshine, wincing. Then she does a double-take. “My bag.”

  “It’s in my car. You dropped it when the explosive device went off.”

  She nods.

  The bomb squad commander is waiting for us when we get to my vehicle.

  “Ms. Reid.” He introduces himself. “We’re going to need to search your office and home. Your apartment building has already been evacuated, but the team there is waiting for my go-ahead to send our dog in.”

  Her eyes are as big as saucers. “Okay.”

  “Is there anything we should know about before we go in there? Anything that might be dangerous?”

  “No.” Her face pinches tight. “I have no idea why someone would do this to me. Do you think there’s really another bomb at my apartment?”

  “Let’s hope not, ma’am.”

  After he takes his leave, and we’re in the car, she lets out a rough, shaky breath. “He was nicer than you, by the way.”

  “Most people are.”

  “You threatened to arrest me.”

  “I did.”

  “That usually leads to a charge of some kind.”