Wicked Sin

by Ainsley Booth

  “The chances of me falling asleep in a police station are slim to none.”

  I know this isn’t a great plan, that it’s been a long fucking day for her, but I need to get on my computer. “I get that. I’m sorry about everything you’ve been through today, Ms. Reid. I truly am. But the sooner we figure out what the hell is going on and who might want to hurt you, the sooner you can get back to your life here.”

  Her face crumples. “I guess I can’t go to work, either?”

  I shake my head. “Afraid not.”

  “I need to call my boss.”

  “You can do that from the station.”

  She scowls. “You’re serious about the no electronics thing, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  With a sigh, she closes up her suitcase and carries it into the living room. She looks at her purse, dumps it out, and sighs again. Then she picks up her wallet from the pile. A lip-gloss. And nothing else. “I’m good to go.”

  Captain Woods meets us by the elevators, accompanied by someone from Victim Services and warmly introduces them both to Taylor.

  “Ms. Reid, I’m the commanding officer here, and I’d like to thank you for your patience. You’ve been through a lot today. Yumi here is going to sit with you while Detective Vasquez has a meeting with his team and writes his report. Then we’ll get you off to a safe house for the night.”

  Taylor nods. Understanding, calm—at least on the outside. She doesn’t give me a second glance as they head down the hall.

  I watch her until she’s out of sight.

  “Everything okay, Detective?” the Captain asks.

  I turn my attention to her, fully. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Was she cooperative?”

  “Relatively.”

  “Let’s go to my office first so I can brief you on the discussion with the Feds. Then we’ll go into the conference room, and you can pull together the facts as we know them right now.”

  “I’ll meet you in your office. I need to ask Singh and McBride to pull her financials.” I swing past the desks of my fellow detectives, who already got the heads up from Woods that we’d be pulling them into the investigation tonight.

  “I thought you were off for two weeks?” Ram Singh asks when I stop in front of him. “I hear you caught a hot case instead.”

  Sarah McBride looks up from the stack of files she was reading. “Don’t give him the idea that we can take this off his hands. We’ve got enough going on with the reservoir murders.”

  “Vacation has been postponed,” I reassure her. “It’s fine. I’ll get back to that after you guys help me solve this case.” I tell them about Taylor’s bankcard not working. “Find out what you can and meet us in the conference room in ten.”

  Then I go and find my boss, who has yet another Coke in her hand. This time, I take the drink she offers me.

  And this time, she doesn’t beat around the bush. “So I gotta tell you, the Secret Service is being tight-lipped over this whole thing.”

  “They literally handed us a live bomb. I imagine they’re covering their asses.”

  Captain Woods pulls a face. “Yeah.”

  “Is there more to the reluctance there?”

  She shrugs. “It’s a political hot potato. But the FBI doesn’t have the same resistance. They would be willing to take over the investigation. I’m expecting a field agent to arrive any minute. This isn’t a nuisance report any longer. You can go on vacation if you want.”

  Over my dead body. “I’ll accept any help they want to offer, but I’m not giving this up without a fight. There’s no evidence to connect it to any federal crime.”

  “Ms. Reid’s family is under intense investigation.”

  “A family she doesn’t have any contact with.”

  The captain raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “She says she hasn’t spoken to them in a year. Also, I think she trusts me. At least as far as she trusts anyone. So at least for the weekend—at least until we understand what we’re dealing with here—I don’t mind taking lead here.”

  “All right.”

  My phone vibrates. I pull it out. “Forensics report is in from the garage. There was no evidence of drugs in her car.”

  She points in the general direction of the conference room. “Let’s go figure out what’s next, then.”

  Waiting for us are McBride and Singh. They prefer to work on cases as a team.

  I usually work on my own except for team meetings like this, where I present the facts of the case and figure out next steps. Right now, I can use all the help I get, because this file is nothing but holes right now.

  “Did your work for you,” Sarah says, before sticking her tongue out at me. She shoves a print out in my direction. “All her accounts were seized by the Feds, along with her parents.”

  “They didn’t tell you that?” I turned to the captain.

  Her lips pull tight into a thin line. “They did not.”

  More fuckery. So much for inter-departmental cooperation.

  She waves her hand. “Let’s get on with it, anyway.

  I launch into a rundown of the day, starting and ending with the drug claims, now disproven. “So that report was a false flag, designed to draw attention to the vehicle or ensure that Ms. Reid opened it on demand.”

  Sarah frowns. “Do you think the bomb was intended to harm a police officer, then?”

  If it were, that would change the motive. And the charges. “It’s a possibility.” Everything is a possibility.

  Ram shakes his head. “The anonymous tip went through the Secret Service first, and there was no controlling who would investigate that. Maybe they didn’t care who was included as collateral damage.”

  “Right. I’m working on the assumption that Ms. Reid was the target.” I log in to the computer system, pull up some photos from our records, and send them to the smart board on the wall. Taylor’s picture from her driver’s license, the photos of the car taken today at the crime scene populate on the screen. “And whoever set the explosive was an amateur. It didn’t go off properly, or I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

  Sarah taps her pen against her chin. “Which makes it personal. Can we work backward from motive?”

  Money. Jealousy. Revenge. An affair. A broken heart. Professional interference or violations. Anger. Some combination of the above. “Her past is complicated, but I don’t see a motive yet.”

  “Then it’s time to interview her,” Captain Woods says. “Formally. Take McBride with you.”

  “Hey, I’ve got files to read through,” Sarah protests.

  I hesitate a beat too long.

  “Is that a problem, Vasquez?”

  “No.” I say it slowly. Noooo. It’s not a problem. But it is something. “She’s not completely cooperative. With good reason, I believe. She needs to be handled carefully.”

  “A few hours ago, you were calling her the Blow Job Princess. Suddenly you’re her staunch protector?”

  “You called her what?” Sarah glares at me.

  I wince. “Bad choice of language. And I wouldn’t say I’m protecting her. Just giving her the due consideration any witness deserves. You said it yourself, Captain. We’re all more complicated than we look.”

  In unison, the captain and McBride roll their eyes at me.

  Ram stands up and shakes his head. “I’m not taking your side on this one, man.”

  “I don’t have a side,” I protest. “It’s all good. Happy to interview her like any other witness. Happy to have Sarah sit in on it and kick me in the shins whenever I say the wrong thing.”

  “Happy to let the FBI take over because clearly, they’re keeping a lot from us?”

  “Whoa,” I say, my indignation half self-mocking, half real-as-hell. “That’s too far, Captain.”

  “Then get cracking on this before they take it from you.”

  I reach across the table and grab the financial report. “Will do.”

  Taylor looks at Sar
ah with guarded suspicion as she follows me into the interview room. “When you said an interview, I assumed you just meant asking me some of those same questions again. Do I need an attorney?”

  McBride has agreed to play bad cop. “That’s up to you. You are not a suspect at this time.”

  “I shouldn’t be a suspect at all,” she says hotly.

  Sarah shoots me an amused look. I spread my hands wide.

  “That’s exactly why we appreciate your assistance. We just want to get to the bottom of why this happened.”

  “Fine.”

  “This interview will be recorded,” Sarah says crisply.

  Taylor’s voice chills noticeably, but her response is the same. “Fine.”

  “For the record, can you please identify yourself?”

  “My name is Taylor Dashford Reid.” She gives her address next, then sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest.

  “And what is your job?”

  “I work part-time as a peer counselor with LAST.”

  “How long have you been doing that?”

  “Three months.”

  “Your work before that?”

  She looks at Sarah, who’s been quiet this whole time. “I didn’t have a job before that. I was working on myself, I guess.”

  “And does working on yourself pay well?” McBride asks.

  “I have a trust fund. I don’t need to work.”

  Sarah glances obviously at the folder on the table in front of me. Taylor follows the pointed look with her eyes then gives me a look that asks, What is going on?

  It’s not personal, Princess. I clear my throat. “When your father was arrested this afternoon in Washington, all of the family accounts were seized.”

  “Is that why my debit card didn’t work at the pharmacy?” She does a good job of looking genuinely distressed. “Well, that’s bullshit. That was my personal account. That has nothing to do with my parents.”

  “Take that up with the FBI.”

  My timing couldn’t have been better. A knock sounds at the door, and McBride opens it. In steps a white guy in a suit. Generic federal agent. Older, in good shape. Obviously unhappy.

  The captain is right behind him.

  He flashes a badge at the room. “Ferdinand. FBI.”

  Behind him, Sarah stifles a giggle, and the captain gives her a warning look.

  “Agent Ferdinand,” I say smoothly. “Please join us. Perhaps you can provide some more clarity to Ms. Reid here about why her bank accounts have been frozen.”

  He pulls a warrant from his pocket and hands it to my witness, who has turned into an ice princess for real. She takes it gingerly and glances at the page with disdain.

  “Like I said. Bullshit. But do what you want. I’ll just lean heavily on the hospitality of the LAPD if you’re going to be a money-stealing monster.”

  “It’s a temporary measure, Ms. Reid,” Ferdinand says. “Your personal accounts will be reviewed first and released to as soon as possible. We appreciate your cooperation.”

  “I’m not cooperating with anyone,” she says. “Just in case you were wondering.”

  “Hey, I thought we were getting along great,” I deadpan. “We had that whole near-miss-on-death bonding experience earlier.”

  “And then you dragged me in here like I’m some kind of suspect in my own car bombing, so no, dude. We’re not getting along great.” She looks at the captain. “I’m ready for an attorney now, please.”

  “You haven’t been charged with anything, Ms. Reid.”

  “Then, in that case, I’d like to leave. I can do that right?”

  I stand up. There are too many people in the room. I need Taylor to sit her ass down, and I need everyone else to leave. “You’re welcome to leave at any time. But I can’t let you go far. The break room, if you want a cup of coffee. If you insist on leaving this building, I will follow you.”

  She stands up, too. “That sounds like a threat, Detective.”

  “More of a promise, Princess.” I move around the table, closing out the rest of the crowded space. It’s just her and me. “Where are you going to go? You really want to put your life on the line just to show me who’s boss? I’m the boss. Don’t forget it.”

  “You don’t seem like the boss here,” she says brightly.

  “That’s because I play well with others. But the good agent behind me? And my captain? They’re going to step outside. We’re going to keep talking, you and me, because we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. So I can figure out who’s got it out for you enough to blow your car up. Got it?”

  She hesitates. And in that moment, my gamble proves itself worthwhile. As long as I keep the witness talking, what I said is true. My captain and the FBI agent are going to want to hear what she says, and they’ll put up with any kind of unconventional interrogation technique on my part as long as I get the goods.

  The door opens behind me.

  And just like that, the air in the room gets a bit lighter. It’s easier for Taylor to breathe.

  Sarah closes the door, and then leans against. “I’m going to stay,” she says dryly. “Y’all seem like you could use a chaperone.”

  I don’t look over at her. My attention is all on Taylor. “Do we, Princess?” I murmur under my breath. “How about you? Can you play well with others?”

  She glares at me. But she doesn’t move.

  I lower my voice even more. “Trust me, Taylor. Give me something to work with here.”

  Searching my face, she wavers. I can see it. And then, in a whisper, she says, “This is way beyond your pay grade, Detective.”

  My pulse jacks up. Bring it on. “Let me be the judge of that.”

  8

  Taylor

  I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did, but now that it’s hanging in the air between us, my mind is spinning to cover it up.

  Which means I can’t just walk out.

  Fucking fuck.

  I step back from him and pull out my chair. For extra measure, I give the female cop an arch look. “Could I have some water?”

  Her lips twitch in an almost-smile. “Sure.”

  Vasquez waits until she returns with a too-small cup for me before he begins. “As I was saying before we were interrupted, your accounts have been temporarily frozen by the FBI.”

  “That isn’t exactly what you said,” I point out. “He said that when he came in. Let’s not forget that you’re just as much in the dark about all of this as I am.”

  “Sure.” He taps his fingers on the mysterious folder that promises we’re not exactly in the same amount of confusion here.

  Whatever.

  I take a deep breath.

  It’s fine. I don’t need the money. My sister Hailey has lived without our parents’ money for years now. I can try it. I should try it. This is a good thing.

  Sure. Maybe if I tell myself that enough times, I’ll believe it eventually.

  I’ve done a lot of soul searching over the last three years. Learned to deal with the consequences of my past decisions. Accept my failings and see them as a clear path for repentance and rehabilitation.

  But I’m still me. I still like money, and pampering myself, and I definitely don’t like to be weak. No money is a real problem.

  “So, just to clarify.” I look at the folder. “You can see all of my financial details in there?”

  “Why?”

  “I have two trust funds,” I point out. “Just—”

  Detective Vasquez looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Yes, both of your illegally grown trust funds are frozen.”

  “Allegedly illegal. And it was just a question. It’ll be hard for me to get to the bottom of this if I don’t have access to my usual funds.”

  “You aren’t getting to the bottom of anything,” he says, incredulity dripping off his words. “But that does bring us back to the very interesting question of what is beyond my pay grade.”

  “Probably a lot?” I say innocently. “I do
n’t know how much you make exactly, but…”

  “You meant something specific, Taylor.”

  “Did I? Oh man, it must have come and gone in this brain of mine. Trauma has a way of fucking you up big time. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. If it comes back to you, let me know.” But his jaw flexes. That’s a tell. He doesn’t like it when I play dumb.

  I’ll have to do it more often.

  “Let’s go over some of what we talked about earlier today, just to get it down on the record.”

  “I told you I had no interest in protecting my father.”

  “Sure. You also said you grew up with the constant threat of your parents being arrested. Is that accurate?”

  “It was more subtle than that, but yes. They had friends who went to jail, were investigated for securities fraud, that sort of thing. It would be a casual conversation at a dinner party—of course, you don’t say anything when detained. Of course, you just ask for an attorney, they make that go away. Pass the salad, Karen. That sort of thing.”

  “And who is Karen?”

  I burst out laughing, but it’s short and hollow. “Uh, it’s just a saying.”

  “All right.”

  “You’re no fun when you’re on the record.”

  “Is he fun off the record?” Detective McBride asks from the door.

  “Not really.” I try to think of a way to better describe what it was like to grow up with limitless money and non-stop stress.

  At any point, it could have all disappeared like it finally did today. But since it didn’t, we got to live the high life. Even when my father murdered a sex worker—yes, really—we kept on skating.

  You’d think murder would be the worst crime possible, but it turns out hiding money from the Feds gets the real investigative powers going. Fucking hell.

  And now I’m here, in a small, musty room with mirrored glass, trying to explain a life that is really inexplicable.

  There are many times over the last three years that I’ve wondered if I made the right decision by not running further. Not hiding under a new identity. This is one of those times. I could be on a beach somewhere right now, where bank accounts can’t be seized by the government.