The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 1

by Maegan Beaumont

  She hunkered down to ruffle his ears and peered into the trees. The woods were still.

  Too still.

  “Come on, Noodlehead, I don’t have time—” She grabbed his collar and gave it a gentle pull. The dog growled, low in his throat. She dropped her hand immediately, but Noodles wasn’t growling at her. He was growling at something hidden in the trees.

  Her eyes swept across the thick carpet of dead leaves on the ground, still hoping to see a rabbit bolt for cover. She saw them almost immediately. Drag marks. Two grooves, deep and black, cut a swath through the carpet of leaves. They led from the top of the slope, a gentle S that wound along the ground as if the person who made them had been out for a leisurely stroll. The marks continued on for about twenty yards, ending at what looked like a small mound of dead leaves.

  She rose slowly and so did Noodles, his feet dancing with apprehension. “Come on.”

  They started down the slope together, the rustle of dead leaves sounding like a swarm of locust beneath their feet. Ten yards from the bottom of the slope, Sabrina stopped and studied the ground, looking for whatever it was that made her companion so nervous— and then she spotted it. The police officer in her told her to stop there, call it in. Keep her distance, not disturb the crime scene.

  But no matter what the cop in her knew was right, there was no stopping herself from moving toward the pile of leaves and what waited for her beneath.

  “Oh … please no,” she said, barely above a whisper. She took a few stumbling steps before her knees gave out, landing in front of a mound of fallen leaves.

  Something was buried underneath.

  She brushed the dirt and leaves aside with trembling hands, but her fingers were stiff and clumsy—they didn’t want to do what her brain told them to. She skimmed them along, knocking leaves and clumps of dirt loose to reveal the heel of a foot. Moist soil clung to it, reaching for the abraded ankle above it. Mottled skin covered in blackish bruises. She continued upward. Next was a calf, cold and pale.

  More leaves and dirt crumbled away, the calf gave way to thigh. She’d be young and pretty. She’d have blue eyes just like …

  She’d forgotten about the dog beside her, but the growl he let loose brought her back to the here and now. The noise deepened from growl to snarl.

  Someone was behind them.

  30

  Sabrina’s heart took off at a gallop. It was all she could hear. Instinct took over and she moved slowly, her hand falling away from the mound in front of her to rest on her knee. Noodles continued to snarl, quivering lips peeled back from teeth that suddenly looked razor sharp. The sound was unlike anything she’d ever heard from him. Her hand crept down her calf, skimming the cuff of her yoga pants to wrap around the .380 LCP she never left home without.

  As quickly as he’d morphed into a hell hound, Noodles went still and quiet. He whimpered. His tail began to swish side to side through the leaves. She pulled the gun from her ankle holster and stood, spinning around.

  “Don’t move.” With her free hand she unclipped her cell and pushed a button without taking her eyes off the person in front of her. “Call 911,” she said into the phone—the call was answered a few seconds later.

  “911. What is your emergency?”

  “This is Homicide Inspector Sabrina Vaughn with Central Station—badge number six-two-six-nine-three. Requesting backup at Mount Davidson Park. I’ve got a one eighty-seven and possible suspect in custody.”

  Michael didn’t like the way she was looking at him. Like he was filthy. Like she’d known all along that he was out to do her harm. She finished the call and clipped the phone to her waistband without taking her eyes off him.

  “You’re making a mistake. I didn’t do this. You know I didn’t do this,” he said, his eyes locked on her face. He lowered his arms a fraction of an inch, testing her resolve.

  She tightened her grip on the butt of her gun and gave her head a small shake. “The only thing I know for sure is that if you move one more muscle, I’m going to shoot you.” Sirens wailed in the distance, getting louder and louder by the second. He didn’t have much time.

  “Listen to me—”

  “No. I’m done listening to you.” “Lucy is—”

  “Just … stop talking.” A pair of squad cars, followed by another, rocketed down the trail, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. They skidded to a stop a few yards away. Doors flew open, uniforms piled out.

  She looked at someone over his shoulder. “Cuff him. We’ll sort it out later.” A heavy hand fell on Michael’s shoulder and spun him into a nearby tree trunk. Instinct urged him to fight back, but he remained compliant. The officer kicked his legs apart and forced his hands onto his head.

  “Lace your fingers and leave them on top of your head, sir,” the cop said, managing to make the word sir sound like a four-letter word.

  The cop kept a hand on his head, pushing him forward just a tad to keep him off balance while the other hand got down to business. “What’s your name?” He ran his free hand along Michael’s rib cage and down his sides.

  “Michael.”

  “Got a last name.”

  “Koptik.” At least that’s what the driver’s license in his wallet said. He looked at Sabrina. She was standing off to the side, watching the exchange. She tensed up at his lie and he regretted it, but telling the truth wasn’t an option.

  “You got anything in your pockets that’s gonna stab or poke me?” he said. Michael shook his head. What was in his pockets wasn’t the issue. It was what was strapped to his calf that would present a problem. Deep breath. Relax. There was no stopping it now, not without totally destroying whatever shred of trust Sabrina might still harbor for him.

  The cop pulled his wallet out of his front pocket and tossed it to a nearby uniform. “Run him,” he said.

  “I’ll do it while you guys secure the scene.” Sabrina reached out and took his wallet from the other officer. Her eyes flitted over his face, and he saw a mixture of uncertainty and anger there. “I’ll call the ME and CSU while I’m at it.” She turned and made her way to the closest squad car.

  The cop ran his hand over the outside of his leg and paused. “What’s this?” He lifted the leg of his jogging pants, exposing the tactical knife strapped to his calf. The cop gave a low whistle and shoved him harder into the tree.

  Deep breath. Relax.

  “Don’t move.” The cop reached down and pulled the knife. “Nothing that’s gonna stab or poke me, huh?”

  Keep your mouth shut.

  The cop snapped the cuffs on him in record time and spun him around with a fistful of shirt. He dumped him on his ass, knocking his head against the tree trunk in the process. “Have a seat, Rambo,” he said, kicking his legs out straight in front of him. He turned to the cop he’d tossed the wallet to and showed him the knife. “Watch him while I bag this.”

  Michael watched the cop walk toward the cluster of squad cars where Sabrina was. That clown would show her the knife, and that would be it. She’d never trust him.

  The Colorado driver’s license she’d pulled from the wallet the uniform took off Michael was real. Sabrina sat in the privacy of the borrowed squad car and ran the name and driver’s license number for the third time; for the third time, the name Michael Lee Koptik popped up alongside a recent photo of O’Shea and an address for a condo in Boulder. Registration information for a 2008 Acura Legend completed the bogus picture. According to the business cards in his wallet, Michael Lee Koptik was a computer programmer. He’d received a parking ticket last year for parking in front of a timed-out meter. He paid the ticket three days after he got it. That was it. Nothing else.

  Which was complete bullshit.

  She glanced out the passenger window in time to see the older patrolman kick Michael’s legs out from under him. He went down like a ton of bricks and stayed there, but she had the feeling that he was simply tolerating the officer’s rough treatment. She had no doubt that he could be gone if he wanted
to. Instead he splayed his legs out in front of him and stayed put. The patrolman said something to his partner and started across the clearing. He was heading toward her while Michael stared after him.

  The approaching uniform had something in his hand that stopped her heart mid-thump. Please, God. Don’t let that be what I think it is. She pulled her cell off her hip and dialed Lucy’s number. It rang and rang. No answer. She hung up and dropped her phone into her lap.

  “Look what our guy had,” the uniform said, coming up to the window. He showed her a knife with a smooth black double-edged blade that was about four inches long. “Pop the trunk for me, will ya? I’m gonna bag this bad boy for the techs and run a perimeter around the scene.”

  “Sure.” She reached down and pulled the trunk lever. Noodles waited patiently outside, his tail swishing double-time across the dirt when she opened the car door and stood. It was a little after eight in the morning. She glanced at the squad car in front of her. These uniforms were from Ingleside. Not her station. She figured she had about an hour before a pair of inspectors showed up to take over, and about an hour and thirty seconds before they kicked her off the scene. But until then, she was senior officer in charge.

  She climbed out of the car and stood in the open doorway. “I’m also going to have you cordon off a section of the road up ahead. These trails are restricted to vehicles and too tight to turn around on, so any tracks we find up ahead will more than likely belong to whoever dumped her here.”

  “Her?”

  “The victim is a female, late teens, early twenties.” She hunkered down and gave Noodles a few long strokes along his neck and shoulders. “What a good dog you are—yes, such a good dog,” she whispered. She wanted to bury her face in his fur and cry.

  The officer pulled a few rolls of barricade tape and the bagged knife out of the trunk and slammed the lid. He looked at the pile of leaves and dirt that lay twenty yards away. The exposed leg was clearly visible, standing out in stark relief against its nest of rotting vegetation. “You got all that from a leg?”

  He likes them young.

  “Her toenails are painted lime green with blue rhinestone flowers. She’s young.” She stood again and faced the officer. He was older for a patrolman, late forties, early fifties, with a stout build and a neck thick enough to put a plow horse to shame.

  “You think this guy did her, dumped her, and then what? Came back on foot to get his rocks off?” He nodded in Michael’s direction but she didn’t look.

  “Maybe,” she said, finding herself not wanting to believe it. The officer tossed her the clear, plastic evidence bag. “Nasty lookin’ pig sticker. Guy don’t carry a knife like that unless he’s got a reason.”

  She looked at the plastic-encased knife in her hands and had to agree. This wasn’t some cheesy pocket knife with retractable cuticle scissors and a toothpick. This knife was made for killing. Her brain took a spin inside her skull, and she had to remind herself to breathe. Eighty-three days of bleeding and crawling around in the dark had taught her a lot, but the most useful was how to compartmentalize. She reached out, grabbed the myriad emotions that assaulted her in a merciless chokehold, and started stuffing them away. She would not fall apart. She had work to do.

  Turning toward the clearing, she gave a shrill whistle. Heads snapped up and turned toward the sound. She motioned for the uniforms to round it up and bring it in. She pointed at Michael— bring him too.

  She feigned disinterest while the uniform on babysitting duty pulled Michael up the slope and propped him against the rear fender. Noodles let out a single bark and started to wag his tail, happy to see his friend.

  “This your dog?” the uniform said, looking from Michael to the dog.

  “No,” he said, looking straight at her.

  “He’s mine.” She snapped her fingers, bringing Noodles to heel. The officer stuffed Michael into the back of the car they were gathered around and slammed the door shut.

  She delegated tasks. One to head over to the visitor’s parking area to look for the car that was registered to Michael under his fake license. “If you find it, radio in and get some techs down there to process it.” She turned to the two uniforms closest to her. “Walk the trail—mark any tire tracks for casting and run a perimeter around those drag marks.” She turned to the officer who’d taken the knife off O’Shea. “What’s your name?”

  “Bertowsky.” He nodded to his left. “The snot-nose boot they saw fit to stick me with is Duncan.” Gruff words, but they were spoken with a certain amount of affection.

  She gave them both a grim smile. “Okay, Bertowsky. You and Duncan run the perimeter and wait for the ME while I have a chat with our suspect.”

  31

  She waited for them to start moving down the slope before she opened the rear door of the squad car. Noodles tried to nose his way in, but she pushed him back and grabbed Michael by the arm. It was like grabbing a braided steel cable.

  She pulled anyway and he came willingly, letting her lean him against the back of the car. He said nothing, just stared her down with those desolate gray eyes.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Koptik.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “Call me Michael.”

  She read him his rights. “Are you willing to answer my questions without the presence of legal counsel?”

  He gave her a look that said, really? This is how we’re playing it? before he shrugged. “I’ll answer them, but I can’t promise you’ll like what you hear.” He rolled his shoulders and settled in against the side of the car. Again, she had a hunch that the only reason he was in police custody was because he’d allowed it. The feeling was unsettling.

  “Where did you get your false identification?”

  He gave her a sardonic smile before he glanced down at the dog. He shifted his body and moved his cuffed hands to one side so he could ruffle the dog’s ears. “Hey buddy, sorry I scared you.” Noodles forgave him and gave his hands a thorough tongue bath.

  He wasn’t going to answer her. She took a step back and held up the knife. “This is yours?”

  The smile held. “Yes.”

  She nodded. “When the ME gets here we’re going to uncover … the body. We’ll find stab wounds, and I’m going to have probable cause to give your knife to the CS techs. They’ll run a field test for blood. Will they find any?”

  “Possibly.” His eyes shifted away from her face. “But it won’t belong to that girl down there.”

  She couldn’t explain why, but she believed him. “Why are you carrying a knife?”

  “Because guns make noise.”

  His answer solidified everything she’d feared about him. She looked around. They were alone. “Why did you come back?” she said.

  “You know why.” Again, he looked at her like she was stupid.

  “I told you not to. I told you to leave,” she said, practically mouthing the words.

  “I made a promise to Lucy.” Translation: what she wanted meant nothing.

  “It’s been fifteen years—”

  “For you. For me, it’s been a year and two days. He killed my sister, and Lucy knew it. She got scared, asked me to look after you.”

  “And you agreed,” she said. She knew the story she’d been fed, but she didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Yes.”

  “But not so you could look out for me. You came here to bait a trap.” She forced herself to look at things objectively and couldn’t blame him. What would she be willing to do? Who would she be willing to sacrifice to exact revenge on the person who hurt her family? The answer was anything and anyone.

  He nodded. “I hoped I could do both, but …” He looked away again.

  She took a step closer. “But what?”

  “I waited too long.” He looked at her again, and she watched the truth darken his eyes to the color of coal. “I let myself—feel sorry enough for you both to get involved past my own agenda.” He gave the cuffs a rattle. “I regret it
now.”

  “Where’s Lucy?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. The day you spotted me she left me a bunch of voicemails. Mostly it was just her yelling at me for being such an idiot, but on the second to last one she said …” He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “She said, Michael, who did you tell? I could hear someone, a man, call out to her in the background, but I didn’t recognize the voice.”

  Sabrina’s lungs felt dry, shriveled. “What did the last one say?”

  “Nothing. There was someone there, but whoever it was didn’t say anything.” He narrowed his eyes. “I think we both know what happened, Sabrina.”

  Yes. She knew better than anyone what happened to Lucy. “She could be hurt, maybe—”

  “I sent Tom to look in on her.” He said the name like she was supposed to know who he was talking about. “By the time he got there, she was gone. The note on the door said she’d gone to Shreveport.”

  Hope re-inflated her lungs. “She has a sister there,” she said, but he just shook his head.

  “No. Tom checked … Loraine hasn’t heard from her in days.”

  “And you trust this Tom guy to tell you the truth? How dumb are you? If he lives in Jessup, he could be—”

  “Tom Onewolf.”

  It was like he’d spoken to her in a strange language she barely knew. Her brain strained to process the words into something she could understand. “Tommy?” Her hand reached up and latched onto the ring that hung around her neck.

  “Yeah.” His eyes traveled down and settled on the hand she kept clutched to her chest. “He goes by Tom these days.” He glanced over her shoulder, totally unconcerned with the pain he’d just inflicted. “Your lackeys are almost done.” He looked back at her.