The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 1

by Maegan Beaumont

  His expression wavered for a moment before it hardened. Whatever glimmer of emotion he’d let himself feel about what she’d just said was gone—hidden behind a thick wall of resolve.

  “Is that why you lied to me about knowing Michael O’Shea?” he said. “To protect your family? Did he threaten you?”

  “Wow, you don’t even care, do you?” she swiped a hand over her face, trying to scrub away the anger that crowded her features. “I agreed to talk to you about what happened with Wade and in return, you keep your mouth shut about the ass-kicking I gave you today. That’s the arrangement,” she said.

  “No. You agreed to answer my questions honestly. All of them. I think we both know you didn’t do that,” he said quietly.

  She took a step closer and looked him in the eye. “I’ll talk to you about what happened between Wade and me. I’ll give you every gory detail. I’ll even tell you about what happened the first time he took me… but that’s it,” she said in a low tone. “That’s all you’re going to get from me. Ever.”

  “So, you’re admitting that you know Michael O’Shea. That he was there that day in the woods?” he said, pushing back.

  Rocking back on her heels, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I’ll say this one time, and one time only, so listen up,” she said. “I grew up with a Michael O’Shea. His family lived on a farm between Jessup and Marshall. He was a year or two older than me… we briefly went to the same high school, attended the same church. We barely knew each other. The year I moved back to Jessup, I was fifteen and he was seventeen—a few months later his parents died in a car accident. Less than a week after he graduated, he left his baby sister with his aunt and uncle and joined the army—and that is the last time I ever heard from or saw him.”

  “You’re lying,” he said forcefully, closing the gap between them until they were practically nose to nose.

  She smiled at him and took a step back in an effort to curb the urge to make him bleed again. “Prove it,” she said.

  “Maybe I’ll go ahead and file that police brutality complaint after all,” Croft said.

  Hearing him say it tied her stomach in knots but she was suddenly sure he’d never do it. Not because he was decent but because what he wanted from her was far bigger than an exclusive about how she’d survived her sadistic half-brother. She called his bluff. “Be my guest, just make sure you spell my name right,” she said and turned, starting down the stairs again.

  This time Croft didn’t follow.

  29

  Sabrina shoved the door at the bottom of the stairwell open onto the light-filled lobby. Air rushed into her lungs, brushed against her damp skin, turning the cool sweat to ice. She’d go back to the station, throw the rest of her shit in a box and go home. Have dinner with Jason and Riley and do her level best to not fight with Val. Go back to Miss Ettie’s and try to get some sleep. She had to re-qualify for SWAT—

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she fished it out. She recognized the prefix—it was coming from the station.

  “This is Vaughn.”

  “Hi, Inspector—it’s Anderson,” he said in a low voice. “I ran the trace like you said.”

  She stopped walking. “And?”

  “Number traced back to a burner phone. Best I can tell you, it was sold out of a bodega on the corner of Eddy and Taylor, sometime early this morning.”

  She knew the place. It was the store Kenny Denton had graduated from armed robbery to murder. He’d killed the clerk over fifty-three dollars and a Mars bar and due to Tenderloin’s backlog, she and Strickland caught the case. So far, the owner, David Song, had been helpful in the investigation.

  Song’s bodega had top-notch security cameras. His brother ran an electronics store four doors down. It was a long shot that she’d find anything useful on them but it was worth a look. “Okay. Thanks, Anderson,” she said before hanging up.

  “Inspector Vaughn!”

  Her head snapped up at the sound of her name. Trujillo jogged toward her. “Here’s your camera. It’s got a nice zoom so I was able to get some pretty tight shots,” he said, dropping the camera into her hand.

  “Thanks, Trujillo. I appreciate it. If anything shakes out, I’ll give you a call.” She smiled a bit, remembering what it was like to be a rookie, looking for a leg up.

  “Thanks, that’d be awesome,” he said, smiling at her before he aimed a fast glance over his shoulder. “Look, there’s this guy over there, looking for you—says he knows you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They all say they know me.”

  Trujillo laughed. “Right, well this one says you missed an appointment or something. I don’t know—he’s been here for a while now. Red polo, tan Dockers.” He jerked his head toward the yellow barrier at the small cluster of diehards still hanging on. She took a step to the left so she could see around the uniform’s shoulder.

  Kyle Weber was staring right at her.

  “I know him. Thanks.” She forced her smile to stay put and stepped around him, heading straight for Weber. “What are you doing here?” she said once she got close enough to speak without yelling.

  “You missed our appointment and you didn’t call,” he said, arms folded across his chest. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”

  Once she reached Weber, she walked the length of the yellow tape, drawing him away from the remaining crowd. “Sorry about that. People don’t seem to have the good sense to stop getting murdered,” she said, a sarcastic edge to her voice.

  Weber held the tape up for her and she stepped under it. “It’s been well over two months, Ms. Vaughn. I can’t, in good conscience, keep accepting Mr. Shaw’s money for treatment, if you’re not going to participate in therapy,” he said. He’d been her physical therapist since she’d come home. Had helped her re-learn to walk—and not once had he ever called her by her first name.

  “I’ve been traded back to SWAT, which means I’m going to have to re-qualify. Believe me when I tell you, missing our appointment was not on purpose,” she said, starting the hike back to her car.

  “This time,” Weber said, easily keeping pace with her. He was watching the way she moved and didn’t look too impressed with what he saw. “You’ve regressed in mobility.”

  Like she hadn’t noticed… “I just jogged five flights of stairs—doesn’t that count for something?”

  Weber caught his lower lip between his teeth, seemingly doing his best to hang onto his frustration. “Mr. Shaw made it perfectly clear that I was to alert him if you missed our appointment today,” he said but she could tell calling Ben was that last thing he wanted to do.

  “I know. Look, Kyle—I’m sorry. I really am. Name the time and place and I’ll be there. Just… don’t call Mr. Shaw.” They’d finally reached her car and she pulled out her keys. Looking through the car window, she half-expecting to see another red envelope waiting for her on the front seat.It was empty.

  Weber dug his hands into the pocket of his Dockers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Okay. Tomorrow morning. Nine AM at my office—if you’re not there by nine oh’ five, I’m making a call.”

  Tomorrow is Saturday. The words formed on her tongue and she looked at him, ready to push them out to find him watching her, an expectant look on his face, daring her to protest. Sabrina jammed her car key into the lock. “I’ll be there.” She watched him back away a few steps before he turned and started back up the hill. The surrounding street was deserted, the news vans gone and reporters off in their prospective offices, writing copy and editing footage for their articles and broadcasts.

  “Kyle,” she said and he turned around, the late afternoon sun glinting off his dark brown hair, the overhanging trees throwing shadows across his face. “How did you know I was here?”

  He smiled at her again and shrugged. “I saw you on TV,” he said before turning and heading back the way they’d come.

  30

  When Sabrina made it back to the st
ation, she was relieved to find Mathews’ office door closed. If Croft had made good on his threat, Mathews would’ve pounced on her the minute she stepped off the elevator. He was nothing if not predictable.

  She’d called David Song, the bodega owner, on her way back and asked for the security footage from that morning. Like she knew he would, he assumed it had to do with the Denton case and she hadn’t said anything to disabuse him the notion. The fewer questions he asked the better. She’d given him her personal email address and he said he’d send her the footage as soon as he could. She wanted to rush him but she was afraid that doing so would raise more questions than she wanted to answer. She’d have to wait it out.

  No one paid much attention to her as she finished loading up the box still parked on her desk. The roses were still there. If she’d known who was next in line, she’d have walked them over and dumped them off, just so she wouldn’t have to look at them anymore.

  She supposed, technically, they’d be considered evidence which meant she should hand them off to Strickland. It was his case now. Let him and Evans worry about it. Even as she thought it, she knew she couldn’t do it. She could push all the blame on Croft she wanted—saying the words didn’t change facts. What’d happened to Bethany Edwards was her fault, which meant it was up to her to find the man who killed her.

  She sat down, perched on the edge of her seat and glanced at her watch—it was almost five o’clock and still no sign of Strickland. She’d give him another half hour and then cut out. He’d be pissed but waiting would drive her crazy.

  Short trip… you been crazy since the first time I slipped that knife into your belly, ain’t that right, Melissa?

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to clear her head. When she opened, her focus settled instantly on the flowers on her desk.

  Gotta hand it to him—takes a special kinda crazy to do that to a girl. I did it for the fun of it, but this guy… he takes the job of killin’ pretty serious. All that work. All that time and attention to detail and he didn’t even take a taste… borrring.

  He hadn’t raped Bethany Edwards. How did she know that?

  Because I just told you he didn’t, darlin’.

  “Shut up,” she said out loud, the guy across from her gave her a look. Ignoring him, she closed her eyes again, bringing her memory of the crime scene into sharp focus. She forced her mind’s eye to look at the body, searching for a reason she would be so sure… no bruising on the thighs or pelvic area. No outward trauma to the genital area. It wasn’t conclusive but they were signs that pointed to the fact that Bethany Edwards hadn’t been raped. She felt a small measure of relief that she’d been spared that.

  At least not while she was alive. Maybe he’s like me, darlin’. Maybe he don’t care if they’re alive when he’s—

  “When were you gonna tell me?”

  Sabrina’s eyes popped open to see Strickland standing in front of his desk, Evans in the background, moving toward his own. She didn’t have to see the look on his face to know he’d told Strickland everything.

  She glanced away, trying to ignore the way he was looking at her. Like she’d disappointed him. Again. “I don’t know. Now, I guess,” she said with a shrug.

  “So that’s it? You throw your shit in a box—nice workin’ with you, see ya around?” he said. She expected him to be angry. The fact that he sounded hurt was something she’d never considered.

  “It’s temporary,” she said off-handedly. “Just until they can find and train some new recruits. A few months, tops.”

  He came around and sat on the edge of her desk. The anger on his face melted away into that concerned expression he always gave her when he thought she wasn’t looking. “How am I supposed to work this case without you?” he said but she understood what he was really asking. How was he supposed to follow a trail of evidence that would lead straight to her without exposing her involvement?

  She looked over at Evans. He was pretending to do paperwork but she knew better. He was doing his level best to eavesdrop on their conversation. As soon as he got his hands on the fact that Bethany Edwards’ killer had communicated with her and she failed to report it, she was done. It would be Mathews’ coup de grâce and there was no stopping it. The only thing she could do now was shelter Strickland from the fallout. “You’ll do fine,” she said, fishing her digital camera out of her pocket and handing it over. “Just follow the evidence. Wherever it leads.”

  Strickland stared at her for a second, mouth practically hanging open. Her message had been received, loud and clear. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?” he said, dropping his voice to a hushed tone.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Strickland the truth. That leaving homicide hadn’t been her choice, but Evans was right. If he knew she was being forced out, Strickland would lay waste to everything in his path—including his own career. “Yes.”

  “We could’ve talked about it—before you made up your mind,” he said stubbornly.

  “Why? So you could try to talk me out of it,” she shot back.

  “I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe… I just want you to talk to me.”

  She forced as much anger into her voice as she could. “Cut the dramatics. I need a change, Strickland. Stop making this about you.”

  “Wow… there you go again, pulling away from everyone and everything.” He shook his head in disgust. “You won’t be satisfied until you’re completely and utterly alone, will you?”

  Tell him, Melissa. Tell him you’ll never be alone… not as long as I’m with you.

  Wade’s voice whispered inside her head, so low and soft it was as if he were sitting right next to her. She took a deep breath,using the few moments it afforded her to steady herself.

  It was time to go.

  “I started your reports; they’re saved to your computer.” Standing, she hefted her bag to her shoulder and let her glance slide over him to rest on the vase full of roses still sitting on her desk. The right thing to do would be to hand them over.

  I wouldn’t if I was you, darlin’. You’re gonna need those…

  Sabrina reached out and snagged the vase, tucking it into her box of crap. “Try to keep it clean, I don’t want to come back to a family of rats nesting in my desk,” she said but the truth was, she wasn’t coming back and they both knew it.

  31

  “You aren’t going to Vegas, are you?”

  Michael looked away from the Lear’s window and across the aisle to find Ben watching him. As soon as he hung up with Tom, he shot Ben a text—wait for me.

  He’d managed to catch up with his partner in the parking garage. Ben leaned over and opened the passenger door of his black-on-black Camaro with a grin. “Can’t live without me.”

  Michael tossed his duffle into the backseat and slid into the smooth leather seat before shutting the door. “I’m a glutton for punishment.”

  Sabrina was in trouble. Real trouble if Jaxon Croft managed to connect her to him. The smartest thing to do was stay away from her, let Croft dig until the hole was deep enough—and then snap his neck and bury him in it. He knew that… so what the hell was he doing? Why had even the slightest hint of trouble for her sent him running to play white knight? Because he was the reason she was in danger. Because he’d left her to face the firing squad alone once before and he wasn’t going to do it again.

  Because he loved her.

  The kid was still looking at him. “What?” he said, glancing back at the window.

  Ben heaved a sigh and flipped the page of the magazine in his lap. “I mean, I know that’s where the plane is going, but I keep getting the feeling that if I go to the bathroom, I’m gonna come back to find the cabin door standing wide open and one of the chutes missing.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have the gear for a HALO dive.” His plan had been to give Ben the slip and use one of his off-the-books IDs to rent a car and drive to San Francisco. The wa
y his partner was looking at him, it was doubtful he’d be able to shake him.

  “You going to see her?” Ben said, still flipping through his magazine.

  Michael shrugged. “There’s some stuff I need to take care of. No big deal.”

  “Well, that was awfully evasive of you, Mikey.” Ben rolled his eyes, tossing the magazine into the seat across from him. “Especially since I don’t give a shit either way.”

  He cut the kid a look. “It has nothing to do with Sabrina.”

  Ben wasn’t buying it. “Then what’s the point?”

  “I have a friend there I check up on once in a while,” he said, standing up. They were ten hours into a fifteen-hour flight and he needed to get some sleep. He wasn’t going to be able to do it sitting next to Chatty Cathy.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. The old lady who owns the boarding house—what’s her name? Edna? Edith?” Ben said, stretching his legs out in front of him.

  “Ettie.” His voice sounded strangled, like someone had a forearm pressed against his throat. He’d never mentioned Miss Ettie or his visits to her to anyone. He’d learned his lesson with Lark—no matter how much they insisted to the contrary, people were rarely as trustworthy as they claimed to be. “How—”

  Ben looked up and smiled. “Your secret is safe with me. I think it’s cute you’ve got a soft spot for little old ladies.Dumb—but cute.”

  Michael lifted the Kimber on his hip from its holster and held it at his side. “You having me followed?” Even as he asked, he knew he hadn’t. He’d have picked up on it long before now.

  Ben held up his hands but didn’t look alarmed. “Seriously? Do I look stupid?”

  “Then how?”

  “Look, I get it. After what Lark did, I can understand why you’d have trust issues, but I haven’t told anyone about her and I’m not going to,” he said. “Especially my father.”