The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 1

by Maegan Beaumont

  His grip tightened around the butt of his gun at the mention of his former partner. He hadn’t heard from or seen Lark since they’d parted ways in Texas eight months ago. From what he heard, Lark had been re-assigned to head Shaw’s private security detail. A cushy job that kept him well protected. He still didn’t understand why his old partner hadn’t told Shaw about Sabrina… but then, knowledge of her existence was a powerful bargaining chip. It would be just like Lark to keep it to himself until he needed it.

  “You really need to answer my question, kid,” he said. “How do you know about her?”

  Ben’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “How is one question I rarely answer. And don’t call me kid.”

  “Okay… how about why? Why would you purposely keep something like that from your father?” He still couldn’t figure the kid out.

  The smile on Ben’s face turned cold, the chill of it reached his eyes, turning them to ice. “Because he’s not the only one who’s invested in you, Michael. I have plans for you and they don’t involve getting you blown the fuck up over your penchant for playing Boy Scout.”

  There it was. Another reminder of just how much he owed Benjamin Shaw. “You ever gonna tell me what those plans are?”

  “Yeah—when I’m goddamn good and ready to,” Ben said, that smirk of his held firmly in place. Resting his hands on his stomach, he closed his eyes, seemingly unconcerned that his partner still held a gun on him.

  Michael studied Ben for a few moments. He looked completely relaxed but the tense bunch of his shoulders said otherwise. He holstered his gun and walked toward the back of the plane. Stretching out on the soft leather couch, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. Five hours sleep would be a godsend.

  “You really think you’d have been able to shoot me?” Ben said. From the sound of his voice, he hadn’t moved from the seat he’d left him in.

  Michael’s mouth quirked into a rueful half-smile but he didn’t answer. If he had to ask, then his partner didn’t know him half as well as he thought.

  32

  Sabrina drove home, the bouquet of roses riding shotgun. She took Broadway to Van Ness, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror. If Croft was following her; he brought his A-game because she couldn’t spot him.

  She glanced at the flowers sitting in the box beside her. She had little hope of finding the shop they were bought and delivered from but she couldn’t shake the feeling they were key to her investigation. On impulse, she took a right on Market, heading for Church Street and the only flower shop she knew of.

  She parallel parked in front of an ivy-covered, red brick building. A green and white striped awning stretched over the narrow sidewalk, shading buckets and baskets of fresh flowers in front of the open shop door. Climbing out of her car, roses in tow, Sabrina stopped long enough to feed a few coins into the meter before heading in.

  “Hey, Nolan,” she called out as she entered, her gaze settling on the man beyond the front counter.

  Nolan’s head popped up from the elaborate spray of protea and birds of paradise he was working on. “Inspector, please tell me you’re not here for a pick-up,” he said as soon as he saw her, wiping his hands on his apron with an exasperated sigh. “I’ve got five anniversaries, a dinner party, two funerals and a sick delivery driver, so—oh, my…” he stopped in the middle of his downward spiral, eyes riveted to the vase she was carrying. “Someone’s either in serious trouble or seriously in love… where’d you get them?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” she said, doing her best to keep her tone light. According to Val, this was the only decent flower shop between home and the station. It felt like Val was constantly asking her to stop in on her way home to pick up a bunch of this or that for her clients. She set the vase on the counter and backed away. “They turned up on my desk this afternoon without a card. Is there anything you can tell me that would help me figure out where they came from?” She left out the part about how this was one of countless arrangements that she’d received over the course of the last eight months. No need to involve him any further than absolutely necessary.

  Nolan waved a dramatic hand through the air before settling it on his hip. “They’re roses, honey—not a crystal ball,” he said, reaching out to finger a smooth, red petal. “But whoever it is has fabulous taste. Do you mind?”

  She shook her head and watched as he gently cupped the head of the rose, tugging the stem free from the bunch. As soon as he pulled it free, he frowned, holding it up for inspections, turning it this way and that.

  “I can tell you where they didn’t come from. They didn’t come from a flower shop,” he said, looking up at her. “See these thorns?” he pointed at the stem. It was covered in large, hooked barbs. “Most roses grown for commercial use are bred for smaller, weaker thorns, making them easier to clean. These suckers are huge—” He stopped, peering even closer at the stem, confusion followed by a look of disbelief. He pulled a piece of tissue paper from the dispenser under the counter and laid the rose on top of it. “Wait here.” he said, hurrying toward the back of the shop and into the walk-in cooler.

  He was back a minute later, a long-stemmed red rose in his hand. “These just came in, so I haven’t had a chance to clean them yet.” He held it up between them. “Do you see these?” he said, hooking the tip of his floral knife under one if the thorns. “See the difference?”

  Sabrina looked down at the rose on the counter. The thorns on the rose she’d brought in were definitely bigger and sharper… she looked up at the flower Nolan held for her and felt a tingling flush run along her skin. She picked up the rose on the counter and held it next to the one in Nolan’s hand just to make sure…

  “These thorns curve upward,” she said, finally looking Nolan in the face. “Is that normal? Do some species have thorns that do that?”

  “Normal?” Nolan huffed out a laugh as he pulled what looked like a larger, stainless steel staple remover from his apron pocket. “There’s absolutely nothing normal about that,” he said, nodding his head at the rose she held. He clipped the set of two-pronged teeth around the top of the stem he held, under the first set of leaves, and pulled it down. Leaves and thorns gave way with ease, falling onto the counter in a scattered pile.

  “Then how did it happen?”

  Nolan set the newly cleaned rose on the counter and took the other from her. “Someone bred them that way. And before you ask—why someone would do that is totally beyond me, honey.” He gingerly tucked the rose back into the vase and nudged it toward her. “My best guess is whoever sent them to you is into horticulture. Whoever he is, he knows what he’s doing and doesn’t mind getting his hand chewed off in the name of love.”

  33

  Sabrina thanked Nolan and left, roses tucked back into the box on the seat next to her. She parked across the street and studied the house, a rambling Victorian, painted a soft yellow with slate gray trim. She hadn’t wanted to buy the place. It was too big, too extravagant. Too conspicuous. St. Francis Wood was far more than she could ever swing on a cop’s salary but Val had insisted. She was one of the top interior designers in the Bay area so she could afford it.

  Her gaze drifted along the yard and porch before settling on the driveway. Her nerves ratcheted a bit tighter. Nickels’ black Titan was parked right behind Val’s snazzy red sports car. She stayed where she was, contemplated driving away. She could go back to Miss Ettie’s. Curl up in Michael’s bed and just go to sleep…

  Leaning across the seat, she gathered the box and forced herself to get out the car. Bumping the door closed with her hip, she set the alarm before crossing the street. Jason still hadn’t pulled the trash can in off the curb. She stopped next to it and set the box on the ground, reaching for the flowers, ready to toss them in.

  The front door opened. “Sorry, Mom. I got home late from practice,” Jason said to her, jogging across the front yard to snag the trash can. He leaned over and dropped a kiss on her cheek. In spite of everything, she smiled. Ja
son always had that effect on her. She put the vase back in the box and picked it up.

  “It’s okay. How was your day?” she said as they walked up the length of the driveway.

  “Good.” He shot her a look over the top of the can between them. “I turned in my final project for the Henry-Pryce fellowship today.”

  His project. The one she’d promised to help him with. “I’m sorry, J. I just—”

  “I know. Val told us the two of you had a fight,” he said with a shrug but wouldn’t look at her. “Besides, Devon was here. He helped me.”

  She looked over her shoulder at the truck parked in her usual spot. “Nickels was here?”

  “Yeah. After you took off, Val kinda freaked. I think they were up all night trying to find you,” Jason said, finally looking in her direction. She could see the worry and fear etched plainly on his face. It made him look old, much older than seventeen. He set the trash can next to the back stoop and she dropped the box on top of it.

  “I want to show you something.” She nodded her head toward the back of the house and he followed. “See that window—second floor, third from the left?” she said, pointing her finger at Miss Ettie’s house in the distance.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s where I was. I didn’t go anywhere dangerous; I didn’t do anything crazy… I just needed some time. That’s all,” she said.

  “I remember, you know. When Wade took you the first time. I remember the way Val cried. She cried for days, so long and hard I thought it’d kill her,” he said. “She cried that way last night and I thought…” Jason turned to look at her. “You can’t do that. You can’t just disappear. Not again.” Red splotches erupted on his cheeks and neck, an unfortunate side-effect of a red-headed temper.

  She threw her arms around him and held him tight. He’d been two, going on three when it’d happened. Trauma was a funny thing. It either wiped you clean or burned itself into your memory forever. She knew what those scars felt like. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jason.” She pulled away just enough to frame his face in her hands. She smoothed her fingers over his forehead, had to look up to meet his eyes. When had he gotten so tall? When had her baby brother become a young man? “It was a horrible thing to do and I shouldn’t have done it.” She shook her head. “Forgive me?”

  Jason pulled her hands off his face and held them. “Just promise not to do it again.”

  “I promise.”

  He smiled at her. “Okay.”

  They turned toward the house and made their way toward the back door. She could hear music coming from the kitchen. Emilie Simon’s Fleur de Saison.She looked at Jason with a hopeful smile. “Coq au Vin?”

  Laughing, he stooped to pick up her box of stuff. “It’s what’s for dinner.” The roses brushed against his cheek and she had the sudden urge to scrub the spot clean, like she did when he’d been younger.

  “No. Just leave it out here,” she said.

  He looked curious but didn’t say anything. “You sure?”

  “Positive.” She took a closer look at the carport and noticed that ancient Volvo that the twins shared was gone. “Where’s Ry?”

  “It’s Friday. Piano until seven.” They stepped into the kitchen. “Look who I found,” Jason said with a grin, dropping a kiss on Val’s cheek as he passed by the stove. He kept going, heading up the rear stairs to the second floor, out of the line of fire. Smart kid.

  Sabrina stood there, feeling awkward. Like a guest in her own home. Val was staring at her from the stove while Nickels watched them from the kitchen table. He looked relaxed. Like he belonged there.

  “You keep showing up like this, I’m gonna start charging you rent,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket and hung her keys on the peg next to the door.

  “I invited him.”

  She turned around to look at Val. “Yeah, you seem to have a habit of doing that lately.”

  A flush of red rushed into Val’s cheeks and she shot a quick look at Nickels like she needed encouragement. She licked her lips, her gaze darting toward her again. “About that… I’m sorry for last night—letting Croft in. I didn’t know what else to do. We’re just—”

  Not an apology. Not really. Just an excuse, one she’d heard plenty. She turned away from Val and looked Nickels in the eye. “So tell me, Nick, which one of them called you last night to come babysit me, her or Strickland?”

  Nick shifted uncomfortably in his seat and glanced at Val. That was all the answer she needed. She let out a sigh, nodding her head a little. “Right. So, I’m only going to say it once. I don’t want, nor do I need, a babysitter. I don’t want, nor need, to talk about Wade. I killed him—pretty sure that closed the subject. Do you understand?” She bounced a look between the two of them, daring them to say a word to the contrary and nodded again when neither of them spoke. “Good talk. I’m gonna go take a shower,” she said, not bothering to look at either one of them as she crossed the kitchen to pass through the dining and living room, mounting the main staircase as quickly as the pain in her leg would allow.

  34

  First thing she did was power up her computer. She typed in her password and logged onto the internet, going straight to her email. There was a message waiting for her from David Song along with a very large video attachment.

  He’d come through.

  Audio would’ve been nice but it wasn’t necessary. The footage started at midnight and stretched on until noon. That gave her twelve hours of footage to review.

  He’d called her from the pre-paid cell bought at Song’s bodega a few minutes after noon—right after the flowers had been delivered to her desk. If he bought the phone that morning, like Anderson claimed, he’d be caught on camera.

  She downloaded the file and cued it up. Six panels popped up on her computer screen, each offering a different camera angle. She used her mouse pad to click play, leaning forward a bit, as if sitting closer to the screen would ensure she missed nothing.

  She watched it on fast forward, a steady stream of people, all ages, shapes and sizes, filing up to the counter to buy whatever it was they’d come for. Every time the clerk turned toward the back wall behind the counter, she slowed the tape to real time. The back wall was where Song kept the big-ticket items. Liquor. Cigarettes. Condoms. Pre-paid cell phones.

  At 5am, a woman toddled in on cheap plastic platforms, wearing a skirt so short it was almost embarrassing. She headed straight for the cold case at the rear of the store. Sabrina watched on fast forward as she chose a cheap bottle of wine and a sandwich wrapped in cellophane, carrying both to the counter. The clerk turned toward the back wall. She slowed the playback just in time to watch him pull a pack of Magnums off the hook and toss them on the counter. The woman looked over her shoulder at someone or something that wasn’t caught on camera. She said something to the clerk and he turned again. Using a key hooked to his belt, he unlocked the Plexiglass cabinet next to the cigarettes.

  The woman was buying a cell phone. Sabrina paused the tape and leaned forward again, studying every angle the cameras offered. The woman’s face was haggard, worn down by addiction and a lifetime of bad choices. She looked like she was in her sixties but Sabrina would guess closer to forty. She imagined that she’d been careful with her hair and make-up, styling both before she hit the street but turning tricks all night hadn’t done her any favors. The make-up had succumbed to gravity, sliding down her face, giving it a melted candle look that was both comical and pathetic. It wasn’t her face Sabrina was focused on, though. It was her hair. Straw-yellow and sticking out in every direction—a bright red rose carefully tucked into the tangled mess of it.

  35

  The rose was a sign. A sign meant for her. She isolated a close-up of the woman’s face and hit print.

  Dinner and promises were forgotten. As soon as the picture hit the tray, Sabrina took it and stood, walking across her room to the exterior set of stairs. She stepped out the door and reached for her keys to lock up before she remembered t
hat she’d left them on the peg downstairs. There would be no sneaking out. Not this time.

  She shut the door and turned to find Nickels standing next to her bed. His arms hung limp against his sides. He looked tired, like being around her made him feel that way. “Dinner’s ready.”

  She re-locked the door. “Okay, thanks,” she said, just wanting to get rid of him.

  “What’s that?”

  She followed his line of sight. She’d been in such a hurry to find the woman that she’d left the footage up on her computer, for anyone to find. “Nothing. Just a case I’m working.”

  “What case?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she closed down her computer and tucked it into its case. When she lifted it off the desk and turned, Nickels was still standing there, watching her. She sighed. “I don’t have time—”

  “What case?” He stood his ground, glaring down at her.

  “Fine. You remember that red envelope I found at my desk last night? The one I didn’t want to open?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I opened it. Short version—the guy who left it for me is the same guy who’s been sending me the flowers. He killed a girl and made it pretty clear he’s gonna do it again.” She held up the picture she’d printed out. “This woman is the only lead so far. She might be able to give me a description of what he looks like and I need to find her.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he said, the glare on his face softening into something close to desperation.

  “I need you to stay here. Watch over Val and the kids.” She shook his head when he started to protest. “I don’t know who this guy is. I don’t know where he is. The only thing I do know is that he’s planning on killing again.” They’d had this conversation before, standing on her back porch—him begging her not to go to Texas to help Michael find the man who killed his sister, her knowing she didn’t have a choice. “I have to find him, stop him—I can’t do that if I’m worrying about my family.”