SEIZED:: Sizzling HOT Detective Series (The Criminal Affairs Collection Book 2)

by Taylor Lee

  Viviana pressed her lips together, making it clear that she was done talking. The silence in the room was deafening. Greg’s expression was closed. She didn’t know him well enough to read him, although it was clear that he was disbelieving at best. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to meet Jax’s narrowed gaze. He was studying her, a quizzical expression on his face. Unfortunately she knew him well enough to see that her flagrant attempt to hit the ball out of the park had been a dismal failure. She’d barely cleared the infield, if that. The hard gleam in his eyes spoke to several emotions. Her heart skipped a beat seeing that his amusement was one of the most obvious of them.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised when Jax said coolly, “Thank you, Sergeant. That was one of the more disingenuous explanations I’ve heard. Even from you.” He studied her silently for another long moment, then raised a dismissive hand. “You may leave, Sergeant Moreau. That will be all . . . for now.”

  Viviana glanced at Greg, who seemed as surprised as she was. Never having felt more discombobulated, she refused to let Jax see how he’d unnerved her. Knowing that the proverbial axe hadn’t begun to fall, she rose to her feet and drew herself up to her full height. With as much dignity as she could manage, she nodded to each of the silent men, then strode to the door with her head held high.

  Chapter 22

  Viviana couldn’t suppress the shards of emotion spiking through her as she walked up the cobblestone driveway to the massive, three-story, Tudor-style home. She didn’t know which emotion was stronger: her unease or her anticipation. She opted to go for an uncharacteristic choice—caution. The intricately styled house was precisely the kind of mansion one would expect an international financier and his wife to own. Its steeply pitched gabled roofs, elaborate masonry chimneys, and decorative half-timbering spoke to the owners’ understanding of traditional architecture. The dark oak doorway was embellished with intricate carvings and a gargoyle-shaped doorknocker with a snake coiled in its mouth. Viviana couldn’t decide if the owners were trying for humor or caution with their choice of the fearsome knocker. She decided to be amused.

  Before she could raise the heavy iron knocker, the door opened, revealing Penelope Williams. Viviana was struck by how the tall woman was precisely the kind of woman in demeanor and appearance who would own a house like this. She could almost be part of the architecture. Her tasteful outfit spoke to an intimate knowledge of couture without emphasizing what her tailored dress slacks and silk blouse likely cost. Viviana silently smiled, knowing what the contained woman must think of her outfit. She was sure Penelope didn’t know that Viviana had chosen her rather outlandish costume as carefully as the mistress of the mansion had selected hers. But then, why not wear a body-hugging cashmere sweater and skintight designer blue jeans to a pleasant afternoon lunch? Just in case the ladies missed the message, the bulge above her ankle-high boot confirming that she was armed and the badge clipped on her decorative leather belt spoke volumes.

  “Please, Sergeant Moreau, come in. We are delighted that you could join us today.”

  Viviana returned the stately woman’s stiff smile with a sincere one of her own. After all, she was genuinely glad to have been invited to this luncheon, and for all she knew, Penelope always looked as though she smelled bad cheese. If her hostess was less than welcoming, the ever-eager Annabelle Simpson was positively beside herself with enthusiasm. The flushed mayor’s wife met her at the door to the garden patio with outstretched hands. “Oh, Detective . . . or should I call you Sergeant . . . or—”

  Viviana smiled and interrupted her. “Either one will do, Annabelle. Or you may call me Viviana. I assume that our luncheon event doesn’t require formal titles.”

  “It most certainly does not, at least if I’m the arbiter.”

  Viviana turned to see Sheryl McElroy moving toward her, a grin wreathing her pretty face. Before Viviana could respond, Sheryl had grasped her arm and was tugging her toward the well-stocked bar off to the side of the patio.

  “Please tell me, Viviana, that you are allowed to imbibe. Or is that forbidden by some outdated police protocol?”

  Viviana laughed. “Let me put it this way. Do you think any one of your husbands, including the police commissioner, would refuse to, as you put it, ‘imbibe,’ whether it is a casual or formal luncheon meeting?” Not waiting for a response, Viviana smiled sweetly at her hostess and said, “If you have it, Penelope, I prefer single malt scotch, the more expensive the better.”

  Sheryl hooted with laughter and pulled Viviana next to her. “If I didn’t already know how crazy that husband of mine is about you, I would now understand why he is an avowed ‘Viviana groupie.’ ”

  Seeing the frown tightening their hostess’s face, the impertinent commissioner’s wife explained, “You haven’t been here long enough, Penelope, to know that this gorgeous woman is the juju of our community. For the most part she is beloved. She’s even earned the moniker ‘Enchantress’ by those who know and love her. This is not to say that there aren’t a few dissenters, most of whom are jealous women. What rankles those dyspeptic naysayers even more is that the most eligible and certainly sexiest man in our midst, Police Chief Jaxton Hughes, has claimed her.”

  Viviana gave in to Sheryl’s effusive praise with what she hoped was a gracious smile. She could only hope that when the dust settled and the bad guys and girls among the community’s elite were outed, the commissioner’s wife would still be among her supporters. She admitted that might be asking a lot of Sheryl and her husband, given that Viviana had the Williamses—at least the superstar Mr. Williams—in her cross hairs.

  As the uniformed maid and butler served them, Sheryl and Annabelle maintained a lively conversation, apparently intent on making Viviana feel at home. Annabelle, in particular, seemed determined to convince Viviana that she belonged in their group.

  “I regret, Sergeant . . . I mean, Viviana, that Sister Eloise wasn’t able to join us. She had a conflict and sends her regrets. She was very pleased that you have agreed to advise us and was especially sorry to miss you. She said that you and Francis Fleming have been wonderful advisors to her. She said that you seem to be able to connect with even the most troubled girls.” Glancing around the table at their companions, Annabelle admitted with a frown, “I’m impressed, Viviana. That is one of the most difficult things for me. I . . . I admit that my life was so completely different from the girls at the shelter that I can barely comprehend the terrible things they’ve been through.”

  Viviana nodded in agreement, then decided not to pull any punches. Knowing that these women all seemed to want to be helpful, there was no point in putting a party dress on a pig. “I’m not surprised, Annabelle, that you have trouble comprehending what these girls have faced in their young lives. Because my particular interest is girls who have been abused, I’ve heard so many hideous tales that nothing surprises me. I admit that the only way I’ve been able to deal with the ugliness is to go after the pimps, rapists, and pornographers who target young girls. My goal is to ensure that the despicable men and women who attack these helpless young women are punished to the full extent of the law.”

  Annabelle’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but frankly, I never thought that women . . . I mean, I know that awful men can go after young girls, but women—”

  Viviana interrupted her. “Unfortunately, Annabelle, rape and pornography are gender neutral, equal opportunity crimes. Granted, when the victims are young girls, men are the more likely perpetrators. But some of the most egregious sexual criminals I’m after are women.”

  Deciding that it was time to turn to her real interests, Viviana added, “That is one reason that I admire Sister Eloise and the work she and her fellow nuns are doing at St. Vincent’s Shelter. And why I’m impressed with what you all are doing. Sister Eloise told me that your interest and financial support are making it possible for her to expand their services and reach many more girls. I applaud you and urge you to continue
to support this important project.”

  Annabelle responded eagerly, “You can be sure that we will, Sergeant Moreau. George and I have been big supporters of the shelter for some time.” Glancing at their prim hostess, she gushed, “Now that Penelope and Rodney have agreed to join the foundation board, I’m convinced that we can make St. Vincent’s the envy of every city in California.”

  Taking advantage of Annabelle’s enthusiasm, Viviana agreed. “From what Sister Eloise has told me, your interest and your financial support can radically enhance their programs and outreach. I applaud all of you.” Deciding that she needed to take advantage of the opening Annabelle had given her, Viviana smiled at Penelope and said, “Annabelle told me that you and she were childhood friends.” Before the taciturn woman could answer, the voluble Annabelle rushed in to amplify on that. “Actually we were best friends, weren’t we, Penny? Why, I feel as though we’ve known each other all of our lives.”

  Penelope nodded and said with what she must have thought was a smile, “Yes, Annabelle, we couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. In addition to Gatewood Academy, that rather pretentious girls’ school our parents insisted we attend, we even went to the same summer camp.”

  Forcing herself to speak casually, Viviana turned to their hostess and asked, “Really? I never went to ‘camp,’ as you call it, unless the police academy can qualify. And if it does, then your summer camp must have been rigorous.”

  Annabelle answered before Penelope could respond. “Oh no, Camp Wildwood was wonderful. It was the highlight of our pre-teen and teenage years, wasn’t it, Penny? We loved it so much that, as adults, we have been supporters of both Gatewood and Wildwood over the years. You know, so that young girls who are less fortunate than we were would be able to attend. In addition to scholarships to Wildwood, we started a special endowment to bring talented coaches and counselors to the camp.” Turning to their hostess, Annabelle continued, “I know you have pictures of us as girls, don’t you, Penny? Even some of us at camp?”

  Following the two women into a spacious, book-lined room, Viviana held her breath. Her never-fail signals of coming danger were sending a virtual army of fire ants marching up her spine. She knew what she was looking for but forced herself to follow the eager mayor’s wife and her more sedate hostess to the array of photographs decorating one wall. In the middle of the panoply of pictures, some formal, others candid, she saw her. Knotting her hands into tight fists at her sides, she willed her pounding heart to stay inside her chest, acknowledging it wasn’t a certainty that she could achieve that goal. Viviana had adrenaline rushes before. She knew the powerful autonomic changes they could precipitate. After all, she was a cop. More to the point, she was in love with Jaxton Hughes. That fact alone was enough to regularly put her intrepid organ in heart attack range. But she was certain she had never come closer to a genuine crash than the moment when she saw the tawny-haired woman standing next to the prosperous-looking man she now knew as Rodney Williams.

  Listening to Penelope drone on about this photo and that, most of them of her and other young girls in swimsuits doing what teenage girls apparently did at summer camp, Viviana conjured up enough spit in her mouth to ask a question. Pointing to the frolicking girls, she asked, “I presume this is you, Annabelle, and this is you, Penelope?” At Penelope’s assenting nod, she moved to the more formal pictures of the adult men and women. “I recognize your husband, Rodney, but who is this woman? I feel like I’ve seen her before.”

  Penelope nodded in agreement. “Yes, that is Rodney, and you may have seen Hannah’s picture at St. Vincent’s Shelter.” She continued, “Hannah Dillinger is a talented drama teacher. She has a national reputation. We were thrilled to convince her to come to Wildwood.”

  Annabelle agreed enthusiastically, “Yes, Hannah is a wonderful coach. She has won numerous awards. You might recognize some of the young women on Broadway that she trained. When Penelope and Rodney agreed to join the St. Vincent Board, they managed to convince Hannah to participate as well. It was a real coup.”

  Turning to the doorway, Penelope said, “Rodney, I didn’t hear you come in. Please join us. I don’t know if you remember Sergeant Moreau from the McElroy’s the other night. We managed to convince Viviana to join us for a planning session on St. Vincent’s. The sergeant is an expert in the field of young girls, particularly troubled ones like the girls at St. Vincent’s shelter.”

  Viviana didn’t know if her imagination was working overtime or if she was so hyped up knowing that she was closing in on her prey, but there was no question that the look Rodney Williams focused on her was anything but pleasant. His narrow gaze and cold eyes underscored his barely concealed antagonism. The smile that flirted with his lips, but didn’t take hold, confirmed that she was not a welcome visitor in his home.

  Seeming to see the frown his wife was throwing at him, the stern man made an effort to make his hostility-tinged response ironic. Turning to the effusive Annabelle, he answered her eager question. “It would require me to be deaf, blind, and dumb not to remember Sergeant Moreau from the party the other night.” With a slight bow as he extended his hand to Viviana, he added, “However, I did not have the privilege of talking with her, which I’m pleased to do now.”

  Sheryl McElroy entered the fray, confirming that she also saw the less-than-enthusiastic response from the lord of the manor. “Trust me, Rodney, if you are like the ninety-nine percent of men who meet the smashing sergeant, you will soon become a Viviana groupie. Not only because she is so beautiful but also because she is ruthless.” Sheryl added with a grin, “In the pursuit of bad guys, that is.”

  Nodding at her, Williams’s expression tightened even more. Although he seemed to try to infuse his remark with humor, it came off as a slight sneer. “Yes, Sergeant Moreau, your fame has spread. From the folklore surrounding your career, I understand that you don’t quit until you get your man.”

  Hearing the edge in his voice, Viviana didn’t back down. She intuitively knew when she’d entered the ring. She could almost picture him in his corner, surrounded by trainers and accomplices. Not surprisingly his antagonism only strengthened her belief that she was facing one of Ariel’s perpetrators. She forced a smile to her lips and said with a shrug, “Not to correct the folklore or to seem brazen, Mr. Williams, but . . . I always do get my man.” She added with a cool smile, “And woman . . . if both men and women happen to be the despicable villains in my crosshairs.”

  Chapter 23

  Sergeant! Sergeant Moreau. Are you all right? Can you hear me, Sergeant?”

  Viviana clung to the edge of the conference table, fighting the wave of nausea flooding over her. Frantic to keep from throwing up, she shoved at the fountain of saliva surging in her throat. Managing to swallow the threatening liquid, Viviana put up her hands and shook her head. Pasting what she was sure was a grim smile on her face, she tried to reassure the gray-haired agent staring at her, a concerned frown marring his usually placid face.

  “No . . . no, Agent Reynolds. I’m . . . fine. I just felt a little queasy. It must have been the bagel I had for breakfast.”

  Reynolds breathed out a hard sigh. “Well, I’m not surprised that you feel queasy, Sergeant. These images are hard to watch. I should know. I’m at this damned computer every day, sometimes eight to ten hours a day. And yes, thank God, you do get somewhat inured to the hideousness. But fucking Christ, unless you have a stomach and heart made of concrete, you never stop being physically sickened by the vicious things that were done to these children.”

  Gratified that Agent Reynolds had pulled up an FBI protocol on the screen that blessedly contained words, not images, Viviana allowed herself to focus on the technical description that the agent was explaining.

  “I know you understand how the Dark Net operates, Sergeant, but to review: the assholes downloading these hideous images are getting smarter every day. The pedophiles have learned how to cover their tracks. The first thing they do to protect themselves is become ano
nymous. Unfortunately, that’s a simple thing to do, given all the free Tor-like software available on the net. In a matter of seconds, the predators grab one of those programs, and voilà, they achieve online anonymity.”

  At that moment Reynolds switched the screen. Seeing the startling image of a naked young girl who looked all too familiar, Viviana couldn’t hold back a gasp. Agent Reynolds must have heard her shocked inhale. He shook his head in agreement and nodded at the ugly images flashing across the screen.

  “Prepare yourself, Sergeant Moreau. Welcome to the world that is known euphemistically as ‘kiddie torture porn.’ If you truly have found one of the girls we call Lolitas Unbound, you will see from these pictures that it’s a fucking miracle she’s alive. We’ve been searching for them for nearly five years. There isn’t an agent who’s been tracking these girls who ever dreamed one of them would survive.” He ran his hand over his thinning gray hair and nodded to the monitor with a troubled groan. “Good God, how could they, given what they did to them.”