by Fiona Archer
Vargas eyes widened. “What the fuck?”
Heath ignored him and continued to read the man his Miranda rights.
“No. No.” Vargas turned his head as he looked around the room, his gaze jumping from one cop to another, then back to Heath. “That’s a fucking lie. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I’m sure you’ll repeat that over the next many hours.” Heath gripped the man’s arm and tugged him off the bed, his expression and tone remote. “The detectives have your wallet and shirt.”
“Fucking bastards.”
“Yeah, we’re adorable when doing our job.” Heath pulled the man out the door and stopped as Derek and a young woman stood on the second story walkway. An ugly bruise marred her cheekbone. From the purple and yellow color along with a partly healed cut, the injuries were days old.
The girl blanched as Vargas glared at her.
“Get inside,” the pimp snarled to the girl.
Derek moved to stand in front of the woman, his body easily blocking her from view. “Did Detective Justice share the good news?” At Vargas’s confused expression, Derek continued. “You don’t have to worry about the women in your absence. Seattle PD has organized a couple of women’s shelters to meet with them here once you’re gone. Detective Shaw there”—he nodded toward his brother—“was eager to share that the Vice Squad is now targeting pimps and not the girls they intimidate to work for them.” Derek’s scornful gaze drilled into Vargas. “Cutting off the head of the snake.”
Heath didn’t miss the reference to the tattoo on Vargas’s back and bit back a laugh. He owed his partner a beer just for that jab.
Vargas’s olive complexion darkened as a muscle ticked in his jaw.
Derek wasn’t finished. “And the guy in room 22, the one you had here to keep these women under control for the last three days? We caught him striking a female he had cuffed to the bed. He’s now in his own set of cuffs and has been charged with assault and battery.”
For a man like Vargas who viewed women as property, taking away all his control was more devastating than any punch to his jaw.
Heath gave the pimp a wry smile. “It’s just not your day, is it, Vargas?”
The man’s face twisted with rage. “You fucking bastards!” He kicked in Heath’s direction, jerked against his cuffs, and threatened merry hell, but between Heath and Aidan, they got him safely into the back of a patrol car.
“Meet you at the station.” Heath nodded to the uniform cop sitting in the driver’s seat.
Heath and Aidan watched the motel’s owner loudly profess his ignorance of any illegal acts being carried out on the premises as he was escorted by two more uniform cops into the reception area.
A mini-van pulled up, and two women and a guy exited. They greeted one of the vice cops as though they knew each other well.
“That’s the team from the shelter,” Aidan shared.
Heath glanced back at the young woman standing with Derek. Her sad, weary gaze made her look older beyond her years. A long line of track marks on the insides of her bare arms showed how far she’d sunk into the destructive mire of drugs.
How bloody tragic.
Would she stay more than one night at the shelter, if at all?
Heath remembered Seth sharing a few memories of his birth mother. She’d been a druggie and a prostitute back in Sydney when Seth was only a little kid. He had described looking into his mother’s eyes was like seeing a person devoid of joy, just a sad acceptance that there was no real future. She died long before taking that fatal overdose. Those were the last words Seth had shared about her.
Christ, what a different childhood he’d lived to Seth’s. No drugs. No fear. He’d been loved by his parents and older sister. Every day was normal. Safe. Filled with fun.
Until he’d turned thirteen.
In one instant, everything had changed.
His family had been taken.
Killed.
Because of me.
“Heath?”
He blinked, staring at Derek, who must have joined him and Aidan at some point.
“Sorry, just thinking ahead.” A lie. More like caught in the past. “Let’s get to the station and interview Vargas.” He held his hand out to Aidan. “Thanks for your help today. I know you’ll be here for a while, but we’ll keep you updated on how we go with Vargas.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Aidan shook Heath’s hand before glancing at Derek. “You going to London’s book signing tonight?”
Heath hid his sigh of frustration. Over the last three days, he’d only been able to leave voice messages with London and had missed her two return phone calls.
Derek checked his watch. “We’ll see. It’s already two o’clock now. The gig kicks off at six.” He shrugged. “Depends what happens with Vargas.”
Aidan nodded. “Mercy and I will be there. Mom and Dad have organized reservations for dinner afterward.” He switched his attention to Heath. “London told me you were given a special invitation.” Aidan’s gaze filled with caution as he assessed Heath.
“I was.” The invite came via one of London’s voicemail messages. “And like Derek, if I can, I’ll be there.” He didn’t elaborate any further as he turned and said over his shoulder to Derek, “Let’s roll.”
By the time his partner had followed him to Heath’s SUV, Heath had the engine running. Derek climbed into the front passenger seat, did up his seatbelt and stared at Heath.
Wonderful.
“Spit it out.”
“You’re interested in my sister.”
Heath kept his gaze on the road as they headed back to Headquarters in downtown Seattle. “You got this from an invitation to a book signing?”
“No, I watched you two last Thursday. She kept stealing glances at you like she was back in high school. And you gave her a lift home on Sunday.” At Heath’s raised eyebrow, Derek clarified. “She told Mom when explaining why she didn’t have her car Sunday night. They ended up collecting it together from Seven Dishes first thing Monday morning.” He turned his gaze to the front windshield. “You’re attracted to her. She is to you. Don’t deny it.”
Derek’s tone held no anger. He was simply stating facts.
Good. Heath appreciated the man’s direct manner and would return in kind.
“Yes, I’m attracted to her. But not only in the way you’re thinking.”
Derek shot him a sidelong glance. “Your attraction is based on holding her hand and discussing her publishing career.”
Yeah, this could get ugly quick.
“Mate, nobody will stay happy if we keep up this line of conversation.” Heath kept his gaze to the road. “I’m not going to explain myself except to say I know who London is to you, and I’m mindful of what that means and how she should be treated.” They pulled up at a set of lights. The tick of the SUV’s turning indicator sliced through the silence in the car’s cabin. Heath focused on his partner as his voice firmed. “Let’s be clear, I’d show her respect no matter who was her brother.”
Derek nodded. “I hear you. My gut instinct is you’re not a bastard. I like you. But this is my sister. You hurt her and I’ll fucking shove your dick down your throat.”
There was no humor in his partner’s voice. The threat was clear.
The guy cared for his sister. Fair enough. Heath refrained from telling Derek where he could shove his warning. “I’d expect nothing less. Good to know London has you looking out for her.”
“She has three other brothers who are just as protective,” Derek was quick to add.
“Yeah, but one of them is an economist.” Heath couldn’t resist the jab.
Derek sighed. “Don’t remind me.”
Heath hid his own sigh and drove on. He wanted a hassle-free working relationship with his partner—a man Heath needed to know had his back in life or death situations. So yeah, getting the guy offside over his sister wasn’t optimal. But Derek would also have to deal. London was an adult. She made her own decisions. Whereve
r she and Heath decided to take their mutual attraction was none of Derek’s business.
The remaining twenty-minute drive back to Headquarters was taken up with planning their interrogation of Vargas. Benny, Lieutenant Brannigan’s witness, had made his statement Sunday night to Heath and Derek and identified Vargas as the man who’d shot the two victims. The Lieutenant had assured the informant he’d be warned when Vargas was taken into custody. Now it was a matter of seeing how Vargas would try to talk his way out of two murder charges.
When they arrived back at Homicide, Heath spotted their sergeant standing in front of the large whiteboard talking with a Fed. Which reminded Heath, he still hadn’t heard back from Adam since a quick phone call yesterday. Fuck. A double murder case took all his focus. He wanted to help his brothers, but time and events were getting away from him.
Sergeant Hank Avery caught sight of Heath and turned to say something to the Fed before heading over. Short, with a piercing, dark gaze, which matched a razor sharp mind, the man was seven years older than Heath’s thirty. Tough but fair, he had the respect of the team of six detectives who answered to him.
Avery stopped next to Heath and Derek as they stood by their desks. “Nice job with the takedown of Vargas.”
“Thanks. We’re on our way to interview him.” Heath picked up the case file as Derek answered a call on his desk phone.
Avery’s gaze dropped to the file. “He’s lawyered up.”
So quick? “The guy didn’t waste time.”
“One of Vargas’s girls must have made a call.” The sergeant’s mouth slanted with distaste. “The guy only needs one girl under his thumb to do his bidding. So be careful. Vargas may be an asshole, but he’s not an idiot.” Avery shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan slacks. “I informed Lieutenant Brannigan we have Vargas. He’s notifying your witness.”
Heath nodded. “Right.” He glanced at Derek, who was hanging up his desk phone. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” Derek picked up a pad and pen from his desk. “That was the duty sergeant. Vargas and his lawyer are in interview room five.”
“Let’s not keep them waiting.” Heath glanced back at his sergeant. “We’ll keep you updated.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Avery headed back to the officers near the whiteboard.
Heath and Derek ignored the elevator and used the four flights of stairs down to the interview rooms to help expel the rush of energy that always filled a cop in the moments before interrogating a suspect. Calm and controlled were Heath’s goals, and for Vargas to feel the heat.
Opening the door to the interview room, Heath noted Vargas and his lawyer sat on one side of a metal table. Two chairs sat opposite.
The lawyer, wearing a cheap suit and making a show of checking his imitation Rolex, flashed Heath a smug smile. It takes an arsehole to enjoy defending an arsehole. At least in this case.
“Steven James, representing Mr. Ruiz Vargas,” the lawyer stated in a forceful tone. “I’d like to know how you think you can bring my client in on double murder charges?”
Derek ignored the lawyer and showed up the man’s amateurish behavior as he formally opened the interview by starting the video recording system and introducing everyone in the room.
Heath sat back in his chair and opened the case file, studying the covering page, his movements measured, unhurried.
Vargas shifted in his chair, stretching out one arm on the desk, and then the other before crossing both over his chest.
“Would you like to repeat your earlier question, Mr. James?” Derek addressed the lawyer.
“Why is my client here? What proof do you have?”
“An eyewitness saw Mr. Vargas shoot both victims and then place their bodies in the vehicle where they were found.”
Vargas shot up from his chair, his hands curling into angry fists. “You’re fucking joking.”
“Sit down,” Derek ordered in a deep, authoritative tone.
James tugged on his client’s arm. He pulled himself free of his lawyer’s grip and slung himself down into the chair.
“Fuckin’ bullshit.” Vargas stabbed a finger on the surface on the table. “I didn’t kill anybody.”
“No?” Heath closed the file with a casual wave of his hand. “Our witness says otherwise.”
Vargas stared back at Heath. “Bastard’s lying.”
“When was my client supposed to have committed these murders?” The counselor asked.
Heath kept his gaze on Vargas. “Last Wednesday night.” He noted the pimp’s shoulders stiffen, the way Vargas held his breath for a few seconds before exhaling. Nervous? Scared? “Where were you Wednesday night?”
“Away.” Vargas shuffled in his seat.
“Where?” Derek clicked the top of his pen, ready to take details.
Vargas went to speak, cursed, then said, “Oregon. Wanted some space.”
Derek clicked his pen once more, slowly, deliberately. “You drove?”
Vargas clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”
Click. “Did you have anyone with you?”
The suspect’s glare was hot enough to strip the dull gray paint off the interview room’s walls. “No.”
Click. “Stop anywhere, see anyone?”
The pimp shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “No.”
Click. “So you drove from Seattle to Oregon and kept driving around for kicks since Wednesday night.” Click.
A sullen stare from their suspect was the man’s only comment.
“When did you arrive back?”
Vargas’s lip curled. “Today, just before you grabbed me.”
“Where did you sleep during the last week?”
“In my car.”
Heath had heard enough. “A guy like you, who can get a woman whenever he wants, was forced to bunk down in the back of his ride? Not so impressive.” He waited, satisfied when a muscle ticked in the pimp’s jaw. “But you know what is? Our witness’s statement, which says he saw you shoot two people and dump their bodies in the same car they were found in on Sunday.”
Vargas lunged forward in his seat. “That’s fucking bullshit.” He stabbed the air with two fingers toward Heath. “Some motherfucker’s framing me, and you cocksuckers are too fucking dumb to work that out.”
“Sit back in the chair or you’ll go to your cell to cool down,” Derek warned, his blank expression and tone showing his boredom with Vargas’s antics.
Heath raised a brow. “Got a temper on you, Vargas.” A weakness. “You’re undisciplined. A man with no control makes mistakes.”
Vargas opened his mouth, but his attorney rushed to speak first. “Exactly what details are in this witness statement?”
“Your client drove up as one of his girls, Alyssa Holmes, was giving a blow job to Danny Jacobsen.” Heath watched as Vargas curled his mouth in scorn. “Vargas confronted Jacobsen about monies owed. Things got physical. Alyssa slapped Vargas in the face and chest. Your client took extreme offense, pulled a weapon, forced the victims to their knees, shot them, and placed the bodies in the trunk of the car where they were discovered Sunday afternoon.”
Vargas shook his head. “Like I said, bullshit.”
“But you’ve failed to give us a credible alibi. What’s the make and model of the car you drove? Traffic cameras can prove your story.”
Vargas remained silent.
James cast his client a worried glance, before facing Heath. “We’ve got nothing further to say at this moment. I need more time to confer with my client.”
No kidding? They weren’t going to get any answers tonight. Vargas needed breaking down over time. No problem. “Well Counselor, we’ve got your client for at least the next 72 hours before the DA has to make up his mind and press charges, so I suggest you come up with a better story than what you’ve given us so far.” Heath stood and followed Derek out the door. He instructed a uniformed officer to collect the prisoner and take him down to Holding for intake as soon as he was done with his lawyer.
Ba
ck at their desks, he and Derek trawled through a mountain of paperwork. Witness statements of the hookers gathered by their fellow detectives, along with checking what CSI reports had come through. Contrary to what people saw on fictional TV dramas, DNA and other results didn’t materialize in an hour. Keeping busy tracking down further evidence was the reality. And every bit helped. Especially since rain Saturday night had washed away any blood or other evidence in the alley where the witness alleged he saw Vargas murdering his vics. Making a case was one thing, but the DA could still file under a lesser charge if the legal eagles believed that would provide more likelihood of a conviction.
Since Vargas was adamant he’d been in Oregon, Derek contacted Portland PD and requested they monitor for any incidents under Vargas’s name.
Vargas’s prints had been sent to the CSI team to see if they’d score a hit on the car. Even if he’d wiped his prints clean, it was remotely possible there could be trace DNA around the driver’s seat area.
Derek tossed his pen onto his desk where it landed with a dull thud on top of a pile of paperwork. “It’s six-thirty.” He nodded toward the clock on the wall. “I say we leave for the night and view these statements again in the morning. Not that we’re going to find much joy. None of the women had anything of value to say about Vargas’s movements.”
“They haven’t shared a damn thing.” Heath rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Christ, even if they knew something, would they divulge that to a cop? “Okay, we’ll hit everything fresh tomorrow.” He grabbed his phone and stood. “Meet you at A New Chapter?
Derek studied him for a moment. Debating giving him a lecture about dating his sister? But the detective simply nodded. Heath didn’t hang around. He had a fresh shirt in his locker that would do for tonight. Time to change and get moving. He’d been waiting three long days to see London, get her in his arms, and kiss her. If he had to do that behind a stack of bookshelves, then fine. He’d make it worthy of a fucking bestseller.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Nadia. N-A-D-I-A.” The reader leaned over the table where London sat and signed copies of Rory’s Girl. Nadia’s sparkly black v-neck top glistened under the spotlight above London. “I’m so excited. My friends and I have this reading group we started on Facebook. They’ll be so freaking envious when share I have a signed copy.”