I hear Luke talking to Cole beside us. Excusing himself, because he has to go. Then his hand is on my back, and I twist around, almost hugging him before I remember we’re not alone.
“Thank you,” I say instead. Two simple little words. Easy. Polite. “And good luck.”
He holds my gaze, then nods. “We don’t need luck, princess. But I’ll take it.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m being dragged deeper into the suite. Ali has a big plan to watch Queer Eye and not talk about the criminal takedown that’s about to happen on the other side of the city. Hailey is reassuring me that Cole will be on top of any updates.
And all I can think about is the detective who just walked out that door and took a part of me with him.
33
Luke
It takes the captain less than an hour. When she arrives with the warrant, we’re waiting in a surveillance van a block away from Newcomb’s apartment, a low-lying nondescript walk-up in a low-rent neighborhood.
We have an undercover team playing basketball right outside his window, and to the best of our knowledge, he isn’t home.
“The warrant is pretty tight,” Woods says. “We’re looking for evidence of stalking Taylor. That’s it. If we don’t find that, we can’t keep looking for murder evidence, not unless it’s lying in plain sight. Got it? We can’t fuck this up. He might be just as smart as he is dangerous. If we don’t find it now, we need to leave room open to find it later.”
“Yes, boss.”
“All right. On my signal, let’s go.”
We radio for a last update on his whereabouts then head in. The van drops us as close as humanly possible without driving through his wall.
McBride and Singh go first, with the warrant. They find the superintendent, who likes the piece of paper more than he likes his tenant, and immediately lets them in.
The captain and I follow as soon as they’re at the door.
Inside, it’s a generic one bedroom with rent-a-room furniture and a vague smell of single man. Cologne and too-strong lemon Pledge.
“Nothing visible in the living room,” Singh says. “Sarah, you take the bedroom. I’ll check the kitchen, such as it is.”
“Not a problem,” McBride says, stopping in the doorway of the bedroom. She turns around, whipping her hand out and planting it in the middle of my chest.
Holding me back because…holy fuck.
The place is a shrine to Taylor. Her photos are everywhere.
And so are photos of the reservoir.
Every murder victim photographed. Taylor’s head imposed on each of the bodies.
Behind me, Captain Woods swears under her breath, then calls in the update. “Suspect should be considered armed and dangerous. Let’s keep this to the tightest possible comms channels. Suspect is a Secret Service agent. Repeat, he should be considered armed and dangerous. Last known whereabouts was the Northeast police station approximately ninety minutes ago.”
When she finishes, she looks at me, then to Singh and McBride. “What next?”
Right.
This is their case. I was brought along as a courtesy. But I’m a good cop, and an extra body. I’m still in this, whether they think they need me or not.
Ram gestures at the bedroom. “I’ll stay here until Forensics arrives to document and bag up this psychotic mess. Captain, you and McBride go back to the station and work the comms fan out. We may need federal assistance to find this fucker.”
“Cole Parker has resources,” I say, my throat tight.
I’ll fucking use them even if the LAPD can’t.
The captain coughs. “One thing at a time, Vasquez. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
But if it does, I know what choice I’ll make.
I’ll protect Taylor, every fucking time.
“Are you going back to the hotel?” Sarah asks me.
I should. I will. But first, I need to go through this scene quietly myself. I need to know who this guy is, what makes him tick. “I’ll keep Ram company until Forensics arrives.”
Once they clear out, Ram closes the apartment door and gestures to the bedroom. “Have at it. Just don’t touch anything. Or torch anything.”
“Was I that easy to read?”
“It’s what I would want if I were head over tits in love with a victim.”
“I’m not—” I cut myself off. I wouldn’t pretend that I’m not wrapped around her. Denying how I feel is all kinds of wrong. “It’s complicated.”
He waves his left hand at me, where his wedding ring sits. “I get it, man.”
I pull out my phone. We’ll have proper crime scene photos to pore over later, but right now, I want to have a working sense of the scene at my finger tips. I take video first, then photos, from the angles I imagine he’d look at the wall.
From the bed, which I’d like to light on fire.
Up close, where I can see fingerprints on the photos.
Fucking sloppy motherfucker.
I pull on a pair of gloves and nudge the drawer on his bedside table open. Nothing exciting in there. Same with his dresser. He’s fastidiously clean, and boring on the surface, except for the creepy murder wall.
But under the bed, I find pay dirt. Dude has a box of international passport blanks and a slick looking printer, embosser. “Ram, in here.”
I carefully flip through the stash.
“That’s touching shit,” he warns me.
“The Feds are going to want in here now for sure,” I say. “Call the captain. I bet this guy has been crooked his whole time with the Secret Service. It probably doesn’t trump your murder charges, but this is a weird side business for a federal agent. Who’s in the market for…” I hold up one of the blanks. “A Moroccan passport, for example. Or a New Zealand passport.”
“Mercenaries. Spies.”
“Right.”
Our radios whisper-squawk at the same time. “Team 1, suspect is approaching the building. Advise on action. Should we arrest?”
Ram looks at me and I shake my head. If I have the option of taking this asshole down, I want it.
“Let him enter. We’ll arrest him inside.” He releases the call button on his radio. “Where do you want to wait for him?”
“Behind the door out there.” I return the passport supplies to where I found them and jump to my feet.
I pull the gloves off as I move swiftly to the entrance, then I slide my Glock out of my holster and take position.
On the other side of the door, I hear Newcomb stop and slide his key into the lock.
My pulse jacks up a beat. Three, two…
The handle turns, and the door swings open, temporarily covering my location. When it shuts, revealing Newcomb’s back to me, I silently bring my weapon up, aiming at his centre of mass. “Freeze, asshole. I’ve got you covered. Don’t move.”
He moves. Of course he does. He twists around, dropping to kick my legs out from under me.
I’m ready. I jump, driving my knee into his skull before I tumble on top of him. I’m not sure what part of his arm I grab, but he screams as I wrench it behind his back and shove, twisting him to find the other motherfucking wrist so we can get him in cuffs.
Ram is right there, ready to slap them on as I wrestle my way clear.
And when I stand up, I’m breathing hard, even though it all happened in an instant.
I shrug at my colleague. “I told him not to move.”
“You did,” Ram says blandly. “I heard it with my own two ears and everything.”
I search him quickly, and find he’s carrying in a shoulder holster. Ram puts gloves on and removes the weapon before I continue, but the rest of my search is boring. His pockets are empty, and his wallet doesn’t produce anything interesting either.
“Perry Newcomb, you disgusting piece of shit, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney before we ask you any questions.
You have the right to have your lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one can be appointed for you if you wish. If you decide to answer any questions now without an attorney present, you have the right to stop answering at any time. Is that clear?”
At our feet, Newcomb doesn’t say anything.
“Maybe he didn’t hear me,” I say to Ram, conversationally. “Should I repeat it louder?”
“I heard it just fine. We can move on to asking him those questions now.”
“We should stand him up, then.” I grin as I reach down and grab him forcefully by the arm. “Up you get, asshole.”
But the Secret Service agent isn’t interested in talking. He stares at me in silence once we get him upright.
“This is all pretty damning evidence,” I say softly as I move around him. “You probably only have a small window here to affect what happens next. Once the D.A. is involved, all bets are off.” Nothing.
Ram tries next. “You look like a serial killer with this room, Perry. I know you probably aren’t.” He waves his hand at the wall. “This is all about Taylor Reid, isn’t it? You don’t want to kill indiscriminately. You just want her. Right?”
Cold refusal to speak.
Heavy footsteps sound in the hallway outside. “All right. Crime scene team is here. Let’s get this asshole to the station.” I turn around so the uniforms will see my badge when they come in through the door Ram propped open.
We hand over the scene to the forensics team and haul Newcomb out to a marked car. I leave Ram to ride with the suspect, and go around the block to get my own car.
After I take off my bullet-resistant vest and stash it in my trunk, I text Parker a brief update, then head straight for the station.
“You’re on vacation,” Captain Woods reminds me when I stalk into the squad room. “You don’t need to be here for this.”
“I’m the arresting officer.”
“I saw that,” she says dryly. “I trust that you didn’t leave any bruises on him?”
Probably not. “It was by the book. Has he lawyered up yet?”
“Yeah, as soon as we fingerprinted him.”
“Is the D.A. on the way?”
“The D.A. is in the house,” I hear from behind me, and I turn around at the sound of a familiar, but no-longer-friendly voice.
Assistant District Attorney Nora Vance.
Ex-girlfriend.
Ex-friend.
By-the-book fanatic.
She stops in front of me, a tall, cool drink of professionalism and disdain. “What do we have?”
“I should let McBride and Singh field this one,” I say, stepping out of the way.
She closes her eyes like she’s saying a silent prayer I haven’t fucked up a case.
That makes two of us, but I know I didn’t.
“Executed a warrant looking for evidence that the suspect, Perry Newcomb, was stalking Taylor Reid, a woman he knew from Washington, D.C. He did not disclose their previous relationship—”
“Relationship? Is this a domestic violence case?”
“Sorry, I misspoke,” Sarah explained. “Their previous relationship was tangential. He provided protective detail for the Vice President—the former Vice President—and Ms. Reid was…an acquaintance of VPOTUS.”
Nora blinks. “Wait. The same Reid family who were in the news last week for financial crimes? The ones who are connected to the current POTUS?”
“The same.”
She holds out her hand for the case file. “I heard a bit about this case. I thought the Feds had it.”
“The local connection is the reservoir murders.” McBride’s face is beyond grim. “When we executed the warrant, we found photographic evidence that Newcomb was responsible for those as well.”
“Is that why you went there? Because you connected the two cases?”
McBride and Singh exchange a wary look. “Yes. But we stuck to the scope of the warrant. He had the murder evidence glued to his wall in plain sight.”
“All right. Thanks. Obviously, I’ll be arguing against bail. You can transfer him to booking since he’s lawyered up and won’t talk. Has his attorney shown up yet?”
“Right behind you, counselor.” I don’t recognize this guy, but he looks expensive.
Nora knows him, though. They greet each other cordially, although he doesn’t hide that he’s a pit bull. “Your detectives had no right to be in my client’s apartment, A.D.A. I’ve reviewed the warrant. It was an overreach, based on nothing but the wild accusations of a woman whose reputation for lying has international reach. We’ll see you in court, and this will be thrown out.” He gives McBride, Singh, and me a dirty look. “My client was working the same case as your detectives, clearly, and they wildly misinterpreted the information they found in his apartment.”
Working the same case. I can’t stop myself from storming across the squad room. My colleagues get me before I punch him, McBride grabbing one arm and Singh putting his entire body in front of me on the other side. “Get out of here,” I growl. “Your client isn’t going anywhere tonight, so your dirty work is done, you piece of shit.”
“Detective,” Nora smoothly says behind me.
I shrug off my friends. “He’s not fucking worth it.”
“There’s a process here,” she reminds me. “Please don’t interfere with it.”
“I’m out. I’m out,” I repeat. So fucking out.
“Good.” She turns to the lawyer. “Bring that argument to court. Don’t air it in front of my detectives. And Vasquez is right. Your client poses a clear danger to the population. I’m confident the warrant was executed appropriately, and the rest is up to a judge to determine.”
He leaves, and she gives me a pointed look, like, this better be clear cut.
Aw, fuck it. I jerk my head toward the empty conference room. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.” She glances over at McBride. “I’ll be right back so we can go over my response to his ridiculous motion, all right? I need to know everything—and I mean everything—about how the warrant came about.”
Sarah nods, then gives me an awkward thumbs up when Nora turns around again.
I laugh despite myself.
Once in the conference room, I push the door shut and get right to the point. “I need to disclose a personal relationship with the victim of the crime here, Taylor Reid.”
Nora groans. “Really, Luke?”
“I’m being upfront about this.”
“Why were you involved in the arrest? Jesus Christ, you always need to be such a fucking hero.”
I don’t have a great answer for that. She’s not wrong. Still, I regret nothing. “We didn’t know he’d return to the apartment.”
“That seems like splitting hairs. You shouldn’t have been involved in the investigation to begin with.”
I wasn’t involved with Taylor when the investigation started, but I’m going to leave that detail out. It doesn’t matter now. “Nora, you know I’m a good cop.”
“I know you like to break rules when they get in your way. Try not to do that anymore.” She jerks her head in the direction of Sarah and Ram. “Do they know?”
“Yes.”
Her face softens, shifting from prosecutor to ex-girlfriend. “Do you know about her history?”
Something twitches painfully in my neck. “Of course I do. And she knows about mine.” I say this pointedly, because Nora can’t think she has the emotional upper hand when it comes to interviewing Taylor. If this goes to trial, it’s going to be messy and public.
I’ve reconciled myself to that fact.
I don’t like it, and Nora will know that. I’ve always been intensely private. From her perspective, there’s no way Taylor and I make sense.
Frankly, I don’t care if it makes sense to anyone other than us. “She’s been through a lot in the last week, in her whole lifetime, and she’s been brutally honest with me.” Even if it took some cajoling and threats-slash-promise
s of punishment. “There’s more, too. It’s for her to tell, and a lot of it is out of our jurisdiction, but she could bring down empires.”
Tension radiates from Nora’s gaze. I can practically hear her competing thoughts. But is she a reliable witness? What a challenge, though.
“Meet her with an open mind,” I say, my voice low and thick with urgency. “She busted this case wide open for us by putting herself out there on the ledge. It’s going to feel fucking precarious for her right now.”
34
Taylor
Cole brings us takeout for dinner and passes on an update that Luke arrested Perry Newcomb at his apartment.
I let out a breath I feel like I’ve been holding since I arrived at the Wilshire. “That’s great,” I say, truly relieved. “Is Luke coming here?”
“He’s heading to the station,” Cole says.
I try to hide my disappointment, but I do a crap job, and my sisters notice. As the evening progresses, Ali gives me a look every time I say Luke’s name. Maybe because I say his name every third sentence despite trying really hard to talk about anything else.
Maybe also because I turn a little pink when she calls me on it. “Fess up. What’s going on between you and the hot cop?”
“Uh…” I look back and forth between my sisters. Hailey’s gaze is dark and unreadable. I hate that I’m worried about her judging me. I’ve done a lot of hard work to get out from under that shame monster. “We’re sleeping together. We’ve talked about dating once this is all over. It’s not ideal, we both know that, but we’re honest about it. He’s big on talking and boundaries. He’s a good guy,” I say, ending on what sounds like a weak note. Like I need to defend him. “It’s not—”
“It’s okay,” Ali says.
Hailey stays quiet.
“I know it’s okay. But it’s not ideal.” I repeat the lines I’ve told myself a dozen times over the last few days. “Maybe I’m not cut out for doing anything quite the right way.”
“There’s no such thing as a right way,” Hailey finally says.
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