by Taylor Lee
Viviana convinced herself that Madge was being dramatic. Face it, nothing the obsequious Frank Reynolds had up his butt could be a problem for her. It was probably some political faux pas she’d made in one of her brazen press “comments” that reporters sought and seemed to love. Seeing Madge punch on her intercom, she was shocked to hear the desk sergeant say, “She’s here.”
Madge threw her a guilty shrug and murmured, “Sorry, Vivi, but he told me to tell him the instant you arrived.” Looking toward Jax’s office, Viviana was surprised to see him standing in the doorway. The expression on his face confirmed that Madge wasn’t overreacting. His curt order left little doubt. It indicated that, if anything, Madge had undersold the gravity of the situation. Pointing to his office, Jax glared at her and said, “In. Now.”
When she walked by him, he closed the door and pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down.”
Viviana bristled at his peremptory order, but his steely-eyed gaze left her no choice but to obey him. When he seated himself behind his desk and glared at her, she had enough. Returning his hard stare, she said, “What the hell is this about—”
He cut her off in the middle of her question. Glaring at her, he said in a voice that was all the more frightening because it was dangerously low, “Don’t say a fucking word until you hear me out, Sergeant Moreau.”
Seeing his cold expression, Viviana shrugged, not knowing how she could possibly answer him. She was glad that she hadn’t tried when he said, “I’m only going to say this once, Sergeant, so hear me and hear me well. Do. Not. Lie. To. Me.”
Too shocked to respond, she was glad she hadn’t tried when he added in a voice that could have cut through steel, “If you do, Sergeant, know that it is the last thing you will say as a member of the SJPD.”
At his stunning threat, Viviana sat up straighter in her chair and started to respond. He held up his hand. Her angry question died in her throat at the expression on his face. With a shudder, she realized that she’d seen his cold fury before. Specifically in Belize, when he brought a violent cartel member to the ground with a single strike of his hand. Not believing that he could possibly be that angry with her, she stammered, “What . . . what’s wrong, Jax? What’s happened?”
“That’s what we are going to find out, Sergeant.” He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Where were you this morning, Sergeant?”
She frowned, not sure what he was asking. “I don’t know what you mean. Where was I when?”
His voice was akin to chipped ice. “It’s a simple question, Sergeant, and requires a simple answer. You left here three hours ago. Where did you go, and who were you with?”
Viviana hesitated. She didn’t need the swarm of hornets chasing up her spine to tell her that she was in danger. The rigid expression on Jax’s face was more than enough warning. She decided to go for the truth and hope that she could put him off. Keeping her voice calm, she said, “Mick and I went out for coffee.” At his brusque nod ordering her to continue, she felt a quiver of fear. Was it possible that Mick had told him about giving the envelope to Ariel? She swallowed hard and decided that even if he had, the act in itself meant nothing.
“I’m not sure what you want from me, Jax.”
“That’s Commander Hughes to you, Sergeant Moreau. As for what I want from you, I want you to do something that you apparently have an extremely difficult time doing. That is to tell me the truth.”
At his stern reprimand, Viviana felt her own anger rise, but the cold fury she saw in his eyes shut down what might have been an angry response or even a flippant one. Now truly concerned that he may have talked to Mick, she knew she couldn’t take a chance on dissembling. Besides, she needed to find out what he knew. She sucked in a deep breath and said, “Detective O’Reilly delivered a package for me. He wanted to let me know that he’d done what I asked.”
Jax was curt. “What package, and to whom?”
Viviana pulled back. “I don’t understand, Jax—Commander Hughes. I don’t know what you want me to say . . . ”
His voice was razor sharp, all the more cutting because it was silky soft. “Answer me. What was in the package you gave to Detective O’Reilly, and to whom did he deliver it?”
When she hesitated, he leaned forward and captured her in his glare. “Answer me, Sergeant.”
Too startled to question him, she said, “It was an envelope. He gave it to my informant.”
“The young girl?”
She nodded and forced herself to hold his stern gaze. Shocked, she realized that somehow Jax had found out what was in the envelope. But how could he have? A flash of insight skittered across her shell-shocked brain. Remembering Madge’s description of an infuriated Frank Reynolds charging into Jax’s office, she tried to think how Frank Reynolds could possibly know anything about the case she was working on. She was so absorbed in her effort to determine how Frank was involved that she didn’t see Jax rise from his desk. When she looked up, she was shocked to see him rounding his desk and coming toward her. He grabbed a chair from the conference table and smacked it down beside her. Sinking onto it, he leaned forward within inches of her. His penetrating gaze underscored his fury. She’d never realized that anger was palpable, but the heated anger rolling off Jax in sheets was like a wall of fire racing through a burning forest, heading directly for her. His clipped tones were gunshots shattering her practiced reserve. “Last time, Sergeant Moreau. What was in the envelope you had Detective O’Reilly give your informant? Answer me . . . now.”
His determined anger didn’t allow her to refuse. Viviana shrugged and said, “Photographs.”
Seeing his raised brow and his clenched jaw tightening further, she put up her hands and blew out a hard sigh. Knowing that she couldn’t hide from him, she decided to do what she rarely did in challenging situations—she told the truth. Without further feigning, she said with a dismissive shrug, “I gave her pictures of men that I believe are involved in the underage sex trafficking ring I’m investigating.” Ignoring his stony expression that was stiffening to the point of cracking, she added, “I asked her if she had seen any of them at the parties her pimp forced her to attend.”
Jax’s hard voice could have broken through concrete. That it was low, striped with danger, sent threatening waves of fear through her gut. But it was the question he asked that confirmed she had truly met her Waterloo in a man who was more powerful than any she’d ever confronted.
“Did those photographs include Ninth Circuit Judge Felix Mathias, District Attorney Jonathan Adams, District Attorney Michael Bremer, and venture capitalist Herman Gladney?”
She simply nodded and said, “Yes. Among others. But those four were the only ones Ariel recognized.”
Chapter 24
Madge had tried to give him a heads up, but Frank Reynolds had already burst through his office door before Jax could rise to his feet. The clearly irate public relations flack slammed the door behind him and was at Jax’s desk in seconds. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, his face inches from Jax. The purplish patches on his cheeks darkened, as did the fury in his eyes when he spit out, “Goddammit, Jax. This does it. I’m telling you that even for her, this is so far over the fucking line, she has to go. You need to pull her back now. Fuck that. You need to fire her. Now, as of this moment.”
Jax rose slowly to his feet and turned a steely gaze on the fuming man who was trembling with rage. He’d never particularly liked the slick guy who, no matter what the topic was or who he was shafting at the moment, always had a snarky comment or ironic double entendre that was at least entertaining. But there was nothing entertaining about the sweating man’s rage. It was also clear who the “her” was that he was shrieking about. There wasn’t a person in the city—make that the country, Jax decided—who could set off the explosions Sergeant Moreau could.
As Reynolds grabbed a breath, clearly intending to continue hyperventilating, Jax held up his hand and said in a quietly stern voice, “Tell you
what, Frank, how about you take a chair and grab a few deep breaths. Once you get hold of yourself, then you can tell me the latest outrages presumably committed by my admittedly outrageous sergeant.”
Reynolds cheeks flared brighter and spittle oozed from the corners of his puffy lips. He shoved at his wire-rimmed glasses, pushing them farther askew, and bellowed, “Goddammit, Jax, you don’t get it. This time she has gone too fucking far—”
Jax voice was firm as he pointed to the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down, Frank. Now.”
Something in Jax’s command must have cut through his incoherent outrage, because Frank practically fell into the chair. Jax nodded his approval and said, “While you are getting control of yourself, Frank, can I offer you a glass of water? Or given the apparently serious circumstances, a stiff shot of whiskey may be the better choice.”
At Frank’s head-bobbing agreement, Jax strolled to his liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of Maker’s Mark and two glasses. Pouring a generous amount of the amber liquid in each of the glasses, Jax purposefully slowed his movements to give the agitated man time to calm himself. He sank onto his chair and handed one of the glasses to Frank, who grabbed it and drank at least half of the pungent alcohol before Jax picked up his glass.
Deciding that more alcohol was the last thing the irate man needed, Jax said quietly, not couching the edge in his firm voice, “How about you tell me, Frank, what Sergeant Moreau has done that has upset you to this degree.”
Reynolds made a visible effort to contain himself. Reaching in his pocket, he dragged out a monogrammed linen handkerchief and mopped at his sweaty face and neck. Taking off his eyeglasses, he swiped at both eyes, then smacked his specs back in place. He picked up his glass and drained it.
Jax reached for the bottle and poured a judicious inch of Maker’s Mark into his glass. Frank nodded, as if acknowledging that he needed to contain himself. When he still struggled to respond coherently, Jax pressed him.
“Let’s hear it, Frank. What seismic shifts on the California coast has our over-the-top Enchantress caused this time? Any major cities decimated by Rector-smashing earthquakes? Has she caused the always locked, loaded, and ready-to-roll San Andreas fault to explode?”
Obviously seeing Jax’s banked amusement, Reynolds glared at him and then lashed out. “How about accusing a sitting judge, a couple of district attorneys, and a major venture capitalist of attending sex parties featuring underage prostitutes? Is that seismic shift enough for you, Commander Hughes?”
Knowing that he had to have shocked Jax, Reynolds planted his usual sneer on his ruddy face.
“Well, I’m glad that I’ve managed to get your attention, Commander Hughes. All I can say is welcome to Viviana Moreau’s world.” His voice hardened as he glared at Jax. “This is why we hired you, Jax. You need to fire her immediately!”
****
It wasn’t until Viviana calmly said that her informant had recognized four of the men in the pictures she’d been given as men who had been at the parties that Jax allowed himself to admit the shattering truth. He’d been tempted to throw the fuming PR flack out on his ass when he suggested that Viviana was targeting community leaders and intimating that they were attending sex parties that included young girls. Only after Frank got control of himself and began telling Jax what he, as Sergeant Moreau’s supervisor, needed to do did Jax allow his temper to flare. He listened to Reynolds’s vitriolic tirade calling Viviana everything from a traitor to her city to an incompetent cop, but the asshole went over the edge when he concluded that she was nothing more than a media whore. When Jax rounded his desk and moved toward him, Reynolds seemed to realize he’d gone a bridge too far. He started in surprise at Jax’s advance and began backing up toward the door. Jax could only guess what it was his expression conveyed that made Reynolds pull back, but just in case he misread it, Jax made sure that his words spoke volumes.
Looming over the now silent man who was staring up at him nervously, Jax said, “That’s enough, Frank. I appreciate you coming in to tell me what you think one of my officers has done.”
Frank gathered his courage and said, “Think? Hell, Jax, I know! And as I said, we’re ordering you to—”
“I said that’s enough, Frank. No one, including you, or the mayor, or the goddamned governor, orders me to do anything. To be as clear as I can be—I and I alone am responsible for dealing with Sergeant Moreau’s actions. Now, if you would, please leave my office so that I can address this issue.”
Ushering the stuttering man out the door, Jax ignored his muttered curses and promises of retribution, then closed the door and yanked out his phone. He texted Viviana to come to his office immediately, then went to convey the same message to his desk sergeant. Waiting for her to arrive, Jax convinced himself that Reynolds was exaggerating. There was no way that Viviana would be surveilling the kind of men that Reynolds accused her of harassing without telling him. Even as he said it, Jax knew in his gut he was wrong. Not only would she not tell him but there was probably a hell of a lot more that Reynolds didn’t know.
Now, minutes into his “conversation” with a pale-faced Sergeant Moreau, she’d
confirmed everything that Reynolds had relayed to him. Jax forced himself to respond to her calm assertion.
“Let me be sure that I understand, Sergeant. Your informant identified Judge Mathias and the others from pictures you gave her. Or, more correctly, Detective O’Reilly gave her.”
Viviana shook her head fiercely. “No, Mick only did as I asked. He delivered the envelope to Ariel. He didn’t know what was in it.”
“Are you saying that you haven’t brought your partner into the case, that you merely used him as a messenger boy?”
When Viviana’s cheeks flushed as she raised her chin and nodded, Jax sneered. “Well. At least I’m not the only one you are willing to lie to.”
She disagreed with a dismissive snort. “I didn’t lie to him any more than I lied to you.”
With an effort, Jax managed to keep from attacking her physically. Instead he merely said in a voice that spoke to his simmering anger, “You’re wrong, Sergeant. You have lied repeatedly to me by omission, if not by outright commission. We will deal with the issue of your dishonesty after I’m clear on what else you have done.” He saw her shoulders stiffen as if to ward him off, confirming that there was more she hadn’t told him—likely much more. He began to attack her defensive wall.
“Where did you get the photographs?”
She frowned and visibly swallowed. He moved several inches closer to her, invading her personal space. He kept his voice low but didn’t bother to hide his now seething rage.
“Understand, Sergeant, I am going to ask you a series of questions, and you are going to answer them. I’m warning you, one lie and we are done.” Gratified that she paled, he piled on. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” When she reluctantly nodded, he shook his head. “Not good enough, Sergeant.” He held his finger a scant inch away from his thumb and said, “Please tell me you understand that I am this close to taking your badge away and ensuring that you never get it back. All it will take is one more lie.”
Jax glared at her and waited for her to respond. Seeing the fury flashing in her eyes at his threat, he knew it likely took everything she had not to spit in his face and flee from the room. Fortunately for them both, she seemed to understand that he was serious.
Finally she answered haltingly, “I know that you think you can take my badge away—”
He held up his hand and shook his head. “Don’t do it, Sergeant.”
She snarled. “Don’t do what?”
He held her gaze and said, “Don’t test me. You can’t win.” He waited while she visibly struggled between her rage and her fear. To his relief, she finally concluded that his threat was real.
Refusing to meet his eyes, she muttered, “I understand that I can’t lie to you or I will lose my badge.”
“Good. I’m glad that you understand. Back to m
y last question, which you didn’t answer. Where did you get the photographs?”
She shrugged. “From a friend of mine.”
At his glare, she quickly added, “I asked my friend to take the pictures and he did.”
“You indicated that there were more pictures in the envelope than the four men your informant identified. How many were there, and how did you decide who to put on your list of potential rapists? Which is a hell of an important criterion, as you know that is how we define men or women who force underage girls or boys to have sex with them.”
Viviana started at his use of the term but also seemed relieved.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Commander Hughes. That we are dealing with a group of hideous rapists . . . ”
“No, Sergeant, you have not been trying to tell me anything. Indeed, you have done your damnedest to keep from telling me a goddamn thing regarding your investigation. Only when I forced you to answer a direct question did you admit that you had a list of important men who you believed were attending parties that pimp young girls. And now, Sergeant Moreau, you are going to tell me how many people are on that list, where you got your information, and who took the goddamn pictures that were in the envelope you tricked your unknowing partner to take to your informant. Before you answer those questions, one more logistical detail—why did you dupe Detective O’Reilly into delivering the envelope? Why didn’t you give it to the girl yourself?”
She shrugged. “We were concerned that the perpetrators and her pimp are watching her. If they saw her with me, they might guess that I’m on to them. That would put my informant in grave danger.”
Nodding at what seemed to be a forthcoming answer to his question, Jax steeled himself for the next battle. “Thank you for that answer, Sergeant. Now if you would, please be as forthright answering my other questions. The key question being how the fuck did you determine who got on your list of potential rapists?”