The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 1

by Maegan Beaumont

  She stared down at the hands clasped together in her lap, watched them shake. “I need you to leave.” She looked up at him. “Please.”

  “Fear of being killed will only keep Michael in his place for so long. Sooner or later, he’s going to get tired of my father pulling his strings. Michael’ll go after him and when that happens, my father’ll kill him—and Michael won’t care. But if my father has you… he can make Michael do anything he wants, for as long as he wants,” Ben said in a level tone that scared her.

  “Get. Out.” She reached over and began to lower the railing on the bed, intent on throwing him out of her room if that’s what it took to make him leave.

  Ben reached out and clamped a hand around her wrist, giving his head a small shake. “Or maybe you are listening but just don’t care,” he said, leaning forward to peer into her eyes. “I can save you… almost like none of this ever happened. I can give you your life back, but you have to want to be saved, Sabrina.” He stared at her hard. “It won’t work unless you want it to.”

  You have to want to be saved…

  She was tired. Tired of all of it—the killing and the certainty that no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to alleviate the guilt she carried, it would never be enough. She didn’t want to be saved—she didn’t deserve it. Not when so many had died.

  Images fought their way to the front of her mind. Her best friend, Valerie. Riley and Jason—her siblings. Her partner, Strickland… Michael. It wasn’t just her that Livingston Shaw would come for. No matter what she wanted, she needed to protect the ones she loved.

  She nodded her head. “Yes… okay.”

  He sat back, looking relieved. “You’re gonna have to trust me. Do whatever I tell you to without question. Can you do that?” he said, doubt creeping into his voice.

  “Yes,” she said, sounding much more confident than she felt.

  Ben stood, his eyes dropping down to her thigh. Reaching over, he plucked her hand off her leg and held it. She’d been pushing on her wound again, without even knowing it. The hand that held hers was scarred—the thin layer of skin that covered the back of it puckered into a circular mass of shiny white tissue. It was an old bullet wound; she’d seen enough of them to know. Before she could ask what’d happened he dropped her hand and shoved his into the pockets of his fatigues.

  “Good, you can start by knocking that shit off. You won. Wade lost. Nothing that happened in between is your fault, so stop punishing yourself.” He turned toward the door, pulled it open before he spoke again. “He’s a wreck,” he said, tossing her a look over his shoulder. “Worried. Blaming himself for leaving you alone. But he loves you enough to stay away from you. I’ll be in touch.”

  He was talking about Michael… “Did he send you here?”

  Ben scoffed and shook his head. “Are you kidding me? If he knew I’d even thought of coming here, he’d have garroted me in my sleep. He’s a bit over-protective when it comes to you.”

  “Then why are you helping me?” she said.

  He smiled. “So when I need your help and ask for it, you’ll be more inclined to give it to me.” Ben turned and walked out without a backward glance, the door whispering closed behind him. Sabrina reached over and clicked off the light but didn’t lie back down. She sat where she was and stared at the door he’d left through, long after he was gone.

  2

  San Francisco, California ~ Eight months later

  It felt like home.

  Every time she squeezed the trigger, the pressure building inside her eased off until there was nothing left but a steady flow of calm. That’s the way it always was. She wasn’t sure what it said about her, but she’d decided long ago she didn’t care.

  Hips shifted, legs parted and feet planted firmly, Sabrina lifted her arms, her beloved SIG held in a two-fisted grip, finger resting lightly on the trigger. She squeezed it, eight times, in rapid succession, placing each bullet center mass until the paper silhouette had a hole in its chest big enough to put her fist through.

  Ejecting the magazine, she got busy re-loading. It was just after noon—she had another thirty-minutes before every stall in the station shooting range was filled. She’d go back upstairs before then, not really wanting to put up with the stares and whispers her presence garnered.

  Her return to work as a SFPD homicide inspector a few months ago had proved a bit more controversial than she hoped for. Being dubbed “The One That Got Away” by an enterprising reporter at some obscure news rag had turned her life upside down.

  Jaxon Croft had spent the last eight months building his career by spilling it all—what’d happened to her as a young girl, the fact that the man who raped and tortured her for months had, in fact, been her brother. Recounting her involvement in Sanford’s death. The bodies found in the woods that had been Wade’s killing field. Croft never blamed her, never said it was her fault but he didn’t have to. He just milked her story for all it was worth, rung her dry, and still wanted more. He was relentless in his pursuit of what he thought would be the cherry on top of his career sundae—an exclusive from her, recounting what’d happened between her and Wade in the woods.

  Every time he asked, she told him no. Because of him, every badge in the house knew who she was—who she used to be. Had known before she even submitted her reinstatement paperwork. Half of them thought she wasn’t fit to serve and the other half thought she was a liar and a murderer. No—Jaxon Croft wasn’t getting what he wanted from her. Not ever.

  She felt a light tap on her shoulder. Expecting her partner, Sabrina turned, but it wasn’t Strickland. Feeling her face split in a rare grin, she holstered her weapon and pulled the molded plugs out of her ears before slipping her eye protection upward to rest on the top of her head.

  “Shit, Vaughn, remind me not to piss you off,” Nickels said, leaning against the stall entrance with a smile on his face. She’d been back on the job for a little over two months now and hadn’t seen much of her former SWAT teammate. Seeing him now, she realized just how much she missed him. Thanks to Jaxon Croft, everyone thought that she and Nickels were involved. Being seen together was something neither one of them could afford. She’d rather eat glass than give Croft one more word to print about her.

  Sabrina looked at the target and the piles of shredded paper littering the range floor. She was working on her seventh silhouette. “It’s like therapy. With bullets,” she said, giving Nickels a smart ass smirk that caused him to bust out laughing.

  “Anyone I know?” he said, nudging her shoe with the toe of his own lace-up boot. He was dressed in black from head to foot. From the looks of him, her former team had just rolled in and judging by the exhaustion dug into Nickels’ face, the job had been a long one.

  She looked over her shoulder at the shredded silhouette still hanging on the clip. She had a lot of fantasy targets to choose from these days “Numbers one through four were Captain Mathews,” she said, shooting him humorless grin. “I’m working on my Jaxon Croft issues now.”

  The name flattened Nickels’ mouth into a thin, hard line. “In that case, can I take a few dozen shots?” he said.

  “Strickland wants to bribe parking enforcement to boot his car,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I’m down for that. How about we get him picked up for soliciting while we’re at it? Maybe plant drugs in his car… add a couple unresolved felonies to his record?” he said, a wicked grin creeping into his whiskey-colored eyes. For a second she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

  “Ha, ha.” Taking a glance at her watch, she saw she didn’t have time for another round. She finished reloading her magazine and slapped it into the grip of her SIG before holstering it. She dropped her earbuds and safety glasses into her duffle and turned toward him again, leaning her hips against the low counter that held her gear. “Remind me to keep you and Strickland far, far away from each other.”

  “Hey, Vaughn—you still down here?”

  It was Strickla
nd, speak of the devil. She moved to skirt past Nickels but he wasn’t budging. “Move,” she practically mouthed the word, cranking her head around his shoulder. She always took the stall farthest from the entrance. No way could Strickland see her or who she was with. And she wanted to keep it that way. Partnering with her cost him—the last thing she wanted was for him to think she wasn’t doing everything she could to keep the damage she’d caused to a minimum.

  “Yup. Just finished—be up in a few.” She doubled up her fist and socked Nickels in the bicep.

  “Oww,” Nickels mouthed back, catching her fist and holding it before she could do it again.

  “Right. Okay… well, Mathews is looking for you and your Kung Pao is getting cold. Again,” Strickland said, closer than before but still not close enough to see inside the stall.

  She leaned back against the counter again. “Alright. Thanks.”

  “Hey, Nick,” Strickland said, just to let her know it was stupid of her to think she could hide anything from him. Ever.

  Nickels smirked down at her, still holding her hand. “Hey, Strickland—you got a few minutes? I was thinking of going over to parking enforcement. See if I can talk someone into laying down a boot on our favorite reporter.”

  Strickland laughed from the doorway. “I’m ready when you are,” he said, his laughter trailing down the hallway as he made his way back upstairs.

  She pulled her fist out of his grasp and picked up her duffle. “Not. Funny.” She shoved her way past him.

  “A little funny,” he said, catching her hand again.

  She kept her eyes straight ahead, felt the gentle pull of his fingers around hers… and thought of Michael. His hands on her face. The way his body had swayed into hers. The firm pressure of his mouth on hers.

  I’ll come back for you. I promise I’ll find a way…

  She could wait a lifetime but Ben had made it clear to her that night he’d offered to make it all go away… Michael wasn’t coming back. The unforeseeable problem Croft had become notwithstanding, Ben had delivered. He’d gotten her badge back. Somehow gotten her cleared of the charges that’d piled up against her. But he couldn’t make her forget.

  That part she had to do on her own.

  She shot Nickels a look over her shoulder. “You know I’m seeing someone,” she said for no particular reason.

  He grinned at her but she could tell it cost him. “Who? The doctor?”

  “Yeah, the doctor.” His name was Liam. He’d been the attending for the murder victim in a case she and Strickland were working. She’d questioned him and he’d followed it up by asking her out.

  Nickels grin lost some of its shine, his grip tightening a bit around her fingers. “Is it serious?”

  She just shrugged. So far they’d been out for two coffees, lunch and a Giants’ game. He was pressing her for dinner but she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she ever would be. “It was good seeing you again, Nick.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze before pulling away to head upstairs. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  3

  Sabrina dropped into her chair and kicked her feet up on her desk, her boot nudging the white paper takeout box that held her lunch. Next to it was a clear glass vase, filled with roses. Red roses—nine of them. Always nine, with a red bow tucked in among the green. No card. Every day, at noon, the uniform riding the info desk in the lobby brought them up to her. Every day for two months, she left her desk so she didn’t have to see them coming at her across the bullpen.

  Glancing in the direction of Mathews’ office, she used the heel of her boot to kick the carton of Chinese off her desk and into the trash. The last thing she needed was to throw a bunch of Chinatown’s finest on top of the churning ball of anxiety she was carrying around. She pretended to ignore the flowers. One of the guys would come by and take them home to his wife or girlfriend—they had some sort of system worked out. She didn’t care. Didn’t want them.

  “You need to eat something,” Strickland said without looking up from the hunt-and-peck routine he was pulling on his computer keyboard.

  “I’m not hungry, Mom.” Leaning back, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. Pulling a ten from the wad, she balled it up and tossed it at him. “For the Kung Pao,” she said when it bounced off his shoulder and landed on his desk.

  “Mathews is still looking for you,” he said.

  “I know.” Between Nickels throwing his game into high-gear and Mathews’ looking for his daily pound of flesh, all she wanted to do was go home.

  Now Strickland looked at her, the frown on his face drawing his features tight. He opened his desk drawer and swept the crumpled bill into it before pulling out a few cellophane packets. “I got a bead on Kenny Denton. Eat these and then go give Mathews his daily fix of Vaughn-bashing so we can question him.” He tossed the packets at her. Saltines.

  “You found Denton? Where?” she said, picking up the crackers. Ripping one of the packages open, she shoved them into her mouth and chewed. Anything to settle her stomach before she had to face Mathews.

  Now he cracked a grin, turning his computer screen in her direction. On it was a mug shot of Denton. “He’s in Tenderloin lock-up.” Strickland leaned back in his chair. “Dumb shit knocks over a dozen bodegas, offs a clerk and then gets picked up on a domestic for pounding on his baby-mama. Allegedly.”

  The Tenderloin district, one of San Francisco’s toughest neighborhoods. It was no surprise Denton was picked up there. “Well, shit—Mathews can wait.” Sabrina stood. “Let’s get down—”. Her desk phone rang, squelching her escape plans. She sat back down, catching her lower lip between her teeth. The crackers she just ate hardened in her gut like a lump of cement.

  “It’s been doing that all morning,” Strickland said, giving it a glance.

  It kept ringing, insisting that she pay attention to it. Homicide was a noisy place, phones ringing, people talking over each other, but the persistent ringing cut through it all, drawing looks from the surrounding desks.

  Finally, she answered it. “Vaughn—homicide.”

  As usual, nothing but silence on the other end. Thanks to Croft, her story had gone national. Since returning to work, every freak in the country with access to a phone called her at least twice a day. “This is Vaughn,” she said. She’d count to five and hang-up like always and whoever it was would pass the harassment baton off to the next crazy in line. That’s how it worked.

  One… two… thr—

  “Red is your favorite color, isn’t it?”

  She shot a look at the vase sitting on her desk. “What?”

  “It hurts that you give them away. I’ve chosen them especially for you.”

  She stood, bouncing her eyes around the room. “Who is this?”

  “There’s nine of you… but not for long,” he said before hanging up.

  Sabrina dropped the receiver back in its cradle, continuing to look around the room. More than a few faces stared back. She made eye contact with every last one of them. If the person who called was another homicide cop, just pulling her leg, none of them showed it.

  “Who was that?” Strickland said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess one of my regulars finally found his balls and decided to say something.”

  “Male? Female?” he said, curious.

  “Male. I think.”

  “You think?” Strickland arched an eyebrow at her. “What does that mean?”

  She ran a rough hand through her hair. “It means I’m not sure. He—they were using one of those voice disguiser cell phone apps.”

  “Well, what’d he say?” He was no longer curious. Now he sounded concerned.

  She looked around and gave him an almost imperceptible headshake. “Later, okay?” she flicked her eyes around the room, hoping he’d understand.

  He did. “Alright. Go see what Mathews wants so we can question Denton before his baby-mama bails him out.”

  She picked up the other package of saltin
es and ripped it open. “I know what he wants,” she said around a mouthful of cracker. Mathews knew her temper was only rivaled by her penchant for smart-ass remarks. If he could rile one, he’d get the other… and a reason to toss her out on her ass.

  “Remember to keep your mouth shut,” Strickland said. He knew her too well.

  She clicked the heels of her boots together and snapped off a salute. “Sir, yes sir!”

  “I’m being serious,” he shot back. “Just assume the position so we can get on with our day.”

  “Okay, okay…” She squared her shoulders. “If I’m not back in five, pull the fire alarm,” she joked, even though her stomach lurched around the crackers she’d eaten. The seemingly never-ending stream of phone calls.Croft and the rest of the media hounds following her everywhere.The fan mail and flowers that arrived at her desk daily. Her daily dose of Mathews… she was beginning to think that coming back to work had been a mistake.

  4

  Sabrina knocked on the door and waited for Mathews to bark at her to come in. Pushing the door open she saw two things—her boss glaring at her from behind his desk and the large black garbage bag sitting next to it. Seeing that bag, knowing what was inside it, made her want to turn and run out of the room. Instead, she planted her feet, shoulder width apart and clasped her hand behind her back. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Mathews saw her look at the bag and snorted at her deliberate lack of reaction. “How’s the leg holding up?” he said, like he gave a shit.

  Her leg—the puckered scar that marred the top of her thigh—ached like a bitch. Always did. Probably always would. “It’s doing well, sir. Thanks for asking.”

  “Sure you don’t want to sit down?” Mathews said, tipping his chin toward a pair of chairs across his desktop. She almost laughed at the studied concern that oozed between each word but managed to keep it in.