Heath pulled up outside The Brown Jug and parked behind Adam’s black Explorer. No sign of his brothers. They must be inside already. After beeping the SUV’s locks, he moved toward the default headquarters for what had been Old Man Bishop’s criminal enterprise. Faint laughter could be heard on the breeze as two people walked way in the distance. The streets of Seattle’s Pioneer Square area were nearly deserted at 3 a.m. Most folks had moved on when the surrounding bars and clubs closed an hour ago.
Heath knocked on the bar’s glass and mahogany entry. Seconds later, a man dressed in a black t-shirt and pants opened the door. Tall. Crew cut. Muscled. A bouncer?
Heath flashed his ID. “Detective Justice.” He wasn’t sure how quiet Adam wanted word of this meeting kept, but Heath would not hide the fact he was a cop. Strapped to his ankle was a 9mm, an added assurance to the Glock in his shoulder holster worn under his navy jacket.
“Mr. Bishop’s expecting you.” The bouncer moved to allow Heath inside. “Go through to the back. Door on the right. Knock and Jimmy will let you upstairs.”
Heath nodded. The smell of beer pervaded the room as he strode toward the doorway. The mellow light from the wall sconces and hanging lamps exposed century-old brick walls decorated with framed posters of boxing matches. On his left was a long dark wood counter with a brass foot rail. Empty wooden stools ran down its length like a sharp line of soldiers. Behind the counter was a mirrored wall with shelves holding various bottles of liquor.
A barman lifted a dishwasher rack filled with glasses from below the counter, steam rising from the glassware. His gaze landed on Heath before quickly moving back to his task. Well trained. In previous years, many of Seattle’s power-brokers and criminal elements had visited The Brown Jug, some of whom would want to go unnoticed.
Heath rounded a group of empty wooden tables and ignored the open doorway on the left, signposted for restrooms and the bar’s kitchen. He headed to his right and the metal door secured with a key-code panel.
He raised his finger to push a buzzer, but the door swung open.
A man, maybe six feet six, stood in front of Heath. Jimmy O’Dwyer. Bishop’s…chief thug? Enforcer? The man’s gray-suited attire and clipped brown hair gave him the air of an upmarket bodyguard. Bullshit. Heath knew of two murders that should have landed Jimmy a conviction except for lack of witnesses.
O’Dwyer greeted Heath with a blank expression. “Saw you on the CCTV.”
Nothing went unnoticed by Bishop’s crew.
Heath had expected nothing less. He glanced up the narrow, dark wooden stairs. “Then we shouldn’t waste any more time.”
“Follow me.” Jimmy turned and led Heath upstairs to a landing with three doors. All were closed. Jimmy knocked on the middle one.
“Enter.”
Jimmy obeyed. “He’s here, boss.” The enforcer waved Heath inside.
Heath noted the soft click of the door closing behind him as O’Dwyer stepped out. The room was small, with cream colored walls, which needed a new coat of paint, and a tired looking brown velour couch against the far wall. The room hadn’t been updated in years. He glanced to Adam and Seth seated in chairs in front of a large wooden desk, and then to the man sitting behind it.
In a crisp navy shirt, Declan Bishop looked the respectable entrepreneur. But the man’s sharp, assessing blue gaze and the way he held his muscular frame—with the same razor-edged energy of a deadly animal—hinted he knew when to strike to achieve maximum impact.
Bishop leaned back in his battered red executive chair, the old leather groaning under the stress. “Detective Justice. Take a seat.” He inclined his dark head toward the seat next to Seth.
“Adam said you could provide information on Fox’s business dealings with the Russians.” Not interested in playing games, Heath gazed directly at Bishop.
Champion ex-cage fighter and the current head of the Bishop clan, Declan couldn’t be described as handsome, not with a nose that had been broken at least once, but the bastard always had a gorgeous woman hanging off his arm when he attended a newsworthy social event.
Not that Heath gave a shit about Seattle’s social scene, but he was a cop; the Bishops were criminals, so Declan’s name in the press didn’t go unnoticed.
Adam sat back and linked his fingers over his stomach. “We know Fox was involved in a nightclub venture with the Russians.” At Declan’s nod, he continued. “And that he was forced into that venture by another party, one based out of town.”
Declan went still. The atmosphere in the room sharpened.
“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Adam.” Declan stared back at the oldest Justice brother.
Adam shrugged. “I tread were I need to go.”
The tiny muscles around Declan’s mouth tightened. “I like you. We’ve done business together before.”
What the fuck? Heath swung his gaze to Adam, who ignored him and kept looking toward Bishop.
Heath kept his frustration in check. He’d be having a chat with Adam later.
“So when I say you need to be careful,” Declan continued, “I’m saying that knowing you aren’t an amateur.”
“You’re aware Homeland Security is investigating Fox.” Seth shrugged. “They’re making noise.”
The kind of noise that would provide Adam and Seth with a modicum of cover if they didn’t create too many waves with their questions.
“Agent Tollison hasn’t been subtle these past few weeks.” Declan’s gaze narrowed on Seth. “You’re trying to find answers and protect your woman. I get that, but the three of you are stepping into something bigger than you can imagine.” He turned his stare on Heath. “Bigger than anything you imagine my family would be involved in.”
Not impossible, that’s true. But Declan’s family weren’t amateurs in their field either.
“We know this isn’t small-time. That’s why we’re speaking to you.” Adam sighed, clearly over the sidestepping. “Mrs. Fox hired me to find the truth. You can make that less painful for everyone if you share what you know.”
“Then ask your questions. I won’t give you names, but I’ll steer you to the right path.” Bishop stated.
The man wasn’t an idiot. If the advice given was known to a big enough circle, nobody could point the finger at Bishop directly as a snitch.
Adam obliged. “Fox was being blackmailed to be the public face in the nightclub deal with the Russians?”
Bishop nodded.
“Did he use his own money in the deal?”
“Yes,” Bishop said.
Heath blinked. What? They had assumed Fox had used laundered funds provided by his new masters as the set-up costs.
Adam’s gaze narrowed. “What was the leverage used to force him?”
Heath saw Seth tense, and he held his breath. Christ, he hoped Harper hadn’t been used as a bargaining tool.
“Fox had a secret hobby. Boys. Barely legal.” Declan’s mouth twisted with obvious distaste. “He only indulged when on business trips. The guy had a taste for some sick shit. Rumor has it Fox was set up with an underage kid on a trip to New York. There’s a video.”
“Jesus fuck,” Seth muttered, likely feeling relief Harper wasn’t in danger but repulsed at the same time.
After years on the force, little shocked Heath. But disgusted him? Sure. And to think Fox, the sanctimonious prick, had judged his daughter as unworthy of his respect. Fucking bastard.
“Fox became this organization’s new bitch?” Adam asked.
“Yes. Fox explained to anyone who asked that the nightclub deal was him having a convenient outlet to showcase Brooke-Porter Digital’s products, including their music catalogue, and having talent perform.” Bishop shrugged. “The amount of money invested was tiny for a man of Fox’s wealth. People assumed he was acting on a whim.” He picked up a highball glass containing amber liquid and sipped. “The real prize is the cover a club like that provides. That would be why Fox was blackmailed into setting up the club.”
“Drugs? Money laundering?” Heath stared unflinchingly at Bishop as he named key activities the man’s family had done over the years.
Declan didn’t blink. “Those are two options. Plus, Fox was vulnerable to more blackmail.”
Adam frowned. “Did the Russians know Fox was being forced into the deal?
Declan shrugged. “Of course. The deal for the venture was constructed between the Russians and whoever forced Fox’s hand. Fox’s name gave the club legitimacy, but he was a silent partner in the daily running of the club.”
“What else?” Adam asked. “There must be more that tempted the Russians?”
“Fox’s blackmailers have substantial power and influence, offering new possibilities the Russians could tap into. And don’t forget, they could also look at Fox’s friends and business contacts and see if they could have some blackmail fun of their own.”
“So it wouldn’t be in the Russians’ best interest to put a hit on Fox?” Adam asked in a deceptively calm voice.
Declan held Adam’s gaze for a long moment before he lowered his glass to the desk. “Agreed.” He turned the glass in his fingers. “I’d look elsewhere.”
Heath pressed harder. “In what direction?”
“I can only guess, and that’s worthless to you.” Declan stood and shoved his hands in the pockets of his black pants. “Whatever information I have comes via contacts with Sergei Petrov and his associates.” He named one of the top lieutenants in the local Russian mafia. “I have no dealings with the other…party you’re seeking.” Declan reached for a black jacket hanging over the back of his chair.
Heath guessed the meeting was over, but he had one question as he and his brothers stood. “You kept The Brown Jug.” He ignored Adam’s frown and focused on Declan. “Why? You have new headquarters in an office building in downtown. This was your dad’s favorite place to do business. I thought you’d let go of everything from those days.”
Declan shrugged into his jacket. “Keeping the bar doesn’t mean I haven’t moved on. We all carry our past with us in one form or another, Detective. For some, that’s an easier weight to bear than others.”
A rush of cold swept through Heath, and for a second, he swore Declan was talking about Heath’s past. His…guilt. And judging him. Jesus, get a grip. Declan neither knew about his family history nor was likely gave a damn.
The others stood, Adam reaching out and shaking Declan’s hand. Seth did the same. Heath refrained, noting the president of Bishop Inc. didn’t offer.
“Jimmy will see you out.” Declan pressed a button on the desk, and moments later, the aforementioned bodyguard appeared.
Back out on the street, Heath stood by his SUV with Adam and Seth.
Seth glanced to Adam. “Can we trust that Declan told us the truth?”
Adam nodded. “Declan doesn’t benefit by doing me this favor. He didn’t try to finger anyone or settle any old debts with what he shared.” He flicked his gaze to Heath. “And he couldn’t give a shit whether you believe he’s legit now or not. So scoring points with the cops isn’t a motivating factor.”
Heath seized the moment to get answers to the mini bombshell Adam had dropped earlier upstairs. “You want to tell me what business it is that you and Bishop have done in the past?”
“Not in any detail,” Adam stated flatly, his expression blank, as if the topic bored him. “He provided intel on contacts I needed for a mission with my previous employer.”
Black ops. Jesus, what kind of information could Bishop provide? Just how fucking wide did the bastard’s net of activities stretch?
Heath didn’t like the scenario. Not one fucking bit, but there was bugger all he could do about the issue.
“We got what we came for.” Seth glanced between his brothers. “Confirmation it wasn’t the Russians who organized the hit on Fox, and how he was blackmailed into the nightclub deal. I call that a win.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m heading home to Harper.”
Adam nodded. “We’ll catch up later today at Seven Dishes.” He glanced at Heath “Talk later?”
“Yeah.” Heath nodded and climbed into his vehicle.
As he drove home so he could shower and spend—he glanced at the clock on his dashboard—the two hours there before he had to leave for work, Heath wondered just how much of Adam’s life over these past few years still remained a mystery to him and his brothers.
The man had lived the last decade and more in the shadows. Even now, as he established his investigations business and spent time with Zach, Heath, and Seth, he still had secrets, parts of him that Heath had no idea of.
Maybe Zach knew more? He had a strong bond that went back years before Heath crossed their path at the juvenile detention center.
If he, maybe even Zach and Seth, too, could find an hour to take Adam for a beer and ask him how he was settling back into life in Seattle…
Heath snorted. Right. Neither of them had a free hour right now. Two murder cases and he couldn’t get a full night with London, let alone a beer with his brother.
As he parked in his garage, Heath pictured Red, lying in her bed, the soft curves of her body hidden under the sheets. But it was London’s clever banter and the way her eyes sparked when they sparred over their differing opinions that delivered the most pleasure.
Well, hell. This most contrary of women had left her mark—deep. Heath couldn’t wait to see just how far his level of frustration could be pushed.
Heath had walked past the doorway from the garage into the kitchen when his phone rang. He groaned. All he wanted was a shower and a cup of coffee.
He scanned the caller ID—Derek. Nobody called at 3:45 a.m. with good news. Answering, Heath said, “If this is your pathetic attempt at crimping my time with your sister, you’ll be happy to know I was called out by Adam.” He grabbed a mug from one of the kitchen cabinets.
“Got a call from country jail. Vargas is dead,” Derek stated in a clipped, angry voice.
Heath froze, mug in hand. “What the fuck?”
“Had his head smashed in by his cellmate. Gave a full confession. Said Vargas raped his sister. Guy’s going down for two murders. Had no problem adding a third.”
“I’m on my way.” Heath ended the call and threw the mug in the sink. Fuck. He ignored the shards of pottery flying in different directions.
He had no tears for Vargas. The bastard was guilty of many crimes. Whether murdering Alyssa Holmes and Donny Jacobsen was among them, Heath wasn’t convinced. But where did that leave his case, now with no suspect?
****
London sat at her desk and sipped her coffee. The sun streamed through the window in front of her desk, drying her wet hair from the shower she’d taken minutes before. For what seemed like the twentieth time that morning she studied the note Heath had left for her on his pillow.
Red.
Urgent meeting. Will call.
Sleep well.
H.
Precise penmanship. Controlled. To the point. And commanding.
That was Heath.
A happy shiver fluttered over her skin at the memory. His deep voice. The hard stare. Combined with his powerful body, which filled her view when he stood close or lay over her.
She loved his dominance, how he refused to let her come until he allowed. And now… Heck her need was more like an addiction. She craved more. To be fully helpless. Cuffed. Under his control.
Closing her eyes, she remembered the firmness of his hold on her wrists in the kitchen. And the pleasure when she’d tugged to get free and he’d held her oh so easily. His mouth had lifted just a tad at one corner, as the wonderful thrill of her submission left her reeling.
Two robins, with their reddish orange breasts, landed in the bird feeder outside the window. Their busy exploration of the seeds reminded her she had a busy day herself.
Having woken just after three and discovering Heath’s note, she’d tried to go back to sleep, but her mind was filled with images of the sexy detective. After that, lying in bed by herself seemed so damn depressing. After making herself coffee, she logged on and chatted with some fans in New Zealand and Australia, including a fabulous reader who ran a Facebook group for fans of all types of romance. It wasn’t until the sun started to rise that London realized how long she’d been online.
But hey, that was the beauty of social media and being able to connect with readers the world over.
Glancing at her rolling carry-on, she sighed. Time to unpack from last night.
Soon there were piles of bookmarks and clumps of pens scattered all over the already crowded surface of her desk. Ah, pens! That reminded her… She grabbed her pencil case and dug for her purple fountain pen. There were notes she needed to go over on some promo ideas but—
She dug deeper, but no pen. Frowning, she dumped the pencil case on her desk and searched her carry-on. Not there either.
Dammit. Her favorite pen. The one she used for, well, everything. Signings, making her notes, plotting before typing. That damn pen was like an extension of her. She was lost without it.
Maybe the pen was still at A New Chapter? It could have fallen off the table and rolled under one of the shelves? The pen had her name engraved on it, so if someone found it and handed it to the staff, they could call her.
Who had packed up the stuff on her table? She tried to picture the scene. She’d been talking to Heath and dealing with Henry acting all weird. And then… Heck, she needed to call Henry since he hadn’t returned her message from last night.
Her phone rang. Maybe that was him? She glanced at the caller ID. “Hey, Harper. How goes things this morning?”
“Okay. I was calling to congratulate you on last night and say thanks again for such a fun evening. The break from everything was good for me.”
London felt a warm glow blossom deep inside. “I’m so glad you came. And you look after yourself right now, honey. How’s your family holding up?”
“Mom’s okay, considering. She’s busy coping with all the people coming to the house and making arrangements for Dad’s funeral.” Harper’s voice went quiet. “I think Sienna is feeling it hardest. She knew Dad had his faults, but finding out they went deeper than she had guessed has been hard on her.”
“Oh, Harper, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s difficult to accept when we discover a person isn’t really who we thought they were. When that’s a parent, I’m guessing it’s doubly hard.”
Harper’s deep breath sounded through the phone. “True. But hey, I don’t want to dwell on all that right now,” she said hurriedly and cleared her throat. “I wanted to know if you’d like to come in for lunch. Cleo will join us, and maybe I can drag Jinx over, too. Say 1 p.m.?”
It was only ten thirty now, but an idea formed in London’s head. “Sounds great. Hey, you wouldn’t have a quiet corner in the café, somewhere I could write or maybe chat to a friend online?”
“Sure, I have free Wi-Fi. Loads of people come and juice up on my coffee and food as they work. Bring your laptop. In fact, park around the back in the alley behind my building. Call me when you get here, and I’ll meet you at the back door.”
Free parking in downtown Seattle? No way would she pass up that treat. “Thanks!” Then her gaze landed on her pencil case. “A quick question. Did you pack up the gear on my table last night?”
“No, I did the banner with Jinx. I think it may have been Cleo, why?”
“I can’t find my favorite pen. No biggie. I’m just a nerd about that stuff.”
“Hey, you’re talking to a hoarder of office supplies and Sharpies. Trust me, that stuff’s important.”
If that admission wasn’t a reason to love Harper, then London didn’t know what would be. “I’ll check with Cleo. Okay, see you soon.”
After trying on two outfits, she went for a black top that had a scooped neckline and batwing sleeves paired with jeans and some black sneakers. She gathered her hair up in a messy knot, letting some tendrils fall down above her ears. Gold hoop earnings, a healthy swipe of mascara, and her favorite lipstick in a rose color with gold flecks gave her complexion some life. A woman could achieve anything with the right lipstick.
Forty minutes later, she’d conquered Seattle’s downtown traffic and parked behind Harper’s building. Grabbing her work bag with her laptop, notes and pens, she called Harper, who told her to look out for Nitro at the back entrance.
A minute later, a tall guy with dark hair opened the door. His short-sleeve black t-shirt showed off a tattoo of a fire-breathing dragon, its tail winding down the man’s forearm. “Hey there.” He gave London an easy smile.
“Hi, thanks for letting me in.” She’d seen the barista during her forays into Seven Dishes, but apart from giving the guy her order, she had never talked with him. “That’s a cool tattoo you have there.”
“Thanks.” He glanced down at her then held out his arm, inspecting the design. “It’s new. I won a bet with my friend, and he had to pay for me to get this baby done.” With his head turned, she glimpsed the blue streak down the center of his short hair.
London smiled. Harper had what could only be described as an eclectic bunch of people working for her. She’d never met the chef, but had heard her swearing in Russian behind the wall made of different red painted doors that separated the kitchen from the rest of the cafe.
Intrigued, she asked, “Can I ask what was the bet?”
“That I couldn’t build a robot that would pull the clothes out of our dryer and into a basket.” He shook his head. “A cinch.”
“Now that’s impressive.” London chuckled. “Two bachelors?”
His grin was filled with a charm London was sure captured women in their tracks. “Dead giveaway, huh?”
“A little, but even I would be tempted to buy a robot that helped with housekeeping.”
“Not a fan?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather chew glass.”
They laughed as they walked out of the apartment building and then into Seven Dishes.
“Thanks, again,” London said as she looked for Harper.
“No worries.” Nitro headed behind the counter.
London quickly organized for a delivery of baked treats as a thank you for the staff at A New Chapter.
“Hey there.” Harper came out from the kitchen and rounded the counter to give London a hug. “I reserved the best table for doing any work for you. It’s past the regular eating area.” She linked arms with London and steered her to a table on the far side next to the brick wall. A large leather armchair sat at one end and was the perfect height for the table. From above, a gorgeous topaz colored glass lamp hung down over the table, giving extra light. “You’re surrounded by arm chairs and coffee tables. This is where our customers come to read and have a coffee, but there’s nobody here right now.”
“This is perfect.” London dropped her work bag on the table’s wooden surface. “Thanks, Harper.”
“My pleasure. Now what can I tempt you with as a treat for morning tea? Plum flan? Bourbon cream cupcake?”
London’s mouth watered at the suggestions. “You choose. I’ll have a cappuccino, too, thanks.” She reached for her wallet, but Harper held out a hand.
“On the house.” Without waiting for London to agree, Harper walked back to the counter.
London pushed her wallet back into her bag. She’d just have to leave a huge tip instead.
Digging out her laptop, notes, and a few pens, she connected to the café’s free Wi-Fi and logged into Facebook. She thanked the young waitresses who delivered her coffee and a slice of plum flan. And holy moly, the buttery crust of the flan melted in her mouth as the fruit hitting her taste buds was like a burst of sweet ambrosia. Delicious.
After a few fortifying sips of her cappuccino, she began a Facebook live chat.
Fifteen minutes in and she was having a ball. Taking into account the different international time zones, her readers from across the US, Canada and the UK were in full voice, posting comments as she recapped last night’s signing and hinted that she was working on a new project. Now wasn’t the time to make the announcement. That could wait for another live event, coordinated with posts to her website.
Just as she was about to wrap up events, two men, one white and the other African American, both dressed in suits, approached her table. Their serious expressions and the way they stood, as if on guard, immediately put her on edge.
The shorter one with buzz cut blond hair and blue eyes spoke first. “London Shaw?”
“Yes.” She glanced between the two men.
“I’m Detective Snyder.” He held up his ID as he nodded toward his colleague. “This is Detective Reed.”
“Is this about one of my brothers?” She started to rise.
“No.” Detective Reed put a hand out as if to reassure her, and London fell back in her seat, relief flooding her system.
“Do you know a man by the name of Henry Banks?” Detective Snyder studied her.
That relief evaporated in a second.
“Yes. Is he okay?” She sat forward in her chair.
“What makes you think there’s anything wrong?”
She blinked at the accusing tone of Detective Snyder’s voice.
“Well, you’re here asking about him, and last night, Henry was acting so strangely.”
Detective Reed’s gaze narrowed. “You saw him last night?”
“Yeah, at my book signing.”
The taller detective stepped closer to the table. “Ms. Shaw, we’d like you to come with us to answer a few questions.”
Go with them? To answer questions?
London could only stare. What on earth?
“I, uh,”—she shook her head—“I don’t understand.”
From behind Detective Snyder, London saw Harper walking toward her. The woman’s smile vanished as she stared at London.
London guessed she wasn’t hiding her shock.
“Harper?”
The café owner turned as her name was called out. London glimpsed Seth at the counter. Next to him, dressed all in black, was a giant of a man, both in height and size. She saw Harper point in her direction and the men’s gazes centered on her.
“Ms. Shaw?” Detective Snyder prompted.
“What is this about?” She had a right to know if they wanted her to go with them, didn’t she?
“Henry Banks was found murdered this morning.”
London stared, frozen in her seat. Murdered. Her heart started to race. She opened her mouth, but the urge to shake her head and refuse to believe their words was so strong.
The two detectives kept their faces blank as they watched her.
Henry. The first author to offer her encouragement when she began writing her secret project.
Her quirky, socially awkward but endearingly loyal friend.
Murdered.
“But…how?” she managed to ask.
“He was stabbed in the eye,” Snyder said in a flat voice. “With a purple fountain pen engraved with your name.”
“No!” She covered her mouth with her hands in horror. Coldness swept through her like an artic wind, chilling her from the inside out. She searched the men’s impassive faces for something, anything to say this was a vile joke.
Harper ran up. “London, what’s wrong?” She wrapped an arm around London’s shoulders.
The huge guy dressed in black stared at the cops before demanding in a deep voice, “Who are you?”
Snyder took a step back, his face tightening as if he recognized the man. “Detective Snyder, SPD.” He waved toward London “This is none of your business, sir. Please move away.”
The giant folded his arms over his wall of a chest. “Bullshit. This woman is seeing my brother.”
Brother. Black cargo pants. Black boots. A commando. Adam Justice.
“London?”
She looked up to see Seth’s concerned gaze. “Henry’s dead.”
He frowned, but Harper’s gasp caught his attention.
Harper gaped at her. “Your author friend from last night?”
“He was s-stabbed.” London swallowed as a wave of bile burned up her throat. “With my pen.”
Seth and Harper stared at her a moment before Seth pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.
“Ms. Shaw, you need to come with us.” Detective Reed read London her Miranda rights.
“But—” Harper went to speak.
Adam cut her off. “Hold it. Is London under arrest?”
“No, she’s a person of interest.” Snyder spoke swiftly and barely glanced at Adam, giving the impression the big man’s interference was more of a nuisance than a threat.
“I know you’re doing you job, mate, but answering our questions isn’t exactly out of the norm.” Adam’s voice was deceptively low but the underlying thread of scorn was hot enough to strip paint. “More importantly, she’s the sister of two fellow detectives. She’s going willingly, and you’ve just stated she’s not under arrest.”
London closed her eyes for a second. Derek and Aidan. Her parents. They’d be so worried. Her mother would be frantic.
And Heath? He’d taken such good care of her last night, held her so protectively in his arms.
She closed her fist and squeezed against the urge to plead for Seth to find him. Now. Right now. She wanted Heath’s arms around her, telling her this was all a bad dream.
Adam glanced over at Detective Reed. “Do Heath or her brothers know you’re picking her up?”
“That would be inappropriate under the circumstances, but I’m sure our sergeant will inform them shortly.” Reed glanced at his partner before he turned to London. “Let’s go, Ms. Shaw.” He gently placed a hand on London’s lower back and steered her around the table.
Seth stepped closer. “London, I’ve left a message on Heath’s phone. Don’t answer another question. We’ll get a lawyer organized to meet you at the station.” He glanced to Adam who tapped the screen of his phone.
She nodded. Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion as Detective Reed pulled her forward.
“Here’s your bag.” Harper reached over the table and handed London her work bag. “I’ll pack up your stuff for you.”
London glanced back and held her free arm out to take her bag. She spied her laptop on the table and froze.
The laptop’s screen showed her Facebook live feed was active.
A new horror consumed her, nearly taking her legs out from under her.
Her readers, fellow authors, and anyone else had just seen her being hauled away by the detectives. She could see a deluge of comments flashing up on the screen under the feed.
“Turn it off,” she whispered to Harper.
The café owner looked at the laptop’s screen and with now wide-eyes saw what was happening.
At the moment, London needed to be focused and fighting to prove herself innocent; the floodgates of trial by gossip and innuendo had burst open around her.
And she was powerless to stop it happening.
****
Heath finished reading Vargas’s killer’s signed confession and tossed it back on his desk. He looked at Derek, sitting across from him at his own desk. “Montgomery practically boasted of his deed. All family vengeance and righting wrongs.”
“Vargas was far from an innocent victim. The duty sergeant told me Montgomery and his sister had the same mother but different fathers and took their surnames. Regardless, there was no report of the sister’s rape. And since it appears Vargas didn’t know the girl beforehand, he would have no idea Montgomery was a threat.” Derek sighed. “For that matter, neither would the staff at the county jail.”
“So Vargas walks into a shitstorm, and Montgomery must have thought all his psychotic filled Christmases had come at once.”
“Our case is still unfinished.” Derek waved to the crime scene report from the wrecking yard. “No prints except for the teenagers. No DNA belonging to Vargas. There’s nothing to link him to the crime scene. All we have is Benny’s witness statement and that Vargas refused to provide an alibi.”
“We need to track his movements during those missing days he was gone from Seattle. The owner of the car he supposedly drove—”
“Shaw. Justice. In here. Now. Leave your phones at your desks. I don’t want any interruptions,” Sergeant Avery called from the doorway of the squad’s meeting room.
Derek raised his eyebrows at Heath as both men rose from their seats, dropped their phones in their top drawers as ordered and headed over.
“Close the door,” Avery ordered Heath as he followed Derek into the room.
Heath obeyed. “What’s up, Sarge?” he asked as he sat next to Derek and across the table from their boss. “You getting heat from upstairs over Vargas?”
“No,” Avery stated. “Lieutenant Brannigan called me to say he was pissed you guys would likely now be denied your collar, but that he’s expecting you’ll cover all the bases with the case.
“We plan to,” Derek assured him.
“Good.” Their sergeant sighed. “Look, Derek, there’s no easy way to break this news. Your sister, London, is being picked up as a person of interest in the murder of Henry Banks.”
Heath jerked back in his chair.
“What the fuck?’ Derek roared as he sprang to his feet.
Heath joined him.
“Henry Banks, the author?” The weird guy they’d met last night? “You’ve got to be kidding.”
But Avery’s face was a stony mask. “Reed and Snyder looked her up on Facebook and saw she was holding some fan chat thing at Seven Dishes.”
Harper’s café?
A rolling heat coiled in Heath’s gut. Snyder, the arrogant prick, would drag London out of there.
Christ, she must be terrified.
He wanted to call her, reassure her, but, Jesus, what could he say?
He needed facts.
Heath started with the obvious. “Why is London a suspect?”
“Banks was stabbed in the eye with a pen engraved with London’s name. We believe the murder weapon belongs to her.”
Heath let that sink in a moment. “You’re saying London overcame a grown man and stabbed him in the eye?”
Avery shook his head. “Banks was knocked out first. He’s got a head injury. Then he was stabbed.”
Stabbing someone in the eye was a cold, deliberate act, especially if the victim was unconscious. He couldn’t imagine London being that ruthless.
Then the obvious dawned on Heath. “I was with London last night. In fact, both Derek and I were at London’s book signing when Banks turned up for a few minutes then left.”
Avery’s eyes widened, and he cast a quick glance at Derek who was glaring back at their sergeant. “You both need to give statements. In fact, you can do that before you leave this room. Did either of you have any interaction with Banks?”
Christ, talk about one complication after another. “The guy grabbed London’s arm during a short conversation they shared, and I told him to let her go. That’s it. He ran out of the bookstore a minute or so later.”
Avery turned to Derek. “What about you?”
“No.”
“Sarge, you’re missing the point. I was with London last night.”
Avery frowned. “All night?”
Heath shrugged. “I had to leave for a meeting at 2:30 a.m.”
Avery sighed, and Heath would swear he saw regret flash in the man’s eyes. “Banks was killed sometime after 4 a.m. His neighbor, a doctor, saw Banks enter his apartment when the doctor came home from his shift at Swedish Medical Center.”
“This is fucking ridiculous. My sister is no killer.” Derek leaned over the table, his weight resting on his closed fists. “I want to see her.”
“No. Your actions would be in breach of more regulations than I care to count. Don’t bother asking again.” Avery slid his gaze to Heath. “And considering what you just shared, you’ll stay away as well.”
Heath started to tell their sergeant to go file something in a dark place of his anatomy, but the man glanced at his phone as a message came through.
“They have her and are on their way.” Avery surveyed Derek and Heath. “I know you’re both pissed, but we are doing this by the book. That way I won’t have to suspend your asses when, hopefully, we confirm London is in the clear. I’ll send in someone to take your statements.” He sent both men a pointed look. “Stay away from the interrogation rooms. I’ve left orders you’re to be removed if seen in the area.”
Faulkner came in and led Heath to Avery’s office to take his statement. Kennedy stayed in the meeting room with Derek. The process was relatively quick, helped by fact Heath knew to clearly state the facts as they happened and leave out any supposition.
Once back at their desks, the men checked their phones.
Two messages. Both from Seth relaying what had gone down at the cafe. Thank fuck his brothers were at Seven Dishes when Snyder and Reed arrived.
He relayed the news to Derek, who sucked in a deep breath.
“I owe Seth and Adam a beer or twenty.” Derek lifted up his phone. “I need to call Aidan, then Dad. I don’t want mom and gran to hear this shit from anyone but us.”
“Absolutely. I’ll go downstairs. Adam and Seth were following Reed and Snyder all the way here. Seth says Adam’s lawyer is en route.”
At Derek’s nod, Heath ran to the elevator.
He and his brothers had their moments, but whenever Heath had waded into the proverbial crocodile-infested waters of life, Adam, Zach, and Seth had been there with a boat and a carton of beer covering his back.
This time, he needed their help for London and her family. Had Henry simply picked up her pen by mistake with all the other free stuff she had on her table at the signing? Maybe Henry had tried to use the pen as a weapon and the killer stole it from him and turned the tables?
Who the hell knew? But he and Derek needed to find those answers and in a way that didn’t cost them their jobs and London her freedom.