Forty-eight

After depositing Vega in one of Yuma PD’s interrogation rooms, Sabrina took herself back to the conference room she and Church had been given as a base of operations to wait for his lawyer to make an appearance. It’d been over an hour since she called him to let him know that they had his client in custody and still no sign of him. She’d spent the time learning everything she could about Paul Vega.

Through the open blinds that covered the window, she could see Santos and Alvarez. The young detective sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, head bowed while his partner stood over him, hands wadded into fists, jaw clenched so tight it barely moved while he spoke.

As soon as they had Paul Vega stowed in the back seat of her car, she’d sent Church a text.

Bring her to the station for questioning

After a few seconds of thought she sent another one.

Bring the box too

She had no idea how Santos would react to finding out that not only had Wade returned to Arizona and committed multiple murders, but that there was evidence to support the theory that he’d also been involved in what had happened to Rachel Meeks in 2000. She knew how she’d reacted when she found out that what Wade’d done to her had been the beginning of a fifteen-year killing spree. If her experience was any indication, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

She could still see Michael standing at the foot of her porch, glaring up at her, watching her fall apart after he told her that the man who’d spent eighty-three days raping and torturing her had continued hunting and killing even after she’d been presumed dead. That the monster had taken his little sister, Frankie.

You think he still hates you for it, darlin’? You think maybe, sometimes when he looks at you and smiles, he’s thinking about killing you for what you did to poor little Frankie?

“Shut up,” she said quietly, closing her eyes for a moment, hands fisted in her lap. “Just shut the fuck up.”

Truth hurts, don’t it? He’s probably glad you’re gone. I bet he sleeps better at night knowing you’re out here with me, getting what you deserve—

“Hey.”

Sabrina opened her eyes and turned to find Church wedged into the space between the door and its jamb, watching her. How long she’d been there was anyone’s guess.

Long enough to know you’re shithouse crazy.

“Where have you been?” she said, each word laced with barely contained frustration.

Church flashed her a sugary smile. “Aw, did my Kitten miss me?”

“I’m not your kitten,” she ground out, careful to keep her tone from spiking. “I texted you almost two hours ago.”

“You gave me quite the honey-do list, partner.” The smile on Church’s face faded slightly. “I’ve been busy.”

“I’m sorry—you’re right.” She forced herself to relax, to pretend she wasn’t scrambling to keep herself together. “Did you bring Graciella Lopez in for questioning?”

“Yeah, about that …” Church said, slipping fully into the room before shutting the door with a sharp click. Snugged against her hip was the box Croft had given her the night before. “She’s gone.”

You sure you want to open that thing again? Play show-and-tell with what’s inside? Let everyone know exactly what I did to you?

“Gone?” She tore her gaze from the box and focused her attention on Church. “What does that mean—gone?”

“It means I was already at her house when you texted me,” Church said, sliding the box onto the table in front of her. “The place was completely empty. Neighbor said a truck pulled into her driveway around three a.m. and a bunch of men piled out, loaded her up—along with everything she owned—and left.”

Always one step behind, aren’t you, darlin’?

Sabrina was out of her seat before she had time to think, Wade’s laughter bouncing around her skull, pushing her past Church to fling the door open. She strode down the hall, aware that the heated conversation between Santos and Alvarez had dried up and they were both watching her, mouths hanging open.

“Agent Vance?” Santos called out to her a moment before she ground to a halt outside the interview room they’d put Vega in. “Agent—”

Her hand closed over the door handle, she jerked it upward, and the door flew open to reveal Paul Vega, pacing the short length of the room, thumbnail anchored in his mouth while he tried to chew it off. The second the door opened, he stopped pacing and dropped his hand to look at her.

“Is he here?” Vega said, aiming his gaze past her, trying to glimpse salvation. “Did my attorney—”

She jabbed a finger at the chair he’d probably vacated the moment they closed him in. “Sit down.”

“No.” Vega shook his head. “You can’t do this. I invoked my right to an attorney,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice. “I’m not going to say a word until he gets here.”

“That’s fine.” Sabrina smiled, aware of the small crowd that had gathered in the hallway behind her. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to say a word. I just want you to listen.” She jabbed her finger at the chair again. “You should really take a seat, Mr. Vega. You’re gonna want to be sitting once you hear what I have to say.”

Vega clamped his mouth shut and circled the table to do as he was told, glaring at her the entire time. They stared at each other for what felt like forever before he finally cracked. “I don’t—”

“Shhh …” she said, pressing the finger she’d used to point him into his seat to her lips. “You don’t get to talk. You get to listen.” She leaned against the doorframe, listening to the mumble and whispers of the small clutch of uniforms and detectives standing behind her. The majority thought she’d lost it. Santos included.

“While you’ve been pacing around like a caged animal,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been doing my homework on you. You’re a very interesting man, Paul.”

Vega opened his mouth but she wagged her finger at him. “Hush now,” she said, and he closed it with an angry snap. “Says in your file that your mother died giving birth to you. After that, your biological father just walked out of the hospital and never came back.”

Vega peeled his glare from her, sticking it to the wall in front of him instead. “Fuck you, lady,” he snarled at her. “You don’t know shit about me or my father.”

“I know he blamed you for your mother’s death. I know he took one look at you and decided that living a life in third-world squalor was preferable to being your father.” She pushed herself off the doorjamb, letting her arms fall to her sides as she moved toward the table he sat at. “I know you were adopted by Jorge and Isabel Bautista. Lucky break for you since Isabel Bautista was Isabel Vega before she married. I guess ol’ Jorge didn’t want to share the family name with a boy who wasn’t his flesh and blood, huh? Had to take your adopted mother’s maiden name? But then Arturo had no interest in the family business, so it was given to you.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched. “Graciella raised me,” he ground out. “And no one gave me anything. I earned every square inch of it.”

“Funny you should mention her,” she said, giving him a brief half smile. “Mrs. Lopez is gone. Let me guess … Mexico?”

Vega’s head whipped in her direction, mouth opened again but this time he clamped it shut before saying a word.

“How’d it go down, Paul? You sent her there, set her up real nice and pretty in appreciation of all those years of keeping your sick, twisted behavior a secret?” She shook her head, the half smile planted on her mouth at odds with the frigid glare she was icing him with. “Gotta hand it to you, I figured you’d just cut her up and dump her like you did the rest of them.”

He looked like she’d just spit on him. “I’d never hurt Graciella,” he said to the table between them. “And she knows that.”

“I bet Rachel Meeks thought she knew the same thing,” she said evenly, jerking his gaze upward.

His head came up. “This is about Rachel?” he said, aiming a look out the door and into the hallway. He was looking for Ellie, she’d bet her life on it. “I don’t know what you’ve—”

“It’s about all of them, Paul.” She sharpened her glare, let it dig under his skin until he was fighting to keep himself in his chair. “All the women you’ve killed.”

Vega shook his head, palms pushed flat on the tabletop between them. “I didn’t kill anybody,” he said, tearing his gaze away to look at his hands.

“Maybe you didn’t.” Sabrina shrugged. “Maybe Nulo did the killing.” She said the name casually, watching Vega carefully for his reaction. “Is that how it goes, Paul? Is Nulo the one who has the guts to do what you can’t?”

The name had his head rocking back on his neck, eyes narrowed. “Where did you—”

“Please tell me that you haven’t been questioning my client outside my presence, Agent Vance.”

Sabrina looked up to find the man she’d seen standing over Father Francisco in the garden at Saint Rose earlier that morning. He stood in the open doorway, a gaggle of cops behind him, watching the exchange with an odd mix of awe and apprehension.

She smiled as she stood. “I asked your brother several times to be quiet,” she said with a shrug. “He’s not very good at following directions.”

Bautista flashed a set of bright white teeth, suit crisp despite the wet, oppressive heat outside. “Apparently, neither are you,” he said, motioning for Vega to stand up. “Come on, Paul, we’re leaving.”

She watched as Vega pushed himself away from the table and stood. “What were you doing at Saint Rose this morning?” she said it on impulse, not really expecting an answer.

Surprisingly, Bautista smiled. “I suppose I go to church for the same reasons most practicing Catholics do,” he said, his tone telling her that the question was ridiculous. “Good afternoon, Agent Vance.”

“I’m going to find her, Vega,” she said, all pretense at humor stripped away. “I’m going to find Graciella and when I do, she’s going to tell me everything.”

Vega stopped in the doorway, despite the protesting jerk Bautista gave his arm. He gave her a quick, cold smile before he let his lawyer pull him down the hall.