Twenty-Two

Michael shouldn’t have opened his mouth. He should’ve listened to the crap Mathews spewed, nodded, thanked him for his time, and left. That’s what he was getting ready to do, but then he made the mistake of looking at her. The look of quiet resignation on Sabrina’s face told him that this was something she’d heard before. Something she was long used to. And that didn’t sit well with him at all.

So he stood, towering over that self-important piece of shit, and let loose. He didn’t regret what he said or the shouting match that had ensued behind closed doors, with Mathews threatening to call his superior and him laughing in his face. No—what he regretted was that he’d allowed Sabrina out of his sight for the two minutes it took him to tell Mathews to shove it up his ass. He should’ve remembered that she had a habit of taking off when the situation at hand promised to be emotionally messy.

The light coat that had been on her chair was gone, which meant she’d left the building. Glancing at Strickland, he saw that he’d traded the files in his lap for his keyboard. He was peering at his computer screen, painfully pecking at the keys with an excruciating lack of skill or speed. “Where’d your partner go?” Michael said, yanking open one of her desk drawers to rifle through it. Not because he thought it would offer him any answers but because his messing it up would make her angry.

“Better not do that. She gets testy when assholes touch her stuff,” Strickland said, glancing up from the screen with a frown. Sabrina’s partner looked at him as if he’d known Michael was here all along, which went to show that no matter how impressive Michael found him, he continually underestimated the man.

Slamming the drawer shut, he went for another one, scattering colored paperclips and perfectly sharpened pencils everywhere. “Where’d she go?”

“Home. Spelunking. Around the world in eighty days. How should I know? She was here and now she’s not,” Strickland said, his tone gaining edge as he sat back from his computer to look at Michael.

“You just let her go?” he said, slamming yet another drawer.

“Let her? I’m sorry, are we talking about the same woman?” Strickland said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “No one lets her do anything. You of all people should know that.”

Michael ignored Strickland’s last comment. “If you see her, tell her I need to talk to her,” he said, pulling a business card from his breast pocket. He flipped it at Strickland, who stared at him while it sailed over his desk and onto the floor next to his chair. Without even looking at it, Strickland turned back to his computer and resumed his hunt-and-peck routine. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that for you. Have a good day,” he said.

Clenching his jaw with enough force to make his teeth ache, Michael walked away before he did something he probably wouldn’t regret.

He walked to the lot that housed officer parking. Her car was nowhere to be seen. She was in the wind, and he had no idea where she’d gone.

The boy was awake, although he was pretending not to be. Sabrina pulled up a chair and prepared to wait him out. If at all possible, he was even paler than she remembered, the dark shock of hair that fell across his forehead standing out in stark relief against the impossible white of his skin. She glanced at the tray of untouched food on the nearby overbed table. How long had it been since he ate?

The social worker was long gone. As horrific as the circumstances were, she was “doubtful that his case took any kind of precedence.” There were children everywhere in need of social services. Sabrina assumed it went down as it always did—they came in, took a report, tried to ask the kid some general questions, and talked to the doctors about his condition. Not much they could do, really; he was the Russian Embassy’s problem now.

A brief conversation with the charge nurse when she arrived told her that Ben had come and gone. The business card he left at the station was embossed with the insignia for the Russian Consulate. It looked official—just like the badge Michael had been flashing around the station earlier. A quick peek in the waiting room reassured her that Ben had taken precautions before he’d left. The Pip pretending to watch Maury barely glanced at her, but he knew she was there. His kind didn’t miss much.

She glanced at her watch. It was just after three o’clock. How long did she think she could hide out here before she had to face Michael? Just the thought of him tied her stomach in knots.

The door pushed open, letting a young female nurse in with a soft hiss and click. “How’s our boy?” she said, checking the level on the bag of fluid hanging from the pole.

“Playing possum.” Sabrina watched as she made sure the leather restraint cuffs that kept him in bed were secure.

“Can’t say I blame him. He’s been through a lot,” the nurse said, brushing hair off the boy’s forehead. He flinched but managed to keep his eyes closed. “The doctor will be by in a few minutes to give you a full report.”

The phone in Sabrina’s pocket buzzed against her rib cage. She smiled the nurse out the door before she reached for it. “This is Vaughn.”

“Hey, if it isn’t my long-lost partner,” Strickland said.

Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment. She’d known this was coming. “Hey, Strick. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much … just trying to solve this pesky murder.” His voice had that nasty bite to it that set her teeth on edge. “Were you planning on coming out of hiding anytime soon, or am I gonna have to do it on my own?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m at the hospital; the boy’s awake.” She was still able to lie like a pro. Years of practice made sure of that.

“Uh huh … right.” Strickland wasn’t buying it. He never did. “He left about an hour ago, so it’s safe to come back.”

She didn’t bother to ask who he was talking about. It would be an insult to her partner’s intelligence. Of course he’d recognize Michael, there was no use denying it. “Was there a reason you called?”

“Actually, yes. The house our victim was found in was a foreclosed property. I traced the paperwork back to a local bank. It hit the auction block about six months ago and was bought by a shell company. Among their list of business expenses are quarterly trips to Thailand, Cambodia, and Colombia. It’s a bit of a tangle, but I think I traced ownership back to a private investor. Walter Elm.”

All of the countries he listed were well-known as sex tourism destinations, but the last one snagged her attention. “Colombia? When was the last time Elm went to Colombia?”

“Less than a month about. I’m heading to his office now. Wanna go?”

The hiss and click of the door told her that the promised doctor had arrived. “Yeah. Give me thirty to get back to the station. Look, the doctor is here. I’m gonna get the rundown from him and then I’m on my way.”

Dropping the phone in her pocket, she looked up with a smile, but it died within seconds of realizing that, despite the white coat and stethoscope, the man in front of her wasn’t in the habit of saving lives.

He was in the habit of taking them.