Carved in Darkness (10 page)

“Keep your panties on. Tillman’s as dumb as they come. He’s not going anywhere.” She retrieved her SIG from the bottom drawer of her desk and clipped the holster to her waistband, pretending not to notice the look Strickland was giving her. She recognized that she was barely holding herself together, that Strickland could see there was a problem. She hadn’t told him about her forced vacation yet, but he knew something was wrong. She opened her mouth to tell him, but it snapped shut when his face fell into a wary glare.

“What?” She glanced over her shoulder and felt her stomach sink. Behind her, Sanford was steam-training his way through the bullpen, taking the express route toward her desk.

She looked at her partner and slammed the desk drawer closed. The loud bang did nothing to distract him. “Hey. Strickland.” He ignored her. Shit. “
Christopher
.” She’d never called him by his first name before. The strangeness of it must’ve been what made him look at her. “Not a word. No matter what he says. Got me?”

He looked away from her, continued watching Sanford stalk toward them. He shook his head. “Sorry partner, no promises.”

Double shit. This was going to be a train wreck.

She pushed her chair into her desk and turned around just in time to greet the Sanford Express. He ground to a halt in front of her desk and glared at her.

“What the fuck did you say to Richards?” Several inches taller, he loomed over her, his face a collection of harsh lines and jutting bones, twisted with rage.

Behind him, Sabrina saw Nickels standing in front of a rapidly growing crowd, a grim expression on his face. Of course he’d show up
now
. He’d probably been dogging Sanford all day, waiting for him to make his move.

Catching her eye, Nickels inclined his head in silent question. Did she want him to intercede? With a barely perceptible shake of her head, she told him no. He conceded, but she could tell it cost him a hell of a lot to keep out of it.

“He asked me if I wanted to lodge a formal complaint against you, and I told him it wasn’t necessary,” she said.

“Bullshit. He suspended me. Three weeks without pay.
Three weeks.
What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe you should take the time to get your head straight.” She looked him in the eye, aware almost every badge in the precinct was crammed into the Homicide bullpen, and her desk was the eye of a storm.

Sanford took a step forward, fists clenched. “You still haven’t learned to keep your mouth shut and mind your own fucking business.” He gave her the up-down, letting his eyes travel slowly from her face to her feet. His gaze popped back to her face. “Maybe it’s about time someone taught you a little life lesson.”

She held her ground. It’d take a hell of a lot more than anything Sanford could dish out make her squirm. She didn’t know what she did to attract assholes, but it sure seemed like they found her wherever she went. “You got the last one for free. You swing on me again—I’ll kick your ass.” She gave him the warning in a low tone only he could hear.

“You think you’re so smart, but you’re nothin’ but a dumb bitch with a badge and a raging case of dick-envy.” He drilled his finger into her chest, and it took all she had not to snap it off. She was on thin ice with Richards. The only reason she wasn’t getting the boot was because her paperwork hit his desk, and not Mathews’s. If she lost it in front of the entire department, she was as good as gone. Not even Richards would be able to save her. This job and her family were all she had. She couldn’t afford to lose either one.

“You need to think about what you’re doing,” she said. She wasn’t sure whether she was talking to Sanford or herself.

“Fuck off, Vaughn,” Sanford muttered. “Don’t act like you give a shit, alright?”

“I cared enough to stop that punk from turning your head into a spaghetti strainer,” she said, instantly regretting it. The last thing she needed to do was bring up what happened.

“Who asked you to?” The words were said low—only she heard them, and they set off an alarm. It was suddenly obvious why he’d been so angry. Why he was
still
angry. She hadn’t saved his life. She’d stopped his suicide.

“Sanford—”

He ignored her. “Why’d you lie to Richards to get me suspended?”

“I never lied. I didn’t have to,” she said and watched his scowl deepen into a snarl.

“Someone told him I was drinking again,
which is a lie
.” He stepped even closer. Sabrina instinctively dropped her leg back, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, and waited for him to take a swing. Before he could, the sea of blue parted and Richards waded through, followed by Mathews.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Richards said to Sanford.

Before Sanford could answer, she said, “He was just apologizing for the other day.” She gave Sanford a look, warning him to shut the hell up. “It’s all good. Sanford and I are square.”

Richards looked like he knew he was being fed a line of bullshit, but he swallowed it anyway. “Good. Glad to see you two work it out.”

“Okay, party’s over!” Captain Mathews shouted over the crowd. “If you aren’t assigned to this department, exit now. Everyone else, back to work!” He gave her a frustrated once-over before he stalked back to his office and slammed the door.

“Get out of here,” Richards said to Sanford. He flicked a glance at her and walked away.

Sanford caught the exchange. “This isn’t over,” he said before he backed away from her.

“Yeah, I figured.” She moved around him to follow Richards. She hurried to catch up and she reached out, touched the sergeant’s arm to stop him. “Sarge, wait.”

He turned around and looked as tired as she felt. “Vaughn, it’s done. Leave it alone.”

“Three weeks unpaid? Sir, I told you I was fine. Don’t bounce him out just because he has a big mouth. He’s a good officer, he just—”

He produced a business card. “You’re loyal Vaughn, even to people who don’t deserve it, but this is
his
shit creek, not yours.” He pushed the card into her hand. “Keep your paddle. You’re gonna need it.” Before she could say another word, he left her standing in the middle of the precinct. She looked down at the card. It belonged to a department therapist. It was like he’d handed her a live snake.

“Hey.”

She jammed the card into her pocket and turned to see Nickels a few feet away. She’d forgotten he was even there, but seeing him stirred up a whole different set of problems. He motioned her to follow him. She shot a look at Strickland, found him leaning against her desk, staring at her. He gave the warrant a shake:
Can we do some police work now?
She held up a finger and nodded. He threw his hands in the air and took a seat at her desk, kicking his feet up on its top. He gave her a shit-eating grin that raised her hackles. He knew she hated it when he put his feet on her desk.

She turned her back on her partner and followed Nickels. They walked down the hall toward Homicide’s interview rooms. He pulled her into an alcove housing a few vending machines and an industrial-size coffee urn.

Nickels gave her a long, hard look. “You want to tell me what’s really going on?”

She forced herself to hold his gaze. “What are you talking about? Sanford? You tell me. You’re the one who got Richards all riled up this morning—”

“Fuck Sanford. Don’t play dumb, Vaughn. It’s insulting.” He sounded angry, but it was more than that. She held onto her bluff and said nothing. He laughed—a nasty, pissed-off sound.

“Okay. Fine. I’m talking about Michael O’Shea. Ring a bell?”

“What about him? I told you it was no big deal. If you can’t drum anything up, then whatever. I really didn’t want to go out with him anyway,” she said. She was digging herself a hole but there was no turning back now.

“Really? Okay, you want to cut me out? Go ahead, but let me tell you how it went down. I called a friend, who called a friend, who called a friend that’s still in the service—I drop O’Shea’s name, and it’s all good. One minute we’re bullshitting about baseball, waiting for his computer to catch up, and the next I’m told there’s no file available. I ask the guy to run it again, just in case, and he puts me on hold. After fifteen minutes, I figure I’m getting the Army shuffle, and I hang up. Five minutes after
that,
my cell rings.”

“Who was it?” she said, suddenly sure she didn’t want to know.

“I don’t have a clue, but I can tell you whoever it was, wasn’t Army. I’m told my
inquiries are unwelcome
and
further investigation will result in immediate and unpleasant consequences.
Now, I’m going to ask you again. What the hell is going on?”

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the alcove they were standing in. What the hell was happening? Who was Michael O’Shea? What had he become?

Whatever was going on, she needed to end Nickels’s involvement. Now.

“Huh. Guess my mystery date was a dud. Oh well, thanks for trying.” She moved around him and went for the coffee. She’d already downed a gallon of the stuff today, but she needed something to keep her hands busy.

“
Dud
isn’t the word I’d use.
Scary son of a bitch
might be closer to the truth.” Nickels reached out and grabbed her by her arm before she reached the coffee. He gave her arm a small yank. “Damn it, Sabrina. Talk to me.”

She looked down at where he held her arm and deliberately raised her gaze to his to give him a warning look. “Don’t,” she said and slowly pulled her arm out of his grasp.

“Shit.” He took a step back and squeezed his eyes shut for a second, the picture of frustration. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“Don’t be. Sorry if I got you jammed up.”

“I’m not jammed up—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I wasn’t jammed up. I was shut down. Forcibly. Threats were insinuated. You’re not stupid, Sabrina. Quit acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He laughed again at the blank look she gave him and took a step away from her, hands in the air. “Okay, I surrender. You want to play it that way? Fine. But whoever this Michael O’Shea is to you, be smart and stay away from him.” Then he was gone.

FOURTEEN

I
T HAD BEEN OVER
an hour since he’d talked to Tom and still no word. Michael was beginning to worry he’d sent him into a situation he couldn’t handle. He was just a regular guy. Hell, his idea of home defense was a Louisville Slugger. Not someone he’d prefer to send into a potentially dangerous situation, but there was no one else to call. When his phone rang, he answered it without hesitation, but it wasn’t Tom.

“Tell me something—are you out of your fucking mind?” It was his friend Lark.

He stifled a sigh of frustration. The last thing he needed was Lark’s dramatics. “It probably depends on who you ask.”

“I’m being serious, asshole. This whole Charles Bronson,
Death Wish
thing you got going on is beginning to wear thin,” Lark said.

He began to pace, in no mood to play. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Does the name Devon Nickels mean anything to you?” Lark said.

Michael stopped pacing. He knew Sabrina would come after him. He just hadn’t counted on her being this creative or resourceful. He figured she’d just pull his juvi record and make a few calls. Maybe track down a few of his old probation officers, maybe even call his Aunt Gina. Instead, she’d sicced her ex-soldier boyfriend on him. He was impressed. He hadn’t even known she remembered he’d been in the military. He wasn’t someone she used to pay much attention to.

“Should it?” He’d play it careful until he knew more.

“No? I’m sorry, how about
Staff Sergeant
Devon Nickels. He was an armory gunner in the Gulf.” Michael said nothing. Lark was baiting him, but he wasn’t biting. “Still don’t know him? Huh … that’s weird, because he knows you. He flagged your service jacket this morning,” Lark said, practically biting each word in half.

Too bad there was nothing to flag. His records were locked down. Gaining access would take a hell of a lot more juice than Staff Sergeant Devon Nickels could muster.

“Look, Lark—I don’t have time to play around.” He looked at his watch. W
here the hell was Tom?
“If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out.”

“When I agreed to this crazy Lucy and Ethel scheme of yours, I distinctly remember you telling me contact would be kept to a bare minimum.” Lark knew about Frankie and, for reasons Michael couldn’t figure out, had offered to help find the man that killed her. He also knew about Sabrina and had been instrumental in keeping tabs on her.

“She made me this morning.”

“You’ve been doggin’ this chick for over a month now and all of a sudden
you get made?
Give me a break O’Shea—you’re better than that.”