Sacrificial Muse (A Sabrina Vaughn Novel) (7 page)

FIFTEEN

Sabrina cleaned off her
desk while Strickland examined the card. He didn’t look it, but her partner was as sharp as they came. If there was something to see that she missed, he’d find it.

“This was in the bag Mathews gave you yesterday?” he said, turning the envelope over in his hands to pull out the card.

“Yeah.” She picked up a styrofoam box that smelled like barbeque and tossed it in the trash. “I don’t have any proof, but I’m almost positive it’s from the same guy who called me yesterday.”

“No postmark … whoever it was must’ve dropped it off,” Strickland said.

She nodded. “I get bags a few times a week, so it must’ve been within the last couple of days. I’m hoping the kid at the info desk will remember something.”
If he ever shows up for work.

“You dust it for prints?” He flipped the card open and studied the word inside. She’d already told him what it was and what it meant, but he kept looking at it.

“No. It’s been handled by a half a dozen people … besides, I’m sure he wore gloves,” she said, tossing a coffee cup in after the box.

“Yeah, they all wear gloves these days—thank you
CSI: Miami
,” Strickland said, slipping the card back into its sleeve. “And Croft just happened to be there—ready to offer up a translation, huh?”

She stopped cleaning and looked up. “You think he sent it?”

Strickland shrugged. “Possible. Could be trying to yank your chain. Shake a story loose. He’s been after you for the past eight months with nothing to show for it. Maybe he’s tired of waiting.”

She laughed. “Nothing to show for it? Is that what you call the couple dozen stories he’s ran on me? The trips to Jessup? Poking around in my old life?”

“Not that it did him any good.” Strickland shrugged. “It’s not like anyone who knew anything would talk to him.”

He was right. Tommy, her high-school boyfriend, had assaulted Croft when he showed up in the small, east Texas town she once lived in, looking for an interview. When the cops showed up, it’d been Croft who’d been arrested for creating a public disturbance. He’d spent the night in a holding cell. Jed Carson, Jessup’s chief of police, had given him a ride to the airport with a polite yet firm warning to stay out of Jessup.

“So, the note, the flowers … you think it’s all Croft, trying to get a story?” she said, hoping that the more she said it, the easier it would be to believe. It wasn’t working.

“Makes sense, right?” Strickland flicked the card onto his desk, where it landed on top of a half-eaten bag of Fritos. “He’s a permanent fixture around here. He could’ve easily slipped the card behind the desk.”

“I don’t know, Strick. I talked to this guy—he didn’t sound like Croft. He sounded—”

“Crazy? I’m sure that was the point.” Strickland chuckled.

A scowl settled onto her face. “No, not crazy. Serious. He sounded serious.”

“When it comes to you, Croft is all kinds of serious,” he said. “Besides, didn’t you say he disguised his voice? The only reason someone would do that is if they were afraid you’d recognize it.”

“Yeah … maybe,” she said, shuffling papers into a pile. The one on top had Strickland’s shoeprint on it. She took a closer look at it, and felt her gut drop to her boots. “Shit. Shit, shit,
shit
.” She flashed the paper at Strickland, and he winced at the shoeprint.

“Sorry, but that’s what you get for—”

“No. Not that. I forgot about the UA Mathews ordered me to drop.” She sank into her chair and scrubbed a hand over her face. “I was supposed to have it done by end of shift yesterday.”

“It’s just after seven,” Strickland said, glancing at his watch. “Mathews doesn’t get in for another hour. If you hurry, you can get there and back before he shows.”

She didn’t have time for Mathews’s bullshit drug test. She needed to be here to catch Anderson so she could get to the bottom of this whole crazy mess, because despite Strickland’s belief that it was just Croft messing with her, she was unconvinced. Regardless, she stood and shrugged into her coat. If Mathews had his way, she’d be out on her ass, and if the conversation with Ben this morning was any indication, he wasn’t in the mood to pull said ass out of the fire. She was on her own this time. “I was supposed to have it done yesterday—unless you have a time machine in your pocket, I’m screwed,” she said.

Strickland kicked his feet back up on her desk and smiled. “Just get going—I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

SIXTEEN

Twenty minutes later, Sabrina
signed into the walk-in clinic SFPD contracted to collect their UAs. The receptionist recognized her immediately and smiled, taking the draw order smudged with Strickland’s shoeprint that she slid across the counter. “Good morning, Inspector,” she said before answering the phone.

Sabrina flashed her a small smile and took a seat in the waiting area. Looking around the crowded room, her optimism took a nose dive. There were at least ten people ahead of her. No way was she getting back to the station before Mathews showed up. She reached for her cell and started to text Strickland to give him an update.

“Sabrina Vaughn.”

Her head jerked up at the sound of her name. A male tech in a white lab coat stood in the doorway leading to the exam rooms, staring right at her. She knew him. His name was Bradley.

“Come on back,” Bradley said, cocking his head toward the hallway behind him. He held a clipboard, a clear plastic cup resting on top.

Sabrina stood and pocketed her phone, taking a quick glance around. Everyone was looking at her, most of them shooting her dirty looks for jumping the line.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said as soon as the door was shut. Sometimes people gave officers preferential treatment. Some cops liked it, took advantage of it, even. It just made her feel uncomfortable. She had a feeling this preferential treatment had more to do with the fact that she was dating Liam Henry than the fact that she was a cop. Bradley and Liam had met in college and, according to Liam, they’d been friends ever since.

“It’s the least I could do after last month,” he said, moving down the hall forcing her to follow. “You have no idea how long Liam and I have wanted to organize a police department blood drive.”

“You two did all the work—all I did was get the okay for you guys to park your mobile unit in the station lot for a few hours.”

“Which we wouldn’t have been able to do without your help, so … thank you,” he said.

She tilted her head to the side. “Whatever you say, but this makes us even, okay?”

Bradley smiled at her. “You might not feel so generous after I get done with you.”

“Excuse me?” Her hand twitched toward the butt of her SIG. An involuntary response that he caught immediately.

His eyes followed her hand’s progression, and he responded with a nervous chuckle. “Mathews ordered blood and hair samples on top of the UA this time. Sorry,” he said, flashing her the paperwork on his clipboard. There, under the dirty smudges left by Strickland’s shoe, was the order. All three collection boxes were checked. Mathews was swinging for the fences.

She forced herself to relax. “Of course he did.”

“You were supposed to be here by five o’clock yesterday.” He glanced up at her before he signed and dated it. He handed her the paper back along with the cup. “I’ll wait out here. You know the drill. Don’t flush the toilet or run the water,” he said. She’d heard it before and nodded, ducking into the bathroom and shutting the door before she looked at the paper he’d handed back to her. Relief flooded through her; he’d back-dated it for yesterday.

She tucked the paper away and broke the seal on the sample cup. It’d been embarrassing the first couple of times she did it. Peeing into a cup with your name, rank, and serial number on it was a humbling experience, but by now it was regular business. She filled the cup and tightened the lid before pulling her pants back up and opening the door. Bradley was leaning against the wall across the hall, just where she left him.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him and placed the cup on top of the clipboard.

“For what?” he said, pretending as if he had no idea that he’d probably saved her job. He led her to another room, this one with a long counter laden with sample tubes and medical supplies, and let her wash her hands before directing her to the room’s only chair. “Have a seat and roll up your left sleeve, please.” Leaning into her for a second, he adjusted the narrow tabletop attached to her chair. She laid her arm on the table and he leaned into her again, this time to tie a tourniquet around her lower bicep. “Make a fist,” he said, running a thumb over the vein that popped out.

She looked down as he swiped an alcohol pad across the crook of her elbow. The needle came next. He was good, slipping the sharp under her skin and into her vein with only the slightest of stings. Sabrina watched her blood flow into the collection tube for a moment before glancing up to find him watching her. She looked away as he pulled it from the needle before quickly attaching another. “That’s a lot of blood,” she said, suddenly uncomfortably aware that the two of them were alone and he had a needle jammed into her arm.

He pulled off the tube and attached another. “I don’t write the orders, Inspector—I just fill ’em.” He cracked a smile and popped off the tube before easing the needle from her vein, pressing a cotton ball to the small hole the needle made in her skin. “Hold this,” he said, and she used her fingers to hold the cotton in place while he wound a length of medical tape around her arm to keep it from moving. “Leave it on for a while, okay?”

A sudden flash—sitting at her mother’s kitchen table. The bristling of goose bumps across her skin just seconds before Kelly jabbed the syringe into her neck, shooting her full of something that turned her legs to water. Her mother had been the one to drug her and hand her over to Wade. Her own mother—

“You okay?” Bradley’s face was close, his thumbs pressing the tape across the crook of her elbow. “You don’t look good.”

She pulled her arm from his grasp and nodded. “Yeah. I hate needles,” she said. “Can we wrap this up? I’ve gotta get back to the station.”

“Sure.” He stood and placed the vials of blood into the rack on the counter. The hair samples came next—ten of them, each taken at the root and placed in bags with her name printed across them. “Okay, done,” he said finally, sealing the last bag with a red sticker. “Sorry it took so long.”

Standing, she rolled her sleeve down but didn’t button the cuff. “No problem,” she said, heading for the door, and he followed her. She walked down the hall as fast as she could without running. She reached the door to the lobby before allowing herself to look back.

Bradley stood in the doorway where she’d left him, watching her leave, the vials of her blood clutched in this hand.

SEVENTEEN

By the time Sabrina
got back to the station, it was nearly eight o’clock and Mathews’s car was already in the lot.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that his office door was firmly closed and there were no lights on. She checked the file holder mounted to the wall beside the door—her report was still there. Wherever Mathews was, he hadn’t made it to his office yet.

She placed the UA paperwork in the file holder and walked away before someone spotted her hovering around Mathews’s door. She wouldn’t be fired today. At her desk, Sabrina took two celebratory ibuprofen and washed them down with a bottle of water she dug out of her desk drawer. Strickland was nowhere to be found.

“Hey—anyone know where Strick went?” she said loudly, to no one in particular.

Jenner dropped the phone stuck to her ear to the crook of her shoulder. “He and Evans took their witness down to Tenderloin to do a lineup. Said he’d be back before lunch,” she said, before lifting the receiver back into place.

Their
witness? Strickland was out running down leads and doing real police work while she was peeing in a cup and getting jabbed with needles. She tried not to let it bother her that he took Evans instead of waiting for her.

She dropped into her chair and let her eyes drift across her desk. The red envelope was still sitting there, where her partner had left it—telling her he thought she was overreacting about the whole thing. Maybe so, but she’d rather tilt at windmills than sit on her ass and wait for something to happen.

She stood, plucking the envelope off her partner’s desk before heading for the elevator. It’d been two hours since shift change—Anderson had to be here by now.

Punching the down button, Sabrina shifted her weight to her good leg and waited for the car to arrive. It took a minute; it always did when it had a full load. Finally, the elevator let out a ding and the doors slid open and people poured out. She waited for the last few stragglers to make their way out of the elevator before she jumped in. Just as she was getting ready to make her move, she heard her name.

“Vaughn.”

Her head snapped up and she locked eyes with Mathews. He looked … happy.

Never a good sign where she was concerned.

“Yes, sir.”

“My office.” He walked past her, toward the bullpen, taking a few steps before shooting her a look over his shoulder. “Now.”

She swallowed the irritation his tone brought on and started to follow, easing the envelope into her pocket. Satisfaction warmed her belly when Mathews stopped short in front of his office door. He pulled the report and UA paperwork from his box—a soft, disgusted snort the only indication that she’d beat him. He crumpled the papers in his fist and shoved his door open before flipping the light switch on.

“I’d offer a seat, but this won’t take very long,” Mathews said, tossing the papers in his hand onto his desk. She looked around. No black trash bags stuffed with letters. Nothing to indicate what he’d called her into his office for. The longer he stalled, the tighter she felt the noose around her neck become. He waited a few moments before he continued. “I just got back from a meeting with other department captains. Seems SWAT is a bit shorthanded, what with you killing Sanford and all—”

“I didn’t kill Sanford,” she said, doing her level best to ignore the shaft of guilt that went straight through her. She hadn’t killed Steve Sanford, but she was the reason he was dead. She spent more time than she cared to remember trying to convince herself there was a difference.

“They’ve had a hard time tryin’ to get officers to apply for the program, and those who have, wash out in the first couple of weeks. You remember how demanding the qualifications are,” Mathews said, eyes locked on her face.

Her hand dropped to her thigh. She remembered qualifying for SWAT years ago—how challenging it’d been. She’d been up for it then—even more, she’d been hungry to prove herself. Now, in the shape she was in, she’d be lucky to make it a day before she folded.

Mathews smiled as if he’d read her mind. “Anyway, Sergeant Richards is looking for officers to volunteer until he can find some fresh meat for the grinder. I know how much you miss your old unit, so I volunteered on your behalf. Of course, you’ll have to requalify to prove eight months behind a desk and a bullet to the leg didn’t turn you soft.”

It was perfect, really. If she refused to go back to SWAT, not only could he suspend her for insubordination, he’d manage to alienate her from Sergeant Daniel Richards—one of the only supervisory officers who gave a damn what happened to her. If she said yes, there was a very good chance she’d fold under the pressure to qualify, and he’d be able to prove she wasn’t fit for duty. If, by some miracle, she managed to make the cut, she’d be on indefinite leave from Homicide.

Mathews had her from every angle. “That’s not going to be a problem for you, is it?” he said. The smile on his face deepened,
a sign that he knew she’d managed to put the pieces together.

“Not at all, sir.” She stood. “I’ll spend the day clearing my case files.”

“That won’t be necessary—Strickland and Evans can handle whatever you’ve got going. Take the rest of the day. Richards will be expecting you on the field tomorrow, oh seven hundred.” He made a show of throwing her report and UA paperwork into the trash can beside his desk. “Do me a favor and shut that door on your way out, will ya?”

That was it. She was dismissed. Turning, she headed for the door. She could feel his eyes on her back, watching every excruciating step she took. Whatever happened next, one thing was clear: Sabrina was finished in Homicide.