Page 12 of Girl Lost (The King Legacy #1)

CORBIN STILL DIDN ’T GET IT. One minute Luna was walking away , furious with him.

The next, she was all but throwing herself at his boss , begging to be part of his case .

And now? Now, thanks to her and a top-secret phone call between their bosses , Luna Rosati was his temporary partner.

Until further notice. Direct orders from Commissioner Tinch himself.

The sting of Luna’s rejection back at the fire was deeper than any burn the flames had left.

Okay, so maybe “I’m sorry” wasn’t the most eloquent apology.

And maybe the timing was off, what with the house still smoldering behind them and paramedics tending to a burned Salas.

But at least he’d said it. He should get a little credit for that.

Salas though ... Corbin had seen the burns, the blistered skin.

Heard the man’s screams as they loaded him into the ambo.

They’d walked into a trap. Plain and simple.

If it hadn’t been for God’s grace, they’d all be dead.

But it didn’t change the fact that Salas was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

The Millie Beach Sheriff’s Department interrogation room was small, cramped, and smelled like a mixture of urine and bleach. Corbin’s nose wrinkled at the stench. He could feel Luna’s presence on the other side of the one-way mirror, watching him. Watching Abercorn.

Charles Abercorn, a scrawny man with more tattoos than teeth, slouched at the table. Handcuffs bound his thin wrists to the metal ring bolted to the table. A sheen of sweat glistened on his shaved head. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth like a cornered dog. Nervous or high?

Corbin leaned against the mirrored wall with his arms folded. His injured shoulder throbbed, and he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Blade sat across from Abercorn and tapped his pen on the table. “All right, Charles. Let’s start with something simple. Where were you this morning?”

Abercorn’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s it to you?”

Corbin almost rolled his eyes. Why did they have to go through this with every single suspect? “Just answer the question.”

“I was at work, all right?”

“Where’s this job?” Pushing his drugs on the corner, probably.

“I work landscaping around town.”

That surprised Corbin. Most meth addicts were incapable of holding down a job, especially something that involved early hours and physical labor. “What’s the name?”

“It’s a small crew. Just me and Juan, and our boss Mr. Sánchez.”

Blade paused his writing. “Does Mr. Sánchez have a first name?”

“Ernesto. Ernesto Sánchez.” Abercorn tried to throw his hands up, but the shackles caught. “Look, you can call him. I’ll give you his number.”

“What time did you go to work?” Corbin asked.

“Started around six this morning, finished around noon.” Abercorn rotated his wrists, and Corbin could see the red lines where the metal bit into his skin. “I left my house at five thirty this morning ’cause I gotta walk. Lost my license a while back.”

Corbin glanced at Blade. A quick phone call should confirm that.

Blade pressed on. “And after your morning shift?”

“Mr. Sánchez dropped me off at Waffle House up on the corner. I was walkin’ straight home from there. That’s when I saw my house on fire!” Abercorn banged his fists on the table as much as he could. “You burned my house down and then you guys arrested me. For nothing!”

“For nothing?” Corbin laughed. “You call cooking meth in your bathtub ‘nothing’? You call rigging your house with a trap to start a fire that could’ve killed four officers ‘nothing’? You’re lucky we’re not charging you with attempted murder.”

“Meth? What?” Abercorn yanked his hands toward his lap, but the chain caught again. “No. No way, man. I wasn’t cookin’ meth. I don’t even know how!”

Corbin and Blade exchanged a quick glance. Either this guy was lying, or someone had planned to take care of Abercorn and make it look like a meth lab explosion.

Blade said, “You saw the police cars at your house, and you took off running.”

“Innocent people don’t run,” Corbin said.

Abercorn shifted in his seat. The cuffs rattled. He looked down at the table. “I ... I panicked, okay? I didn’t know what to do.”

They let the moment stretch a few more seconds.

Blade tapped his pen on his chin. “Okay, let’s talk about those Tasers.”

Abercorn’s gaze snapped to Blade. “What Tasers?”

“The ones you purchased with a prepaid gift card three weeks ago.”

Abercorn swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his stained T-shirt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Blade leaned back. Corbin heard the chair creak beneath his weight. “We have the receipts, Charles. We know you bought those Tasers. We know where you bought them. We know when you bought them. Now, why don’t you save us all some time and tell us why you needed three Tasers?”

“I told ya,” Abercorn said. “I didn’t buy no Tasers. You cops are crazy! Burned down my house for nothin’! I’m gonna sue!”

Corbin straightened, pushing away from the mirrored wall.

This was going nowhere fast. Time to rattle his cage.

“Cut the bull, Abercorn. You’re not telling us anything.

” He thumped Blade on the shoulder. “C’mon, might as well just throw him in lockup and be done with it. Let the Feds take care of this.”

Abercorn’s eyes widened. He looked from Corbin to Blade. “The Feds? What for?”

“A Taser was used to kidnap someone this morning, Charles. We traced the serial number on one of the AFID dots to you.” Blade kept that soothing tone, and Corbin admired his ability to compartmentalize. To navigate anything life or their job threw at him with a calm exterior.

“Let me break it down for you.” A wave of stale cigarette smoke and sweat wafted off Abercorn as Corbin walked behind him. “We’ve got you on conspiracy to commit kidnapping, aggravated assault, unlawful restraint, and use of a weapon during the commission of a felony. That’s just for starters.”

Blade nodded, picking up the thread. “Don’t forget potential charges of false imprisonment, and interfering with a 911 call if the victim tried to use his phone. Oh, and since this happened right outside a restaurant, we could add endangering public safety to the list.”

“Plus,” Corbin added, “if he was injured in any way during this little stunt, we’re looking at aggravated battery charges too. And if he crosses state lines? Now we’re in federal territory with interstate kidnapping.”

The handcuffs clanked against the ring welded to the center of the table as Abercorn fidgeted. Corbin saw the torn edges of the man’s cuticles, the surrounding skin frayed and bleeding where it had been worried away.

Blade tapped his pen on the table again. “All told, you’re looking at multiple felonies. We’re talking decades in a maximum-security prison, Charles. Decades. And that’s if the victim is found alive and well. If something’s happened to him...”

“Then I guess you’ll only have one choice, Charlie boy.” Corbin slapped him on the shoulder. “Electrocution or lethal injection.”

Abercorn twitched and wiped his cheek on his shoulder. Good. He was sweating now.

Corbin straightened. “So you can keep playing dumb and we’ll throw the book at you.

Every. Single. Charge. Including manufacturing a controlled substance and reckless endangerment for turning your house into a hazard.

And you can wait it out in county for the next few years.

Or you can start talking. Tell us what you know, and maybe—just maybe—we can work something out with the DA. ”

Abercorn’s eyes darted between Corbin and Blade, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts. “I ... I can’t.”

“Charles, Charles.” Blade shook his head and took his time tucking his pen in the inner pocket of his blazer. “We’ve laid out what you’re facing. Now’s your chance to help yourself out. What’s it gonna be?”

“Fine.” Abercorn licked his dry lips. “I didn’t use the Tasers, okay? And I don’t know nothin’ about a kidnapping. I traded ’em.”

Blade leaned forward. “Traded them for what, Charles?”

“Drugs. Pills, man.” Abercorn dropped his gaze to the table. “I needed a fix, and I was out of cash.”

“I’m not buying it,” Blade said. “Why buy pills when you have all that meth cooking in your bathroom?”

Abercorn was shaking his head before Blade finished the question. “I told you, man. I wasn’t cookin’ no meth. I don’t touch the stuff. It’s oxys I need. Ever since my car wreck, I can’t function without ’em.”

“So, you’re telling me you traded police-grade Tasers for prescription pills?” Blade asked.

“Yeah, my script ran out and—”

“Hold up,” Corbin said. “You had money for Tasers but not for pills? I’m no mathematician, but even I know that doesn’t add up.”

“No, man ... You don’t ...” Abercorn groaned.

“All right, all right. Here’s what happened.

I was hurtin’ bad, you know? Needed my pills somethin’ fierce.

So, I asked around, see if any of my buddies knew where I could score.

This friend of mine, he says he knows a guy who needs something done.

The guy said he could trade me the pills I needed if I did him a favor.

Said he needed some Tasers, but he couldn’t buy ’em himself ’cause he’d never pass the background check.

So, he offered to front me the cash, I buy the Tasers, and then we make the swap.

I get my meds, he gets his Tasers without the paperwork.

Seemed like a sweet deal at the time. I swear I didn’t know about no kidnapping. ”

Corbin took a step closer. Abercorn reeked of a man in over his head. “Who’s the guy you traded them to? We need a name.”

Abercorn’s head snapped up. Genuine fear filled his bloodshot eyes. “I can’t ... he’ll kill me if I give him up.”

“We can help you,” Blade said. “But only if you give us something to work with. Who are these people?”