Page 34

Riley

“ I hear you’re ready to have a conversation.” Detective Shawn Sampson strolls into the room, an arrogant smile on his face.

“Something like that,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. If I stand any chance of turning this interrogation around, then I have to play ball. At least a little bit.

“Good.” He takes a seat across from me. “Now, how about you start with why you murdered Odie Landers?”

“Given that I didn’t, I can’t start there.”

“I pulled you off of him at that hospital. Took a couple hits myself doing so. And if I remember correctly, you threatened him too.”

“Doesn’t mean I went back and murdered him.”

“No, but it also doesn’t mean you didn’t.” He cocks his head to the side while I get a read on him. He’s arrogant, that much is easy to see, but I get the impression he doesn’t actually think I killed anyone.

So am I here because he’s on Dodger’s payroll and I’m a loose end in need of tidying? Or because he’s just as frustrated with the lack of answers as I’ve been?

“Why was Odie under investigation?”

“You’re not the one with a badge, so I’ll be asking the questions.”

“You know I didn’t kill him. I have an alibi.”

“You have the word of an alcoholic and your brother.”

“Don’t forget about my lawyer,” I say. “She also knows I didn’t leave.”

“You’re a highly trained operative, Mr. Hunt; you could have easily left the house with no one knowing, killed Odie Landers, and made it back in time for morning coffee.”

“If I were a man who killed in cold blood, sure.”

“I’ve seen your records. You’ve killed before.”

Anger eats away at my demeanor. “When it was life or death,” I growl. “I’m not a murderer. There’s a difference.”

“Is there? A life is still being taken one way or another.” He crosses his arms. “Fine. Let’s pretend I believe that you didn’t kill him. Who did?”

“My guess is someone hired by Glen Dodger.”

His expression shifts. It’s slight—barely noticeable—but it’s there. “Doctor Glen Dodger. Why would he kill Odie?”

“Probably because Odie was blackmailing him.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not until you tell me why you were playing the part of security guard and chauffeur.”

He glares back at me, clearly not interested in playing quid pro quo. “Odie Landers was suspected of accepting bribes and facilitating the transfer of illegal materials in and out of the country.”

“What kind of illegal materials?”

“Drugs. And in some cases, people.”

Jules. Was she the first he’d trafficked? “I believe that Odie was involved in orchestrating the kidnapping and trafficking of his sister, Jules, when she was sixteen.”

Sampson leans back and crosses his arms. “You have proof of this?”

I shake my head. “It’s what I’ve been working to gather. How could you have worked alongside him all this time and not have anything concrete?”

“I was never privy to private conversations Dodger and Landers had. He always kept me relatively distant. Didn’t trust easily. I have proof of his meetings with Dodger, but never their content.”

“That why you said he needed to survive? Because you didn’t have what you needed to move on Dodger?”

“Exactly. This is a mess.”

“You never actually believed I killed him, did you?”

“I have my suspicions. Knowing what I do now about what you’re saying happened to Jules Landers, it gives you a bit more of a reason to want him dead.”

I shake my head. “You’re wasting your time. My brother will prove my alibi—see, he’s got video footage of the entire night—and this entire time you’re sitting here with me when we could be working together to nail Dodger.”

“I don’t trust rogue operatives like you. Cowboys who think they’re above the law.”

“And I don’t trust cops who would rather sit and wait for evidence to fall into their laps than actually risk their necks to find it.”

We glare at each other.

Someone knocks on the door, and a uniformed officer opens and peers inside. “Someone is asking for you, Detective.”

“Fine.” He stands. “Don’t go anywhere. We’re not done.”

“Not planning on it.” I tug on the chains gently in demonstration.

The door closes, and I glare at the wall as I go over everything I know.

Odie Landers was aware of what happened to his sister and likely used that to blackmail Dodger into moving things in and out of the country. After all, if he could do it with Odie’s sister, he could move just about anything, right?

Dodger decides to run for office and realizes he has one massive loose end to tie up. Not only is he being blackmailed, but his old friend is asking questions about what happened to his granddaughter all those years ago.

Either he pressures Odie into ordering the hit on Edgar or orders it himself.

Then he does the same on Jules.

And finally on Odie. First at the cemetery—and finally at his house where the killer ultimately succeeded.

But how am I supposed to prove it when there is no trail we can find?

The door opens, and I expect Sampson to walk back in. Instead, a man wearing a police uniform comes in. His eyes give him away though. This is no officer. He shuts the door behind him then reaches into his pocket and withdraws a garrote.

Dear God, please grant me strength.

I could yell, but given these rooms are relatively soundproof, no one is going to hear a thing.

The man charges toward me. I remain sitting until he’s only a few feet from me. Lunging to my feet, I kick the metal chair out. It slams into him, and he growls. My hands are still cuffed to the table, but I manage to land a kick to his gut as he tries to get the garrote around my throat.

I move out of the way as he lunges for me again, managing to duck my head and tuck my chin to my chest so he can’t get it around my throat.

He grips my hair and slams my face down onto the table. I kick out, twisting in his grip and slamming my boot into his groin. He grunts.

“Hey!” I yell. “A little help in here!”

“No one is coming,” he growls as he comes for me again. He manages to slip the garrote around my throat. I keep my head down toward the table and try to get my fingers around it with what little slack I have in the cuffs.

Spots invade my vision as my oxygen is cut off.

I keep fighting, thrashing against the hold.

Jules. I have to survive for her.

The door flies open.

Bang. Bang. Two shots, and the garrote loosens enough that I can suck in a breath. I choke on the air, sucking in ragged breath after ragged breath. My throat burns.

“You going to survive?” Sampson holsters his weapon and unlocks my cuffs.

“Yeah, I’ll be all right.” I straighten and look down at the man who’d tried to kill me. His eyes are frozen open, blood pouring from a hole in his chest and another in his throat. “Thanks for that.”

“He never should have gotten in here in the first place. It’s the whole reason I didn’t put you in a cell when we booked you. I’ll find out how he got in. You have my word on that.”

“You have to get me out of here,” I tell him. “I need to get back to Jules. If he’s trying to clean up all loose ends?—”

“She’s the last one,” he finishes then withdraws his cell. “Let me see what I can do.”