Page 34 of The Birthday Girl

V ega wrinkled his nose at the acrid scent wafting from the break room's overheated coffee pot, mingling with the damp wool hanging from hooks by the door.

Raindrops beaded on the shoulders of his jacket as he thumbed through the Lawson file for the third time that morning, the corners dog-eared from constant handling.

“You finally caught a break,” Detective Ramirez said, his shadow falling across Vega’s desk.

The younger officer's shoes squeaked against the linoleum, leaving faint wet tracks as he approached, a manila folder pressed against his chest. “That’s the navigation report on Shanice Carter’s vehicle.”

Vega raised a brow, thumbing the folder open. “Took them long enough.”

“Yeah, well, tech guys were whining about corrupted timestamps. I told them you don’t care how it got here, only what’s inside.”

“Good looking out.” Vega’s eyes scanned the printout.

His eyes tracked the GPS coordinates: a Chevron at 2:17 AM, the Starlight Inn at 3:04. Then his finger froze on an address. He tapped the line twice, disbelief hardening into certainty.

“Do you know whose address this is?”

Ramirez leaned in, squinting at the sheet. “Looks like… Banks.” He tapped the page with his index finger. “Danielle Banks.”

Vega’s jaw tightened, and the paper crinkled in his grip as he stared at the coordinates again. “Of all places Shanice could’ve gone…” His voice trailed off, low and bitter.

Ramirez straightened. “Maybe it was a quick, friendly visit before she left for the motel.”

Vega looked up, his gaze hard. “That doesn’t make sense. Not when Shanice was in fear for her life. That same night Lawson’s finger showed up on her doorstep, and she was told to leave her home for safety reasons.”

Ramirez shifted, his brows knitting. “Then why go to Danielle’s?”

“That’s the question,” Vega muttered. “Shanice wasn’t close to her. If she stopped there, it was for a reason.”

Ramirez rubbed at his chin. “Do you think Shanice was trying to warn her. Maybe Danielle is caught up in the same mess somehow.”

“If that’s the case, she picked the wrong door to knock on.”

Ramirez flipped to another page in the file. “Tech found the baby shower leak. That photo of Lawson bleeding all over his shirt? The one the blogs posted. Guess who the source data traces back to?”

“Danielle,” Vega replied without hesitation, his voice edged with disgust.

“Danielle.” Ramirez nodded.

“Should’ve known.” Vega shook his head. “Looks like we need to pay her a visit.” He shoved his chair back from his desk and stood, tucking the folder under his arm. “Let’s go.”

Ramirez fell in beside him as they cut through the bullpen, officers glancing up from their screens as the pair passed. “You think she will fold?”

“Danielle?” Vega snorted. “I know her kind. That woman could convince Saint Peter she belongs in heaven while holding the devil's pitchfork. She’s had years of practice playing the innocent one. She’ll smile, she’ll stall, and she’ll cry if she has to, but people like her always talk. They can’t help it.”

Ramirez held the door open, rain drumming against the glass beyond. “And if she doesn’t?”

“Then we've got probable cause to dig deeper into her life than she'd ever want us to.”

They stepped out into the downpour, the storm slicking the precinct steps and blurring the city lights into streaks of neon. Ramirez hunched his shoulders against the rain as Vega unlocked the cruiser.

“I bet she won’t see this coming,” Ramirez chortled.

Vega slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “Good. I like catching people off balance. That’s when the truth slips.”

The wipers beat a steady rhythm as they pulled into traffic, both men silent for a stretch, the case file lying open on Vega’s lap, Danielle’s name staring back at him. The cruiser slowed as they turned off the main drag, rain hissing on the hood.

Vega flicked his eyes across the windshield, taking in the neighborhood.

Danielle’s block wasn’t crumbling, but it wasn’t thriving either.

Rows of brick townhomes leaned against each other, their paint faded and gutters sagging.

Lawns were patchy with chain-link fences bent from years of leaning elbows.

Porch lights glowed dim behind rust-spotted screens, some flickering, some dead.

“This isn’t the worst block I’ve been on, but not the best either. It’s kinda stuck in the middle.”

“The Banks sisters definitely live different lives,” Vega said as he eased the cruiser to the curb. “That kind of gap breeds resentment. Wouldn’t be the first time family turned on family over envy.”

Danielle wore a path in the carpet, thumb jabbing at her phone screen to redial her parents' number. It had been two weeks of silence from them during what should have been daily check-ins from their anniversary cruise.

Her calls went straight to voicemail—again. Tisha’s recorded voice chirped through the speaker before the beep, and Danielle knew something wasn't right. It never took long to hear back from them. Ever.

As she pressed talk once more, Danielle heard the slow halt of tired, and a car door slam. She moved to the window, watching as Vega and Ramirez stepped out of their vehicle and onto her sidewalk. Vega took up the front while Ramirez traveled two steps behind him.

A few moments later, they were on her porch, and Danielle opened the door without them having to knock.

“Detectives,” she said with an uneasy smile spread across her face. “What brings you to my home in this weather?” she asked, her parents forgotten for a moment.

Vega’s eyes flicked past her shoulder, clocking the tidy living room behind her. The sofa was draped with a throw blanket, a stack of unopened bills was on the side table, and a muted television was flashing the evening news.

“We need a few minutes of your time,” Vega said, leaving no room for refusal.

Danielle hesitated, then stepped aside, brushing a hand over her hair as though smoothing down nerves along with stray strands. “Of course. Come in.”

Ramirez wiped his boots on the mat and glanced around once they entered. “Nice place,” he offered casually, though his eyes were skimming for details.

Danielle shut the door and folded her arms. “I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t think you came for small talk.”

Vega dropped the manila folder onto her dining table. “You’d be right about that. Shanice Miller’s navigation shows she stopped here the night she died. Care to explain why?”

The color drained slightly from Danielle’s face, though she forced a brittle laugh. “Shanice? Here? No. That has to be wrong. I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

“The report doesn’t lie.” Vega rebutted. “She went to Chevron at two-seventeen, and your driveway not long after, then the Starlight Inn. Those are her last known stops before she and her children’s bodies turned up.”

Danielle’s knees buckled, and she gripped the back of a chair to steady herself. “Her… children?” she whispered, eyes wide, searching Vega’s face for any sign he was bluffing.

Ramirez tilted his head. “You didn’t know?”

“Why the fuck would I know that?” Danielle snapped, her voice cracking before she forced it down to a simmer. She dragged a hand across her mouth, pacing the living room area, then back. “Jesus Christ… Shanice and her kids? That’s—” Her eyes flicked to the folder. “That has nothing to do with me.”

Vega’s stare didn’t waver. “Maybe, maybe not, but she came here for a reason. Out of every house in this city, Shanice Miller stopped at yours before she ended up dead.”

When she spoke again, her tone was softer, almost rehearsed. “Yes, she came by for all of five minutes. She didn’t even say what she wanted. Just showed up, looking… off. I thought maybe she’d had too much to drink. Before I could get anything out of her, she was back in her car.”

“Why was she coming to you at all? You two weren’t friends, and you weren’t family. So tell me, Danielle, how exactly did you know Shanice Miller?” Vega asked, the suspicion in his eyes matching his tone.

Danielle’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her eyes darted toward the folder on the table, then to the detectives. “We… crossed paths,” she said carefully. “Through Tyriq. She knew him, I knew him. It wasn’t deep.”

Ramirez let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Crossed paths? That’s vague.”

Vega didn’t take his eyes off her. “Let me make it simple. Did Shanice know you as Tahlia’s sister, or as someone else? From what I’ve learned, she and Tyriq had a son. And aren’t you also his baby’s mother?”

The words seemed to slap the air out of the room, and Danielle’s grip on the chair tightened. For a second, her mask cracked, but she stitched it back together with a shaky laugh.

“That’s none of your damn business. My personal life doesn’t have anything to do with Shanice showing up here.”

Ramirez raised his brows, exchanging a glance with Vega. “So you admit it.”

Danielle’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t admit a thing.

You said it, not me.” She pressed a hand against her chest, steadying her breath, and let her tone soften into something almost wounded.

“Tyriq lied to a lot of people, Detectives. Shanice wasn’t the first, and she sure as hell wasn’t the last. Don’t stand here and make it sound like I’m responsible for his mess. ”

Vega leaned in to remind her who held the leverage. “If Shanice figured out you were actually his Lawson’s baby’s mother? That gives her a reason to show up here before she died, and that gives me a reason to think you know a lot more than you’re saying.”

Danielle’s mouth tightened, her composure hanging by a thread.

“I told you, she didn’t say anything. She came, and she left.

That’s it. You want to twist it into something bigger, go ahead, but don’t you dare put Shanice’s death on me.

” She sighed. “Should I obtain a lawyer, Detective?” Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the chair’s back.