“With all due respect, sir,” Tate bit out, “you need to share that evidence.”
Burns nodded his agreement. “I will. Just as soon as—”
A rap came at the door to his office, interrupting him.
He glanced up. “Ahh, here she is.”
I turned and froze.
“What the fuck?” I bit out.
“Cabron!” Gabriella growled at the same time.
It translated to ‘bastard.’ A term I’d heard pass her lips many times in the past when she was pissed at me.
Long gone was the sexy black dress of earlier. In its place was a tight pair of black jeans, black calf-high boots and a fitted long-sleeved black top. A police badge hung around her neck. My eyes locked on it, my head spinning. Had I woken up in a parallel universe this morning? “What in the goddamn hell are you doing here?”
“Mitchell Valentine,” she hissed, using my full name in her rolling Spanish accent. She’d never shortened it to Mitch like everyone else and hearing it on her lips when she was naked and writhing beneath me had always got me hot. “You work here?”
Burns looked between the both of us. “You two know each other? Good,” he said without waiting for a response. “Come in, Detective.”
“Detective?” I echoed as Gabriella stepped into the office.
“That’s correct. Detective Gabriella Valdez, you obviously know Detective Mitch Valentine…” he nodded at me, and then at Tate “…this is his partner, Detective Tate Miller.” Burns shifted his gaze to Tate and myself. “Valdez joined our team yesterday, coming in from another department. She’s going to head up the Paterson case.”
“Nice to meet you, Miller,” she said and Tate stood so he could shake the hand she held out. I simply glared as she withdrew her hand, my eyes telling her we would be having a chat later. A big one.
I turned to face my boss. “Can we get the pleasantries out of the way,” I bit out, “and get to the evidence you mentioned?”
Burns took a minute to bring Gabriella up to speed before tapping the keyboard of his computer and then turning the screen to face us. “This is the security vision of where Grace was last sighted.”
The four of us focused our attention on the black and white footage as it came to life. First it cut to Grace exiting a cab out the front of Sydney airport. My brows drew together. She was still wearing the same dress from the night before. I checked the time of the footage. It showed midnight—just twenty-five minutes after her argument with Casey at the party.
I drew a deep breath as she headed around the side of the building. Why was she heading that way?
“Watch here,” Burns said.
The office was silent as a man came on screen, following behind Grace. The camera only caught the back of him. He was tall, with mussed dirty-blond hair, and wearing what looked like a tux, the bowtie hanging untied around his neck. My pulse quickened because if someone asked me if I knew this man, without a doubt I would’ve said it was Casey.
To Burns, I said, “That could be anyone.”
“Agreed, but we also have eye-witness accounts from people inside the party and outside the bar that attest to a volatile argument between the pair. One man said Casey threatened him where he stood with friends out the front. His friends corroborated his account.”
“So why are you making the call of probable homicide?” Tate asked.
Burns opened the folder in front of him, spreading out an array of crime scene photos. Tate leaned forward in his seat and Gabriella and I stepped up to the desk, shoulders brushing as we leaned in for a closer look. The photos showed enough blood spatter over the brick wall of the building for a fatal shot.
“Forensics?” Gabriella questioned, tapping at the blood spatter.
“Matched it to Grace,” Burns answered.
She pointed to the photo of the shell casings. “Ballistics?”
“Semi-automatic forty calibre Glock,” he replied, passing over a photo showing a similar gun.
My brows drew together, ignoring Gabriella’s closeness and her husky voice. “That type of gun could belong to anyone,” I said, “I have the same one.”
My boss shook his head. “This was the actual gun found on scene. We’ve already matched the registration back to Casey. The only prints on it belong to him and the gun’s been fired. Twice.”
I glanced up, eyes widening in disbelief. “The gun was found on scene?”
Gabriella looked across at me. “You think it’s a plant? Someone’s setting your friend up?”
“It’s possible,” I muttered, thinking hard. Travis and Casey had apprised me of yesterday’s events at last night’s party. The fact that Morgan was linked to the Sentinels MC was a topic I needed to broach with my boss, but Casey and Travis had asked me to sit on the information for two days. I didn’t like agreeing to the condition. The only reason I did was because Casey was like a brother. He deserved to find out the truth about what happened to his family.
Now sitting on the information was an impossibility because if I was right, and this was a set up, it could only point back to one person.
Morgan.
I opened my mouth, ready to share the information when my mind flashed back to the coiled snake on Gabriella’s ribcage. Was she working with us … or against us? I shut it quickly.
“Valentine?” Burns watched me closely. “You got something to share?”
“I do.”
“And?” he prompted.
“The information’s highly sensitive, boss.”
He sat back in his chair, his gaze speculative. “You can speak freely in front of Detective Valdez.”
I turned my head, staring at Gabriella and letting her feel every inch of my distrust. “With all due respect, boss,” I replied, not taking my eyes from hers. “I don’t think I can.”
“Arrghhh!” Gabriella shoved at my chest and I stumbled backwards, surprised at the force behind it. “Cula!” she spat, waving her hands around angrily. “You don’t trust me? You stand here wasting time with your bitch talk when your friend is in trouble. Get over yourself!”
Her chest heaved angrily and my hands fisted, ready to go nose to nose in an all out argument when Burns interrupted. “A word, Mitch.” I looked at him. “In private,” he added with a pointed glance at both Tate and Gabriella.
Gabriella huffed and stalked out. Tate followed behind, throwing me a questioning glance before shutting the door behind the both of them. I turned to face my boss.
“Sit,” he ordered.
I took a seat, elbows resting on my knees as I rubbed at my eyes.
What a goddamn clusterfuck.
“What I’m about to tell you is none of your damn business, but you’re the best goddamn detective I have and I need you to pull your head out of your ass. I also need you to keep this quiet because trials are still pending and making this information public could put the case, and Valdez’s life, in serious jeopardy.” He paused before continuing. “Valdez’s transfer was an unexpected one. She’s been with the feds for years, working deep undercover.”
Undercover? Damn you, Gabriella! Why did you have to go straight for the most dangerous division of law enforcement in Australia?
“Her last assignment with them ran for over eighteen months. Despite getting the guys they were after, it ended badly. Very badly. A lot of people died, including her partner. Valdez almost died too. She came out of it scarred and addicted to drugs.”
My boss steepled his fingers, watching me carefully. I gave nothing away on the outside. But on the inside my heart began to break for the girl I used to know and for the woman she was now.
“She’s worked hard to get where she is now,” Burns told me. “Damn hard. She doesn’t need to earn your trust because she already has mine. Got me?”
I let out a breath, realising I’d been holding it, and stared at my hands. “Her last undercover assignment …” I looked up. “She was with the Black Vipers, wasn’t she?”
“I’m not going
to ask how you know that because I’m starting to get a fair idea already. Now…” he nodded at the door “…send them back in.”
I kept my face impassive as they filed back in and with short, sharp sentences, filled them in quickly on Casey’s background, right up to yesterday’s run in with Morgan, both Burns and Gabriella firing questions at me during the recount.
My boss was rubbing his temples by the time I finished. He growled out a curse after allowing the information to sink in. “Okay,” he said eventually, sitting back in his seat. He looked to Gabriella first. “Valdez, I need you to get hold of Internal Affairs. Morgan needs to be investigated. I don’t want anyone else on this but you and your immediate team. Furthermore, the information relating to Morgan and the Sentinels does not leave the team, got me?” He eyed each of us in turn, getting our agreement. “Not until I work out where the fuck we go from here.”
“Valentine and Miller. Go pick up Daniels. Send a forensics team to follow behind you so they can sweep his loft. Valdez,” he said, standing up from his desk as he shoved all the papers from his desk back in the folder and handed it to her. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to your team and we can find out where they’re at with the search for Grace.”
Leaving the office, Gabriella and Burns peeled right and Tate and I went left.
“Gabriella,” I called out.
She paused, waiting as I walked back. I handed her my card with my contact information. “The minute you hear about Grace, could you let me know?”
She glared.
“Please?”
Her answer was to simply snatch the card from my fingers, jam it in her jeans pocket, and walk away.
We hit the downstairs carpark and I tossed Tate the keys to one of the squad cars. “You drive.”
I slid in the passenger seat, clicked on the seat belt, and was dialling Travis’s number before Tate even started the car.
“Yeah?” he answered, his voice croaky and feeble.
“Rufus! Peter!” I heard Quinn screech in the background at the dogs. “Outside! Now!”
“Fuck,” my brother muttered. “This place is a fucking zoo. Jared and Evie crashed here last night, and then Mum, who was watching Sam this morning, brought him home an hour ago, along with Peter, because apparently it’s not a family gathering without all the dogs,” he added sarcastically, “and she’s still here.”
“Travis,” I said quickly before he kept going. “We’ve got a problem. A big clusterfuck on top of a steaming pile of shit kind of problem.”
“What?”
“Tate and I are on way to pick up Casey.”
“And take him where?”
“Into custody.”
There was a pause and then, “Fuck. What happened?” I could tell by his tone that he was already on the move.
I explained it all as quickly as possible, leaving out the part about Gabriella and the fact that I’d shared the information relating to Morgan and the Sentinels. I’d worry about that later.
“Meet me at the loft, okay? Casey’s going to lose it. He’s going to need you.”
The throaty growl of his Subaru barrelled down the line. “Already on my way. See you there.”
Travis pressed the intercom at the entrance to Casey’s building after we arrived. There was no answer so Travis used his key. We all had keys to each other’s place in the event of an emergency. This definitely qualified as one.
After unlocking the front door, Mitsy barrelled us up by the entryway, his shrill bark splitting my head clean in two. The three of us took a step back. Mitsy took a step forward.
“You take the dog,” Travis told me as he began inching sideways into the room.
Grabbing Travis by the bicep, I shoved him in front of Mitsy. “You take the fucking dog.”
Tate pulled his gun. “If neither of you take the damn dog, I will.”
“Christ, I’ll take—”
“Wait,” Travis muttered, pausing to scan the loft. Furniture was overturned, a broken lamp sat in the corner and Casey was on his stomach on the couch, passed out and completely oblivious.
He began to stir when Mitsy kept up his aggravating tirade. Rolling over, he sat up with a wince, rubbing his face. I ran a critical eye over his clothing. He was sans jacket, but still wearing his shirt and pants from last night.
There was no blood spatter on his shirt, I noted with relief. If he shot Grace, there would be spatter. That was one tick in his favour.
“What are you three doing in here?” He paused and I could see his mind ticking over for a brief moment before his eyes flared with panic. “Grace,” he muttered. Then he stood up and stumbled.
Travis rushed over and Mitsy ran for cover, hiding beneath the dining table at the far end of the huge space.
Casey shoved him away, his expression confused. “I need to find Grace.”
Travis opened his mouth to speak and I shook my head, silently telling him to let me handle this. He shut it quickly.
“Casey, do you remember anything about last night?” I asked.
Ignoring me, he grabbed for his phone and began dialling. “I don’t …” He put the phone to his ear, shaking his head at me. “Nothing. Not after leaving the bar.” Casey looked at Travis. “Is Grace at the duplex? We had a fight. She … Oh God.” He ran a hand over his face. Pulling the phone from his ear when it went unanswered, he tossed it on the coffee table. “I need to get over there.”
This was not the Casey I knew. The Casey I knew had it together. If someone asked me to name the coolest guy I knew, I would instantly say Casey Daniels. The guy in front of me was shaking and incoherent like he was coming down from a major high. His clothes were a rumpled mess and his eyes bleary and red.
If he was being set up for this, being drugged would make sense. It would explain his actions at the party last night and the memory loss. Tate and I shared a quick glance and I mouthed, “Roofied?”
Roofies were the street name for Rohypnol—a drug easily slipped into someone’s drink when they weren’t looking. I’d come across its use more often than not in the homicides I investigated. It had no colour, no smell, and no taste—making it popular. After a half hour, the drug had you in its control, making you weak, confused, and by all appearances, drunk. Your speech would slur, you would black out, and when you woke, your memory was wiped.
Tate nodded his agreement.
“Casey, when was the last time you saw Grace?” I asked.
“Why?”
I cursed under my breath. There was no easy way to say this. My eyes flicked to Travis where he stood next to Casey. His jaw was clenched, his eyes bleak, but he was holding it together for his friend.
I looked back at Casey. “Grace is missing.”
He froze. “What do you mean, missing?”
I held his eyes as I spoke, willing him not to lose it. “I mean she disappeared last night and hasn’t been seen since.” Casey’s chest started rising and falling and I knew panic was setting in. Keep it together, I pleaded silently before speaking past the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, Casey, but we have evidence that suggests her disappearance may be a probable homicide.”
“What the fuck,” he breathed, his eyes searching my face. Then he roared it, shoving me in the chest. “You fucking liar!” He swung at me, clipping me in the jaw before Travis locked him down.
Casey struggled, but he was in no state to break the hold. It didn’t stop him trying. “She’s not dead!” he shouted, his voice breaking. A sob forced its way from his chest. “You fucking cunt!” came his hoarse cry. “You goddamn …” Casey pulled free and Travis grabbed at him again, locking his arms around his friend and holding on.
“Casey, I’m sorry.” Then I said the words that killed me the most. “We have to bring you in.”
He froze against Travis, his eyes narrowing with fury. “You think I killed her? You think I killed Grace?” He started struggling again and I could see the strain starting to wear on my brother. His jaw was tight and there w
ere tears in his eyes. He was about to lose it right alongside Casey. “She’s not dead!” he yelled. “Damn you, Mitch! Fuck you. Fuck all of you. She’s not …”
Casey trailed off, his head tipping to the ceiling and his chest heaving as Travis kept hold of him “Let me go, Trav,” he said softly. Too softly.
“No,” he grunted.
“I don’t want to hurt you so let me go. Right now.”
“Let me say one thing, Casey,” I interrupted, taking a step towards the both of them, appreciating that Tate had kept quiet and let me handle the situation. “Then Travis will let you go, okay? One thing.”
“Spit it out,” he growled in reply.
“Grace is out there, and if she’s still alive, then she’s hurting and she needs you. She’s counting on you to stay calm, to keep it together, and find her. So help us find her. Help us by letting us bring you in. The sooner we can do that, the sooner we can get you cleared, the sooner we can get her back and find out who’s behind this.”
“Fuck,” Casey whispered, sagging against my brother.
I reached slowly for the cuffs dangling from the back pocket of my jeans and Travis tensed, his eyes going flat and hard. “Cuff him and I will beat you so fucking hard you won’t move for a week.”
I didn’t cuff him. I went so far as to let him ride to the station with Travis on the promise it was kept quiet. If it came to light there was a trial and proper police procedure wasn’t followed—no matter how small the procedure—it could backfire on all of us.
When Casey arrived his eyes were red rimmed and raw, but he held his chin high as he followed us in.
We arranged his drug test to screen for Rohypnol. Then we bagged his tux while he changed into a pair of jeans, tee shirt, and hoodie Travis brought with them from his loft.
Travis went to the waiting area and I led Casey to an interview room. It held nothing but a table, four chairs, and a security camera in the corner. I pulled out a seat and indicated for him to sit down.