“Detective, just stop. Sit there, shut up, and listen to me.”
I narrowed my eyes. I could feel my nostrils flaring like an angry bull. I didn’t have to put up with this. Still, something about the urgency in his voice made me settle back down in my seat.
“Sandra, why do you think I put you on this case?” the captain asked, coming round his desk and standing there, looking down at me. “Do you think it’s because I think you’re the best detective for the job? Hell, did it ever occur to you that maybe a detective shouldn’t be wasting her time protecting a fucking witness?”
“I… Captain, I don’t understand…” I whispered, staring up at him. What in the hell was he trying to say?
“Sandra, I put you on this case because you have history with Mr. Hale. We both know you’ve been fucking him.”
I blinked. I felt like I’d been slapped right across my face. My stomach sank to my feet where it coiled into knots around my ankles, preventing me from leaping up out of the chair and clawing Captain Pierce’s eyes right out of his honky skull.
What the fuck? Did this asshole really think that kind of bullshit was going to fly with me? This was sexual harassment!
“Nathaniel Hale has a few, let’s say, ‘well known’ predilections. Putting you on his protection detail was critical. I needed you close to him, Sandra.”
I swallowed the acrid rage rising in my throat. What was he getting at?
“You put me in there because you knew Nathaniel Hale had a thing for me? What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked, locking the Captain in a hateful stare. “If it wasn’t a felony, I’d strangle you with your fucking tie!”
“I put you there, Sandra, because I knew you could get under his skin. To your credit, it seems like you’ve went well above and beyond the call of duty.”
“You asshole,” I replied. I knew exactly what he was implying. He’d been playing me right from the beginning. I wasn’t sent in to talk to Mr. Hale because I was the best cop for the job, I was sent there because the Captain knew we’d been intimate! I was sent there to put him off balance!
“Maybe you think I’m an asshole, but I’m an asshole who gets results. Thirty-six women were in that container they tossed into the fucking Pacific Ocean,” the Captain said, stepping over to his filing cabinet and pulling out a manila folder. “Thirty-six souls, and God-fucking-knows how many others buried around this city because Wallace was walking free.”
“We put him in prison, Captain. Nathaniel Hale’s testimony put him there.”
“There’s only one problem with that,” Captain Pierce said, tossing the folder onto the table. I stared down at it, at its contents: picture after picture of Nathaniel Hale, and in the same frame, Mr. Wallace. “You might think Nathaniel Hale is the good guy here, but it seems he had a bit more interaction with Wallace and the Paddies than you might want to admit.”
I thought back to the conversation Nathan and I had over dinner, trying to hide my emotions. The world swirled around me. I could feel darkness closing in from all sides, my pulse pounding in my head so loud that it almost drowned out the Captain’s next words.
“So it might interest you to know there’s another container on its way, detective. Full of women, just like the last one.”
Now anger wasn’t the only thing rising in my throat. I could taste bile on the back of my tongue, feel the sway of my stomach as though I was standing on a fishing boat in the middle of stormy seas. Sweat prickled on my neck, my back, and my palms, cold as ice to match the temperature of the blood racing through my veins.
This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. I hadn’t slept with—fallen for—a sex trafficker, a liar, a criminal. I couldn’t have…
“Are you suggesting…?” I started, catching the grim look on Captain Pierce’s face.
“It’s inbound through a holding company. Everything has been routed through the Cayman Islands. No official ties back to Hale Corp, except…”
The captain paused a moment, turning back to his filing cabinet and returning with a single sheet of paper. It was a shipping manifest. Manila to San Francisco.
“Nathaniel Hale prefers to do his business in person, Sandra. That’s the manifest, and that,” he said, pointing to a dark smudge on the bottom right of the photocopied sheet, “that is Mr. Hale’s thumbprint, according to forensics.”
My whole body felt numb. “When did this happen?” I asked, my hands shaking as I stared at the document. The captain didn’t have to answer, because my eyes swept immediately to the date at the bottom of the page.