He said to Banner, “If you just tell me what’s going on, I can come down on my own with my lawyer.”
“That won’t be possible.”
“Why the hell not?” Sean snapped, hating that he was letting his fear take over. “You know my wife is a federal agent. My sister-in-law is a fed. You must know I have government contracts, security clearance. You can ask me to come in and talk and I’ll be there.”
“I did.”
“I mean on my own, with my lawyer.”
“Too late.”
“You didn’t give me the fucking choice!”
“Are you going to make this difficult, Mr. Rogan? Do I need to add resisting arrest?”
“I’m not resisting, I’m talking.”
“You’re a flight risk, Mr. Rogan,” Banner said. “I’m sorry it came to this, but I have no choice. I’m only going to ask you one more time. Turn around, put your hands on your head, and kneel.”
He could bolt into his garage, the house. Lock the door. It was steel-reinforced. His security was the best. He could go to the panic room he’d recently put in and wait this out until he figured out what was going on.
But that would make him look guilty.
So he complied, resisting an overwhelming urge to run. His entire body tensed; he would not do well behind bars. He already felt like a caged animal and the cuffs weren’t even on his wrists.
Then two of the SAPD officers approached him. One searched him and removed his gun, handed it to his partner, who unloaded it and handed it to Mendez. She put it in an evidence bag. The officer found his knife that he kept in his pocket and also handed that to his partner.
“Do you always arm yourself to take your kid to school?” the cop said.
Sean couldn’t let him bait him. This cop was nobody, and Sean wasn’t going to say a word until he knew exactly what was going on and why these cops thought he killed Mona Hill. He’d already said too much, arguing with Banner.
His left wrist was cuffed, pulled behind his back, and then his right arm was brought down.
“Relax, Mr. Rogan,” the officer said.
He tried. He couldn’t. He valued his freedom more than anything. He’d spent a few days in jail before, he could not—would not—spend the weekend behind bars.
“Come on now,” the officer said, pulling his arm tighter than necessary.
“Mr. Rogan,” Banner said, “you’re drawing attention from your neighbors.”
Sean’s face heated. He didn’t look around. He wasn’t resisting, but he couldn’t force his body to relax. He winced as the cop jerked his arm up and back and clicked on the handcuffs.
Murder. They’re arresting you for murder.
You didn’t kill Mona Hill.
Why do they think you killed her?
They wouldn’t arrest him solely on the word of an eyewitness—there had to be evidence. Question him, sure—but they wouldn’t arrest him. What did they have? Why did they believe he killed her? Anything they had would be circumstantial. He was in her condo. He couldn’t tell anyone, especially the cops, why he was there. Not until he talked to a lawyer.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t told Lucy. There were two reasons he hadn’t told her, not the least of which was because Lucy didn’t like Mona. Neither did Sean, but they had an understanding, and in this particular situation they had a common enemy.
You should have told Lucy.
He had a very, very bad feeling that this was all a setup.
You are screwed, Rogan.
Banner said, “Can we take a look in your car?”
He glanced over his shoulder and looked Banner in the eye. “Do you have a warrant?”
He took their silence as a no.
“We’ll get a warrant; you can just make this easier.”
“I do not consent,” he said clearly.
The officer who had cuffed him took hold of Sean’s elbow and pulled him to standing, then escorted him to the squad car. “Watch your head,” he said and helped Sean into the back.
The cop closed the door and Sean was alone. His eyes burned. Rage and embarrassment tore him up inside.
And fear. Fear that this setup was going to get him killed. He had enemies in prison. So did his brother. So did Lucy.
Maybe that’s why he was bring framed for Mona Hill’s murder. It wouldn’t matter when the cops realized he was innocent, by then he might already be dead.
Chapter Three
When Lucy Kincaid walked into the FBI office that morning, her boss Rachel Vaughn called out to her before she sat down. “Lucy, the ASAC needs to see you.”
There was something about her tone that caught Lucy’s attention, and when she put her briefcase down and turned to her, Rachel’s expression was blank. Yet … something in her posture said concern. Her tension told Lucy that something was definitely up, even though her face was emotionless.
Lucy mentally reviewed all her cases and couldn’t imagine what was wrong. Was she in trouble? Did she screw something up? She would have heard or sensed something, wouldn’t she?
“Is there anything I need to know?” she asked Rachel. She wished her boss would give her some sort of clue.
“She’s waiting for you.”
Then Rachel turned, walked into her own office, and closed the door.
Not good.
Lucy put her purse in her desk drawer, then walked slowly from the Violent Crimes squad to the opposite side of the building where the administrative offices were housed. She hoped someone would approach her and give her a clue as to what was going on. Everyone seemed to be going about their business and didn’t give her a second glance. A few people said good morning. If something was going on, only Rachel knew about it.
She braced herself for a reprimand, though she couldn’t imagine about what. Or maybe one of her cases was falling apart and she needed to go over evidence with the US Attorney’s Office. Or she was being transferred.
Last year she’d seriously considered requesting a transfer because she felt that there were some serious problems for her in the office, but over the last few months, everything had been great. She and Rachel now worked well together after an initial rough patch. The Violent Crimes Squad was fully staffed, Lucy got along with everyone, and she was no longer a rookie.
Maybe it’s nothing bad.
Except Rachel hadn’t looked her in the eye.
It’s bad.
She walked into the administrative wing and ASAC Abigail Durant was standing outside her door talking to her admin. She saw Lucy and a cloud crossed her face, then she covered it up.
“Agent Kincaid, thank you, you can come in.”
Had someone died? Been injured? Was she being written up? Something more serious?
Stop. Listen.
She walked in and was surprised to see SAPD Detective Tia Mancini sitting at the small table. “Hello, Tia.”
“Lucy.”
Tia also looked serious.
Abigail told her admin no interruptions, then she closed the door and sat down at the table.
Lucy had a million questions, but didn’t say a word. She looked from Tia to Abigail.
Abigail spoke first. “Detective Mancini has some information for you. She told me first and asked how to handle it. I said be up-front and to tell you everything she can.”