A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1)(124)

“Good girl. Escobar?” she asked her feisty admin.

“My name is Escobar. Duh.”

Rojas nodded. “You’re funny.”

“Really? Like funny hmm or funny ha-ha? ’Cause I’ve been contemplating stand-up.”

A knock sounded on the doorframe, and Auri peeked inside the interrogation room while Cruz parked himself against it, cradling a cup of coffee.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“Of course.”

She walked in with two cups and sat one on the table. “We brought you a hot chocolate. I didn’t know what you liked, but most people like hot chocolate, right?”

He spared her a quick glance, seemingly surprised she was talking to him, then returned to sulking.

It didn’t faze her. “I like your name. I’m going to name my firstborn after you. Is that okay?”

“That’s so sweet,” Sun said before coming to her senses. “Wait a minute. You’ve already named your firstborn? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The minx flashed her a grin of pure mischief.

“Well, what if you have a girl? Ramses is a little gender-specific.”

Auri giggled, pushed the cup closer to the interviewee, and left the room.

“Wait, this isn’t going to happen anytime soon, right?” When she still didn’t get an answer, she yelled, “I know where you live, Cruz!”

Her prisoner ignored the drink and kept his razor-sharp gaze averted, but she had a feeling he didn’t miss much.

“You gonna try your hot chocolate?”

He finally offered her his attention, but not in a good way. If looks could kill and all.

The grin she felt spread across her face surely rivaled anything Jack Nicholson could have conjured. She leaned forward and whispered, “Try the hot chocolate.”

He scalded her with a heated glare, but couldn’t help himself. He looked at the cup. Auri had written his name on it in thick black marker.

His name.

Not his brother’s.

Poetry Rojas looked back at Sunshine, his poker face in shambles.

He’d have to work on that.

“What is this?”

“I know who you are.”

He sneered at her. “You have no idea who I am.”

“Maybe, but I know who you’re not, and you are not Ramses Rojas.”

He held on to his sneer for dear life, but she could see it starting to give.

“Because he was picked up a couple of days ago when he fell asleep in his getaway car after robbing a Loaf ’N Jug just outside of Santa Fe.”

His sneer faltered.

“And I’m fairly certain he did it on purpose.”

His gaze dropped to the picture she slid across the table.

“The latest mug shot.”

An involuntary parting of the lips told Sun that his brother being arrested was about the last thing he’d expected to hear that day.

“It’s nice to meet you, Poetry.”

When she’d first read his name, Poetry Romaine Rojas, she’d wondered if it were a typo and they’d entered his street name. As luck would have it, that was his actual name, straight off his birth certificate. His mother was apparently very into literature. And salads. And it would explain his only known alias: Lettuce.

If Sun’s plan succeeded, she was so calling him that.

From what she could uncover between her research—which she stayed up half the night doing—and Royce Womack’s investigation, Darlene Tapia used to watch them when he and his twin brother were growing up in Albuquerque. She’d lived next door. And she was about the only family they had after their parents died, but because she wasn’t actually related and she didn’t meet the criteria to become a foster parent, they went into the system and she never saw them again.

Until a few weeks ago.

Poetry leaned on his elbows and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes.

She leaned over and unlocked the cuffs.

He removed them and then covered his eyes again.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

Overcome with emotion, he only shook his head.

“I just have one question for you. How the hell did you do it?”

He cleared his throat and said, “Sorry for the act.”

“The tough-guy act? I’m sure it came in handy in prison.”

He raised a brow. “You could say that.”

“But really, how the hell did you pull this off? Your fingerprints wouldn’t match your brother’s, and yet you went to prison for him? For three years? Why? Did he have something on you?”

His laugh held more sadness than humor. “You said you just had one question.”

“I’m sorry.” Sun had to admit, this was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen during her entire career in law enforcement.

He showed her his hands. More to the point, his fingerprints. They were covered in scars. “I chew them. You know, to hide my prints. The COs used to laugh at me. They’d remind me I was already in prison. I was already convicted. No use in trying to hide my identity now.”

“I’m stunned you pulled this off. I’m beyond stunned.”

“They don’t care, you know? It’s not like they compare your fingerprints once they have you. You could be the pope, as long as they have someone in that bed come lights-out.”