Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(26)

Psycho rushed up the stairs. Her gaze fell to the man on the floor. “What’s going on?”

“We need the rope and duct tape!” Malice dropped to the floor to hold the man’s legs to stop him from flailing around.

Psycho disappeared back down the stairs and returned seconds later with the tape and used it to bind his wrists, knees, and ankles. It helped that the waiter was young and bony, likely had never set foot in a gym in his life. His eyes were wide open. He’d already pissed in his pants.

Cleo stopped Psycho from taping his mouth shut. “In a minute,” she said. “Why are you here?” Cleo asked the waiter.

“He invited me.”

“Brad?”

“Yes.”

“Invited you here to have sex with me?”

“Yes.”

“Have you done this before?”

He looked confused.

“I’m not asking if you’ve had sex before. I’m asking if you’ve come here to this house to have sex with one of Brad’s dinner dates?”

He shook his head.

“You’re a liar. I know you’ve done this before.”

“Okay. Y-yes. Last time I only watched.”

“What kind of sick fuck are you?”

“I don’t know.” His lips and chin trembled. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re only sorry because we caught your ass.”

He was crying now, snot oozing out of his nose.

Cleo looked at Malice. “This is bullshit. He came here to rape me!”

His sobbing was getting out of control.

“Shut up,” Cleo told him, “or I’ll end it for you right now.”

“I think you should take a breath and calm down,” Malice told Cleo.

Cleo peered into her eyes, and that’s when Malice realized she was pissed but not out of control. She wanted to scare the waiter.

“The asshole,” Cleo said through gritted teeth, her spittle hitting his cheek, “was going to do whatever he wanted with me while Brad watched, and then vice versa. I’m livid. You would be too if it had been you,” she said. “If he doesn’t tell me everything I want to know, I’m going to kill him.”

“Please,” he begged.

“Psycho,” Cleo said, “I want to get his confession on video.”

Psycho stood over them. She pulled out her cell, pushed some buttons, and kept it aimed on the man. “Ready.”

Cleo glared at the waiter. “Answer my questions truthfully and we’ll let you go.”

He nodded.

“How long have you worked at the Blue Fox?” Cleo asked him.

“Two years.”

“What did you put in the wine?”

“Rohypnol.”

“Did Brad give you the drug?”

He nodded.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes.”

“The last time you were at Brad Vicente’s house, did Brad video the event?” Malice asked, hoping he would fall for the ploy since they still hadn’t found any evidence that he kept images or videos.

He said nothing, prompting Cleo to press the blade closer to his throat. A drop of blood appeared.

Malice hoped she knew what she was doing.

Psycho zoomed in on the waiter’s face. “Answer her, asshole!”

“Yes!” he said, sobbing anew. “He took a video. He always took videos.”

Malice gestured for Psycho to turn off the video. Once that was done, she said, “Let’s cover his face and drag him downstairs. We need to focus on finding those videos.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sawyer parked in an empty lot, climbed out, and walked down Frontage Road toward the doughnut shop. The place was surprisingly crowded.

“Sawyer Brooks, is that you?”

Sawyer smiled when she saw Old Lady McGrady. That’s what she and her sisters used to call her when they were small. She and her husband, Harold, used to run a popular tourist attraction called River Rock Gold where they taught visitors to pan for gold in the creeks and streams. Harold used to love talking about the years from 1880 to 1959 when thousands of gold miners were all crowded together, searching for gold, and how ninety ounces was often recovered in a single pan. Harold had been one of the lucky prospectors, able to live nicely off his finds. He knew how to find hidden pockets in the bedrock. Sadly, he passed away months before Sawyer left for Sacramento. Had a stroke while panning and was found facedown in what his friends called a hot spot, leaving his wife with enough gold to pay for his funeral and then some. Old Lady McGrady had to be in her mid to late eighties by now.

Sawyer waved. “I’ll be right there.” She ordered a coffee and a maple bar and brought them to the table where Old Lady McGrady was sitting alone. “Mind if I join you?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Sawyer took a seat. Old Lady McGrady’s long silver hair had been loosely braided in one long strand that hung over her shoulder. Her skin was wrinkled and weathered with age, but her eyes were as clear and blue as Lake Shasta.

“Go ahead,” she said to Sawyer. “Eat!”

Sawyer took a bite. The doughnut melted in her mouth. It was delicious. So was the coffee. Her stomach grumbled. She realized she’d hardly eaten in two days.