Page 46 of Gentle Persuasion

Cole’s heart sank. He knew a petty thief’s crimes would fall short of important in the light of something as big as putting a major dealer out of business.

“And we haven’t promised him a damn thing.” The lieutenant’s voice was gruff. “My daughter was raped seven years ago. The bastard never even made it to trial. His lawyer made a deal.” Venom poured from the lieutenant’s words.

Cole understood. He could still close his eyes and see the shock on Debbie’s face when he’d walked into the mall office. And the cuts and bruises on her face and body and the fear in her eyes and the way she’d collapsed in his arms.

“So, can we talk to him?”

“He’s all yours. He’s waived a lawyer and trial. He just wants to deal and walk.”

Cole’s mouth thinned. “I’d like to get my hands on him. He’d be lucky if he ever walked again.”

Rick’s hand closed over his partner’s shoulder. “Easy, buddy. We don’t need to make matters worse.”

Cole nodded. But the anger continued to boil too close to the surface for comfort.

***

The door opened. Thomas Holliday looked up and then breathed a sigh of relief. He smirked and leaned back in his chair. The big guns had arrived. He could tell these guys were from Narcotics. No uniforms here. Plain clothes, cold eyes, and tight-lipped expressions gave them away.

Cole saw the smirk and resisted the urge to punch it off the punk’s face. Cole shoved his hands in his pockets and stood back, breathing slow and deep to calm his rage as he and Rick made eye contact. Rick nodded.

“So, Holliday, it seems you want to tell us something special?” Rick said.

Rick Garza’s soft tone and slight accent were deceptive. It was a valuable quality. He always played the “good cop” during interrogation. He had to. Cole Brownfield would never have fit the part. There was nothing soft or forgiving about the man. Not on the job. He’d seen too much on the street to be lenient with punks like this who’d sell their souls for a dollar. Good-cop, bad-cop routine was a gimmick, but it was surprising how many times it worked.

Holliday nodded. All four legs of his chair hit the floor at once. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, and let his confidence show.

“What’s in this for me,” he asked.

“I might let you live.”

The words were not what he’d expected. And they were not coming from the shorter, dark-eyed detective across from him. It was the tall man in the corner who’d spoken. A sudden chill chased across his spine. His eyes narrowed.

“What’s the big deal?” he snarled.

“That’s just it,” Cole whispered, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “No deals.”

Thomas Holliday started to sweat. This wasn’t going the way he’d expected. “But I can give you the names and places—”

“That’s good, my man,” Rick interrupted. It was time he took some control of the situation. He could feel Cole’s anger behind him. It was a living, breathing thing and nearly out of control.

“You give us the information, and we’ll inform the judge that you helped. But no deals.”

“I don’t get it! It was only a snatch. It didn’t amount to much.”

“It was also endangerment and assault and battery,” Cole snarled. “The old woman at the beach had a heart problem. You snatched her medicine. If she’d died from the shock, we’d be talking manslaughter, and you assaulted a woman at the mall. There were witnesses.”

Thomas’s hand slapped the top of the table with frustration. “How was I to know the old lady had a bad ticker? And as for that bitch at the mall, she shouldn’t—”

Cole yanked him out of the chair and had him against the wall before Rick could think to move.

“Don’t call her a bitch…ever,” Cole said softly. His hands tightened just enough around the suspect’s neck to get his attention.

“Cole! Man, don’t blow it.” Rick’s nervousness peaked.

“I’m fine,” Cole said. “I just want to make a point.”

Rick stood back. He trusted his partner. He knew he wouldn’t do anything brutal. Thomas Holliday was the one capable of that. Not Cole Brownfield.

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