Page 106 of Wicked Sin

I should. I will. But first, I need to go through this scene quietly myself. I need to know who this guy is, what makes him tick. “I’ll keep Ram company until Forensics arrives.”

Once they clear out,Ram closes the apartment door and gestures to the bedroom. “Have at it. Just don’t touch anything. Or torch anything.”

“Was I that easy to read?”

“It’s what I would want if I were head over tits in love with a victim.”

“I’m not—” I cut myself off. I wouldn’t pretend that I’m not wrapped around her. Denying how I feel is all kinds of wrong. “It’s complicated.”

He waves his left hand at me, where his wedding ring sits. “I get it, man.”

I pull out my phone. We’ll have proper crime scene photos to pore over later, but right now, I want to have a working sense of the scene at my finger tips. I take video first, then photos, from the angles I imagine he’d look at the wall.

From the bed, which I’d like to light on fire.

Up close, where I can see fingerprints on the photos.

Fucking sloppy motherfucker.

I pull on a pair of gloves and nudge the drawer on his bedside table open. Nothing exciting in there. Same with his dresser. He’s fastidiously clean, and boring on the surface, except for the creepy murder wall.

But under the bed, I find pay dirt. Dude has a box of international passport blanks and a slick looking printer, embosser. “Ram, in here.”

I carefully flip through the stash.

“That’s touching shit,” he warns me.

“The Feds are going to want in here now for sure,” I say. “Call the captain. I bet this guy has been crooked his whole time with the Secret Service. It probably doesn’t trump your murder charges, but this is a weird side business for a federal agent. Who’s in the market for…” I hold up one of the blanks. “A Moroccan passport, for example. Or a New Zealand passport.”

“Mercenaries. Spies.”

“Right.”

Our radios whisper-squawk at the same time.“Team 1, suspect is approaching the building. Advise on action. Should we arrest?”

Ram looks at me and I shake my head. If I have the option of taking this asshole down, I want it.

“Let him enter. We’ll arrest him inside.” He releases the call button on his radio. “Where do you want to wait for him?”

“Behind the door out there.” I return the passport supplies to where I found them and jump to my feet.

I pull the gloves off as I move swiftly to the entrance, then I slide my Glock out of my holster and take position.

On the other side of the door, I hear Newcomb stop and slide his key into the lock.

My pulse jacks up a beat. Three, two…

The handle turns, and the door swings open, temporarily covering my location. When it shuts, revealing Newcomb’s back to me, I silently bring my weapon up, aiming at his centre of mass. “Freeze, asshole. I’ve got you covered. Don’t move.”

He moves. Of course he does. He twists around, dropping to kick my legs out from under me.

I’m ready. I jump, driving my knee into his skull before I tumble on top of him. I’m not sure what part of his arm I grab, but he screams as I wrench it behind his back and shove, twisting him to find the other motherfucking wrist so we can get him in cuffs.

Ram is right there, ready to slap them on as I wrestle my way clear.

And when I stand up, I’m breathing hard, even though it all happened in an instant.

I shrug at my colleague. “I told him not to move.”

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