Page 7 of Spark
The images that appeared there kicked Chloe’s gag reflex right in the throat.A man—white, average build, black hair, focus on those descriptors and take a damn breath, girl—lay sprawled on the floor, face-up, a gigantic pool of blood spilling from his body like an oil slick.Cold sweat popped between Chloe’s shoulder blades at the closeups of the stab wounds to the man’s face, his shredded cheeks, one eye entirely missing.His shirt, once maybe periwinkle-blue?Some shade of gray?hung in crimson-drenched ribbons that clung to so many gashes in his shoulders and torso, she couldn’t properly count them.A few of the wounds were so jagged and deep that they revealed not just muscle and bone, but viscera never meant to see the light of day.
Whoever had done this didn’t just want to kill Sal Brinkman.He’d wanted to destroy him.
And he’d done it while a thirteen-year-old kid had watched, terrified for her life.
Chloe dragged in the deepest breath she could find, growing dimly aware that Addison had stepped closer as Sinclair and Maxwell had shifted back to give them space.“You okay?”Addison asked, softly enough to keep the words between only them.
Chloe’s nod started shaky, but then, she forced it to steadiness.If this was what Esme had seen, she was more determined than ever to help put away the person who’d done it.The person who would almost certainly be a threat to her if he found out what she knew.
“Yeah.Yes.Let’s do this.”
She followed Addison through the back of the Intelligence office, down a familiar hallway.“We didn’t want to scare Esme any more than she already is by putting her in an interview room, so she’s in the break room with Garza and the Guardian Ad Litem,” Addison said.“There’s a camera on the table.Tom explained to her that we have to record everything for everyone’s safety.Her response was, and I quote, ‘whatever, dude,’ which isn’t great for rapport, but it does count as compliance.She’s definitely wearing some armor, though, so heads up on that.”
Translation: Chloe was going to need to pack her patience.And some armor of her own.“Understood.”
“We’ll all be next door, watching the feed.If either of you needs anything, just say the word.And hey”—Addison paused, her hand resting on the doorknob—“I know none of this is easy, so thank you.”
Her empathy was as clear as it had always been, but it landed like a rock, right in the center of Chloe’s chest.
“I’m fine.Really,” Chloe said, working up a smile to sand down any edges the words might’ve carried.“I just want to help.”
Gathering her calm, she moved into the break room just behind Addison.Detective Matteo Garza sat at a round four-seater table that looked, conservatively, as old as everyone in the room combined, his dark eyes serious, but still sharp.A Black woman in her forties dressed in a stylish navy-blue suit sat closer to the door, likely in an effort not to impose on any conversation Esme would’ve offered.
But the girl clearly hadn’t been having any of it.She’d kicked her long, jeans-clad legs in front of her, crossing one battered combat boot over the other as if to create distance, both literal and figurative.Her black hair was streaked with purple and her bangs nearly covered her eyes, although whether it was the style or as an added defense, Chloe couldn’t be sure.Her stare was scalpel-sharp, assessing first Addison, then Chloe carefully before returning to her boots.
Addison murmured something to the GAL, who looked at Chloe and nodded in acknowledgment.Adrenaline pushed Chloe’s pulse faster at her throat, but she kept it in check as she settled into the chair across from Esme.
She waited until Addison and Garza had quietly slipped from the room before looking directly at the girl.“Hi, Esme.My name is Chloe Ferguson.Is it okay if I keep you company?”
The slight narrowing of her eyes was Esme’s only reaction, and it lasted less than a second.“Great.Another fucking therapist.”
Well.Guess they were going to come out of the gate swinging, then.“I’m not a therapist.”
A pause stretched between them, but Chloe just counted her heartbeats, waiting.“Cop.Case worker.Whatever.”
“I’m actually a pastry chef.Speaking of which, are you hungry?”
Esme’s stare flickered.Bingo.“No,” she said, crossing her arms over her thin white tank top, her mouth forming a scowl when Chloe got up to rummage through the cabinets anyway.For a second, she thought she might be screwed, but then, the familiar red package caught her eye from behind a box of powdered creamer.
“Gotcha.”She plucked the bag of chocolate chip cookies from the cabinet, popping one into her mouth before putting the rest on the table within Esme’s reach and sitting back down.“They’re not as good as mine, but Detective Hale always keeps a stash of decent cookies hidden away in here.She says it’s for emergencies, but she also considers Tuesday an emergency when it comes to cookies.”
Esme’s stare lingered on the package, but she shrugged and stood her ground.At least, for the first minute.But Chloe had learned from the best—a.k.a., her brother, Ryan—how to be stubborn as hell, so she simply tucked in and waited the kid out.
Two minutes and forty-two seconds.Impressive.Esme snatched up the cookies, wolfing down three before slowing down enough to ask, “If you’re really just a pastry chef, then what are you doing here?”
“I didn’t say I wasjusta pastry chef,” Chloe said.Time to lay down her cards.“I’m also a mentor for RCFS.I’d like to talk to you about what happened last night.”
“Ugh, I knew it.”Esme huffed, her shoulders snapping around her ears, the rest of the cookies forgotten.“I’ll tell you what I told everyone else.I didn’tdoanything.”
“I know you didn’t hurt anybody.In fact, I think you tried to help,” Chloe said, wanting to reassure her.“You’re not in any trouble, Esme.”
She snorted.“You obviously don’t know how group homes work.”
Chloe snorted louder.“I know exactly how group homes work.I lived in them for twelve years.Also, I mean what I say.If I tell you you’re not in trouble, then you’re not in trouble.”
“I snuck out,” Esme challenged, her eyes darting to the camera belatedly.“Maybe.And that will get me in trouble, I don’t care what you say.Anyway, you can’t keep me here.I know my rights.”
Okay.It was time to go no bullshit.Esme’s nerves were clearly wrecked, and what’s more, she deserved someone who would shoot her straight.
