Don't Say a Word. Rita Herron

his friendly police force, but you and your brother, a federal agent, are here to defend him.”

      In a barely controlled move, Jean-Paul jerked the man by the tie, knotting it into his fist until the pissant coughed to get air. “My brother is here to help his fellow officers find this woman’s murderer. Now, get out of the way.”

      Antwaun’s emotions boomeranged between gratitude to have his brothers on his side, and humiliation that they had to be. His partner pushed him inside the door, and Antwaun glared at a couple of rookies who watched him with lecherous expressions as if they were ready to string him up and hang him.

      Clenching his jaw, he braced himself to face being seated on the other side of the table in the interrogation room. He knew how the cops would play him; he’d acted the role of bad cop a hundred times himself, although truth be told, he didn’t have to act.

      At the same time, his mind spun with questions, theories, and…lies.

      Had he been the last person to see Kendra alive?

      “All right, Dubois.” Lieutenant Phelps spread photos of the decimated hand across the scarred wooden table. “Do you recognize this woman?”

      Antwaun forced himself to remain calm. He hadn’t yet requested legal representation, but he would if needed. For now, he schooled his reactions. He didn’t want to antagonize his superior, and calling in his union rep or a lawyer would do that. So would being a smart-ass. He’d had that lesson pounded into him in the military more times than he could count.

      “It’s a hand, Lieutenant. A very decomposed one at that,” he said quietly. “I can’t say with any certainty that I know who it belonged to, not without forensic reports.” He paused, leaned back in his chair. Knew his brothers were watching from the other side of the two-way glass. If ever he’d wanted to impress them by being cool and professional, it was now.

      But sweat rolled down his back, soaking his shirt and making it stick to the cheap vinyl chair. A droplet tickled his scalp, slowly making its way down his crown. The next thing he knew it would be trickling down into his eye. He’d wipe it, the cops would see that he was nervous, then they’d pounce like vultures hunting prey. Even aware of the goddamn drill, he still couldn’t stop the flow of nervous energy seeping through his veins.

      “Who do you think this woman is? And do you have proof?” Antwaun asked.

      “We checked fingerprints. Her name is Kendra Yates,” Lieutenant Phelps said with no inflection in his voice. “We also know that you and she dated. That the ring on the finger of the woman’s hand we found was bought by you.”

      Antwaun schooled his reaction. They’d done their homework, and very quickly. “So. I haven’t seen her in months.”

      “You were working undercover at the time?”

      He nodded. “I thought she might have a connection to Karl Swafford.”

      “And what had you discovered about him?”

      This was all in his report, but again, he wrestled his anger under control. He had to go through the motions. “Since Katrina, Karl Swafford has spent millions of dollars rebuilding the casinos. He was being investigated for possible connections to the mob, embezzlement, money laundering and murder.”

      “You suspected Miss Yates was involved with him?”

      “Yes.”

      “What made you suspect they had a relationship?”

      Antwaun hesitated. Kendra had no idea how he’d first seen her. What he’d thought. “I was doing surveillance on Swafford. I saw her in bed with the man.” In fact, he’d watched her perform a very seductive strip show for the bastard. Had seen her give Swafford a blow job that had made Antwaun want her mouth wrapped around him. Then he’d watched Swafford run his fingers over her naked body, throw her down on the bed and bang her with such force that Antwaun had nearly ground his molars down to nubs with envy…and disgust.

      When Swafford had crawled off her, he’d noticed the tears in Kendra’s eyes. He’d never quite understood them, but that one glimpse of her vulnerability had twisted at heartstrings he hadn’t even known he possessed.

      But he was all about the job, and like a good cop, he’d cozied up to her to use her.

      Then he’d been the recipient of that mouth, and he’d fallen in love.

      No, lust. He might have mistaken the two a couple of times, but never again.

      “You began seeing Miss Yates, hoping she’d squeal on Swafford?”

      He nodded. He’d thought he could seduce her into talking. “But it didn’t pan out. Turns out she was just a dancer who hooked up with him one night.”

      The lieutenant exchanged a querulous look with the female cop, and Antwaun knew he was cooked. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure how. What did they have on him? On Kendra?

      Sure, maybe he’d been an idiot. Gotten tangled up with a suspect. A woman who had slept with a man he’d been investigating for illegal activities.

      And when she’d gone missing, he’d been curious, even suspicious at first. But reporting her missing would have blown his cover. And he’d wanted to put the guy away. Especially if he’d killed Kendra…

      “Then what happened?” the lieutenant ordered in a brittle tone.

      Antwaun chewed the inside of his cheek, then explained his reasoning. “She admitted that Swafford didn’t want to end things with her.” A river of tears had fallen afterward that had wrenched his heart. She’d claimed he’d blackmailed her into sex, trapped her into being with him, and that she wanted out. Shaking with rage toward Swafford, and tenderness toward her, Antwaun had drawn her into his arms. He’d have promised her anything to alleviate her pain and stop her cries. “Then she disappeared. I figured she’d left town to escape the bastard.”

      “You reported her missing?”

      Antwaun shifted. “Not exactly. I couldn’t let anyone know our connection. I asked around, but didn’t find anything.”

      “You know I want to believe you.” The lieutenant tilted his head sideways, his deep-set gray eyes narrowed to slits. “Kendra Yates didn’t connect with Swafford by accident.”

      Antwaun frowned. The ax was about to drop.

      “Neither did she meet you by coincidence either.”

      Anger burned a path down his belly as reality interceded. “She made me for a cop?”

      The lieutenant offered a mirthless laugh. “Dammit, Antwaun. She didn’t just make you for a cop. She was a reporter working undercover. She came onto you for information.”

      Antwaun gritted his teeth. “The jolie fille was a reporter?”

      “Yes, the pretty lady was a reporter.” The lieutenant leaned forward, accusations brimming in his condemning eyes. “And guess what her story was about?”

      Antwaun shrugged, but his mind was spinning. Now he understood why the press had pounced so quickly. “Swafford’s casinos, I suppose. It was common knowledge that he donated millions of dollars to rebuild them. She probably figured the same as we did, that he was crooked.” He moved to the edge of his seat. “Don’t you see? He probably found out who she was and killed her.”

      Lieutenant Phelps grunted. “What do you know about Swafford’s operations?”

      That he was linked to illegal activities. “I hadn’t found anything definitive yet. The man is a master at hiding his actions and his money.” He cleared his throat. “Then he disappeared. I figured it was to cover his ass, that he’d eventually resurface again.”

      “You didn’t think that he might be dead?”

      “Sure, the thought occurred to me. In fact, I was looking into the angle that one of his minions might have gotten selfish, wanted a bigger