“Found one,” Hawk said, breathing hard. “The other ran.”
I holstered my weapon and grabbed the cuffs from my belt. “You just assaulted a suspect, you know that?”
“He shot at you. You’re welcome.”
I cuffed the man and called for backup. My hands shook a little, but I tried not to let him see. Hawk leaned against the truck, watching me, sweat running down the side of his neck.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said.
“Like what?”
“Like you enjoyed that.”
He smirked. “What can I say? You make danger look good.”
118
Hawk
The interrogation room at the Copper Cove Police Department hadn’t changed much since I was fifteen and the Sheriff hauled me and a buddy here for fighting some other boys. Same buzzing fluorescent lights, same yellowing paint that made the walls look like they’d been smoking for fifty years.
Julia stood on the other side of the one-way mirror, arms crossed, jaw tight. She’d been pacing ever since we brought the cartel thug in.
“Relax,” I said, leaning against the wall. “You’re wearing a hole in the floor. Why are they letting you question the guy? You don’t work here.”
Her eyes flicked to me. “Sometimes I help them out. Plus, he shot at me, Hawk. I’m allowed to pace. Why would someone shoot at me?”
“Technically, he shot at me too.”
“Technically, you’re not law enforcement, which means you shouldn’t have been there.”
“Technically,” I said, grinning, “if I hadn’t been there, you’d still be chasing tire tracks, and it was our property they were on.”
She glared, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Progress.
Inside the room, the suspect sat with his head bowed. Young, maybe mid-twenties, with cartel ink up both arms and the kind of smirk that made me itch to knock it off his face.
“Name’s Diego Vega,” Julia said. “Colombian passport, fake ID, fake everything. Refuses to talk. So I’m sure that’s not his real name.”
I stepped closer to the glass. “Mind if I try?”
Her brow lifted. “You’re not trained for interrogations.”
I smirked. “Not the kind you do.”
She rolled her eyes but opened the door anyway. “Fine. But I swear, if you break any rules—”
“Detective,” I said, walking past her, “you’ve known me since I was eight. When have I ever broken rules?”
“Every day of your life.”
I grinned. “Fair point.”
The door closed behind me, and the air felt heavier. I pulled out the chair across from Diego and sat, folding my hands on the table.
“Long night, huh?” I said.
He looked up, eyes dark and flat. “You are not police.”
