Page 58 of Serve ’N’ Protect

Kade and Matt hauled Mansfield to his feet. While Ghost looked on protectively, Markus quickly patted the man down for weapons. When he was done, he spun the guy around to face him. Pain still twisted the man’s features as he breathed heavily. As much as Markus wanted to ram his fist in Mansfield’s face and his boot up the guy’s ass, everything had to be by the book. Without needing to pull it out, Markus recited every word on the Advisement and Waiver of Miranda Rights card tucked away in his creds case. “Do you understand your rights?” Mansfield gave a reluctant nod. “Are you willing to waive these rights and talk to me?”

For a moment, the man’s eyes glittered with anger and defiance, and Markus assumed the worst. That they’d get nothing out of him and have to let him go. Then the fire in his eyes died, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water in his face. “Yes,” he answered on a heavy sigh.

“You know who I am?”

Mansfield nodded.

“Why did you run?”

“Because,” he said on an even deeper, shuddering breath, “I wasn’t ready to face what I’d done.”

Chapter Twenty

The inside of Mansfield’s condo was a stark contrast to the coldly fueled rage brewing inside every cell of Markus’s body.

Expensive-looking rugs in red, blue, and orange tones covered the living room floor, with matching fringed pillows lining the backs of the sofa and chairs. Enormous leather hassocks with gold stitching stood like sentries, flanking the huge brick fireplace. Completing the whole Marakesh look were ornate lamps with red glass panels hanging from the ceiling and casting the room in an eerie red glow. The only thing that mattered to Markus was the enormous glass display case on the wall over the fireplace mantle.

The one filled with over a dozen knives.

Long ones and short ones. Straight blades and curved. Some were adorned with different colored gemstones. Like the one Kade had described that had arrived in the U.S. in a diplomatic pouch. Twelve inches long, gold-plated, and jewel-encrusted.

Surprisingly, the man had consented to questioning and without legal representation. Considering the charges Mansfield was looking at, caving so quickly was the last thing Markus had expected.

Mansfield had also consented to a search of his condo and the backpack he’d been carrying, signing the requisite form without hesitation. So much compliance had Markus suspecting there was a lot more going on here than he’d originally thought. As if murdering a federal officer isn’t enough.

Kade and Matt searched the sofa, tossing the pillows on the floor and upturning the cushions to search for hidden weapons. Like more knives. When they’d returned the cushions to the sofa, Markus pointed. “Sit there.”

Mansfield skirted past Ghost, giving the dog a wide berth before sitting on the sofa and lowering his head into his hands. Any fight the guy might have had left in him was totally gone. Unless this okay-you’ve-got-me attitude was nothing more than an act.

They’d checked his arm, verifying there were no puncture wounds that required immediate medical attention. Mostly deep pink depressions mottled the skin, with less blood than Markus had expected.

Needing to sit after his sidewalk sprint, Markus took the armchair opposite the sofa, wincing at the slight pain in his abdomen.

“Here’s his ID.” Kade handed him the man’s driver license and passport.

His friends remained standing, their stance wide and their arms crossed. Between them and Ghost, if Mansfield so much as twitched in the wrong direction, he’d be slammed to the ground and cuffed within two seconds.

“Are you Robert Mansfield?” Markus held up the passport, opened to the photo, and waited for Mansfield to look up. He already knew the man’s identity but needed confirmation before proceeding.

Mansfield nodded.

No sense beating around the bush. “Did you murder Jack Barnes?”

Again, he nodded.

“Answer the question,” Markus growled.

“Yes.”

There it was. The truth. Finally. Hearing the words was one thing. Processing them wasn’t so easy. He was staring into the eyes of the man who’d killed his colleague in cold blood.

To keep himself from launching across the room and wrapping his hands around the guy’s throat, Markus slowly and deliberately closed his fingers around Mansfield’s passport, curling it so tightly it was nothing more than a half-inch-wide tube.

“And did you also try to kill me?”

Dark eyes met his. “Yes.”

The blood in his veins boiled, sending a fiery rage shooting through his system, and again he resisted the urge to do serious bodily harm to Mansfield, the kind that wouldn’t leave the guy breathing.