Page 152

Riley walked through the main doors and towards reception. Mid-morning on a weekday was the quietest time, but she’d probably just jinxed it by thinking that.

“I’m here to speak with Detective Nia Sanchez? She’s expecting me.” She slid her ID over.

She gripped the slim silver rectangle in her pocket as the woman behind the glass looked at her. Greys stuck out of her smoothed-down brown hair. It was obvious she’d seen some shit, but she had kind eyes. She handed the card back.

A buzzer sounded, and the woman nodded to the door next to her. Riley walked through like she’d once done every day for years. The bullpen was the same: the peeling yellow walls, the fizz of the fluorescent lights.

A woman a few years older than her waited at a secluded desk pushed against the back wall. Dirty blonde hair was swept up and clipped. She had an elaborate tattoo of flowers and thorns along her chest and the base of her neck. Her forearm was also covered in the floral theme.

It was neither feminine nor whimsical. Those thorns were sharp.

Detective Nia Sanchez.

“You must be Riley. I appreciate you coming in. And no, Andrew’s not here.”

Riley met the detective’s brief smile with her own. She’d asked her mom to find out when Andrew was off next and had planned accordingly. But that didn’t explain why the detective seemed to know that Andrew’s presence could impact her. “I appreciate that. Thank you. Do you two work together?”

“Let’s go somewhere more private.”

She followed the detective through the precinct and wove through desks and then corridors until they reached an empty interview room.

“He’s my partner.” Detective Sanchez shot her a wry look.

Ah.

“My condolences.”

The detective huffed a laugh and opened the door, holding it for Riley.

The room was cold, dominated by a two-way mirror on one wall. She had never been on this side of the glass before.

“This session will be recorded, if you’re okay with that?”

Riley swallowed, brushing her hands down her jeans as she took a seat. “Is there any way we can avoid it? Not that I don’t trust…”

Detective Sanchez raised an eyebrow, one hip resting on the windowsill of the two-way mirror.

Riley took a deep breath. “Detective Sanchez, Nico Ricci walked out of jail an hour after he was arrested. And I know that you—and whoever else—have been putting this case together for far longer than that. Which would indicate—”

“I’m aware.” The detective’s voice was sharp.

Riley rested her hands on the Formica tabletop and eyed the hook for attaching handcuffs to.

“Look, I’m not going to lie and say that wasn’t the biggest piss-off this side of the Pacific, but we’re doing this by the book. I’m not risking anything. He has good lawyers. You can call me Nia, by the way.” She gave Riley a smile that was supposed to be endearing, but it looked like she wanted to bite her.

“I’m not going on the record against him. I’ll give you what I have, but I’m not testifying.” She gripped her hands together on the table, but her voice didn’t waver. Saint and Aaron had been clear, and Riley agreed with them. Nico was not someone she wanted to antagonize. And the police had leaks. She wasn’t even giving them the recording of her quitting. It was just the spreadsheet.

Aaron had pulled whatever “tech” strings he had and said this meeting was safe.

Nia folded her arms, veins on the backs of her hands standing out in the harsh light. She let out a sigh.

“Aaron mentioned that,” she muttered and looked away for a moment.

Riley blinked. “How do you know Aaron?”

No answer.

The detective was worse than Saint with the questions. Far worse.