The Witness

been born into money, prestige and good looks. Chiseled features, sulky mouth, sizzling blue eyes and thick sun-kissed hair likely ensured he’d had his pick of girls through his high school years.
    He might have made something of himself, Brooks considered—maybe he still would—but up to this point the money, prestige and good looks had translated into arrogance, a mean temperament and a vicious disrespect for any kind of authority.
    “Justin Blake, you’re charged with destruction of property, vandalism, underage drinking and three counts of assault.”
    “Big fucking deal.”
    “Oh, it will be. As will the possession charges. We have the weed, the coke and the Oxy you and your fellow morons had in the suite.”
    Justin only smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “We’ve got your prints on file already. I’ll just bet we’re going to find them on that bag of weed, the bag of blow, maybe even on the pills. You’re on probation, and one of the terms of that probation is no drugs, no drinking, no trouble. You did the hat trick.”
    “My father’ll have me out of here in an hour. If Harry wants to earn his big, fat fee, he’ll have the rest fixed before morning.”
    “No, and no. Not this time. Russell Conroy has just officially pressed charges. My deputies have interviewed witnesses. We have, as you can see, photo documentation of the havoc you wreaked. We have the drugs, the alcohol and shortly we’ll be picking up the girls you entertained last night. I just think it would be icing on the cake if any one of them happens to be under the age of eighteen, ’cause then I get to add statutory rape and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. But even withoutthe icing, you’re not getting probation, counseling and community service this time. You’ll do some time.”
    Justin lifted his middle finger. “An hour.”
    “In violation of your probation, and look at the time! It’s after eight o’clock. Too late for a bail hearing tonight. You’ll be a guest of our fine facilities until ten tomorrow morning, at which time we’ll go before the judge and lay it all out.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Chief Gleason,” Harry began, “my client’s parents are respected members of the community. I believe we can safely release Justin into their supervision for one night.”
    Brooks leveled one look, hard as granite. “That’s not going to happen. He stays. I may not be able to stop the judge from granting bail tomorrow, but until then he’s mine.”
    “You’re nothing. You’re just some glorified rent-a-cop trying to swing his dick around. My father could buy and sell you a dozen times out of fucking petty cash. You can’t do anything to me.”
    “It’d be a shame if you thought of your own worth by your father’s bank account—if I gave a rat’s ass about your twisted inner child. What I can do to you is this. I can arrest you and charge you, which is already done. I can incarcerate you until such time a judge tells me different. I can—and believe me, I will—testify at your trial, should you choose to take this to trial, and detail every bit of your vicious, useless, destructive behavior.”
    “I’d like another moment alone with my client.”
    “You’ve had over a half-hour with him already.”
    “Brooks, I need a moment with my client.”
    “All right, then. When you’re done, he’s going in a cell.”
    Brooks stepped out. It took less than ten seconds for the screaming to start. He knew it was small of him, and likely unprofessional on top of that, but damn if it didn’t do his heart good to hear Justin throw a tantrum worthy of a two-year-old brat.

17
     
    I N THE QUIET HOUSE WITH THE DOG SNORING AT HER FEET , Abigail scanned the hacked FBI files. It pleased her that Special Agent Elyse Garrison had pursued the lead she’d leaked to her, built on it. The five-point-six million the FBI’s operation had confiscated equaled a nice, solid chunk, enough to sting, in Abigail’s opinion. As would the six arrests.
    It was hardly enough to put the Volkovs out of business, but it would annoy them and drive them to dig deeper into their organization, trying to find the source of the leaks.
    Satisfied, she closed the files, told herself she should go to bed. It was nearly midnight, and she’d contracted two new jobs that week. She needed to be fresh to begin work in the morning.
    But she wasn’t tired. What she was, Abigail admitted, was restless. And what she