Chapter One
Tyson
Monday was truly the least favorite day of my week. Which was kind of ridiculous since, as a police constable first class—better known as a detective—with the Vancouver Police Department, I worked all kinds of shifts and did my fair share of weekends.
I sat at my desk and blearily stared at my computer while my partner, Mariah Gleason, drank her coffee and scrolled her phone. I wanted to believe she was reading the latest crime statistics report for the city, but I knew better.
Mariah was fine, but she did the minimum required. That irritated the shit out of me. At thirty-five, I had ambitions. They didn’t include sitting at this desk across from Mariah for the next twenty years.
My sergeant stepped out of her office. “Gleason, McGillvary, I’ve got one for you.”
I leapt up.
To my frustration, Mariah rose slowly, almost like working was a burden that took her away from her phone.
“Shooting on the set of Vigilante Justice.”
My ears perked. I’d interviewed the friend of the star of the show last year.
Cole Hamilton had only sat in on the interview with Caressa Klein, but his presence hadn’t gone unnoticed.
And their other friend, Michael Dubois, had been in attendance.
Several times, I sensed something more between the three.
Since our case had been interviewing Caressa about her work and the death of a toddler, her relationship—or relationships—with the men hadn’t been relevant.
Oh, and Mariah had fawned over Cole. It’d been embarrassing.
“Cole Hamilton?” Mariah’s voice went high.
Sergeant nodded. “Apparently, he’s the victim. He’s heading into surgery. Several witnesses are at the hospital, and I want them interviewed.”
“Do we know who did it? Was it an accident?” Shootings were pretty uncommon in Vancouver and tended to be either gang related or domestic issues.
“A crew member. She was injured as well. Patrol has taken her to Vancouver General for treatment.”
“Is that where they took Hamilton?” Right, because using the guy’s last name would hide my obvious interest in the man who was not only gorgeous but apparently a really great guy.
“Nah. They took Hamilton to St. Paul’s.” Sergeant cast her gaze between the two of us. “When the suspect’s in better shape, we’ll look at interrogating her. An obvious motive has yet to emerge.”
My first thought was the shooting had something to do with Cole appearing Saturday night at a charity gala with Caressa.
The perpetually single man had staked a claim that he now had a girlfriend, and the entertainment media buzzed with the news.
I’d admired his moxie. I’d also wondered because I’d always seen him as possibly bi or even gay.
But those were fleeting impressions I couldn’t put my finger on.
And since I was bi, maybe the thoughts were wish fulfillment.
We grabbed our coats and headed to our car. Generally, I tended to drive. Ostensibly so Mariah could keep up with whatever digital files our current caseload contended with.
I drove the short distance from our offices on Cambie Street over to St. Paul’s.
As I pulled into the parking lot, Mariah said, “Suspect is Meggibeth Smythe. She’s worked on the show for five years and, apparently, was at the gala on Saturday night. You know what gala?”
“Hamilton does a charity event every year.” Please don’t ask me how I know this. I did not want my partner knowing how closely I followed Cole’s career.
“We don’t have much to go on.” Mariah released her seat belt once I cut the engine.
“Yeah, but we’ll figure it out.” Early reports were often inaccurate anyway. As long as we found witnesses, we could figure things out as we went.
After parking, I led Mariah inside.
The warm air blasted us, offering a bit of relief from the cold.
“We’re looking for Donovan Riggs.” Mariah checked her phone. “And Julie Reyes, if she happens to be here. Apparently, Donovan was shot.”
“As well as Hamilton?”
She nodded.
I showed my badge at the triage desk. Pro forma, as the nurse knew me well.
She shook her head. “Donovan Riggs has been discharged. They stitched him up pretty quickly. VIP treatment.” She consulted her computer. “Cole Hamilton is in surgery. Maybe Mr. Riggs is in the waiting room?”
She provided me with directions, and within moments Mariah and I were at the elevators.
“If this Riggs guy’s been patched up already, it can’t have been serious.” Mariah frowned.
“Yeah.” I agreed with her assertion. “Hopefully, he’s here.”
We arrived at the surgical waiting room, and I immediately spotted Caressa next to Michael.
“Tyson.” Caressa nodded when our gazes caught. “Uh, everyone, this is…” She pressed a hand to her forehead.
She’s distraught. Completely appropriate, but not all that helpful.
“Detective Tyson McGillvary and Detective Mariah Gleason.” I offered a wave. “We’re just here to check in on everyone.” My gaze, however, honed in on Julie Reyes and the man by her side.
Julie, the actor and star of Vigilante Justice, was blanched. Her wide emerald-green eyes shimmered. Her distinctive white-blonde hair was, I assumed, stuck under a beret.
The man next to her had my breath catching. The Black man was striking in appearance with a shaved head and piercing dark-brown eyes. Eyes that appeared a little glassy and unfocused. Donovan Riggs?
“We can take a walk.” Michael pulled Caressa close. Obviously, he figured we were here to see Donovan and Julie.
“I need to get back downstairs.” A nurse I hadn’t noticed gave a brief salute, and he headed out of the room.
“Actually, we understand you saw the suspect on Saturday night.” Mariah pulled a notebook out of her jacket pocket.
“Suspect?” Michael pressed a hand to his forehead. “Wasn’t this some kind of accidental discharge?”
The initial reports hadn’t said that, but maybe we’d missed some vital piece of information in our hustle to get over here.
“Meggibeth.” Donovan rubbed his hands over his face vigorously.
Is he trying to wake up? Have they given him something for the pain? If they had, he wasn’t likely to be very helpful.
He met my gaze. “There’s nothing to say, really. I knew she had a crush on Cole. Did I think she’d show up with a gun at work and shoot him? No.”
“She took a shot at you as well.” Mariah pointed to his right arm where a bandage poked out from under the scrub top he wore.
He waved us off with his left arm, nearly knocking Julie in the process. “Sorry.”
“You’re a victim and a witness. We’d like to interview everyone—while memories are fresh. We’ve got a room down the hall.” Mariah pointed to Donovan. “If you’re up to it, we’ll take you first.” We’d used the tiny lounge before, and the nurses never minded.
He didn’t look great. His eyes glazed, and sheer willpower appeared to be all that held him up.
“Why don’t we give him a rest? Caressa and I can speak to you. I don’t think we know much beyond our brief encounter with…Meggibeth…on Saturday, but we’ll try.” Michael offered a smile. Clearly forced, but an attempt nonetheless.
Mariah scowled. Obviously, she didn’t like being thwarted.
I offered a smile. “That’d be great.”
After ten minutes, I ended the conversation.
Michael and Caressa seemed distracted, had little substantive to add, and if they knew something, they weren’t sharing.
Neither knew Meggibeth nor had any idea why she’d shoot Cole as well as attempting to shoot Julie Reyes and eventually getting off a shot that hit Donvan Riggs.
When we returned, the man looked a bit better.
“Might you be up to talking to us?” I held his gaze.
He nodded and rose. Then he swayed.
I moved swiftly, grasping him under the arm to steady him.
He gazed into my eyes, almost as if seeing me for the first time. Apparently, I hadn’t made much of an impression before—the opposite of the effect he’d had on me. He was taller than me. Several inches over my own five ten.
Yet as our gazes locked, I sensed an inherent gentleness in the man. Or maybe you’re just seeing what you want to see. Entirely possible.
Eventually, he pulled back. And I let him go.
Mariah gestured down the hall.
As we walked—slowly—I stayed well within Donovan’s personal space.
Last thing I needed was him passing out or something.
We probably should’ve been waiting to do this interview, but memories could fade quickly—especially when trauma was involved.
The mind could create things to protect the owner of said memories.
When we made it inside the small room, Donovan dropped into one of the seats.
If I’d felt this room was tiny with the previous pair, as well as Mariah and myself, things felt doubly so now—which made no sense. We had one less person, and yet clearly, Donovan took up much of the space.
While Michael and Caressa had been contained and trying to make themselves disappear, Donovan splayed himself and tried to look…butch? Strong? Confident?
Yet I didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes. Two white cops. A Black man. I wasn’t na?ve enough to not know how this might look.
I smiled. “How are you?”
He glanced at his arm. “Okay. I mean, a little out of it. I don’t remember them giving me something, but they must have.”
That statement concerned me greatly—if he was on medication, this interview might be disregarded. Tossed out. “We can do this another—”
“How well did you know Meggibeth Smythe? Apparently, you were cozy at the gala.” Mariah pursed her lips.
I sighed at her insistence we just drop right into the interview.
My style tended to be more nuanced—I wanted to make the victim feel comfortable.
She was more of the let’s get this over with school of thought.
The idea held merit, as it minimized the time victims had to spend recounting their trauma.
Donovan offered a tight smile. “I’ve known Meggibeth for five years. We’ve worked together on VJ for that entire time. I’ve done other projects with her as well. She’s an excellent caterer and a good first aid person. Keeps her head in a crisis, you know?”