Justified Betrayal (Justified Book 2)

Prologue

Seattle, WA

Early May

The rain hadn’t stopped all day. It slicked the downtown streets of Seattle in a sheen of gray, turning gutters into streams and pedestrians into silhouettes behind umbrellas. Inside the King County Correctional Facility, the world was just as grim.

He’d barely settled into his post when a sharp knock echoed from the heavy steel door. The coded signal. The district attorney’s cue that they were either finished, or in need of backup.

To Chris’s right, Correctional Officer Phillip Jenner pulled a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the door with a loud click. Chris gave a slow exhale through his nose. He’d expected to be here for hours. Apparently, the interrogation had ended early.

That didn’t sit right.

Rumor had it the DA had finally hit pay dirt.

There was some kind of massive evidence uncovered against Hector Torres, the smug bastard currently sitting inside.

Chris hadn’t been briefed on it. While he wasn’t the lead on this case, he was part of the Major Crimes Special Unit created for it. The lack of intel pissed him off.

He’d rushed downtown the moment news of Torres’s arrest hit his phone.

The rest of his unit hadn’t arrived yet, but Chris didn’t care.

This wasn’t just any other case or departmental rumor.

The precinct was always buzzing with leaks and speculation, but this felt different.

If Torres managed to walk free on bail again, Chris wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his composure.

The guy wasn’t just a creep. He was dangerous. He should’ve been behind bars years ago. Chris was done letting child killers slip through his fingers.

Hector Torres was a walking tabloid scandal. His wealthy family was connected, and loud about his innocence. Never mind that he was under arrest for the second time in the disappearance of a nine-year-old girl. Or that his last release coincided with two other missing children’s cases.

Chris stepped into the doorway behind Officer Jenner. The air inside the interrogation room was colder than the hallway, with bad fluorescent lighting and the toxic smell of cleaning supplies.

Torres lounged at the metal table like it was his living room couch, shoulders slouched, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Luke Barrett, his big wig defense attorney leaned in close, whispering rapidly and clearly agitated.

As Chris scanned the room he noticed Detective Randall Hurts, Chris’s colleague and the lead on the case, alongside Adrienne Mulls, the assistant district attorney. They stood in the corner, looking strained. Chris moved toward them.

“That fucker is sick,” Randall muttered as Chris drew close.

He turned his back on the suspect and lowered his voice.

“We got him though. Surveillance footage and a digital dump. Techs pulled everything from his hard drive. Pictures of three different kids on his computer match with cold case reports from the last nine years.”

Chris’s stomach dropped. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Randall nodded grimly. “First time I could get word to you. Sorry, man. We had to keep the lid tight. I thought this would close it.”

Chris clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It still might.”

A plea bargain was their best shot at cleaning up this mess once and for all.

Randall didn’t look convinced. His eyes were ringed with exhaustion, his usually neat tie askew. “If his asshole brother pulls another magic act and gets him bail, I swear...”

Chris followed his gaze. Torres’s eyes were dark as oil, completely void of a soul. They stared back with quiet menace.

Just then, his lawyer stood. “We need time to review a few issues before proceeding,” he said with clipped formality, already packing up.

Adrienne didn’t hide her contempt. “Bad decision, Luke.”

The defense attorney smiled thinly. “Pleasure as always.”

As Luke exited, another correctional officer entered. He held his post at the door, while Officer Jenner approached Torres with practiced detachment.

“Hands on the table,” Jenner said, retrieving his cuffs.

Torres didn’t move. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head.

Adrienne rolled her eyes. “He’s exempt from cuffs, remember? Arthritis flare-up. Per doctor’s note.” She said it like a joke, though no one laughed. “Ankle shackles only.”

The officer looked annoyed but complied, unlocking the leg irons. “Let’s go.”

Torres rose with a groan, the chains at his feet clinking softly as he moved. Then, unprompted, he veered toward Chris. Tugging on the arm that Officer Jenner held, he moved as close as possible. Stopping inches away, the space thickened with tension.

Chris stared him down for several moments, before looking to Randall and Adrienne for permission. They nodded and he refocused his attention on Torres, “What?”

Hector leaned in, smile widening, and whispered in a singsong voice, “Can’t stop, won’t stop.”

Then he laughed. The ear-splitting sound was manic, chilling Chris like nothing else ever had.

What happened next unfolded in a blur. Torres snapped his head backward, the sharp crack of his skull against nose echoing through the room. Officer Jenner screamed, his hands flying to his bleeding face.

The officer posted at the door moved too slow as Torres lunged. He moved toward Chris with his hands out. Hector wasn’t reaching for an escape, but for the Glock at Chris’s hip.

Years of training took over. Chris stepped back, drew his weapon, and yelled “Stop!”

Torres ignored him, was within reach now. There was no time to issue additional commands. Chris fired one shot. Blood sprayed from Torres’s neck in an arc, painting the wall behind him crimson. Then he crumpled, chains clinking one last time before the room fell into stunned silence.

Adrienne screamed, while Randall shouted for a medic. The other officer was attempting to stop the blood flow from Torres’s wound. Chris stood frozen, heart pounding, Glock still raised as smoke curled from the barrel.

The rain outside pounded harder against the windows, as if trying to drown out the chaos.