Chapter 4 Logan
LOGAN
Amber eyes meet my gaze through the small window of the cell door. Mrs. Holton’s courage disappears as quickly as it came, because upon seeing me, she stops knocking and backs away from the door.
“I should do the talking,” Max says.
I silence him with a flick of my wrist. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his mouth shut from now on.
“No, you shouldn’t. Now open the door.”
The lock releases with a hiss, and I enter the small cell.
With every step I take toward her, Mrs. Holton takes one back, until she runs into the grimy wall behind her.
She avoids looking directly at me—good—and when she notices the handcuffs dangling from my belt, she turns so white I’m worried we have to postpone the interrogation. Again.
“How are we gonna do it, Mrs. Holton? You’re going to cause me trouble or not?”
“Let me go,” she says, her voice weak and almost inaudible.
“I think my question was pretty easy to understand.” I come closer until we’re only inches apart. “Let’s try again. Are you cooperating, or do you want me to use these?” I say, gesturing at the handcuffs.
Not that I need them to handle her, or anyone else. They are purely for my enjoyment. I’m sure I could make her crawl over to the interrogation room just by staring at her for a few minutes. Wouldn’t be the first time.
She holds her shaky hands out to me, making me raise my eyebrows before I turn around to face Max.
“Take her.” I have to stop spoiling him so much. “Room 2.”
He mumbles something once he’s by her side and I refuse to watch how he leads her over to the other room. Probably holding her goddamn hand like they are preschoolers. He wouldn’t miss any opportunity to touch his new obsession.
I have never seen him go crazy over a girl. Never, and I don’t appreciate this weird deviation from his usual behavior.
With every step I take toward the interrogation room, my frustration grows. And when Max guides Mrs. Holton to a chair, pulling it out for her like they are on some kind of date night, I stop giving a shit about Rockwell’s request.
“Hands on the table, all the time,” I snarl. “You put them where I can’t see them, even for a fucking second…” I dangle the handcuffs in front of Mrs. Holton’s face while Max takes the chair across from her, kicking my shin.
“Why am I—“
“Next rule: I am the one asking questions.”
Now I remember why I prefer doing interrogations in the other room.
Room 2 is narrow, too narrow. With the desk standing against the wall, it’s impossible to stalk around my captive the way I want to.
It’s where I take people after they no longer provide me with useful information.
The drain in the middle of the room makes cleanup easier.
Someone knocks on the door, giving Mrs. Holton a moment to get herself together. On the way down here, I realized I forgot her file in my room, so I texted Charlie to bring it to me.
“Thanks,” I say, ready to close the door again. He continues to look into the room and I sigh. “We have stuff to do, Hunter. Go play with the other kids.”
His jaw clenches, but he vanishes without another word. I don’t want him down here. He isn’t made for this. But neither Rockwell nor Cantrell want to listen to me, and it’s not like I could kick him out.
“Lillian Holton,” I read out loud while closing the cell door.
“Married to Brady Holton, moved to California two years ago. Graduated with honors, now working at Fairburn Springs Elementary. Just a quick question, Mrs. Holton. Is it usual for teachers to get paid in cash, or is there another reason for the repeated deposits in your account?”
Her brows furrow in confusion, and she shakes her head.
“I give tutoring lessons—“
“Maybe I should think about a career change, never knew you could make two grand a week with a little tutoring.”
“This can’t be right,” she mumbles, trying to look at the documents in my hand.
“So you’re saying I’m too dumb to read a bank statement? Fine, see for yourself then.”
I slam the documents on the metal table. Countless bank statements, a ton of credit card bills, and all of it is running in her name. Her hands get shakier with every piece of paper she checks out.
“I have nothing to do with this,” she stammers. “I’m seeing all of this for the first time.”
“How creative,” I say with a sigh, snatching the folder away from her. “Model citizens, you and your husband. Not even a speeding ticket. Want to hear what I think?”
Tears well up in her eyes as I throw Max the folder and lean over to her.
“It’s bullshit. All of it. No need to make this situation worse than it already is, Lillian. So stop wasting my time and tell us about your husband’s affiliation with the 203.”
“What are you talking about?”
She searches for Max’s gaze, as if he could help her. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him touching her foot with his. Or maybe I just imagined it. We’ll never know.
“You’re fucking lying to me, Lillian,” I snarl, slamming my fist down on the table. When she flinches and pulls her hands away, a smile spreads on my face. “Wrong decision.”
Moments later, I’m behind her chair, looking right at Max as I remove the handcuffs from my belt. She can thank him and his dumb crush for her predicament.
“That’s not necessary, please. I’m sorry.”
“Only two rules, Lillian, and you still can’t follow them. You don’t get to talk unless I ask you something. It’s not that hard to understand,” I say while I restrain her hands behind her back.
Max’s thoughts are plastered on his forehead, and I don’t like a single one of them.
“Such pretty hands, Lillian,” I whisper, but still loud enough for Max to hear. “Would be a shame if anything happened to them.”
Big crocodile tears run down her face, and Max clears his throat.
“It’s enough, Cabrera. Tone it down.”
“It’s enough when I fucking say so.”
Max’s expression sours. Talking back doesn’t suit him, neither does lecturing me. If it was for him, we would interrogate Mrs. Holton outside in the garden, sitting on a picnic blanket while eating freshly baked brownies.
“I want a lawyer,” she says in between sobs.
“That’s not how things work here.”
The laugh that follows has more tears streaming down her face. Max gets up from his chair, but one look is enough for him to stop moving.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I mouth and he inhales deeply, tapping his fingers against the table.
“I don’t like being lied to. Especially not by little bi—girls who hit me.” I yank her chair back until she almost topples over.
Her heart races in her chest and with the way she breathes, she’s probably going to pass out in the next few minutes. I hate captives like that; they are no fun.
Gently, I lower all four legs back on the concrete floor and crouch down next to Mrs. Holton. I hate to admit it, but Max was right. She is pretty, even with puffy eyes and blood all over her.
“Lillian,” I say with a sigh. “It’s getting tiring. I want answers, and I want them now. So if you give me something to work with, I’ll remove the handcuffs. Let’s start with something easy, like where all that money comes from. Deal?”
I don’t get an answer, only more hysterical sobbing. This is exactly why I don’t bother trying the stupid good cop approach. Forcing myself to act nice despite being frustrated; only to get the same result? That’s how you end up with a stomach ulcer.
“I’m wasting my time here.” With a tsk, I stand back up. Metal scratches over metal as I slide the keys to the handcuffs over to Max. “Call me when our starlet drops her act.”
Slamming the door to the interrogation room shut somehow didn’t send the message I intended, because someone wraps their hand around my arm and yanks me to the side. And I doubt Mrs. Holton suddenly turned into Houdini.
“Are you fucking serious?” The look on Max’s face is something between annoyance and genuine anger. Worst of all, it’s disrespectful. “Captain Rockwell told you to go easy on her, and it’s damn obvious she knows nothing.”
“Why? Because she said so?”
“Yes, Logan, because she said so. I’m going to talk to Rockwell and tell him exactly that. If he doesn’t believe me, he can interrogate her and form his own opinion, but I won’t stand by and watch you treat her like she’s some sort of criminal.”
“I’m not a fan of this new soft and sappy shit,” I hiss as I pry his hand off of my arm.
“You should apologize to her instead of continuing this shitshow,” he spits out.
When I bend his fingers backward, he winces.
“Didn’t see anything about apologizing last time I checked my contract.”
“Fuck your contract.” Max pulls his hand away and with a sigh, he presses his card against the keypad. “I’m gonna sleep in my room tonight.”
The door closes before I can tell him I don’t give a shit where he sleeps.
Asshole.