All She Wanted (Martina Monroe Book 3) Read online

  All She Wanted

  Martina Monroe Book 3

  H.K. Christie

  1

  Kira

  With the target in my sights, a satisfied grin spread across my face as I squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, and he dropped down to his knees. With the weapon lowered, I mumbled, ”Take that, jerk,” and then high-fived the soldier next to me.

  PFC Summers chuckled. "Nice shot, Ortez. He didn't even know what hit him."

  We continued to laugh at the big bad man from Texas as I thought, That's right, buddy. The person you refer to as “a little girl pretending to be a soldier” just shot you in the chest. Sure, it was just a training exercise, and it wasn't a real gun, but I still got him. Back at base, I would have bragging rights for at least a week, if not months.

  After the year I'd been through, I was thrilled to hear that they had assigned me to a training exercise that would last an entire month out in the Louisiana wilderness. It hardly dampened my enthusiasm when I had learned it was during the hottest part of the summer with no AC or showers or any other creature comforts we had back at the base. All I had cared about was that I was away from him. My sergeant had assured me his platoon was not taking part in the exercise.

  Turning toward my partner, I said, "I'm gonna take a fifteen and use the latrine. You got this?"

  Private First Class Summers nodded. "Enjoy your victory."

  I hurried back toward the makeshift bathroom. Excitement was flowing through me. I wasn't sure if it was because of my perfect shot or the pride of wearing the uniform. Despite what my family and friends had said, enlisting in the Army was the right decision for me. I loved my country, and I loved being a soldier.

  As I approached the wooden structure, I double-checked my vision. Upon confirmation, my body froze, and as if unaware of the sweltering heat, a chill ran down my spine. "What are you doing here?” I asked. They swore he wouldn't be part of the war games field exercise. Why would they lie to me? Was it because they knew I'd refuse to go?

  He sneered at me. "What? No salute? I am your superior officer."

  With determination, I stepped back and gave him a crisp, flawless salute. "Yes, sir."

  He didn't deserve a salute or anyone's respect. He deserved to be court-martialed and thrown out of the Army, only to spend the rest of his life locked up in a prison cell. Instead, he was empowered to demand a salute from me.

  Nausea filled my stomach, and I willed myself to keep that morning's MRE down. There was something different about his demeanor—like that night. Like then, I was all by myself, and nobody was around to hear me pleading for help.

  "Now, that's better. What are you doing out here all by yourself?" he asked.

  "A quick fifteen, sir."

  "You could do a lot of things in fifteen minutes, don't you agree?"

  I swallowed my fear. "Yes, sir."

  "At ease, soldier."

  There was something in his eyes that told me I needed to be a lot of things, but at ease was not one of them. Was he simply toying with me like he usually did? Or was it about to get bad and fast? My instincts were telling me that being out in the Louisiana forest alone with him was more dangerous than any war zone overseas.

  Glancing back toward my platoon's position, I decided my next move, but before I could break into a sprint, he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me deeper into the woods. When I opened my mouth to scream, he pressed his sweaty palm over my mouth and growled in my ear, "You will not make a sound. Do you understand?"

  I nodded as terror gripped my insides.

  Inside a thicket of trees and far from my fellow soldiers, a grave realization rushed through me. Whatever he did to me, he was likely going to get away with it. I thought to myself, Not this time. After I executed a swift back kick, he loosened his grip on me. But with some sort of superhero strength I thought only evil people possessed, he simply laughed and threw me on the ground. With my mouth free at last, I gasped for air before letting out a scream.

  "I told you to be quiet," he commanded before shoving his hand back on my face and straddling my body.

  Under his weight, I bucked and clawed at his face and neck.

  He said, ”Oh, I don't think so, little girl."

  In a flash, he wrapped his fingers around my neck and began squeezing. With all of my strength, I tried to pry his hands away, but it was no use. Tears streamed down my face as consciousness slipped away.

  2

  Martina

  I stared deep into his dark brown eyes. He didn't flinch, nor did he appear nervous. He looked quite relaxed, actually. Hirsch cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

  "I've agreed to see you. Now, what is it I can do for you?" Cliff Swanson, private investigator, asked.

  Hirsch and I had decided that he would play good cop and I'd play bad private investigator who worked with the cops. It was a good thing, too, since this guy had proverbial slime dripping all over him, and based on what we knew about him, good guy was not a role I thought I could play.

  We had conducted a background check on Cliff Swanson, private investigator, before surprising him at his office to question him about one of his previous clients. What we had learned was that Cliff Swanson was an ex-cop, thrown off the force for taking bribes from drug dealers. The worst kind of cop. I had been a little surprised that Hirsch had agreed to play friendly, considering one of his biggest pet peeves in the world was a dirty police officer. Over the past several months, I had learned Hirsch took his job seriously and was an asset to law enforcement and an overall excellent human being.

  It was because of Hirsch's connections and our notoriety for solving cold cases that he could get his sergeant to convince the San Francisco Police Department to reopen the Julie DeSoto homicide investigation. The department had closed the file prematurely, concluding that Julie had died during a home robbery. Which was nuts, considering the so-called thief hadn't stolen anything from the home. Hirsch was the homicide detective assigned to Julie's case. It was how Hirsch and I had first met. He had interviewed my team at the scene since I had been the one to discover her body.

  Julie had been a client of mine. She was a battered spouse whose sister had hired my firm to get her out of the marriage safely. On the morning of the extraction, I had found her lifeless body in a pool of blood on her bedroom floor. I knew her husband was responsible, but he'd had an air-tight alibi with witnesses seeing him in another state at the time of her death. I suspected he'd contracted a hitman to do his dirty work.

  A few weeks after Julie's death, I followed up with Hirsch on the case, and it was then he'd informed me it was being closed. I was fighting mad at the time, and I had nearly knocked him out. If it wasn't for a member of my team telling me he wasn't worth it, I just might have. It was a different time. I had been drinking and spiraling down. Fingertips in my pocket, I rubbed my one-year sobriety token.

  That was Hirsch’s and my last meeting until a few months back when our paths crossed again. I wasn't pleased to see him, and he wasn't too happy to see me either. Yet, a shared interest forced us to team up for the sake of my client and his homicide investigation. It wasn't until then that I had learned the truth about why the DeSoto case had been closed—Hirsch's former lieutenant had forced him to close it to help boost their stats, despite Hirsch's protests. Not long after, Hirsch left SFPD and started working for the CoCo County Sheriff's Department. Three months later, we were partners and friends.

  Hirsch said, "We would like to request a copy of the file that you created for a former client, Blake DeSoto. The case would've been a little over a year ago."

  Cliff smirked.

  I thought, Hirsch is being way too
nice.

  "I remember Blake DeSoto. I saw on the news that his wife was killed, and the case was closed. Robbery gone wrong. Why do you need my help now?" Cliff asked.

  I couldn't stand Hirsch's pleasant demeanor toward this guy anymore, even if it was fake. Leaning forward, I said, "The case has been reopened. We don't think that Julie died because of a robbery gone wrong. But I think you already know that—don't you?"

  "As you know, Ms. Monroe, as a private investigator yourself." He eyed me. "Oh yeah, I know who you are. I saw the two of you on the news. You know my files are confidential, and unless you have a warrant or agreement from Blake DeSoto, I can't show you anything that I had gathered for him while I was under contract."

  Since I'd teamed up with Detective Hirsch, my face and his had been all over the news. First, when we closed two murders together—a missing person cold case and the murder of my client's father. The missing person was my best friend from high school, who'd been linked to the murder of my client's father. Hirsch and I discovered that the two cases were connected, and we were able to locate Donna’s body and hold those responsible accountable. After that, the CoCo County Sheriff's Department offered me an ongoing contract to solve cold cases alongside Detective August Hirsch. Since then, Hirsch and I had solved the cold cases of six missing women from the Bay Area. We found all of them. Unfortunately, only three of them were alive when we uncovered the truth.

  Hirsch shrugged. "I can get a warrant, or you can cooperate. I'd recommend it, considering it might help you out in the long run. Don't you think?"

  Cliff fidgeted in his chair. I had a sense about people, and I sensed this guy was rotten to the core.

  "Yeah, what exactly did you find out when you followed Julie DeSoto around? What information did you give her husband? What else did you do? Did you kill her yourself, or did you give DeSoto the name and number of your favorite hitman?" I asked while leaning over the table and practically spitting my words at Cliff Swanson.

  I was furious. I was mad at this creep who likely gave DeSoto the information that she was about to leave him. Julie, a woman who had been battered and beaten by her husband for five years, was finally going to be free of his torture. And this scumbag tipped him off. I was sure of it. I believed that information prompted DeSoto to take drastic action, like engaging in a murder-for-hire scheme to have his wife killed—on the very day we had planned to extract her from that situation.

  The image of Julie DeSoto's lifeless body on her bedroom floor with blood all over the carpet was burned into the back of my brain. There was no way I would ever let the case go. But if I were being honest, I was angry at myself too. I should have known that Julie had been followed by a private investigator. If I had known, I could have handled things differently. Maybe she'd still be alive. There was no way to know, but what I knew was that I would get justice for Julie, and the law would hold her husband accountable for taking her final breath.

  When I had learned about the private investigator following Julie DeSoto, I alerted my firm, Drakos Security & Investigations. This information set off a series of events to adjust the firm's protocols for helping victims of intimate partner violence leave their abusers. It was now included in the protocol that we would conduct our own surveillance to ensure they weren't being followed and what happened to Julie wouldn't happen to any other women. Julie's death could help save other people who were in her position. I had tried to find comfort in that, but it was difficult. The guilt I had felt the day of Julie's death hadn't gone away. I forced myself to remember I couldn't change the past, but I could make this scumbag talk, so Hirsch and I could find Julie's husband, who had taken too much from her and then ultimately had taken everything.

  Cliff lifted his hands in the air, in a defensive gesture. "Now, wait a minute. I'll tell you what I have on the investigation, but I swear I had nothing to do with Blake hiring a hitman."

  "You should start talking," Hirsch demanded.

  Thankfully, Hirsch's sugarcoated cop routine was over. This guy didn't need a buddy—he needed to tell us what we wanted to know.

  "Look, I followed Julie and then let Blake know what I had found. What I found was that his wife, Mrs. DeSoto, had been visiting with a private investigator. So, I did a little digging and found out that it was her sister who had hired Drakos Security & Investigations on her behalf. I've been in this business for a while. It was pretty obvious what was going on. Julie was being abused by her husband, and her sister hired Drakos for security so that she could finally leave Blake DeSoto."

  I leaped out of my seat. "You knew he was an abusive husband, and you still gave him those details?"

  Hirsch gently put his fingertips on my shoulder. Shaking with rage, I glanced down at Hirsch and sat back down in my seat. If I had found out my client was an abusive husband and learned his spouse was trying to leave him, there was no way I would have given the report. It didn't matter if the abuser had hired me or not. It was not okay.

  If Cliff Swanson knew what Blake DeSoto was capable of and still gave him the information that triggered him to hire someone to kill his wife, our pal, Cliff Swanson, could be held liable. As an ex-cop, he should've known that. Maybe he knew that, but he didn't care?

  Calmer, I said to Cliff, "Based on your experience in law enforcement, you must have known that an abusive husband like Blake would most likely kill his wife if he thought she was going to leave him, right?" Not waiting for a response, I turned to Hirsch. "Hirsch, that sounds like being an accomplice to murder or, at the very least, an accessory."

  Cliff Swanson fidgeted in his chair. "I'm not saying another word."

  Cliff obviously wasn't the smartest person in the room or the police squad that he was kicked off of—considering he just admitted to a police officer he understood the danger that Julie DeSoto was in it yet provided the fuel to the fire that was Blake DeSoto. Once we proved Blake DeSoto killed Julie, I sincerely hoped we could take down Cliff too.

  Hirsch said, "Martina is right. Depending on how this plays out, you could be looking at charges ranging from accomplice to accessory to murder. Unless you tell us what you know."

  "I want a lawyer," Cliff demanded.

  "C'mon, Cliff. You and I both know a lawyer can't help you. You're already a disgraced police officer and have proven to be unethical in the past, and now you went and got a woman killed. Do you really want to hide behind a lawyer? Or do you want to do the right thing for the first time in your life and help us get justice for Julie DeSoto?" Hirsch asked.

  Cliff Swanson folded his arms across his chest and glanced around the room. He eyed Hirsch and then me. "I’ll tell you what I know, but I'm not taking a charge for accomplice or an accessory."

  Hirsch said, "Let's hear what you have to say."

  "I had nothing to do with the murder of Julie DeSoto, and I don't know any details of how that went down, but I can give you Blake DeSoto. He asked me for a name."

  "For the name of a hitman?" Hirsch asked.

  Cliff said, "Yes."

  Hirsch and I exchanged glances. This guy confirmed what I knew in my gut. "What did you tell him?" I asked.

  Cliff said, "I told him I didn't know anyone that is in that business but that I knew someone who may have a few names."

  Was Cliff really trying to tell us that a dirty cop didn't know any hired killers?

  "And who was that?" Hirsch asked.

  Cliff let out a breath before shaking his head back and forth. "The name is Will Moreno. He's a guy I met while I was on the force. He was into some pretty dirty stuff back then, so I figured he may know a few guys to do the deed. I gave DeSoto his number."

  With my head bowed, I shut my eyes, trying to calm myself. It was as if Cliff Swanson loaded the bullet into the gun that killed Julie DeSoto. It was unfortunate that being a disgrace to the human race wasn't actually against the law. If it was, Cliff Swanson would be going away for life.

  "What else can you tell us?" Hirsch asked.

  Cliff shrugged. "
That's everything."

  Without another word, I shoved back from the table and stormed out of the room. Outside the office, I inhaled the summer air. My nerves rattled while guilt, and sadness filled my being. How could a person care so little for another person that they would walk a lamb straight into the lion's den?

  If this was two years ago, I would have turned to the bottle. Fortunately, I had the support of my mother, my eight-year-old daughter, Zoey, and now my partner, Hirsch, as well as my sponsor, Rocco.

  Footsteps approached. At this point in our working relationship, I knew the sound of Hirsch's footfall. "You all right?" he asked.

  "I'll be fine. What a scumbag."

  "I completely agree. At least we have a name."

  "You believe him?" I asked.

  Hirsch said, ”We don't really have a choice. Being on the force, he would've known criminals, especially considering he was one. We'll run the name and find Will Moreno and determine what he knows about Julie's murder. I think we should also pay another visit to Blake DeSoto and see his reaction to what his PI told us."

  “Agreed.”

  “You going home now?" Hirsch asked.

  "Yeah, Mom is making turkey meatloaf, if you're interested."

  "I'd normally say yes, but today's the day I pick up the keys."

  "I totally forgot. Congrats. I'll see you at the office tomorrow?"

  Hirsch said, "Bright and early."

  I headed toward my car, grateful I was going home to my daughter, my mom, my dog, and a home-cooked meal.

  3

  Hirsch

  At sunrise, my eyes flickered open, and a content grin crept up my face. Despite having slept on an air mattress the previous night, I felt like I'd had the best night's sleep in recent memory. I thought, I can definitely get used to waking up to sunshine beaming through the windows. At first, I thought it was a silly suggestion from my realtor to stay in the house when there wasn't any proper furniture inside or food in the refrigerator. Yet, I took her advice, and when I went to pick up the keys, I brought with me just the necessities: supplies to make coffee, an air mattress, a change of clothes, and a toiletry kit. She'd been correct. The new house was about a thousand times less depressing than my drab apartment.