Sacrificial Muse (A Sabrina Vaughn Novel) by Maegan Beaumont Page B

huh, buddy?” he said before shifting his look toward her. “Want us to haul him in for you, Inspector? Our car’s parked around the corner.”
    The prospect of having Croft arrested for assaulting a police officer was tempting but a hard sell, considering he was dribbling blood like Lotta’s fountain. She shook her head. “No. That’s not going to be necessary—”
    The crowd started to grumble. More than a few of them had seen the entire thing, which meant there were witnesses to a seemingly unprovoked SFPD beatdown. Their attention grabbed, both uniforms turned toward the people gathered behind them.
    She looked down at Croft. He was watching her from behind the shirt he kept pressed to his mouth, his head cocked to the side, eyes alight with the opportunity she’d just delivered him. He was good—good enough to blackmail her without saying a word.
    “It was totally my fault, officers,” Croft said, giving his face a final wipe before pulling her shirt from his face. “I made the mistake of grabbing her.” He said it loudly, quieting the masses.
    Both uniforms shot her a look before one of them started laughing. “You grabbed her? Her ? Buddy, I’d sooner grab a grizzly hopped up on PCP.”
    “I almost got clipped by a car—he was just trying to keep me from getting hit.” She took a step forward and held out her hand, offering Croft help up. “It was an involuntary response, and I apologize,” she said, her tone as sincere as she could make it.
    He hesitated for a moment before taking the hand up, the faintest smirk playing across his swollen features, giving Sabrina her first good look at his face. His nose sat crooked on his face, swelling bigger by the second. A cut under his eye and a fat lip to match, all covered in a thin smear of quick-drying blood. Someone in the crowd gave a low whistle, and Croft returned it with a wincing smile. “It’s alright, Inspector—apology accepted and lesson learned. I never should have grabbed you without announcing my intentions,” he said, looking directly at the cameras aimed at his face before he turned to address her. “Could I trouble you for a ride? My car’s parked a few blocks away.”
    She’d rather eat a shit sandwich, but she nodded and smiled. “Of course,” she said. What could she do? Refuse? Leave Croft here to play victim for the masses. Brushing past him, she stepped onto the curb and unlocked the passenger-side door. “Your chariot awaits.”

TWENTY-ONE
    Croft smiled and came forward. She skirted around the hood of the car, throwing the uniforms and crowd a curt wave. “Thanks for the help, guys.”
    “You sure—”
    “I’m sure. You two have better things to do than schlep my mess around,” she said, softening her refusal with a quick smile. Waiting for a break in traffic, she opened her door to see Croft leaning over the driver’s seat, his blood-stained hand hovering over the envelope that waited there.
    “Don’t touch it.” She kept her voice low, but his head snapped up and he moved back in his seat. The uniforms weren’t going to leave until she did, and neither was the impromptu film crew gathered on the sidewalk. Shit, even Little was still standing at The Sentinel ’s window, waiting to see what she’d do next.
    She looked down at the red square resting on her seat and weighed her options. The envelope that showed up at the station had been handled and shuffled from counter to bag to box by multiple people before it reached her. Even if there had been prints or trace evidence on it, she’d had little to no hope of gathering any of it. This one was different. It was in her car. The only person who’d touched it so far was the one responsible for leaving it there. She needed to bag it, but there was no way she could preserve the evidence without doing so in full view of everyone watching her.
    She dug a glove out of her back pocket and pulled it on. “Get a paper bag out of my glovebox,” she said to Croft. He