Kingston Kidnappings (What Happens In Vegas Book 3) by Matt Lincoln (great book club books .txt) 📗

answer, but his behavior and reaction to my question might give me a hint as to how to approach him.

“Man, I already told you,” he scoffed, sounding slightly angrier now. “I don’t want to talk to you. Get out of my face, okay?”

“Why do you want to talk to her so badly?” I asked.

“She owes me,” Jackson growled. “She just gonna shoot a man and then walk away? Nah, man, you tell her to come in here and talk to me herself.”

I was about to retort when I heard a knock against the glass. I shot Jackson a glare before standing up and leaving the room.

“Let me talk to him,” Patel urged as I closed the door behind me.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You don’t think he’s just going to spend the entire time being a creep?”

“Maybe,” Patel nodded. “But it might get us some answers faster. We don’t know how many more children are still out there, and we need to move as quickly as possible.”

“Alright,” I agreed.

Part of me wanted to offer to go in with her, but I felt that might be a little insulting to her. She was a capable federal agent, and if she felt that she could handle the suspect, I should respect that. I’d still be on alert, though, just in case Jackson tried anything.

Jackson’s eyes lit up as Patel stepped into the room. I crossed my arms over my chest and watched through the two-way mirror as she took the seat across the table from him.

“Hey, there’s the pretty lady,” Jackson crooned, once again resuming his relaxed posture.

“Agent Patel,” she corrected. “You said you wanted to speak to me, so speak.”

“Slow down, baby,” Jackson cooed as he leaned across the table toward her. “What’s your rush?”

“My rush,” she stated calmly, “is due to the fact that your comrades are off kidnapping children in an attempt to sell them off to the highest bidder. How about we talk about that?”

Jackson just scoffed and rolled his eyes. I clenched my fist reflexively, but to her credit, Patel didn’t seem affected by the suspect’s nonchalant attitude.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked.

“How about the location of your base?” Patel suggested. “Or the name of your organization’s leader?”

“What’s in it for me if I talk?” Jackson asked, roving his gaze over Patel’s form lewdly.

“What do you want?” she asked, clasping her hands together on the table and leaning toward him.

“I bet I can think of something,” Jackson sneered.

I uncrossed my arms and made to move toward the door. I wasn’t interested in watching any more of this clown’s antics. Before I could take a step, though, a large, dark shadow rushed past me and pushed the door open.

The police officer who had escorted us to the interrogation room had suddenly barged in. Patel jumped out of her seat in surprise as the cop marched up to Jackson.

“Answer her question,” the officer yelled as he struck Jackson across the face with the back of his hand. I flinched in shock at what I was seeing. Patel, too, seemed to be frozen in surprise. The officer hit the suspect three more times before he finally gave in.

“Okay, okay!” Jackson yelled, hunching in on himself in an attempt to escape the officer’s blows.

“Are you finished acting like a fool?” the officer asked menacingly, raising his hand up above his head.

“Yes,” Jackson practically squeaked.

The officer lowered his arm and stalked back out of the interrogation room. I stared at him as he took a seat beside me, completely bewildered by what I’d just seen.

“What?” he shrugged. “You said there were children in danger, right? That idiot was just playing around, relaxing like he was in his own home. He needed a lesson to remind him who’s really in charge here.”

I felt goosebumps rise along my arms at how indifferent the man seemed after having just beaten a suspect into a confession. I looked back into the room. Patel seemed to have regained her composure and was once again seated calmly in front of Jackson.

“Now then,” she began. “Let’s try again. Tell me what you know about the head of this organization.”

“His name is Usain Davis,” Jackson replied meekly as he rubbed his cheek where the officer had hit him. “That’s what we know him as, anyway. There are a few others who call the shots, but he’s the one at the top.”

“The police will get the names of the others later,” Patel nodded. “For now, tell me what else you know about Davis.”

“I don’t know,” Jackson retorted angrily, all traces of his earlier relaxed attitude gone. “He’s the boss. We do what he tells us to, and we get paid.”

“Do you know where he is right now?” Patel asked.

“Yeah,” Jackson grumbled. “Bermuda. That’s where the group’s headquarters is.”

If the news affected Patel in any way, she didn’t show it.

“Are all the members of your organization from Bermuda?” she asked calmly.

“Most of us,” Jackson nodded. “Davis decided to take the kids from Jamaica in case the cops got wise to us. Don’t cause trouble where you sleep, you know? It would have been too obvious if we were snatching kids from Bermuda, so we did it over here. And it worked, right? You feds came straight to Jamaica.” Jackson smirked, but the smile slipped off his face as he glanced up at the two-way mirror. He couldn’t see us, but he could probably guess that the cop who’d just beaten him was probably standing on the other side.

“Do you know exactly where in Bermuda he is?” Patel asked.

“Yeah,” Jackson responded. “This fancy hotel in Port of Spain, right on the coast. The Blue Crown, I think it’s called.”

“Okay,” Patel muttered as she quickly typed the name into a memo on her phone. “What about the man who was with you last night?”

“That was Ethan,” Jackson replied. “Ethan Williams. He’s just a grunt worker like me.”

“Do you know where he would have