“Hello.”
“Benton is on the move. He’s heading home now.”
“Thanks, Christine.”
I pulled my gun from my purse, took a seat in his comfortable lounge chair, and waited. Thirty minutes later, I heard the metal key insert into the lock. The door opened, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. He flipped the light switch in the living room and jumped when he saw the barrel of my gun pointed at him.
“What the—Who are you? What do you want?”
“Welcome home, ADA Benton. Long day?”
“This is my house! You need to leave before I call?—”
“Shut the fuck up and sit down.” I gestured with my gun.
He ignored me, so I stood up.
“Do I need to force you to sit? Because you will get hurt if I have to.”
He raised his hands. “No. I’m sitting.” He walked over to the couch. “What do you want?”
“I thought we could have a little chat about Angela Ruiz,” I said, my gun pointed at him.
“Parker Hamilton. He sent you. Didn’t he? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who? And don’t lie to me. I hate liars. I do bad things to liars. And I know you wouldn’t want me to do something bad to you.” I shot him a cold smile.
“What about Angela Ruiz?” he asked.
“You visited her home two nights ago at 10:15 p.m. Which I find odd and so late at night.”
“There is nothing illegal about that.”
“No,” I said. “But what you did during your little visit is.”
He stared at me while silence filled the room.
“You made her understand what’s at stake now, and you made sure she remembers the consequences if she doesn’t cooperate.”
The color drained from his face. He was caught, and he knew it.
“You just don’t coach witnesses. You threaten them,” I said.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. I never threatened her.”
“Single mother to one child. You made sure she understood exactly what would happen if she didn’t cooperate.”
“You don’t have proof of that,” he said.
“Oh, but I do.” I smiled, pulling a flash drive from my pocket and holding it up. “Messages. Access Logs. Financials. Phone calls. Videos. And the offshore accounts tied to the mafia you’re working for.”
“Again, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
I stepped closer so my gun was mere inches from his head.
“Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t lie when we both know the truth. You’re not just dirty. You’re owned. What did they do? Promise to make you the next district attorney? You took theirmoney. You manipulated witnesses, and you obstructed justice. You are a very bad man, ADA Benton.” I lightly tapped the tip of the gun on his head. “And guess what? I don’t like bad men.”
“What do you want?” his shaky voice asked.