Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  “He seems nice.” Colby tugged on her jacket. “Wouldn’t have thought he was your type, but what can you do.” She shrugged. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

  Tatum’s lips twitched. Funny how she’d been thinking that herself these past few days. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone special?”

  Colby’s cheeks went almost as pink as her hair. “Maybe. It’s too early to talk about yet.” She looked away when the kitchen doors swung open and the rest of the crew appeared. Considering the group consisted of everyone from Jeremy Pike to Quallis, there was no telling who Colby’s paramour might be. But he was here. That much was evident. “Hopefully soon, though.”

  “Boss is cutting out early, huh?” Sam elbowed Chester in the ribs and earned some hearty chuckles from Quallis, Pike, Bernadette, and even Cruz. “Check the news reports, because hell might have frozen over.”

  “Ha ha.” Tatum pushed open the door and waved them all out, then locked up behind them. Colby, Sam and Chester broke off and headed across the street to O’Shannahan’s while Bernadette, Pike and Quallis made their way to the parking lot on the far side of the building.

  Tatum walked right past her own car and followed Cruz to his. “So where are we going?”

  “You’re going home.” Cruz walked around and pried her fingers off the passenger door. “Remember?”

  “I remember you telling me what to do. I don’t recall agreeing.”

  He sighed, dropped his head back as if asking a higher power for patience. Why did she find it entertaining to irritate him? After a moment, he planted his hands on the car on either side of her, blocking her escape, and leaned in close. His breath was warm against her face, making her shiver in the cool, early spring air. “I cannot keep having this same argument with you, Tatum.”

  “Stop arguing and we don’t have to.” She patted the oversize bag on her hip. “I made stakeout snacks. There’s enough for two.”

  “You made...” The fact he struggled not to laugh boosted her mood. And her optimism. “Okay, here’s how it’s going to be. You’re going to go home and stay there until you leave for work tomorrow, or I’m going to get on the phone and tell your mother exactly who I am and what I’m doing working at your restaurant.”

  The warmth drained from her face, probably, Tatum assumed, with all her color. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.” He slid his hands down her arms, slipped one hand around hers and gave her a gentle tug. Seconds later he waited while she climbed into her car. “Go home, Tatum. If I find something out you need to know, I will tell you. That was part of the deal.”

  She sat there, hands on the steering wheel, engine rumbling, and glared at him. “You’re no fun.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He closed her door and backed away.

  “Wait!” She scrambled for her bag, dug through it to find the pair of containers she’d packed from leftovers at the restaurant. Powering down the window, she held them out. “In case you get hungry.”

  He strode back, accepted the offering, then bent down, caught the back of her head in his hand and kissed her.

  The time for lazy, curious, testing exploration was over. His mouth was hot, insistent, demanding, and tasted like heaven. She found herself whimpering and grabbing for him when he stepped away. “Go home.”

  “Right.” She nodded, her head a bit fuzzy as she slid the car into gear. Being kissed by Detective Cruz Medina definitely had lasting effects. She bit her lip, caught between sighing and smiling. She could almost, almost forget her life’s work was balancing on a very, very thin edge.

  * * *

  Cruz found Ty Collins’s house as easily as expected. He’d already searched it out on GPS, knew it was in a neighborhood not altogether different from the one Cruz had grown up in. He parked amid the cars across the street, near a park and out from the glare of streetlamps.

  Ty’s saltbox-style house, even close to midnight, was ablaze with lights. The yards on the street were neatly tended for the most part. Bikes and toys littered lawns and swing sets sat behind weathered wooden fences. Dogs barked. Windows flickered with the glow of televisions, and behind him thrummed the incessant beat of music turned up too high.

  Cruz brought out the employee files Tatum had given him, and on the tablet he pulled out of his center console, he logged into the department database and pulled up Ty’s arrest record. It wasn’t long, but it was varied, starting back more than thirty years to the man’s first arrest and adult charge for breaking and entering. The rest of his criminal résumé had everything from forging checks to criminal trespass, nothing particularly violent. The single assault charge, given Cruz’s own experience with the man, seemed out of character, but this wouldn’t be the first time a felon had surprised or disappointed him. Nowhere did he see any connection to narcotics. Not before or after he served his time. Logic and Ty’s sudden disappearance told him he needed to look deeper; someone inside True was involved. But Cruz’s gut told him this was the wrong direction.

  Cruz glanced up as a car approached from behind and turned onto Ty’s street. The aged, rusted sedan wheezed and knocked as the driver parked in front of Ty’s house. Instincts spinning, Cruz tapped open his camera app, angled the phone and snapped a shot of the plate. Typing it into the police database, he pulled up the information on one Eddie Russo.

  White. Thirty-one. Felon. Connections to various white power gangs operating within the prison system. Convictions included... Cruz’s stomach took a bit of a dip as he scanned his screen. “Possession of narcotics with intent to sell.” Was that the connection he’d been looking for? But as he read further, doubt crept in. Domestic assault. Possession of an unlicensed weapon. Those charges explained the restraining order currently out against him. As did his pleading guilty to endangering the welfare of a minor...

  Cruz glanced up as the man exited the car and the front door to Ty’s house opened. Dim light streamed out as Ty stepped outside, his girth and stance unmistakable. The curtain overlooking the front porch shifted. Cruz sat up straighter at the sight of a smaller person darting out of sight. Smaller person? That was a child.

  Instinct and experience had the pieces dropping into place. He swore, and leaned over to retrieve his badge and weapon out of the glove box. He ejected the magazine, checked it, slammed it home and chambered a round.

  Setting the gun on the center console and shoving his badge into his back pocket, he powered down the window and strained to hear, hand poised on the door. He didn’t want to interfere; he wasn’t looking to blow his cover where Ty was concerned, but he’d be damned if he’d let Ty get hurt because Cruz was too busy protecting his case.

  The voices rose; rage and frustration wafted off the visitor in thick, pulse-kicking waves. Ty took a step down off his porch when Eddie kicked his way through the yard gate. The shouting split through the night.

  Unlit porch lights suddenly blazed on. Doors were opened, heads poked out, curiosity getting the better of them until they assessed the situation and ducked back inside.

  Cruz wasn’t going to assume any of them were calling the police. He picked up his cell and dialed. “Yeah, Dispatch, Detective Medina. Badge seven-oh-seven-two-two. I need two squad cars rolling to...” he rattled off Ty’s address. “Possible felonious assault in progress. Be advised undercover on scene. Situation is escalating. I need backup.”

  Assured someone was on the way, Cruz clicked off, shoved his phone into his back pocket and, grabbing his gun, pushed open his door.

  Ty took a step toward Eddie. Eddie didn’t budge, but his hand did move toward his back. In the dark, Cruz couldn’t be certain the man had a weapon, but he wasn’t going to take the chance. Ty had a good four inches, twenty years and at least a fifty-pound advantage, but that didn’t seem to matter. The closer Cruz crept, the better picture he got of Eddie Russo. Shaggy hair, unshaven face, ragged, filthy,
too-big clothes meant he was in a bad way, and probably, given his record, hyped up on something.

  Eddie seemed to spring like a cat, but Ty’s hands shot out and slammed solidly into Eddie’s chest, knocking Eddie back a few steps. Cruz was closer now, close enough to see the sweat beading on Ty’s forehead. Close enough to see, even at a glance, the face of the young boy standing at the window, eyes wide in terror and glistening with tears.

  “You’re trespassing.” Ty’s words echoed through the street and brought Cruz back to attention. “I’m not going to tell you again, Eddie. Get gone.”

  “You can’t keep me from what’s mine!” The younger man twisted and groaned, pulled something out of the back of his belt.

  Gun raised, finger poised beside the trigger, Cruz stepped out of the shadows and into Ty’s line of sight. “Don’t do it, Eddie.”

  Eddie Russo seemed to trip over his own feet as he spun, the gun in his hand nearly slipping free of his grasp as he struggled to catch his balance.

  “You’re in violation of your parole, Eddie.” Cruz kept his voice calm and even. The trembling hands, the wide, spinning eyes. He was strung out, panicked, and hopeless. The trifecta of horrible combinations.

  Sirens sounded faint in the distance, not loud enough to convince Cruz his backup was close. He was going to have to handle this himself. He moved in, slowly, keeping his weapon aimed center mass, just as he’d been taught in the academy. He’d do everything he could to avoid shooting him, but he was ready to do what was necessary to keep Ty and whoever else was in that house safe.

  “I just want what’s mine, man.” Eddie’s pathetic whine might have had some effect had Cruz not seen the abject terror on what had to be Eddie’s son inside Ty’s house. “She’s keeping me from my kids. They’re my kids. Mine!”

  He sounded like a spoiled toddler who hadn’t gotten his nap. But he looked like a crazed, pushed-to-the-edge addict who might be willing to do the absolute worst before this was over.

  “You aren’t going to see your kids, Eddie.” Cruz stepped in through the gate, flicked his gaze to Ty, who looked at him with both confusion and relief. “You think about that. You think about where you are at this minute. You hear that?” He inclined his head as the sirens approached. “I’ve already called for backup. You’re going in, Eddie. Like Ty said, you’re trespassing and you’ve violated a restraining order.” He’d skimmed the document; he knew the threat he posed. “You’ve got maybe seconds to decide how this goes down. You put that gun down and surrender, and there’s still a chance you’ll see your kids someday. You don’t?” Cruz shifted, made certain Eddie saw he had control of the situation. “This only ends one way.”

  Two squad cars screeched around the corner, came to a halt outside Ty’s house.

  Eddie’s hand continued to shake. The barrel of the gun shifted from Ty to Cruz, who, in that moment, saw an image of Tatum flash in his mind. Of all people, at all times, he could see her. Hear her. Feel her.

  “Eddie, you need to put the gun down.” Cruz took one more step forward, shifted the gun to his right hand, held out his left to keep the patrol officers back. “Detective Cruz Medina,” he yelled without pulling his gaze from Eddie. “I’ve got this, Officers.”

  One more step. He could see the rim of the barrel wavering, the terror take hold behind Eddie’s frantic gaze.

  “Cruz?” Ty’s voice held its own ring of fear, fear he recognized as concern for the welfare of the children in his house.

  “I’ve got this. We’ve got this, don’t we, Eddie?” Cruz trusted his gut, listened to his instinct, and as he took one final step toward Eddie, he lowered his own weapon as he reached out to grab hold of Eddie’s.

  The gun fell free of his grasp and Cruz held it out for one of the officers to take as the uniformed officers flooded in through the gate. He set the safety on his gun and shoved it into the back of his waistband. “Okay, Eddie?” He lowered a hand onto the shaking man’s shoulder. “You did real good. It’s going to be rough for a while, and it’ll take work, but you did the right thing. It’s a good first step.”

  “I want to see my boy. And Katie. My little girl.” Eddie’s eyes filled with tears that took even Cruz’s jaded heart by surprise. “I want to see my kids.”

  Cruz held off the officers for another moment. “You don’t want them seeing you like this, Eddie. You aren’t good for them this way. You aren’t good for yourself.”

  For a moment, Cruz saw clarity in the older man’s eyes.

  “You do your time, Eddie.” Cruz turned him away from Ty, reached out and wiggled his fingers at one of the officers, who handed over his cuffs. Cruz snapped them around Eddie’s wrists. “You do your time, you get clean and sober, then maybe you’ll stand a chance of being part of their lives. You keep going like you’re going and you’ll die. One way or the other.” He passed him off to the officers. “You have a decision to make, Eddie. If you can’t make the right one for yourself, you make it for your kids.” Eddie was escorted to one of the patrol cars.

  “Detective Cruz Medina working his usual junkie magic.”

  Relief surged through Cruz as he recognized the senior patrolman on scene. “Manny.” He actually laughed, a release of adrenaline, he was sure. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”

  “Same old, same old.” Manny Santiago, senior patrol officer with more than twenty years’ experience and the gray hair to prove it, gave him a smack on the arm. “Cruz, what are you doing around here? I thought you were Narcotics these days. Now you’re adding neighborhood watch to your résumé?”

  “I was visiting a friend.” The lie came easily. “Got here just as this guy turned up with that.” He pointed to the gun one of the officers had now. “I’d charge him with trespassing and attempted aggravated assault.” Personally he’d go with attempted murder, but Eddie hadn’t gotten a shot off. “You need a witness, you’ve got one.” Or maybe two. He glanced at Ty, who hadn’t moved from his last position.

  “Dude’s seriously strung out,” one of the patrolmen said. “We might want to run him by the ER on our way to booking.”

  “Never pass up a trip to the ER.” Manny’s smile actually widened. Cruz patted the older man on the back. Manny’s wife of eighteen years was an ER nurse and frequently worked the night shift. “Get your statement tomorrow?”

  “You got it. Thanks, Manny.” Grateful the arriving officer had been a friend, Cruz stood on one side of Ty’s fence while Eddie was hauled away, along with his shotgun.

  He and Ty stood there in Ty’s front yard as the neighbors got their curiosity quotient filled for the night.

  “So.” Ty cleared his throat, shoved his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You’re not a chef.”

  Cruz shook his head. “No.”

  “If Tatum put you in her kitchen, she must have a good reason.” He hesitated, leery eyes considering. “She in trouble?”

  “Yeah.” Cruz wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. And he wasn’t going to lie to Ty. Not now. And not about this. “Yeah, she is.”

  “Well, I owe you for the assist, so you may as well come inside and fill me in. I’ll get the coffee going.” He turned as the door opened and the young boy Cruz saw in the window peeked out. “Julian, I told you to stay in the house.” Ty moved lightning-fast to scoop up the little boy and tuck him securely in his arms.

  “Is the bad man gone, Grandpa?” Cruz judged the boy to be about six, but he was burrowed into his grandfather so deep he couldn’t really see him. Other than the construction vehicle pajamas he wore that were sagging around the butt.

  “He’s gone. And he’s not coming back.” Ty rubbed the boy’s back. “Where’s your sister?”

  “Hiding in the bathtub.” Something in the way he said it told Cruz that Julian had been there not too long ago, as well. “It’s where Mama always tells us to go when there’s trouble.”

 
; “Well, let’s go get Katie and put you both back in bed, all right? Cruz?” He headed inside. “If you want to get the coffee going while I—”

  “Take your time,” Cruz assured him and felt his heart pinch at the relief on the older man’s face. “I’ve got all night.”

  * * *

  There were few truths in life, but for Tatum the very idea of a nationally renowned food critic coming to True was enough to give her a second wind. She practically floated into her condo and straight into the shower. Donning sweatpants and an old T-shirt from a rock concert she and Simone had gone to well before their youngest sister, January, was allowed, put her in the perfect creative mood. The ratty, faded fabric always brought a smile to her face, and that was definitely needed for creating a stellar menu selection for Constance Swan.

  The wine she’d assured Colby she’d drink hit her glass in a healthy splash. The kitchen, her world, beckoned.

  It wasn’t enough to yank out every cookbook on her shelves, or to spread printouts from True’s menus from the past three months. She did a quick survey of her pantry and refrigerator contents and found both sorely lacking. Obviously, she was in a severe creative slump. More than an hour passed with her scouring her favorite foodie websites for inspiration, the notes scribbled beside her almost unreadable thanks to her abundance of excitement.

  “This isn’t cutting it.” She glanced at the clock. Just after 1:00 a.m. Tatum bit her lip, the idea forming before she could stop it. Five minutes later, she’d stuffed her feet into sneakers, grabbed her bag, notebook, jacket and cell phone, and headed back out to the twenty-four-hour gourmet market located a few blocks from her house. Not wanting to deal with the gate and parking, she walked. Being out in the cool air, with the streets and sidewalks pretty much empty, let her mind continue to flow through and over the ideas she couldn’t get control of.