GAGE BUTLER'S RECKONING

by Justine Davis

  Laurey's stomach turned; the way Robards had treated her was bad enough, but this, too? She looked from Gage back to Ryan in shock. He gave her a shrug, as if it meant little, and spoke quickly to lighten the sudden change of mood.

  "If Gage here didn't work so hard to get on Robards' bad side, we'd all hate him."

  "Just trying to level the playing field," Gage muttered.

  "You mean you intentionally … provoke him?" Laurey asked.

  "Fortunately," Ryan said, "it doesn't take much."

  Something occurred to Laurey then. "What about Kit?"

  Ryan chuckled. "Ah, yes. She does put a kink in his bigotry, doesn't she?"

  Gage echoed the chuckle. "She does that, all right. She's got the right skin color, but she's a woman in a man's job. And with rank, yet. Confuses the heck out of him. So he pretty much leaves her alone."

  As if their talk had conjured her up, the subject of the discussion walked in at that moment. Dressed in snug jeans and a sweatshirt emblazoned with the name of a local concert venue, her blond hair tousled, she looked trim, fit and none too happy.

  "Just can't stay away, can you, Butler? Hi, Laurey, Ryan."

  Laurey returned the greeting as Ryan nodded.

  "Sorry you got caught up in this," Kit said to her.

  "Me, too," Laurey said, shivering, knowing she would never, ever forget the sound of those bullets being fired.

  Kit glanced at Ryan. "Working?"

  He shook his head, his raven black hair flowing with the movement. "Just checking on Gage."

  "Chief here yet?"

  Ryan shook his head again as Gage sighed. At the sound, Kit turned her attention back to Gage.

  "He'll be here, you know. He doesn't like his people getting shot at."

  "I know."

  "Neither do I. That's why I need to talk to you."

  "Report's on my desk."

  "Later. That's not what I want to talk about."

  Gage looked puzzled. "What, then?"

  Kit gave him an exasperated look. "What? How about the fact that somebody's trying to kill you?"

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  "Come on, Kit, nobody's trying to kill me," Gage said for at least the third time. He knew he sounded a bit fervid, but he had to convince her. If he couldn't, his life would degenerate quickly.

  "Butler, I swear, for a really smart guy, sometimes you are so darn stubborn."

  Rather than deny it, he said mildly. "I didn't realize the two were mutually exclusive."

  He sensed rather than saw Laurey smile, but he didn't dare look at her; he had to concentrate on talking Kit out of this idea that he was in mortal danger.

  "Stubborn," Kit repeated in frustration.

  A phone rang. Ryan, who was leaning against Gage's cluttered desk, leaned over and picked it up.

  "Detectives, Buckhart." A pause, then, "Okay. Thanks." He hung up and glanced at Kit and Gage. "Chief's here."

  Gage winced. "Head him off, will you? I don't want him buying into this theory Sergeant Walker here has come up with."

  "Do you really think it won't occur to him on his own?"

  He knew it would; de los Reyes was a very smart man. "It might, but I can talk him out of doing anything as long as you don't tell him you think it, too."

  "Look, Butler," Kit began.

  "Kit, listen, please," Gage said. "If you get him into this, you know what will happen. He doesn't mess around if he thinks somebody's in danger."

  "Exactly," Kit said.

  "Why don't I introduce Laurey to him," Ryan said, "while you two … work this out?"

  "Great," Gage said fervently. Then, as Ryan ushered Laurey—who gave him an oddly intent look over her shoulder as they left—out of the office, he turned back to Kit. "Look," he said patiently, "the accident was just an accident, and this was just a random drive-by, or a hit at that shop. That's all."

  "You really believe that?"

  "Dispatch got hold of the guy, the owner. He said he's had a few problems with some east side kids, probably gangbangers."

  "That's true of just about any business in the neighborhood."

  He couldn't argue with that, so he tried to turn it to his advantage. "And that's what it runs to. Since Ryan took down The Pack, there just isn't anybody left around who'd take the risk of going after a cop."

  "You think there aren't gangbangers out there who'd love to make their bones offing a cop?"

  "Sure there are… In the heat of the moment, if they're cornered, they'll react like any other rat. But this wasn't like that, and the bottom line is still that killing a cop brings more grief than it's worth to just about anybody."

  "Even Martin?" Kit suggested, her tone sour.

  "Well, almost anybody," Gage reluctantly admitted as she said the name he knew had been in her mind from the first moment. It had been in his mind since the moment she'd first broached the idea. Silently he admitted the possibility, but he continued to play it down, both because he didn't really believe it and because he couldn't allow the limitations it would put on him if she convinced the chief.

  "Murdering a cop is a bit extreme, even for that slime."

  "I'm not so sure." Her tone was even more acid. "He's got a lot to lose, and you're the prime reason he might lose it. And he's arrogant enough to think he could get away with it."

  "We had only just arrested him when that van clobbered me."

  "But he already knew he was your prime suspect. He could have arranged it before."

  "He also thought he was safe," Gage said pointedly. "Why the hell would he arrange a hit while he still thought he had an ironclad alibi?"

  "Okay, maybe," Kit conceded. "Maybe the hit-and-run was just that, an accident. But he's in jail now, so he knows his alibi can't be as solid as he thought."

  "But he didn't have a chance to do anything about it. He's locked up now, and his only call was to his lawyer, screaming to arrange bail faster even if he had to pay it himself. And he's the only one in lockup two, so he could hardly have ordered up a drive-by from his cell."

  Kit let out a long sigh. "It just seems … too coincidental."

  "Drive-bys happen every day, Kit. So do hit-and-runs."

  "But shootings and hit-and-runs don't happen on consecutive days to the same person who happens to be a cop. A cop who also happens to be the main investigator in a high-profile rape case."

  "You worry too much."

  "And you don't worry enough, not about yourself."

  "I worry," Gage said flatly, "about Diane Santos and all the others like her."

  Kit sighed. "All right, all right. I'll give you a little more rope. But if you hang yourself with it, I'll never forgive you, Butler."

  He smiled then, both touched at her obvious concern and relieved that she wasn't going to present her theory to the chief. He knew Ryan would never say anything unless he had to, so it seemed he'd headed off what could have been disaster. Chief de los Reyes was not the kind of man to take a threat to any of his people lightly. He was going to have enough trouble explaining his way out of this without the chief slapping him with a bodyguard, or worse. He admired de los Reyes tremendously, but he couldn't do his job handcuffed. And right now his job was putting Mitchell Martin behind bars for as long as possible.

  * * *

  Gage looked across the table at Laurey as she stirred her soda with her straw. She'd said little since they'd left Trinity West, and he didn't know if it was still the shock of what had happened or something else.

  "Are you all right?" he finally asked.

  She lifted her gaze to his face. Her eyes were wide, troubled, but no longer held the lingering fear he had seen before. He shifted uncomfortably, the restaurant chair tilting slightly beneath him, one of its legs not even with the others.

  "That's not a place known for drive-by shootings," he said. "If it was, I never would have taken you there."

  "I know that," she assured him.

  She lapsed into s
ilence again and stared down at her swirling soda. Gage studied her, seeing an odd sort of tension in the set of her shoulders, the posture of her long, slender body. She looked like she had when he'd walked out of the emergency room that night.

  Which, he thought, reminded him of something else. Something he needed to do, to ease a mind already too wrapped up in thoughts of the woman who sat opposite him. Wondering how to start, he turned words over in his mind as he watched her, his gaze settling on the twin semicircles of her thick, dark lashes.

  Then she looked up, catching him watching her, and he found himself blurting out an awkward rush of words.

  "I wanted to say … I'm sorry about the other night, what I said."

  He saw a faint crease appear between her brows. "The other night?"

  "Before … the accident."

  He saw the second's delay before what he was talking about came back to her. He wasn't surprised; he was sure what had happened today was uppermost in her mind. She had, after all, come frighteningly close to dying in one of the ugliest of ways.

  "I had … no right to say those things to you," he said.

  "No," she said slowly, lowering her eyes once more, "you didn't."

  He took a breath and made himself add, "Especially since I was so wrong."

  "You were," she agreed.

  Then she lifted her gaze to his face, and he saw the trace of surprise in her expression, as if she were startled by his apology. Or perhaps, he thought wryly, by the fact that he'd felt the need to make it. But then she turned the surprise around on him.

  "But it's not all your fault. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me for a long time. It became … a habit to think of it that way. And that's how I acted with you."

  She drew a long breath. Gage opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again, afraid that if he interrupted her, she wouldn't finish whatever it was she wanted to say. After a moment she went on.

  "I … guess I've never really … dealt with that aspect of Lisa's death. Of putting it in … perspective with other bad things that have happened."

  "There's no way to put something like that in perspective," he said, his voice unexpectedly harsh, "because it's at the top of the scale. There is nothing worse than the senseless death of a good person who didn't deserve it."

  Her eyes widened, and she looked about to ask him something. Instinctively he looked away, fearing that something of the rush of memory that had suddenly swamped him was showing in his face. He didn't know what it was about her that had made him betray himself like this twice now.

  As if she'd sensed his moment of panicked retreat, she stayed silent, and a minute later the waiter arrived to take their order. He'd picked a nice restaurant in Marina del Mar this time, overlooking the water of the marina, hoping the peaceful setting would help Laurey put what had happened out of her mind. And figuring he owed her a decent dinner after what she'd been through.

  "So," he said quickly after the waiter had gone, his bright tone sounded forced even to his own ears, "does this mean you don't hate cops anymore?"

  "I never did hate cops."

  His mouth twisted. "Just one specific one, right?"

  She sighed. "I said I was sorry, that I should have let go of it long ago. I was young, I was foolish, maybe even stupid."

  "And led astray by evil companions?" he suggested, managing a grin to take any sting out of the words.

  "That, too, I suppose." She swirled her hapless soda once more. "My parents never did like Curt."

  "I know."

  She gave him a sideways look. "You do?"

  He nodded.

  "And just how did you find that out?"

  "They told me when I called them a couple of days after you were picked up. I told them they were right to be wary of him, that he was big trouble."

  She blinked. "You called my parents? Why?"

  "To let them know the narcotics charge was being dropped, that your record would only show a minor LOPC violation."

  Her mouth twisted. "I always wondered what that stood for."

  "LOPC? Lack of parental control."

  She drew back slightly. "Really? Boy, that must have made my father furious."

  Gage grinned again. "Neither of them was happy with the inference, but it was better than you having a narcotics charge on your record."

  She looked at him curiously. "Why was it dropped? I was so relieved at the time, I never really questioned why."

  He shifted on the comfortably upholstered chair as if it were a hardwood bench. "Interest of justice," he muttered.

  "What does that mean, exactly?"

  "It means the juvie authorities were convinced that you really didn't know about the grass in Curt's car, and that you weren't … a user."

  There was a long silent moment while Laurey studied his face. Then, softly, she asked, "Convinced by who?" When he didn't answer, she spoke the guess he knew she'd already made. "You? It was you, wasn't it? You got the charges dropped."

  He shrugged. "I knew you weren't one of them, not really. That you were just caught up with the wrong crowd."

  "I wish you'd told me that," she exclaimed.

  He gave her a crooked grin. "The object lesson would have lost some of its impact then. You needed to be shaken up a bit, before you wound up too far down that path to get back. I told your folks to watch out who you were hanging with, so you didn't wind up in some real trouble."

  "No wonder my parents wanted to send you a thank-you," she said, sounding very odd.

  "They did. After your record was sealed."

  Her eyes widened then. "Was it you who … told my parents about that? I heard them talking, and they said the police had told them how to go about it."

  "I mentioned it, when I called that first time. Told your mother it would be fairly easy, if the LOPC was the only thing on it. She called me about a year later and asked how to do it," he said, remembering the day rather clearly; he'd finally reached the point where he'd put the young Laurey out of his mind, and then her mother had called and brought it all back. "She told me you were in college and doing well, that you had really gotten things together."

  Laurey looked astonished. "I had no idea. She never mentioned it at all. Not even that she'd spoken to you, let alone … all your help."

  "I'm not surprised. I'd say she knew I wasn't your favorite person."

  Laurey colored, the added pinkness making her smoky eyes even more striking. "I suppose … I should thank you, too."

  "Not if it hurts too much," he said solemnly. "I realize that's too much of a turnaround to expect in such a short time."

  "Don't remind me," she said with a sigh. "I hate even thinking about how I yelled at you in front of Caitlin."

  "It was what's left of that mixed-up kid who was yelling," he said. "And if there's anybody who understands mixed-up kids, it's Caitlin."

  She gave him a grateful look, and by the time their food arrived—they shared a taste for swordfish, it appeared—they were able to talk civilly, even companionably. She told him of her job in the advertising department of the magazine in Seattle, and how just before she'd left for her vacation she'd been working twelve-hour days to put the huge pre-holiday issue together. He was fascinated by the vast array of people she dealt with, people from all over the world, yet with one goal in common; attracting consumers with ready cash to their product or service.

  "I love it," she said with clearly honest enthusiasm. "Even when it's that busy. I get to do some ad designing, as well, and that's always been my first love. Someday I hope to move over to that side completely."

  What must it be like, Gage thought, to work in a world where you dealt with beauty every day, not ugliness? You'll never know, he muttered silently.

  "So," he said hastily, in an effort to battle the thoughts, "why are you here by yourself?"

  She gave him a sideways look. "Why not?"

  "Er, I just wondered if you'd left a husband or boyfriend behind, someone who isn't going to lik
e the idea of you down here getting nearly…"

  His voice trailed off, and he wished he'd never started it.

  After a moment, she answered simply, "No."

  Silence spun out between them. Laurey stirred the glass that now held only ice. Gage stared at his plate.

  "Why did you become a cop?"

  Her question came out of the blue and startled him into answering honestly.

  "Because it's all I've ever wanted to do, ever since my … since I was ten."

  She seemed to notice the hesitation but didn't push about it. "Boyhood dream come true?" was all she asked.

  "Sort of."

  "Was your father a cop? I've heard it tends to run in families."

  He grimaced. "You say that like it's some hereditary flaw."

  She smiled. "I didn't mean it that way, really. I just don't understand why anyone would want the job."

  "Sometimes I don't understand it, either," he said wryly.

  "Caitlin says you're the most dedicated cop she knows, including Quisto."

  He smiled; Caitlin's praise meant a great deal to him. "She does as much for kids as I do, probably more."

  "She told me you were working on a case involving one of her kids who was … raped," Laurey said. "She wouldn't say anything more about it, only that she knew you would get him. That nobody cares more than you do."

  He thought of Martin, of his swaggering arrogance, his confidence that he would never pay for what he'd done, and the anger that was never far below the surface churned anew.

  "Men who rape aren't animals," he said, unable to control the fierceness in his voice. "They're worse than any creature who walks the planet. They use the worst weapon to make up for their feelings of powerlessness. They're cowards, attacking those smaller and weaker than themselves. They—"

  He heard his own voice rising and made himself stop. Laurey was looking at him, wide-eyed.

  "Sorry," he muttered. "I tend to get … carried away."

  "No," she said quickly. "Don't apologize. Not for that. I was just … surprised. I thought the police didn't really—"