GAGE BUTLER'S RECKONING

by Justine Davis

  Besides, he wasn't feeling any too certain about this himself. In fact, he was wondering if he hadn't lost his mind; he knew perfectly well there was no room for a relationship in his life, yet he'd been unable to stop himself here today. And had quite possibly landed himself in more hot water than he could get out of.

  He yanked on his T-shirt and walked as quietly as he could toward the kitchen, where he guessed Kit was.

  He was right. She was standing at the counter, putting coffee grounds in a paper filter. He saw a small appliance beside the coffeemaker and realized it had been a grinder he'd heard, not a blender.

  "Thought you might like a little variety," she said without turning or even looking around. "Anybody who's had to drink Ryan's coffee needs an antidote."

  It didn't surprise him that she'd known he was there. He walked into the room, aware of the cool linoleum under his bare feet. He heard the sound of distant running water and tried desperately not to think of Laurey in the shower, her long, slender body glistening with lucky drops.

  "He does make it strong enough to bend the spoon," he said. He waited, but she seemed intent on her task. She still didn't even look at him. Not that it would have mattered; Kit didn't give much away.

  "I brought that," she said, pointing to a large manila envelope. "For Laurey to look at."

  In that instant he was glad she wasn't looking at him; he was sure what had happened between him and Laurey was written all over his face. Except that he wasn't sure exactly what had happened. It had been unlike anything he'd ever known, and judging by Laurey's expression of shock and wonder when her body had convulsed around his, it had been new to her, too.

  Knock it off he ordered himself sharply. You keep thinking about it and you might as well hang out a sign. And you'll have a place to hang it, too.

  "So, where is our captive witness?"

  As she filled the coffeepot with water, Kit's voice was bright, cheerful, without a trace of suspicion. But Gage's gut reacted as if it were an accusation. With an effort, he answered fairly evenly.

  "She … was reading a magazine." Well, she had been. A couple of hours ago. Urgently needing a diversion, he asked, "What's in the envelope?"

  "Take a look," Kit said, setting the pot on the hot plate and flipping the switch on the coffeemaker.

  He picked it up. It wasn't sealed, only held closed with the metal fastener. He opened it and pulled out a familiar piece of doubled cardboard. There were six squares cut out of the top layer, just large enough to hold a half-dozen photographs. Right now the slots held pictures of six men who matched the general description Laurey had given of the shooter.

  He looked up at Kit. "You got him?"

  "We think so," she said with undisguised satisfaction. "We need Laurey to take a look at that photo lineup and, if she hits on him, then the real thing, but we think we have him."

  "Who is he?"

  "Name's Gaylord. Small-time punk who used to be on the fringe of The Pack. Still hangs out on Steele Street

  . He's a cokehead and heroin addict who's hit some hard times since Ryan dried up the supply down there."

  "So he needed bucks to go elsewhere?"

  She nodded. "And Martin provided them."

  "Allegedly," Gage said, smiling sourly as Kit grimaced at the painfully familiar word. "All we have to do is prove it."

  "I think he'll break. He shot up recently—that's what they picked him up on—but he's already coming down pretty hard. No gun, but he may have tossed or hidden it. We're working on it." She smiled. "The best part, though, is that from what we can tell, he probably didn't report back. He has fresh marks, a set about one and another about two days old. He had another hit on him, but no cash, so he probably spent all his advance money. We're guessing he's been flying high since Saturday night."

  It took a moment for the import to register. "You mean … Martin doesn't know Laurey saw the guy?"

  "Chances are pretty good."

  Gage thought swiftly. "What's he booked on?"

  "The dope. Until Laurey identifies him, the drugs are all we have on him."

  "Is he going to be able to make bail?"

  "I doubt it. He's flat, and I don't think he'll be calling Martin for help, not after blowing it twice. Three times, if he was driving the van."

  "Anybody push him about the Martin connection?"

  "Not yet. They only picked him up this morning, and we need Laurey's ID."

  "Good. Don't."

  "What?"

  "Don't. Don't even question him about it. Don't even ask him if he's ever heard of Mitchell Martin. Hold him only on the drug charges. But keep him bogged down in the system as long as you can."

  Kit drew back, staring at him. "The guy tries to kill you at least two, probably three, times, and you don't want us to even rattle his cage? Do I have that right?"

  "Yes."

  Her astonished stare became puzzled, then thoughtful. "You never do—or don't do—anything without a reason. Want to tell me this one?"

  He didn't, not really, but he knew he had little choice. Kit would back him all the way, but only if he was straight with her.

  "Just in case we can't make the connection," he said. "If we do, then Laurey will have to testify. But if we can't, there's no point in officially dragging her into this."

  Kit frowned. "Even if we can't make the connection, this guy still tried to kill you. And Laurey's a witness."

  "No," he said doggedly. "If we don't push, Martin might not find out we have his man for a while. And there's no point in bringing her to Martin's attention."

  "You mean … as a loose end he might feel compelled to take care of?"

  He nodded. When Kit spoke again, her voice was oddly soft. "You'd rather see this guy walk after he does his drug time than take him down on a straight attempted murder rap? Just to keep her out of it?"

  "If that's what it takes."

  It took a long time. She just looked at him for a while, then, slowly, turned and got a cup down from a cupboard. She poured a mug full of the freshly brewed coffee. Gage smelled the distinctive hazelnut flavor she preferred. He watched the steam rise from the dark blue mug. He watched her study the dark liquid as if searching for answers there. Finally she took a sip. And, at last, she looked at him again.

  "All right, Gage."

  He let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

  "But only as long as things are stable. This guy's off the street, and for the moment Martin's hamstrung. But that could change."

  "I know. Thanks, Kit."

  "I'll add it to your account." She took another sip of coffee. "But that reminds me. We owe the chief, big time."

  "Again?" Gage asked, going for some of the tempting smelling coffee himself.

  "Yes. Seems he indeed did think there was more to your … accident than met the eye."

  If nothing else, Gage thought, he liked this woman for never saying "I told you so."

  "He made sure Martin's only unmonitored visits while in our fine hotel were with a single attorney, Phillip Farrell, and Farrell has been advised of his own … liability if we prove Martin arranged for something to happen to you while Farrell was his only contact."

  Gage heard the undertone in her voice and lifted a brow at her. Kit giggled. Gage gaped at her; he'd never heard such a sound from Sergeant Katherine Walker before. She sounded inordinately pleased.

  "What?" he prodded.

  "I guess the chief sort of made your welfare Farrell's responsibility. I heard from Sol in the jail that what he actually told him was that if anything happened to you, even after Martin gets out, he would personally see to it that Farrell's life and career became a living hell, so he'd better keep his client under control."

  Gage stared. "De los Reyes did that?"

  She nodded. "He's something, isn't he?"

  "That he is," Gage agreed fervently.

  "He … told me I should take the next lieutenant's test," Kit said, sounding strangely shy.

  "You sh
ould," Gage said quickly. "You'd be damn good at it."

  "Thanks. But I don't know…"

  "I do. You're the best, Walker. Do it."

  To his amazement, the unflappable Kit blushed. "Thank you."

  "You should," he said with mock severity. "I'm making a great sacrifice here. I don't want to have to work for somebody else. It's not every sergeant who would…"

  "Put up with you?" she suggested sweetly.

  "Yeah," he admitted. "But Lieutenant Walker has a nice ring to it."

  "Compared to Robards, anything has a nice ring," she said dryly.

  "Well, that, too," he agreed, grinning.

  He heard the shower stop and suddenly remembered his shoes and socks lying discarded on the bedroom floor. "I think I'll go put my shoes on," he said rather inanely.

  He was almost into the hall when Kit's voice stopped him.

  "Butler?"

  Uh-oh. He looked back over his shoulder at her. He saw her glance flick in the general direction of Laurey's room.

  "When I said you needed a sex life, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  Laurey almost wished it hadn't been so clear. Her life would be simpler, she was sure, if it hadn't been. But there was no doubt in her mind; the moment she looked at the six photographs Kit Walker had handed her, she'd known. Her gaze had caught and held on the middle photo in the bottom row, and she'd been certain beyond a doubt that this was the man she'd seen in the car.

  "That's him," she said, pointing.

  "You're sure?" Kit asked.

  "Positive."

  She saw Kit's gaze shift to Gage, who was looking at her as if for some kind of confirmation. Kit nodded once. "Gaylord," she said.

  Gage let out a long breath, unmistakably of relief.

  "Right answer?" Laurey asked with brows lifted.

  Kit grinned. "Right answer. He's enjoying the hospitality of Trinity West as we speak."

  "And," Gage put in, "he's the only one who knows you saw him."

  She turned from Kit to Gage. Was that why he was so relieved? Because now she was safe?

  "So," Kit said to her, "you're free."

  Of course, Laurey thought. That was why he'd looked so relieved; with the assailant in jail, hiding here was no longer necessary. For her, anyway.

  "You mean I can go?"

  Kit nodded. "No reason to worry now. Martin doesn't even know you're involved, as far as we can tell."

  Involved. What an … interesting word for her to have chosen, Laurey thought dryly. And Kit was looking at her steadily, a quietly knowing look in her hazel eyes.

  Knowing? Did she? Could she? For an instant Laurey couldn't breathe as she looked at the other woman, as she tried to discern if it was truly knowledge she saw there, if somehow Kit had figured out what had happened between her and Gage. He had told her Kit didn't miss much, but at the moment she felt as if it were written in glowing letters across her forehead, not requiring any particular perceptiveness.

  Kit's expression changed, and for a moment Laurey saw quiet understanding and concern there. And she realized that if Kit did know, she would do nothing. At least, unless she had to. Then Kit spoke, as if nothing had passed between them.

  "At least you'll be able to salvage some of your vacation."

  "I … suppose," Laurey said, her glance skating to Gage. "But … you're still stuck."

  He shook his head. "I'm outta here."

  "But just because he's—" she gestured at the photo lineup on the kitchen counter "—in jail doesn't mean this Martin won't hire someone else."

  "I think," Gage said with a wink at Kit, "that Chief de los Reyes took care of that."

  "Maybe," Kit cautioned. "But I wouldn't trust Martin not to try again anyway, eventually. He's got that kind of mentality, has himself convinced he's untouchable. He'll be more cautious now, but he may not give up."

  Gage looked at Kit consideringly. "You're the expert, boss. How long will it take for him to put his arrogance back together after being arrested, and—" he hesitated, glancing at Laurey before he went on "—advised by his lawyer?"

  "A while, maybe. But now that he's out, and back amid his familiar surroundings of power, if the image of invincibility he's built up in his head is strong enough…" Kit shrugged, ending with, "I wouldn't stop watching your back." She turned to Laurey. "Do you feel up to going to Trinity West to do an in-person lineup?"

  Gage stiffened. "I thought we agreed this wasn't going to be … official, yet."

  "It isn't I just want it on record, in case we're able to … make the connection."

  Laurey had no idea what they were talking about, but she had the feeling it involved something that was not exactly standard procedure. She became more certain of it when they arrived at Trinity West and she heard Kit explaining to the jailer who was putting together the lineup that, for the moment, this was to stay downstairs, which Laurey gathered meant away from the brass upstairs.

  She was as certain in person as she had been with the photos; there was no doubt in her mind that the short, wiry man with the slicked-back hair and the pointed chin was the man she'd seen in the car. Despite the knowledge that none of the six men—the same ones who had been in the photographs—could see her through the two-way mirror, it was unpleasant to be this close to a man who could easily have killed them both.

  This time Kit didn't comment when she unhesitatingly pointed out the second man from the left, merely picked up a phone on the table beside them in the small observation room.

  "Okay, Jack," she said into the receiver. "We got a hit. Number two."

  A moment later the jailer appeared before the mirror and ushered three of the men, including the one Laurey had picked out, out of sight down a narrow hallway that Laurey assumed led to the jail cells. To her surprise, the other three men simply stood up and began to talk amiably, one of them putting on a suit coat and tie he picked up from a chair off to one side of the room.

  "The one dressing up is our court liaison officer," Gage said, correctly interpreting her puzzled expression. "The other two are Jim Kragen and Larry Newsome, our burglary detectives." He gave her a crooked smile. "We had to come up with guys you didn't know, so that let out Cruz and Ryan."

  "And Robards," she said.

  "Perish the thought," Kit muttered.

  "Yeah," Gage agreed. "The last thing we need is him mucking things up. It's been tough enough keeping him from mouthing off and screwing up the whole investigation. If de los Reyes hadn't given him that staff report to keep him busy…"

  "Out of your hair, you mean," Kit said. "Which reminds me … do you want to tell the chief what we're doing, or shall I?"

  Laurey didn't miss Kit's glance at her, but before she could ask what was going on, Kit was looking back at Gage and shaking her head.

  "We have to tell him," Kit said, apparently forestalling a protest she'd seen coming. "You know he'll back us as far as he can, but not if we don't play it straight with him."

  Gage sighed. "I know." Then, with a grimace, "You tell him. He likes you, so maybe he'll cut us some slack."

  "He respects you," Kit countered, "so he'll cut you more than he would some others." Then, at his expression, she added, "Don't look so surprised. For the results you get, he'll bend a little. He knows what your case clearance rate is, and the kind of work you do with kids and victims. The man knows everything that goes on around here."

  Her gaze flicked to Laurey for a split second, then back to Gage. "Well, almost everything." She glanced at her watch. "It's almost three. Why don't you two get out of here? Robards should be back from his two-hour lunch by now, and if he gets word about the arrest, he could be headed down here to see if he can stick his nose in."

  She was gone before either Gage or Laurey could react, leaving them both staring after her, then down at the floor, she wondered if he was as afraid to look at her as she was afraid to look at him.

  "Just �
� how many rules did you break?" she finally asked. For the first time since Kit's arrival had interrupted them this afternoon, he touched her. He lifted her chin with a gentle finger.

  "More than the one you broke, I'd guess."

  "Me?" She drew back a little. "What rule did I break?"

  "A big one of your own, I think," he said softly.

  She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

  "I'd guess you made a decision a long time ago not to ever get involved with anybody like your father."

  "I told you, you aren't—"

  "I know. But you also said the results are the same, regardless of the reasons."

  She had, she supposed, said that. And looking at it coldly, dispassionately, she knew it was true; the reasons didn't change the long hours, the neglect of any other life outside the work, the emotional abandonment of the people who loved you.

  "You're probably right. Kit's probably right." A harsh, compressed breath escaped him. "But let's just forget it for now. Let's try and salvage some of what's left of your vacation, all right?"

  "I… All right."

  "What were you planning to do?"

  What she hadn't planned to do was spend the time with a man who rattled her nerves and made her think things she'd never thought before, hot, erotic fantasies she'd never been prone to in her life. A man who had proceeded to show her that they didn't have to be fantasies at all.

  A man who, as he'd astutely guessed, was the very kind she'd sworn never to get involved with.

  "Laurey?"

  "I … was going to do something I miss, up in Washington." God, she thought, for the first time really realizing what she'd done, getting herself tangled up like this twelve hundred miles from home. It took her a moment to steady herself enough to go on. "I miss being able to go to the beach in November."

  "Your wish is my command," he said grandly. "To the beach it is."

  "You don't have to … do this," she said, hearing the strain in her voice.