by Kylie Brant
He brushed at a speck of lint on his perfectly creased Italian suit, and crossed his legs. “I decided that the only way to see you was to drop in unannounced,” he stated plainly. “As ill-bred as it is, I had no choice. You haven’t returned any of my phone calls.”
Guilt prickled through her at the truth of his words. She’d been avoiding him, and she couldn’t deny it. Although she’d done so to avoid any more stressful scenes, his words made her feel about twelve years old. The old inner war still waged within her; the instincts for self-preservation against the loyalty she felt she should owe to her own flesh and blood.
“The case has been taking up a lot of my time,” she said, damning the note of apology that entered her voice. “Things have been a little crazy. When the case winds down-”
“Ah, yes, the case. Why don’t we talk about that? And about Cruz Martinez.”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize what had brought her father to her apartment. Her eyes narrowed. “You know I can’t discuss my investigations with you. We’ve had this conversation before.”
He went on as if he hadn’t heard. “Francis Vincent told me he ran into you and Martinez at a restaurant one night.”
And you called the moment you heard the news, Madeline thought darkly. But she forced herself to answer steadily, “That’s right.”
“Yes. So tell me, Madeline. What sort of investigating was going on after-hours over dinner?”
Though the words were delivered in his usual cultured voice, the suggestion in them was blatantly insulting.
“We were eating,” she said bluntly. “Does that need an explanation?”
“I know how you feel about my becoming involved in your work,” he said, surprising her. “But given our last conversation, I was quite concerned at your apparent friendliness with a suspected criminal. I hope you know what you’re doing.” His tone said clearly that he doubted that very much, and Madeline ground her teeth silently.
“As a matter of fact, I know exactly what I’m doing,” she replied, with only a hint of her irritation showing in her voice. “And I’ve managed to do my job quite adequately for ten years without your help, though I’ve yet to convince you of that.”
“Well, sadly enough, it appears to me that you haven’t done your job. At least, not yet. I’ve heard from a very good source that there’s been no evidence linking any of the five detectives suspected in this gun supply.”
Her mouth dropped at his announcement, and then she shook her head in disbelief. “You are unbelievable, do you know that?” Her earlier certainty that she could, for once, deal with him calmly was vanishing. “When are you going to stick to running the city and stay out of police matters! Whoever is feeding you this information is a disgrace to the force. And you’re a disgrace for asking about it!”
“I’m worried about you,” he stated firmly. “The longer this case drags on, the more time you have to make a mistake. I won’t be comfortable until Martinez is behind bars.”
She stared at him, wondering when she’d last been as furious as she was now. “Then you will no doubt have to wait a very long time to be comfortable,” she burst out in frustration. “Because Cruz Martinez is not going to be behind bars. Not now, or later.”
His mouth tightened. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Madeline.”
“No, you don’t,” she contradicted. “Your only wish is for things to turn out the way you want them. Although why you have developed such a need to see a man you don’t even know go to prison, I can’t quite figure out. But I’ve found absolutely no evidence to connect Cruz to the gun supply. None.”
After a pregnant pause, he asked, “How can you be sure Martinez is not involved?”
“I’m trained to find evidence and to interpret it, Father. And whether you believe it or not, I happen to be good at my job. Captain Brewer is satisfied with my investigation. That’s all that matters.”
Her father rose to stride to the window, pushing aside a curtain to stare out at the skyline. After a moment he murmured, “You’re sure, of course, that you haven’t missed anything, out of your own need to see this man proven innocent.” He turned to look pointedly at her.
Her jaw dropped at his audacity. “You are unbelievable,” she whispered, shaking her head. “And you never change. Never. You’re like a broken record, playing over the same irritating scratch.”
“I’m just expressing an interest because I don’t want to see you do any further damage to your career. Another mistake like Dennis Belding would destroy any credibility you could ever hope to achieve.”
What he really meant, of course, was that he was concerned about any damage to his own political career should his daughter’s name be clouded once more. She was hurt at his lack of faith, but it wasn’t a shattering pain. Perhaps, she thought bitterly, she’d finally been cured of needing approval from this man, because she had approval from someone who accepted her just the way she was. And Cruz’s respect meant far more to her than her father’s ever could. She felt a return to her earlier calm. Geoffrey Casey didn’t have the power to hurt her that he’d once had.
“Well,” he said in disapproval, turning from the window, “I only came here for your own good. As usual, you choose to misunderstand my intentions.” Noting her rigid features, he added in a more conciliatory tone, “And if you say that your dinner with him that night was just a necessary evil, a step in your investigation of him, then I’ll accept your word on that. It’s just that I don’t like the thought of your spending any more time with Martinez than necessary. He really isn’t our kind.” He walked past her toward the door. Her next words brought him to a halt.
“I didn’t say that.”
She noted the ramrod stiffness of his backbone as the meaning of her words became clear, and she knew she’d made a mistake. If only he’d left before firing off his last parting shot, she would have been able to hold her tongue. But she wasn’t going to allow him to speak like that of Cruz, to think that way about him. From the sound of his words, he felt her being around her partner was liable to taint her in some way. And it was time her father learned that the end of this case wasn’t going to spell the end of her relationship with Cruz Martinez. Her father had long ago lost the ability to control her life, and he needed to realize that.
He turned slowly to face her again. “Would you care to clarify those words?”
“Certainly.” She rose, too, and they faced each other more like two adversaries than like father and daughter. “What I mean is, if I choose to see Cruz after this investigation, I will do so. My decision has nothing to do with you, nor do you have anything to say about it.”
“I can assure you, Madeline,” he said tightly, “that I will find quite a bit to say about it.”
“No doubt,” she replied dryly. “But I’m not interested in hearing it. So we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
His face flushed deep red, more reaction than she could remember seeing in it for a very long time. “You will regret this decision,” he warned her ominously.
“I don’t think so,” she said softly. “But if I do, at least it will be my decision.”
After a long look, her father turned and walked swiftly from her apartment.
As the door closed behind him, Madeline sank into a chair, heaving a sigh.
She’d regretted almost immediately the words she’d spoken to her father, if not the fury that had fueled them. He lit the match to the fuse of her temper so effortlessly, and he absolutely never learned. But he’d also left her with something to think about, something that she’d been worrying about since last night.
Her father had an enviable pipeline of information that was usually quite accurate. She was beginning to become more concerned with the possibility that somehow Cruz, too, would get hold of the information that he’d been the subject of an investigation. She had no doubt as to how he would react to that. And to her, should he find out the whole story.
She had to keep the information from him; she had
no choice. Although she was convinced she’d find nothing to link him to the gun suppliers, she had a job to fulfill. And her investigation wasn’t completed. There was no way she could give him that information, even if she’d wanted to.
But after the case was over, perhaps after another detective had been proven guilty, what then? She pondered the question. When she was free to come clean with Cruz, would she risk that? Would she take the chance of telling him and possibly destroy any hope of a future with him?
Could she take the chance of his finding out anyway, from someone else?
It was a question that plagued her constantly. It lurked in her subconscious, coloring every moment of each day. It made the time she spent with Cruz almost bittersweet, as if each instant with him would be the last. Which, of course, it could be if she made the wrong choice. She knew she was being a coward, putting off making a decision about what she would do, but still she procrastinated, while she gathered all the memories she could with him.
For the next few days she and Cruz spent most of their time sitting in the unmarked car, on a street with a clear view of the Andersen warehouse. Although there was plenty of activity there each day, Valdez wasn’t spotted. They watched all day, and took turns sleeping at night. Then they drove home, showered and changed before driving back and starting all over again.
By the third night Madeline was close to losing it. There was no position in the car that was comfortable any longer, and even though it was her turn to sleep, she was having very little success at it. Her supper of sandwiches and chips seemed a distant memory, and being hungry worsened her mood.
She glared across the car at Cruz. Though he was awake and watchful, he was slouched into a position that would have had her back screaming for days. The knowledge that he was totally comfortable made her want to give him a kick.
“Go to sleep. You should know by now that I’m not going to do the noble thing and take your watch, too. It’ll be your turn in an hour and a half, and believe me, I’ll be asleep in a minute.” His voice cut across the darkness.
“Yeah, you look pretty tense right now,” she muttered, changing position once again.
She could sense the smile in his voice when he spoke again. “It’s all in the attitude, Maddy, my girl. You’ve got to take every second to relax when you can. I’d give you a back rub to help out, but I don’t trust myself to stop there.”
Neither did she. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to trust herself, either. She remained firmly on her side of the seat while they watched, and he did the same. The only time they touched was to pass each other something to eat, and even that casual brushing was enough to set her skin afire. So she kept her distance and prayed that he would do likewise. Because if he was of a mind to pass away the hours of the night in a much more pleasurable manner, she wasn’t sure she would have the strength to deny him.
It was partly frustrated desire that made it difficult to sleep, but mainly it was her inability to stop thinking. Through the long hours of the night it was difficult to keep troublesome thoughts at bay, and the choice she had to make was at the forefront of those. Not that it was much of a decision anymore. As she stared out into the night, where physical objects were shrouded in shadows and darkness, her thoughts had a way of becoming crystal clear, as if in contrast. She realized that when the time came that the case was wrapped up, she would have to tell Cruz about her task of investigating him. She used the time to try to practice what she would say when that day finally came, to memorize the words that would be the least hurtful, the ones that would make him understand. She was coming to the realization that those words didn’t exist.
Her morose thoughts were interrupted by his whisper. “Look up there. A car is coming this way.”
Madeline looked past him and saw a pair of headlights approaching them. She made a grab for the night vision binoculars on the seat between them, but he beat her to them. Raising them, he watched silently for long seconds before saying, “Well, lookee, lookee. Tonight just might be our lucky night.” She heard the click as he switched off the interior light so it wouldn’t shine when he opened the door.
Madeline craned her neck to see what had him so fascinated. The car that had driven past them turned the corner and pulled to a stop in front of the warehouse. Her attention was diverted, however, when he started opening his door.
“Where are you going?” she whispered.
“I’m going closer to see if I recognize anybody.”
Madeline slid across the seat toward him. “Not without me, you aren’t.”
She closed the door quietly behind her and followed his crouched figure across the street. They stopped behind a utility shed, directly across from the warehouse.
The car was a large luxury automobile. Madeline couldn’t imagine Valdez driving such a car, and disappointedly wondered if this, too, would be a dead end. That thought was driven from her mind when, in the next instant, a shadowy figure stepped out of the darkness and approached the automobile. Reaching the passenger side, the man opened the door and got in. She gasped when the interior light went on and revealed the identities of the two inside. The man sliding into the car was none other than Jose Valdez.
The driver was Stephen Andersen.
Neither Cruz nor Madeline spoke a word, peering intently into the darkness. They were unable to see anything until about ten minutes later, when the passenger side of the car opened again. As close to the water as they were, the voices floated to them with crystal precision.
“I’ll meet you about midnight. And for pity’s sake be careful until then. With all the cops asking questions about you, I’m beginning to think you’re a real liability.”
“Wouldn’t be no cops hanging around if you hadn’t wanted me to ice Stover. Told ya he wasn’t no threat. He would have been too scared to talk, anyway.”
“So you said.” Even if she hadn’t seen his face, Madeline would have recognized Andersen’s cultured tones. “Well, he’s not talking now, either. And somehow I feel a lot safer this way.”
Valdez snorted. “Don’t know what you’re worried about, anyway. The cops aren’t sniffing around you.”
“And I don’t want them to, either. If you do your job the way you should, I won’t have to worry, and you’ll continue to get paid well.”
“I’ll be here.”
Valdez slammed the door and started across the street. The car took off. Cruz whispered, “Stay put. I’m going to follow Valdez.” He disappeared into the shadows before Madeline could protest. And protest she would have. She had no intention of meekly waiting for him to return.
She drew her gun and headed for a closer inspection of the warehouse. A high mesh fence, topped by barbed wire, surrounded the building. She found the gate locked. She examined the perimeter but found no other entrance. She also found no sign of a night watchman. In the entire time they had been across the street, and during her explorations, she’d estimate they’d spent thirty minutes. But she’d yet to see a security guard making rounds, and her mind was furiously speculating on what that meant.
She made her way back to the front of the building. The stars didn’t provide much light, and once she stumbled over a crack in the concrete. She’d just gotten to the front gate again when a figure stepped out of the shadows in front of her and ordered, “Don’t move.”
It was amazing that in the darkness where little was visible she had no difficulty at all discerning that she was looking down the barrel of a gun. Her eyes tore away from that sight and looked beyond it.
“Maddy?”
A burst of air escaped her then, the first time she’d realized she’d been holding her breath. “Martinez, you idiot, of course it’s me.”
He holstered his gun. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. I told you to stay put.”
“You don’t give me orders, Detective,” she said scathingly. “I didn’t hear a discussion about the wisdom of your taking off after Valdez.”
They started back toward
the car, still arguing. “Listen, do you want to know what happened to Valdez, or not?”
She was silent for an instant. “Well, since you don’t have him in tow, I assume you lost him.”
“Not exactly.” They reached the car then and got in. “From what we overheard, it sounded like Andersen is in this up to his gelled hair.”
“I can’t think of any other reason he’d be meeting with Valdez,” Madeline agreed. “When I recognized him, everything seemed to jump into place.”
“And hearing them talk about offing Stover didn’t hurt any.”
“Andersen has to be the one bringing in the guns. I don’t know why we didn’t think about this before. They moved their manufacturing overseas, so maybe that’s where the pipeline starts.”
“A shipment comes in from overseas, gets unloaded and stored in the warehouse. We already know that the guns are being sold from the docks.”
Madeline interjected, “The guns must be unassembled, pieces interspersed with the real cargo in each crate.”
“This is it. It has to be,” said Cruz. He looked across the seat at her. “But can we make it stick? The only concrete things we have to go on right now are that we saw the two of them together, and that we overheard about Stover.”
“Something big is going to be breaking soon, that was apparent from their conversation,” she said.
“I’m sure of it.” After a moment of silence he added, “That’s why I let Valdez go.”
“What do you mean, you let him go?” she demanded, startled.
“I didn’t lose him. I followed him down the street to a big truck he had parked there. I took down the license plate, but didn’t confront him. He got in and drove away.” His teeth flashed brightly in the darkness. “I say we go for the big cigar. We wait this thing out and catch them with the guns in their oily little hands. What do you say?”
She never hesitated. “Let’s go for it.”
He laughed softly. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. We’ll play the odds. It may be a risk to wait, but sometimes taking a risk can have a big payoff. You know what I mean?”