He opened his eyes. “No.” At least not the kind of pain she was wondering about.
“You’re not fully recovered from your injury.” Shelby pulled out a kitchen chair. “Sit. Didn’t the doctor say you could have headaches and dizzy spells for weeks?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, caught between embarrassment and arousal.
Hurt flicked across her face, and he regretted his attitude. He’d never been mothered before. He wasn’t exactly sure how to act.
“Thank you,” he added in a softer tone. “I think better on my feet.” He turned his attention to the folder Calla was holding. “GSW,” he said, looking at the list over her shoulder. “Gun shot wound.”
“Oh.” Calla paused then, asked, “You’d think a guy who stole a snake would have been bitten, not shot.”
Damn, she was cute. “A Viper’s a sports car, not a serpent.”
“Oh.” She paused for a longer stretch this time. “Why would you want to ride in something named after a poisonous—” Abruptly, she waved her hand. “Never mind.”
“This isn’t the guy I chased,” Devin said. “Look at his weight—two-sixty. The handbag thief was short, wiry and fast. He outpaced me for more than a block.”
Victoria handed Calla another folder. “Let’s talk about this one.”
Devin studied the information, and his cop sensors went on alert. This guy was destined for a long career. He’d been picked up as a kid on minor theft and vandalism, graduated to assault and armed robbery in his early twenties. Hard, having suffered serious abuse in childhood, he’d resisted all efforts at education and rehabilitation.
He’d been released from prison two weeks ago.
“Scary-lookin’ dude,” Calla commented.
“And no dummy, either,” Devin said, remembering the guy well. “He’d ripped off five convenience stores in Midtown before we got him. And we only managed that because some tourist happened to get a cell phone video of him running from the scene.”
“He was locked up six years, though,” Shelby pointed out. “You think he’d really come for you after all those years?”
Victoria spoke before Devin could decide. “Nothing much to do in prison but eat, sleep and plot what you’re going to do when you get out.”
They all agreed on the sageness of that fact.
Looking at several other files, they found more possibilities, but Devin couldn’t help but think they were simply marking time until IAB rapped on his door. “This is great, ladies, but when Internal Affairs questions me, they’ll tell me the identity of my accuser.”
Maybe when he had that information, and he could pair it with the cases they’d been researching, he’d find a link.
But then he’d also have to endure another encounter with IAB. The last one hadn’t been pretty.
Calla narrowed her eyes. “You mean the thief.”
Devin nodded. “Seems like there’s more evidence against me than him, though. If I’m gonna be charged, they’ll tell me that, too.”
Victoria’s head snapped up. “What charges exactly?”
Devin shrugged with a casualness he certainly didn’t feel. “Assault.”
“You’re a cop,” Shelby said. “Aren’t you allowed to hit bad guys?”
“Only if they swing first.”
“But you were assaulted, too,” Calla said.
“They’ll think I hit myself to cover up my assault of a suspect.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”
Before Devin could do more than marvel at the loyalty from his defense team, his phone buzzed. Pulling it from his back pocket, he noted the text from a buddy at the department. Be ready. IAB coming today.
After relaying the information, the mood in the apartment dived. Dinner’s tempting smell could still be detected, but there was no denying the concern.
When the knock came, Devin headed to the door without looking at Calla or the others. Part of him wished they weren’t there, part of him knew he couldn’t deal with this mess alone, much as that was his natural instinct.
A guy in a tailored navy suit stood in the hall. He held up his NYPD badge. “Lieutenant Colin Reid, Internal Affairs.”
“Yeah.” Devin stepped back and allowed the other man to enter. “I’ve seen you around.”
His short brown hair looked as if the edges had been measured with a ruler, then trimmed with a razor blade. Devin had the feeling he and this guy weren’t going to be buds.
When he and Reid entered the living room-kitchen area, the case files were miraculously gone, and the ladies looked busy doing anything but conducting their version of a private investigation. Shelby and Victoria hovered near the stove, while Calla appeared thoroughly engrossed in Guns and Ammo.
How much of this Reid bought, Devin couldn’t tell. The lieutenant’s face was blank as he surveyed the apartment. “I need a word in private, Detective.”
All pretense at reading the magazine abandoned, Calla surged to her feet. “I’d like to stay.”
“You’re entitled to a lawyer,” Reid said.
Devin scowled. “Do I need one?”
Reid shrugged. “Legal representation is generally more advisable than a friend.”
Devin didn’t hesitate. “Calla can stay.”
Silently, Reid stared at the other two women.
Shelby tugged Victoria’s arm. “We need to go to the bakery and get bread for dinner.”
“Can’t you make bread?” Victoria asked incredulously as the two retreated down the hall.
“I expected you days ago,” Devin said to Reid when the door closed behind them.
Reid removed a micro-recorder from his briefcase. “We had priority cases to clear.”
“Do you people ever give a straight answer?” Calla asked, irritated.
By the surprise that skated across Reid’s face, Devin knew he, like so many others before him, had underestimated the angelic-looking blonde.
“I’ll be asking the questions today,” Reid said, recovering quickly.
Devin and Calla sat side by side on the sofa, while Reid sat in a chair across from them once he’d set the recorder on the coffee table.
He started the interview by reciting the standard warnings regarding statements and legal representation.
He asked Devin a few opening questions about his position with the department and years of service. Reid certainly knew the answers already but was watching Devin’s body language closely. If his mannerisms or tone of voice changed, it could signal a lie.
The fact that Devin understood Reid’s strategy didn’t give him any comfort, however.
He then went through the events of Saturday night, and Devin was glad Calla had encouraged him to write down his account. The chain of events came easily to mind, and he could recite the account with confidence.
Cops noticed details and telling IAB he couldn’t remember because of the lump on his head would be tantamount to an admission of guilt at worst, or he was incompetent at his job at best.
“How much did you drink before you saw the alleged thief?” Reid asked.
Devin clenched his teeth at the underlying insult. “One beer. Off duty,” he couldn’t help but add.
“And you saw nobody in the alley other than the alleged thief?”
Devin had already said he hadn’t but he answered calmly, “No.”
“How quickly after entering the alley were you allegedly struck?”
Call surged to her feet. “Allegedly? Would you like to see the baseball-size knot on his head? What kind of cop are you, questioning a fellow officer instead of the criminal he was chasing?”
Devin grabbed her hand and pulled her to the sofa. “Calla, please.”
“Where are you from?” Reid asked, his gaze locked on Calla.
Devin resisted the urge to smile. He’d asked her the same question in the same baffled tone not too long ago.
“Texas,” Calla returned. “We take justice very seriously.”
“Nice to
know.” Reid didn’t acknowledge Calla’s outburst further, he simply continued interrogating in the same monotone.
He went over Devin’s statement backward and forward. He jumped around the time frame and asked the same question more than once—all in an effort to shake Devin’s confidence.
The tactic didn’t work.
Despite sensing Calla’s simmering fury beside him, Devin kept his gaze on Reid’s face. He knew he’d accomplished his own goal when frustration jumped into Reid’s muddy-brown eyes.
It was easily the most entertaining moment in the past five days.
When he’d run out of redundant questions, Reid stood and returned the recorder to his briefcase. “Thank you for your time, Detective. I’ll be in touch.”
“The name, Reid,” Devin said before he could turn away. “Who’s the guy?”
After a slight pause, Reid answered. “Jimmie Forrester.”
Devin’s brain provided an image of a wiry, twitchy, well-known thief. “Jimmie Forrester says I hit him in an alley,” he said in disbelief.
Reid nodded.
“Jumpin’ Jimmie—the same guy I arrested two years ago for burglary?”
Interest flicked across Reid’s features. “So you remember him.”
“I remember I outweigh him by forty pounds, and his head barely reaches my shoulder. He couldn’t lift a bat to hit me with.” But the description fit the guy he’d chased. The thief had been wearing a ball cap and overcoat, so it could’ve been Jumpin’ Jimmie. “He also got a six-month sentence in a mental health facility because he supposedly has a compulsion to steal.”
“Nobody said he was wise to pick a fight with you, and he has a documented psychiatric condition.”
“Bull.” Devin paced. “This whole business stinks. I know it. You know it.”
Reid shrugged. “I have an incident to investigate.”
“It wasn’t only me and Jimmie in that alley. Investigate that.”
“I’ll be thorough,” Reid promised. “Particularly as your record has a distinctive blemish already.”
Devin stilled. He didn’t dare glance at Calla. He might have known IAB would bring up the past, but he still felt the punch to his gut. “As thorough as you are, I doubt anybody’s file is unmarked.”
Reid might have been an uptight prig, but he must have sensed he’d gone too far. Whether he didn’t want to piss off Devin further or embarrass him in front of Calla, the lieutenant nodded. “Cops should be above reproach.”
Calla glared at him. “I’m so glad everything is neat and tidy in your little world.”
Reid headed down the hall. “Unfortunately, it’s not. But somebody has to man the broom.”
6
WHEN SHE FINALLY unclenched her fist, Calla was sure her nails had drawn blood from her palm.
To witness Devin being forced to answer humiliating questions was almost more than she could stand. She almost wished she’d left with her friends, but feared abandoning him would have been a worse choice.
And yet her conscience couldn’t forget the stony lieutenant’s accusation. Particularly as your record has a distinctive blemish already.
The suspension from three years before. She’d known about it for months. Obviously it was time to find out the cause.
“What record?” she asked Devin pointedly when the door closed behind Reid.
“That was fun,” he said, stalking toward the kitchen.
She charged after him. “Does he mean the suspension from before? What happened three years ago?”
From the refrigerator shelf, Devin yanked out the beer he’d started on before Reid arrived. Defiantly, he took a sip. “You want a day-by-day account or merely the highlights?”
She scowled. “You’re dodging.”
He shrugged.
She stepped in front of him so quickly their bodies bumped. He jumped back as if he’d struck a tree. The only time she seemed able to throw him off stride was by physical contact. “My questions are important.”
“Is dinner going to be ready anytime soon? I think better on a full stomach.”
“No, you don’t. You’re either running full out or napping on the sofa. I need a gear somewhere in between that allows me to find out what blemish is on your record.”
He dropped the facade of politeness. “My record. My business.”
Oh, he had to be kidding. But she was used to his reticence by now, so instead of leading with her simmering temper, she laid her hand on his chest. She’d let him set aside their desire, but alone with him, tensions high, the lion roared back to life. “Still trying to keep your distance?”
“I’m trying to save my career.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“Why?” His hard gaze was unavoidable as he asked the question. “Why do you care?”
Was she letting her needs rule her senses? Had she placed her faith in a corrupt cop? Was it blind belief on her part?
She’d actually witnessed him bending the rules. He’d done so for her and her friends. At their request. Had he done the same for others?
“I owe you,” she said finally, not going anywhere near their unresolved romantic emotions. The ones where he sent her longing messages, the ones where he held her close and looked at her with the heat and hunger she’d only glimpsed, the ones in which they finally satisfied the ache they’d managed to bury so deeply for so long.
He glanced at her hand against his body but otherwise didn’t move. “You don’t.”
“You’ve appreciated my help so far.” She paused, realizing by the remote look in his eyes that they’d reached a crossroads. “As long as I don’t get too close.”
“Exactly.”
“And I’m getting too close?”
He stepped back, not only physically, but in every way. Whatever secrets he had, he wasn’t going to share with her. “Yes.”
“Why won’t you let me inside?”
“There’s nothing to see. Nothing worth knowing.”
Drained of her fight and her will, Calla turned from him. “Maybe you’re right.” All she wanted to do now was escape. “Enjoy your dinner. And your solitude.”
* * *
“I COULD TAKE THE BREAD by,” Shelby whispered, pointing at the bag of French-style loaves she’d shoved under the table. “Make sure he’s okay.”
Unable to forget the distant expression in Devin’s eyes, Calla pushed her fork through her untouched pasta in pesto sauce. “Whatever.”
“Forget Antonio,” Victoria said. “We need glasses and pink spray paint.”
Shelby frowned. “What the devil for?”
Victoria patted Calla’s hand. “I think poor Pollyanna’s broken.”
“That’s not funny.” Calla made an effort to sit straight. “I’m fine.”
“Sweetie,” Shelby began after a quick glance at Victoria, “you’re many wonderful things, but fine isn’t one of them.”
After leaving Devin’s apartment, Calla had texted her friends to meet her at a neighborhood restaurant. If he wanted to do everything on his own, he damn well could have at it.
But her desire for him lingered, and her guilt at leaving him when he needed her the most—even though he refused to admit it—was growing.
“He needs a lawyer,” Calla said, not wanting to admit how much she was dwelling on Devin’s rejection.
Victoria’s mouth tightened before she worked up a smile. “That I can do.”
Shelby angled her head in confusion. “I thought we decided one of your dad’s buddies would be too expensive.”
Victoria waved her hand. “They are. I was talking about Howard.”
“We’re not dragging Howard into this,” Calla said firmly.
“He’s willing,” Victoria argued. “Which is more than we can say for Antonio. What more do you want?”
“Somebody else,” Calla returned. “Anybody else.”
“I’m siding with Calla on this,” Shelby said, earning her a frustrated frown from Victoria. “Howard
would be intimidated by Antonio. Probably not the best start to an attorney-client relationship.”
“I can’t imagine anybody having a smooth ride with Antonio,” Victoria said, jabbing at her Caesar salad with her fork.
Shelby paused in reaching for the pepper grinder. “She’s not wrong there.”
“I was actually thinking more about Howard’s feelings,” Calla clarified. “It took a while to let him down gently. I don’t like the idea of reigniting his crush.”
Victoria scooped up a bite of salad. “Ah, Pollyanna lives again.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Calla leaned back in her chair. “I could use a little support here.”
“I’ve been supportive,” Victoria said, her eyes glinting with fierceness. “I’ve listened and advised. I even cooked. But I think it’s time we all get real.”
“V, do you think now—”
Victoria silenced Shelby with a single lift of her finger. “Antonio is a good cop. He’s been there for us several times over the last six months. But he doesn’t want our help.”
Shelby leaned in. “I’m not sure about that. He wants it, but doesn’t know how to accept it.”
Victoria’s pale blue eyes, still focused on Calla, narrowed. “Then too damn bad for him. He’s a grown man and ought to know what he wants and doesn’t. We’re feeding him, consoling him and considering what lawyer to hire, while he’s avoiding questions and keeping secrets.” Victoria shook her head. “That isn’t going to work.”
Calla dropped her gaze to her plate. She couldn’t face her friends—or the truth about Devin. “I like him,” she whispered reluctantly.
Her friends’ hands immediately covered hers. “We kinda figured that,” Shelby said.
Calla clenched her fists. “You guys think he’s Calla-dazzled, remember? Why won’t he let me in?”
“Some men don’t know how,” Shelby said gently.
“A lot of men can’t,” Victoria added.
“You have men who do.” A quick glance at her friends and their identical winces made her want to recall her comment. “I’m not jealous,” she added in a rush. “I have a full life, I just...”
She trailed off, not knowing what she wanted.
With little choice, she waved off the personal stuff. “What in the world could he have done to get suspended the first time?”
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