by Jo Leigh
T.J. Russo had been the subject of several conversations with Teresa Sarducci. He’d left years ago, without a backward glance. Did he know how much he’d hurt his mother by not coming home? Did he know how much Bobby needed him now? Should she tell him where his brother was? No. She would leave that up to his mother. It wasn’t her place.
It seemed hard to believe he was Bobby’s brother. Bobby was a wiry boy, short, with a tendency for trouble. Now that she thought about it, he did look something like the man behind her. They both were too good-looking.
She reached her office and pushed open the door. After Russo entered, she closed it behind her. She could still see the kids outside through the large windows, but this way they could talk undisturbed. “So what do you want to discuss, Detective?”
Kate pointed to one of the plastic chairs against the wall while she pushed some papers to the center of her desk and perched on the edge. She kept her back straight and tall so when he sat, he would have to look up to meet her eye. She still rankled from his exhibition in the main room. He’d actually lifted her in the air. No man had ever done that to her.
He ignored the chair and walked around the room, checking out the framed permits on the wall. He stopped when he saw her degree. “His mother seems to think he’s hanging out with the wrong crowd,” he said.
“Your mother’s right. I can’t say for sure, but I think Bobby is trying to hook up with Danny’s posse. I’ve seen him with Danny a few times. Enough to make me nervous.”
T.J. didn’t face her. He just kept looking at her things. The basketball on the chair in the corner, the plaque from the city commending the center for their big-brother project. He seemed bigger in here, even though she knew he was only a few inches taller than her. Why should that bother her? He wasn’t going to pick her up now. She remembered the feel of his big hands on her waist and felt herself flush.
“Tell me about this posse.”
She hesitated. T.J. now stared at a corkboard on the wall across from her desk. Pictures of kids and supervisors—past and present—covered the surface and she guessed he was looking for a picture of his brother.
He ran a hand through his dark hair in a gesture she knew instantly was familiar and unconscious. The back of his jacket went up and she stole a quick glance at his rear end. Not bad.
She smiled, sure he would be embarrassed if he’d seen her. Then he turned to face her and she knew he wouldn’t be embarrassed at all. He was used to having women give him the once-over. He was relaxed and composed in this stranger’s office. His dark brown eyes looked at her with interest and not a little amusement. The hand-through-the-hair routine was probably his version of a peacock showing his feathers. The ironic thing was, it worked. She felt a flutter in her stomach and a ridiculous urge to bat her eyelashes. She held back.
“I don’t know much about Danny’s posse,” she said. “I’ve just heard things secondhand.”
“What kind of things?”
“That they’re like every other gang in the country,” she said. “Reckless. Dangerous.”
“That’s it?”
She wondered briefly if she should tell him that they’re the kids responsible for the rash of racketeering and arson spreading through Harbor Bay. No. Everything she knew about T.J. Russo was negative. He’d left his hometown to go to college and had never come back, even though he lived only fifty miles from here. He’d done nothing but hurt his mother and his brother. She wasn’t quite sure why he’d come back now. Guilt probably. But that wasn’t her problem. Bobby was, and she wasn’t going to confide in T.J. until she could determine if he was here to help.
“That’s it.” She got to her feet. “I think it’s commendable that you’re taking an interest in Bobby. He’s a bright kid. He could use a good role model.”
T.J. laughed. She hadn’t expected that. She grew even more puzzled when she saw the look of derision on his face. She was glad now that she hadn’t opened up to him. If he wasn’t here to help Bobby, why was he here?
“Thank you, Ms. Dugan,” he said, his face once again poised with a hint of arrogance.
“No sweat,” she said. She walked to the door of her office, but when she turned to see him out, he wasn’t behind her. He still stood by her desk, but now he was staring through the glass at the kids in the big room. She almost said something, but his expression stopped her. The tough cop was gone and in his place was an ordinary man filled with extraordinary regret. The eyes that had been so full of the devil a moment ago now looked as if he’d just lost everything that mattered in the world. She followed his gaze. All she saw was the familiar center with the shoddy carpet and peeling paint. The kids who had nowhere else to go. But T.J. Russo was seeing something else. Something painful. Whatever it was, he was staring with so much sorrow she could feel it ten feet away.
“Detective?” Kate waited for T.J. to turn away from the window. When he didn’t, she cleared her throat and repeated, “Detective?”
He turned toward her and she saw a remarkable thing. He donned his mask, as clearly as a man puts on a shirt in the morning. One second his eyes were wide with confusion and sadness, the next, they were cool, even insolent. But he’d changed too late. She’d seen the other side. The raw pain of the man. It took all her control not to go to him, which was as surprising as anything else that had happened today. She wanted to reach out to this stranger. This cocky bastard who knew women like he knew breathing.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
She took a moment before answering. “To help,” she said.
He smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Do you?”
She shrugged. “I try.”
“But does it do any good?” He walked closer to her, staring at her hard. “Have you saved even one of them? Has any kid ever turned his life around? Left all this behind and made something of himself? ”
“You did.”
His lip curled in a cruel grimace. “Sure. Sure I did. I’m a cop now, one of the good guys. I’m just a goddamn model citizen.”
“So you’re not perfect. Who is?”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He simply looked at her as if he’d just now noticed her. She felt his gaze pry beneath her skin and she crossed her arms over her chest.
“No,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “I’m not perfect. No one’s perfect and no one ever will be. Especially not here. Not in this place.”
She walked over to her desk, still burning from the fire in his eyes. “People do change, Detective. All the time.”
“They get worse.”
“No. Not always. If I believed that I’d quit right now.”
He looked away. Finally she could breathe again. She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill. “Why are you here, Detective? If that’s what you believe, why did you come?”
He walked to the corner of the room and picked up the basketball. He turned it over and over in his hands, squeezing it so tightly his fingers became pale. “The hell if I know,” he said.
She stared at him, straight in the eyes. He didn’t turn away, didn’t retreat, yet she knew the pain was still there, hidden behind the brick wall of cynicism. She made her decision. “Your brother isn’t here, Detective. But I’ll tell you where he is. I was going to see him in a few minutes anyway .”
His hands stilled.
“He’s in jail. Your mother called me a little while ago. She’s at work in Santa Barbara and she can’t get down here to bail him out. She asked me to get him.”
“What’s he in for?” His voice was cold as ice.
“Vandalism. He tagged an office building.”
“That’s all? I’m surprised.”
“You have so little faith in him?”
He put the basketball back on the chair. “I don’t know the kid. I do know his father.”
She knew Gus Sarducci, too. He was a vulgar man, gruff, drunk most of the time. She was sure he beat up on Bobby and his mother, although she could never get either one o
f them to admit it. He hadn’t held a job for as long as she’d known him. That’s why Mrs. Sarducci was in Santa Barbara. She worked two jobs, just to keep the family going. “He’s not like his father, Detective.”
He turned his head to look at her again. “No? How’s that?”
“He’s bright, he’s young, he’s still got hope. Don’t condemn him yet. You said yourself you don’t know him.”
“What is that expression? The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree? Bobby doesn’t stand a chance.”
Something told her he wasn’t just talking about Bobby, but himself. “I’m sorry for you if that’s what you truly believe.”
He looked down. “I’d give a lot to be wrong,” he said.
“Let me show you,” she said. “Come with me now. Talk to Bobby. Show him you care what happens to him.”
“You think that’s all it will take? Lady, you watch too much television.”
“Sarcasm won’t win any points with me, Detective. Either you have a stake in Bobby’s future, or you don’t.”
Something flickered in his brown eyes. A glimmer, a tiny shred of hope.
He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why not? I came here to see Bobby. I might as well see him in jail.”
“Good,” she said. “Good.” She picked up her phone and dialed. When her assistant, Molly, answered, she asked her to come up to take her place. She hung up and turned to T.J. He was watching the teenagers in the big room again, that same sadness pressing him down so hard his shoulders bent from the weight. Suddenly it became very important to her to show this man he could make a difference.
Chapter 2
At the police station, T.J. parked his car next to Kate’s beat-up station wagon. He sat for a moment, looking at the brick building, remembering the last time he’d been there. Not as a cop but as a criminal. Even now he could hear the echo of the cell door closing. He could feel the fear in the pit of his stomach eating away at his insides. He’d never been that scared since, not even when he’d been shot. He’d been Bobby’s age.
Bobby. It was hard to imagine him old enough to do anything bad. T.J. still pictured him as a little kid. He’d been a pistol, that one.
The year before T.J. had left Harbor Bay for good, Bobby had discovered the Christmas presents in the hall closet and had opened every one. His attempts to wrap them up again had been as goofy as his smile had been when he’d seen that baseball glove. The boy had slept with it for weeks after. When T.J. had told him he was leaving, Bobby had thrown the glove into the trash.
“Are you coming?”
Kate’s voice startled him. She was right next to his car, leaning down to speak to him. She pushed her hair behind her ear, then behind her shoulder, leaving the long line of her neck exposed. He sniffed, then shook his head at his own stupidity. She was outside. He was inside. What did he expect to smell?
After slipping the key from the ignition, he stepped out of the car. They walked toward the entrance, Kate leading the way. He studied her tall, lean body. She walked quickly but smoothly, not afraid to use those long legs. But it was her neck that kept his attention. That spot right below her ear. He was dying of curiosity now, wondering what perfume she wore, if she wore any. He moved ahead of her to push the door open. She looked at him quizzically as she passed him by.
“Not politically correct, eh?” he said.
“No, it’s all right. Just unusual.” She turned her attention to the front desk.
T.J. wondered what kind of guys she was used to.
Two uniformed officers stood behind a long, high desk. Behind them were cubicles for messages, large posters informing citizens of their rights and a desk overflowing with paperwork. Just like home, T.J. thought. Police stations around the country all had an air about them that was unmistakable. Fear. That and the elitist attitude of the cops themselves. That need to have the brotherhood stand together against the “civilians.” There was a lot of survival involved in that perspective. He knew that firsthand.
“Derrick, how are you?” Kate addressed the younger of the two desk officers.
“Hi, Kate. Hold on a minute. I’ll be right with you.”
T.J. leaned closer to her. “You know him?”
She nodded. “We’ve met.”
“So Bobby’s not the only kid you’ve bailed out.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
He thought about taking another step toward her, just so he could get near her neck, but if he did, he had the feeling she would swat him away.
The older officer caught his attention. There was something familiar about him. Not just familiar, but uncomfortable. He must be close to retiring, from the look of him. Gray, thinning hair, paunchy middle. The broken blood vessels around his nose told T.J. he spent a lot of his off hours with a bottle. Where did he know him from? Had he been part of the Hollywood P.D.?
Derrick hung up the phone and smiled at Kate. It was a big smile. Real friendly. “You here about the Sarducci boy?”
Kate nodded. “Did Mrs. Sarducci call you?”
“Yep. She said you would be by. You can go see him now.” He looked at T.J. and gave him the once-over. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Bobby’s brother. Detective Russo.”
Derrick’s eyebrows rose. “Detective?”
T.J. put out his hand. “Hollywood homicide.”
The young officer shook his hand enthusiastically. “You know Nick Castle? He’s in homicide, too.”
T.J. nodded. “You could say I know him. He was my partner for six years.”
“No kidding? I went to the academy with him.”
“I’ll give him your regards when I talk to him.” T.J. pulled his ID from his wallet and flipped it open. He stuck it in his pants, so his badge would show. “You think I can talk to my—”
“Russo?” The older cop interrupted. “I remember you. Well, I’ll be damned.”
“You do, huh?” T.J. still couldn’t place him.
“Yeah. I busted your ass. Car theft. That’s it. Thought you were tough. Busted your old man, too.”
T.J. stared hard into the red-rimmed eyes. Now he remembered. The man had changed a lot over the years. He’d gotten fat and he’d lost his hair, but the eyes were the same. Mean. The son of a bitch was responsible for a lot more than busting him. T.J. still had a scar on his back where the bastard had used his club on him.
“Still beating up on kids, Fleming? Or have you grown bored with that game?”
The cop’s face flushed red and his eyes narrowed. “You want me to show you?”
Derrick stepped in front of his desk partner. “Hold on,” he said. “Kate, why don’t you take Detective Russo back to the cells?”
Kate touched T.J.’s shoulder and he jerked free. He held himself still, waiting for the rage inside him to stop building. He had to get a grip. It wouldn’t do any good to get into a fight with this jerk. Bobby was in his custody. That was the important thing. He turned to Kate.
“Let’s go.”
He walked toward the door that led to the heart of the Harbor Bay Police Department.
Kate said something he didn’t catch to Derrick, then she was next to him, pinning a visitor’s badge on her sweater. She had the good sense not to mention what had just happened, although he saw the questions in her eyes. It was easier not to look at her.
“When was the last time you talked to Bobby?” she asked as she led him past the watch commander’s desk.
“About a year ago. On his birthday.”
“So he’ll be glad to see you.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He followed her past desks swamped with papers, plainclothes officers, the signs overhead with Burglary and Narcotics and all the other divisions that competed for attention. It was just like home. He felt comfortable in a police station. In his element. Hell, this had always been where he belonged. On one side of the bars or the other.
He kept moving past the ringing phones and the stacks of files, following Kate to
ward Bobby. The anger he’d felt seeing Fleming was easing out of him slowly, leaving behind a feeling he disliked even more. Why was he here? What was he trying to prove?
“Hi, Ken.”
His attention went back to Kate and once again he wondered what the deal was with her. Why she gave a damn what happened to Bobby. He saw her nod to a young black officer who smiled at her, just as Derrick had. And not just him, either. Two other guys, one old enough to be her father, grinned like idiots as she passed them by. She was obviously running for Miss Congeniality. “Just how often do you come down here?” he asked.
“Too often,” she said. “Turn right up there. That’s the hall that leads to the jail.” She pointed to a corridor on his right.
He let her go first. Now that he was close to seeing his brother he wondered what he was going to say to him. What could he say? The last time they’d talked, Bobby had barely been civil. T.J. doubted he’d warmed up any in the ensuing year.
They stopped in front of a thick, locked door. The top half was safety glass. Behind it, the jail officer commanded the booking room.
It was just like the Hollywood jail, only smaller. He lifted his badge from his waistband and flashed it at the officer inside. An earsplitting buzzer rang out and Kate pushed open the door. This time, she held it for him. He smiled at her.
“Not politically correct?” she said, grinning back.
“No, but hell, I’m used to it.”
Kate was relieved to hear him joke around. It was clear that Fleming had opened a can of worms back there. Obviously T.J. hadn’t just stayed away because he was-too lazy to drive the fifty miles between Hollywood and Harbor Bay. This was where his bones were buried, where he kept his secrets.
He’d been arrested for stealing a car, Fleming had said. How long ago? she wondered. When he’d been Bobby’s age? His father had been busted, too.
The only thing Kate knew about T.J.’s father was that he wasn’t Bobby’s father. And that he’d been shot and killed while robbing a liquor store. Teresa had told her the story in bits and pieces. Kate had gathered that the man had been a habitual criminal. But that had been T.J.’s father, not Bobby’s, although Gus Sarducci wasn’t much better, from what she could see. Just knowing him had taught her a lot about his son.