Female, she’d bet anything. But she wouldn’t ask. Chloe turned away, gesturing to the corner seating. “Your choice, Detective.”
“You’ve got dynamite legs, Doc. You should wear short skirts more often.”
Chloe frowned past the spike of pleasure. “That’s an inappropriate comment for this meeting.”
“Barnes got the only claim?”
Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is when the woman who holds the key to my future is sleeping with a man who wants my head.”
“I’m not—” She stopped. His raised eyebrows maddened her. “My personal life has nothing to do with your case. I’ve told you before and I’ll repeat it. Everything you say in here—”
“Is confidential,” he parroted. He stepped closer, leaving less than a foot between them. “Is it, Doc? Can lovers ever keep anything totally secret from each other?”
Chloe forced her gaze up to his, wrapping her arms tighter.
He leaned forward, so near she could feel his warmth.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth. She swallowed with effort. “I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
“I can’t afford to assume that.”
“You can take it to the bank.”
“You sure?” He cocked his head. “You have to admit that you’d be uneasy in my place. You’re buddies with Newcombe and sleeping with Barnes—”
“Don’t say that again,” she snapped.
“You’re not buddies with Newcombe?” His eyes challenged.
“Detective, insulting me is not going to get you off my appointment list any sooner.”
“What will?”
Surprised that his words stung, she locked her eyes on his. “Being honest with me will go a long way.”
“I haven’t lied to you.”
“Perhaps not. But not lying and being honest are not necessarily the same thing. You’re kidding yourself if you don’t admit that the pressures on you right now are enormous. You may be a legend in the department, but that doesn’t mean you’re not human. Anyone would be having problems with all that’s been thrown at you lately.”
He stood very still, eyes searching hers. She thought the real Vince might be peering over the barricades, just a little. “Anyone, Doc? Even you?”
Chloe froze. “We’re not talking about me.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Maybe we should. Why are you so nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
He shot a pointed glance at the arms wrapped against her body. Immediately, she dropped them, but she knew she had to reciprocate with something or he’d never trust her. And whether or not he wanted to believe it, he needed someone to listen, somewhere to turn. Too much was bottled up inside him, and it was only going to get worse. “Of course my job impacts me, but I know how to handle what I hear, and I want to help you.”
He studied her. “One of the guys said you really came through for him. Told me to give you a chance.”
“Will you?” She was surprised at how much she cared.
“I don’t know. You’ve heard about the warrant?”
“Yes.” She understood what he was asking. “But I didn’t hear it from Roger.” She sighed. “Do you want to wait for Rick to come back from vacation? Perhaps that’s better.”
“Wait two more weeks? No way. I can’t afford the time.”
“Then give me a chance to prove you can trust me.”
“It’s not that easy, Doc.”
“I know it’s not. The shields you’ve built to survive your work don’t come down without effort.” She leaned forward, willing him to believe her. “I don’t want to destroy them, Vince. I’m only asking you to come out and talk to me for a while. I realize that you need them, but this is a safe place.”
Vivid blue eyes bored into her. Chloe was on trial. Never before had she felt so much the burden of that vow she made to every client, a pledge not to weaken him if he gave his trust. For this man, rebuilding his defenses would be a painful process if she, by failing him, destroyed their foundation.
“If I had any choice, I’d be out of here.”
“I know.”
Endless seconds passed, strung taut with challenge. Finally, he spoke, his voice strained. “I’ll try, Doc. That’s all I can promise.” Don’t let me down, his eyes demanded. But he turned away before she could answer. “I’ll set an appointment with Wanda on my way out.”
When the door closed, Chloe sagged into her chair.
THAT NIGHT, Vince pushed through the crowd at the bar, using his height to advantage in scanning for Tino. This was his next-to-last option of places Tino used to haunt. The Tejano music was deafening, the smoke thick, the smell of sweat and beer all too familiar. His job took him into too many dives like this, ones he’d once happily frequented himself. Now, more often than not, off-duty nights were spent sanding floors or stripping wallpaper. Gettin’ old, son, he thought.
Just then, someone stumbled against him. Only quick steps on his part kept the beer from spilling on more than his shoes. Shouting erupted, and more shoving—
And at the center of the brewing fight was none other than Tino Garza. For a moment, Vince examined the changes prison had wrought. Without the old scar across Tino’s left temple, would Vince have recognized him? Even as he assessed the transformation, his heart sank.
Prison gang. The tattoos, the abundance of ripped musculature…Vince didn’t have to see a distinct gang symbol to know it was true.
It shouldn’t be a surprise—the greater shock would be for Tino to have come out of prison straight. He’d always been wild, always hotheaded. Vince knew the stats: prison-spawned gangs recruited from street gangs. They were syndicates, a well-oiled machine. Guys on the outside funded the lifestyle of those in the joint by whatever crimes were necessary—robberies, for sure; auto theft; drugs; gambling—whatever it took. You got caught, you took your sentence, knowing that you’d be well tended on the inside, that the obligation would hold for as long as the revolving door existed.
In the eyes of the members, honor bound them. Families were cared for, time served made less painful by plentiful funds, drugs, whatever an inmate wanted, as long as he knew the score. Once out, you hooked up with your area commander and got your assignments. Funnel the money into the system as expected, and you could live your life in relative peace. Get crosswise with it…you and anyone you cared about were history.
Organizational charts, disciplinary system…the adult gangs were half corporate, half military in their behavior, but a taste for violence lay at the heart of it.
That was the bottom line: a world more brutal than any bleeding-heart liberal could imagine. Those exhorting prison as rehabilitation were kidding themselves. As long as blood and money were entwined, no one got out alive. Get along, play your part—you might live to be a little older. Fail, or worse, try to get out—you were dead. Period. End of story.
“Hey, buddy, how the hell are you?” Tino spotted him and abandoned the brewing fight to greet Vince.
Though Vince had gone to a certain amount of trouble to adopt a disguise he’d never used undercover, without making it impossible for Tino to recognize him, he had no desire to be the center of attention. He jerked his head toward the exit and left without checking to see if Tino followed.
He did. “Let me buy you a drink, man. For old times.” Grabbing Vince around the neck, Tino hugged him and slapped his back. “Help me celebrate my independence.” He clasped Vince’s arm and tried to pull him back toward the door, but Vince resisted. “Hey, check you. Been workin’ out, man?”
Vince stepped back into the shadows. Half a head shorter, Tino showed the effects of what had to be years of doing weights, no doubt with the addition of steroids. Vince kept his tone light. “Me? I just grew up. What happened to you? You decided against majoring in the arts?”
Tino laughed and clapped Vince’s shoulder. “What can I say? I’m not a kid anymore, carnal.”
Tino shrugged, his eyes glittering with God knows what chemical assistance. “Missed my buddy. How the hell you been doin’, Vince?”
“Can’t complain.”
“I heard about you in the joint, you know. You got a rep, big brother. Fair number of guys wouldn’t mind doin’ a tap dance on your head.”
“Popularity’s a curse.”
“Yeah, but you got a real fan club with the boss, ése.” Eyes glittering, feet jittering…Tino was laying down a load of BS too deep for boots.
“What are you after?” Vince asked.
“I don’t know what you mean. Me, I’m just here with my big bro—you ain’t so much bigger than me now, are you?” Tino brandished his fists and danced around. “Want to go three rounds? Bet I can take you, not like when we were kids.”
“Cut the crap. Tell me why you’d do something as stupid as sending me a postcard. To my house, man. What the hell were you thinking?” And how did you know where to find me?
Tino’s feet stopped dancing. His arms dropped to his sides. “Hey, don’t worry about that. That wasn’t no prison thing. I found out from Leticia. You told her how to get in touch if she needed you.”
Leticia. Tino’s old girlfriend, mother of his child. Vince had checked in on her and Tino Junior periodically to make sure she was all right.
“Leticia wouldn’t give you the time of day,” Vince said.
“She does now. She still loves me, man.” Tino scowled. “You been trying to move in on me, Vince?”
“You know better than that.”
Tino’s eyes still glittered too brightly. “Do I?” Menace trembled in the air, and Vince could feel how far away from their boyhood bond Tino had moved.
Then Tino laughed. “Yeah—” He socked Vince on the shoulder, harder than strictly affectionate. “You wouldn’t poach. Leticia wants us to be a family now, her and me and little Tino Junior.”
“That’s good,” Vince said. “Every boy needs a father.”
“’Cept you and me, eh? We don’t need those rotten sonsabitches who ran out on us. You had it best—yours left before you knew him. That way he wasn’t knocking you around, you or your mama.”
Their eyes met, and Vince knew Tino was thinking about the battered boy Vince had first met on the streets.
Tino’s voice softened. “You were mi padre, Vicente, young as you were. You were the one who showed me how to make it on the streets.”
Vince shook his head. “But I didn’t save you from them.”
Tino’s juking and jiving stopped cold. “You could do that now, bro.”
At last they were at the heart of why Tino had written.
“I didn’t leave anything on that postcard that could tie it to me, so no one would make the connection. I was watchin’ your back, Vince. Just like always.”
Vince didn’t argue, though he could have. Tino had been a skinny, scared kid who, more often than not, started the fights Vince had to finish to rescue him. “I appreciate that you were careful.” He studied Tino, already a bad feeling in his gut. “So what is it you need now?”
“This ain’t for me. It’s for you. I got your dream operation, man. You’d be a hero for sure.”
“Heroes are for comic books.”
His friend leaned closer, the jittering under way again. “No, listen to me, man. This can work. See, I got my assignment from my area commander. The D.A.’s office is pushing the cop shop to turn up the heat on Los Carnales. Crackdowns are a pain in the ass and just make it harder to do business.”
Los Carnales. Moreno’s bunch. Tino’s gang. Though his every nerve leaped to attention, Vince managed a simple shrug. “In case you haven’t heard, I’m not on duty right now.”
“Oh, I know that. The boss knows that. He’s got a proposition for you.”
A proposition from Moreno, the man he wanted to take down more than breath. Vince nodded for Tino to continue.
“See, the boss hears you’re not getting much appreciation for the job you do. You put a lot of the boys in jail, but your own people ain’t givin’ you your propers for that. Word on the street is that your job is on the line. We can help you out.”
The little prickle that always alerted Vince to danger zipped up the back of his neck. Adrenaline followed it whenever he neared the center of the action, and already his heart rate was speeding up. Vince battled back the urge to let any of it show on his face. “I won’t be out of the game long. Just routine procedure.”
Tino shifted on his feet. “Not what the boss is hearing. IAD’s after you, compadre. That’s why this is a great thing for you. Hear me out, man.”
“I’m not promising anything, but go ahead.” For a moment he wished that he hadn’t met Tino in public. If word of this meeting got out to Newcombe…
“The boss, he can make it worth your while if you help out now and again. Nothin’ big, just keep your ear to the ground and let him know if somethin’s coming down.”
Vince’s fingers curled into a fist. “You want me to be a freaking snitch—am I hearing you right, Tino? You lost your mind?” He took a step forward. “What the hell are you doing even asking me a question like that?”
Tino held up one hand. “Hey, listen to me, man. Shut up and let me finish.”
Vince turned on his heel. “I’ve heard enough.”
Tino grabbed Vince’s arm. “That’s what he told me to ask, bro, but that’s not what I’m asking.”
“It better not be.”
Tino’s eyes had sobered, but they still darted all around. “I can’t talk here. Let’s go somewhere else.”
If he had a brain in his skull, Vince would walk away now, but the weight of their history and the pleading in Tino’s eyes stayed him. His gut was greasy with an instinct that what he was about to hear would only make a complicated situation worse.
“All right. Head down the alley. I’ll pick you up at the other end.” Without waiting to see if Tino did it, Vince left.
But after he got in his car and drove around to the end of the alley, Tino never showed. Vince parked down the street and doubled back, but his friend was nowhere in sight. He edged back toward the bar through the shadows.
There he saw Tino in a heated argument with a guy whose every move screamed syndicate. The part of Vince that had known a scared nine-year-old boy wanted to rush to Tino’s defense—
But the experienced cop knew that to do so would sign Tino’s death warrant. Vince’s only choice was to leave and try again later to discover exactly what the devil was going on.
And hope Tino was still alive when he found him.
THE TELEPHONE RANG while Chloe picked at her solitary salad. “Hello?”
“How are you, darling?” The soft, Southern tones of her mother’s Georgia upbringing slid easily through the line.
“Mother—” Chloe glanced at the clock. “Are you all right? I thought you and Daddy were going to a fund-raiser.”
“Oh, well, we were, but your father’s been working very hard lately, and we decided a night in might be the thing. Am I interrupting?”
“Only my dinner.”
“This late? Chloe, that job requires too much of you. Why, your father and I—”
Before the usual lecture could begin, Chloe interrupted. “It wasn’t work, Mother.” Not that her mother would like what she’d been doing any better.
“Oh. Well then, I hope it was something fun. Shopping with a friend or drinks with Roger, perhaps.”
“Just a little volunteering.” Though her mother would hardly consider the Women’s Shelter any less sordid than her job.
“That’s wonderful, dear. Junior League or your sorority?”
Her mother had too many sources in both for Chloe to lie. “I’m providing free counseling at the Women’s Shelter.”
“Oh, Chloe…” Silence hung in the air between them.
But ins
tead of the long-suffering sigh Chloe expected, she heard what almost sounded like a sniff. “Mother? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dolores St. Claire breezed on. “I called because I’m planning a little dinner party to introduce Roger to more important backers for his campaign. As Roger’s fiancée, you’ll be a hostess.”
“We’re not engaged.”
“It’s only a matter of time. You haven’t gone out with anyone else in ages, and you two are a perfect match. You’re one of his biggest assets in the race.”
It sounded so cold, especially coming from her own mother. She didn’t want to be anyone’s asset. She wanted to be…more. No longer the good little Chloe who always did the right thing. A woman who, for once in her life, took a chance or two. Danced closer to the edge instead of always staying behind secure fencing. Except she didn’t know what edge.
And then she thought of one with blue eyes and a go-to-hell grin. “Maybe I want to go out with someone else.”
A shocked silence bled through the line. “You’re not serious.”
Chloe took a mental step back from the cliff crumbling at her feet. “I don’t know. But please stop making assumptions about Roger and me. I’m involved in my career right now.”
“Chloe.” Her mother spoke carefully and slowly. “I’d be the first to say that you’ve accomplished far more than your father and I ever envisioned. You’ve made us very proud—”
Chloe could hear the but coming.
“But, darling, don’t you want more from life? A family? Children to cherish? Your father and I so hoped—” Her mother’s voice cracked.
Chloe closed her eyes and bit back a retort, reminding herself that her mother meant well. Her parents had always held her to a high standard, but she had never doubted her importance to them. She’d been showered with every advantage since birth. She owed them more than this growing impatience, but being their first—and in her mother’s case, only—priority sometimes smothered her.
Still, she felt selfish for even thinking that way. “Mother, I don’t want to disappoint you. Yes, I’d like to have all those things, but—” With someone like Roger?
“Darling, you can’t wait forever.” Her mother’s voice held an odd urgency.
The Good Daughter Page 5