The Good Daughter

by Jean Brashear

  “I can make it happen for all of you,” Vince interrupted. Tino was right, no one resigned from gang life. You were in or you were dead. But an idea was forming, and he thought rapidly.

  Prison had removed every last trace of the naive kid in Tino. “I don’t think so.”

  His idea was a long shot, but to save Tino and get Moreno, too… “I know a way,” Vince said.

  “Digame.” Tell me.

  “You help me take Moreno down,” Vince said. “And I’ll get all three of you into the Witness Protection Program.”

  “You lost your mind?”

  “He murdered Carlos.”

  “He was in prison. And he don’t do his own dirty work,” Tino sneered.

  “You know that and I know that, but he ordered the hit and I’m going to prove it.” Vince leaned closer. “No matter what else happened, Carlos was good to you, Tino. He cared about you and me the way no one else did.”

  Tino’s eyes shifted. “He’s dead, Vince. He ain’t comin’ back, no matter what you do.”

  Vince’s jaw tightened. “I can’t let this go. If it takes the rest of my life, Moreno’s going to pay.”

  “You are one loco hombre. You got a death wish? Moreno could have you killed just like that—” He snapped his fingers, and the sound echoed in the darkness. “Forget him, man. It won’t change anything.”

  “So you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted out for Tino Junior and Leticia.”

  “Hell, yes, I—” Tino cursed long and loud. “Vince, man, you can’t do this by yourself.”

  “I will if I have to,” Vince said. “But I could use your help.” He played the card he’d never before played. “And you owe me. You know you do.”

  For endless moments, they studied each other. In Tino’s eyes, Vince could see doubt and fear and a hint of hope.

  Finally, Tino spoke. “Maybe that’s true, but you can’t collect if you’re dead. Give it up, bro. It’s crazy.”

  “Are you in or out?” Vince refused to let him look away.

  After a long, tense pause, Tino’s shoulders sagged. “You really think you can get us protection?” He frowned. “We’d have to leave everyone behind.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Feds don’t take small-timers.”

  “This won’t be small-time. I’m going for federal charges. Day for day.” It was a code phrase veteran cons used to signify a sentence with no parole. “You help me make this case, they’ll take you.”

  Cynicism slowly gave way to a trust that had once filled a young boy’s eyes every time he’d looked at Vince. “What do I have to do?”

  Worry swamped Vince almost as quickly as gratitude. He’d meant it when he said he’d do it alone, but Tino was closer to the inside and everything would go much faster with his help. But Tino would be in danger. “I’m not asking you to stick your neck out big. Just let me register you as my informant on the Eastside Gangsters—”

  “What? You crazy, man? Eastsiders are part of the L.A. Bandidos. They’re sworn enemies of Los Carnales.”

  Vince held up a hand. “It’s a smoke screen. It won’t draw attention to you if anyone bothers to check. I’m not supposed to be working Los Carnales, but with you registered as my snitch for Eastside, we can get together anytime and no one on the force knows that I’m gathering information on Moreno.”

  “Where you plan to get that information?”

  “You, of course. But you’ll be meeting me in Eastside territory, so Moreno won’t know.”

  “Cristo, Vince, you don’t want much, do you? I get caught on Eastside turf and I’m dead anyway.”

  “We’ll be careful.” Vince hardened his tone. “And I mean that, Tino. You watch your back.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game yourself, eh, carnal? I already heard that Quintanilla is a cold case and nobody’s working it.”

  “I’m working it.”

  “But not with permission.”

  Vince eyed Tino and shook his head. “No. But I’m going to get Moreno anyhow.”

  Tino’s eyes shifted uneasily. “You gotta promise me that if anything happens to me or you, Leticia and Tino Junior will be okay or I’m outta here, you got that?”

  Vince nodded. “Yeah. I have a friend who’ll take care of it. I’ll talk to him right away.”

  Tino shook his head. “You are one crazy mother. When this is finished, I don’t owe you nothin’.”

  “Agreed. Okay, listen up. Here’s how we’ll work the meets.” With a few short instructions, he set out his plan.

  Now all he had to do was smoke the good doctor out of hiding and convince her to put him back on active duty.

  She didn’t have a chance.

  IN THE HEAT of late afternoon, Chloe inserted her key in the car door.

  “I never took you for a coward, Doc.”

  Chloe fumbled the keys, whirling and clasping one hand to her chest. “Vince—Detective,” she gasped. “What—what are you doing here?”

  He stood there, tall and dark and entirely too disturbing. “Why’d you cancel?”

  “Surely Wanda told you I had a schedule conflict.”

  “So she said. But you didn’t offer an alternative.” Vivid blue eyes called her bluff, those firm lips quirking at one corner, revealing the dimple that so contradicted his raw power. “I’m ready to reschedule.”

  “I—I don’t keep my appointments calendar with me. Call Wanda tomorrow.”

  “And will she find an opening?”

  Chloe glanced away. “I’m sure she will.”

  “Positive, Doc?”

  Flight seemed the best recourse, yet his gaze dared her to concede to her fear. She reached behind her for the car’s door handle, fingers fidgeting against the chrome. “Yes.”

  He glanced the length of her vehicle, one dark eyebrow lifting. “I thought a Tarrytown lady had to drive a luxury SUV or some sporty coupe, Doc.” He grinned and stuck his hands in his back jeans pockets, weight cocked on one hip. The dark blue T-shirt stretched tight across his muscled chest. A more compelling man Chloe had never met.

  “My mother’s the Tarrytown lady. Consumer Reports ranks this economy car one of the best.” She sniffed, pulling her gaze away. “It’s quite safe and reliable.”

  Vince tilted his head slightly, examining her in minute detail. Softly, he challenged, “Do you always choose safety, Chloe?” His eyes warred with his mocking tone.

  Suddenly, Chloe almost wished she didn’t.

  He straightened, pulling his hands from the pockets. His expression was all seriousness now. “Come with me. Let me buy you a drink.”

  She shouldn’t want to go with him, but she did. “You’re my client. I can’t.”

  “You abandoned me. I’m not your client now.”

  Chloe gasped in outrage. “I did not. I would never—”

  He chuckled. “But you did chicken out on me—admit it.”

  What could she say? He was too perceptive by far.

  Vince saved her the answer. “Come on, Chloe, give me a chance. It’s just a drink. Who knows? You might even get me drunk and make me spill my guts. I’m safe—I swear it.” He drew a cross over his heart, holding up the other palm in a pledge.

  She’d never met a man less safe. But by-the-book didn’t always work. She’d assured him she wouldn’t let him down, but she’d been very close to doing exactly that, out of fear that she couldn’t control a man with such potent appeal.

  She wanted to laugh at her own foolishness. One didn’t control a man like Vince Coronado; she was foolish to try. Finally, she did smile. “There’s absolutely nothing safe about you, Vince.”

  Even knowing that she was walking straight into the den of the lion, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so alive. Maybe this was the opportunity she needed to win his trust. It could be simply another session in a different setting, not personal at all. Sometimes you learned more on a client’s turf.

  “All right, you win.”

  The
slash of even white teeth against his olive skin was her reward. He gestured the way with a sweep of one arm, the other hand grasping her elbow lightly. “This way, my lady. Your chariot awaits.”

  He led her between rows of cars, his manner solicitous and every inch the gentleman. When the space narrowed too much for them to walk side by side, he let go of her elbow and grasped her hand in his, leading the way.

  The feel of his large warm hand around hers distracted Chloe; she bumped into his back when he stopped to reach for his keys. He leaned to unlock the door and swung it wide, but Chloe couldn’t get in just yet.

  First, she had to gawk at the gleaming black convertible. “A T-bird?”

  “Sixty-four.” He grinned.

  “Vince, it’s beautiful. Do you drive it all the time?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I’m not into museum pieces. If you can’t use it, what’s the good of having it?”

  “But aren’t you afraid of—” Chloe stopped herself. “I guess you don’t choose safety, do you?”

  Blue eyes speared her. “Never.”

  Wishes and needs tumbled together. In that moment, she remembered how safe she’d felt for those few seconds under the oaks. A long gaze passed between them.

  Chloe broke the link, stepping toward the car and sliding into the roomy, plush seat. Movement behind him caught her attention. A young female patrol officer with a long, dark braid shot her a look of pure venom.

  Vince followed the direction of her glance. “Hey, Sal, what’s up? Doc, this is Sally Davis. Sally, this is Chloe St. Claire.”

  The young woman barely nodded at Chloe, her eyes riveted on Vince. The soft plea Chloe witnessed spoke volumes. She wondered if Vince knew Officer Davis was in love with him.

  And how much of that love he returned.

  He excused himself and stepped away with the younger woman, participating in an intense conversation. His demeanor gave nothing away; he was all business.

  But what business? None of hers, she reminded herself.

  They finished quickly. The young woman turned to go.

  “Nice to meet you, Officer Davis,” Chloe called out.

  Murmured politeness warred with the woman’s fierce expression.

  Vince climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “You want the top down or up?”

  “Either’s fine,” Chloe said. “She’s in love with you.”

  “No, she’s not. She just—” He got out, busying himself with the ragtop. His forehead creased. “I was her training officer and I hadn’t been divorced long. I—I didn’t handle things well for a little while there.”

  “She fell in love with you, but you were on the rebound.” An old story.

  His jaw clenched. “She’s not in love with me, Doc. Stop playing shrink. I made a mistake, all right? It’s been corrected. It was a long time ago.” He finished fastening the top down and got back inside, then shifted the car into gear and pulled away.

  Chloe didn’t know why she persisted. “She’s not over you, Vince. Don’t kid yourself.”

  Tapping the brakes, he faced her, pain in his gaze. “Look, Doc, I screwed up. I knew better—she was just a kid. I don’t encourage her, and she accepts that this is the way it has to be.” Staring out the windshield, he seemed to contemplate elaborating. Then, shaking his head, he sighed. “I’m not proud of what I did, and I’ve tried to set things right.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  He exhaled, and tense shoulders settled. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t be so touchy about it.”

  “Divorce is never easy, and each person deals with the pain in a different way.” Chloe was surprised at how much she wanted to know about the woman who’d been married to Vince Coronado and had lost him.

  He gave the car gas. “No—” his voice tightened “—it’s not easy. A cop’s wife has a bad lot. She never knows each morning when he leaves if she’ll ever see him again. The knowledge eats up a lot of women. A family makes a cop vulnerable, too—if he can’t focus, he’ll blow it. Single is the best state for us.”

  “But a family can give love and support.”

  His harsh laughter chilled her. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  She glanced over at his stony profile. “Have you met any of your relatives?”

  “Nope. Don’t care to, either.”

  “Have you ever tried to find out who your father was?”

  The white grip of his knuckles would have alerted her, even if the set of his jaw hadn’t. “Yeah, once, when I was still married. I thought maybe my kids should meet their grandparents.”

  Her heart sank. “You have kids?”

  “No.” His curt tone warned her off. “We’re not in the office, Doc. I said maybe I’d spill my guts, all right? Cut me some slack. It’s just a damn drink.” He stared straight ahead, his jaw flexing.

  Coming had been a mistake. “Perhaps you should take me back.”

  Vince’s head jerked around, his gaze fiery. He stared at her for a long moment, then twisted to watch the traffic. With ease, he slid the T-bird into a parking spot. “Forget it, we’re here. You can tough it out.”

  “Vince, I—” Too late. He was already rounding the hood. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped from the car, moving away from him quickly. “Fine. I’ll call a cab.”

  “Oh, hell—” His hand shot out and snagged her elbow, turning her toward him with gentle but irrevocable force. “I’m sorry, Chloe. You don’t deserve my anger. I just—” He glanced away, then back. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I’m not too good with women anyway. I’ve never figured out how to handle them right.” His eyes crinkled with his grin. “No big news there, huh?”

  Chloe thought of his kindness under the oaks, of the gentle way he’d spoken to Sally. “No, I’m the one who owes the apology. Curiosity about people is a part of my makeup, but I went too far. The difficulty of drawing the line is why I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

  His hand slid down to hers, warm fingers clasping, his thumb stroking across the back of her hand. His smile almost boyish, he glanced at her, dimple deep and disarming. “But you’re already here. Let’s call a truce, okay? Start all over?” With his free hand, he traced another cross over his heart. “I’ll add not being touchy to the list of promises.”

  He was wrong about his effect on women. That smile alone was a killer. “All right.” She nodded. “A new start.”

  VINCE HAD NEVER expected Chloe to be funny. Beneath that cool elegance lay a shyness that surprised him, along with a wicked sense of humor. Maybe the drink had relaxed her, but she’d only had one glass of wine. He’d like to think that perhaps their truce had helped. The first few minutes had been awkward, but they’d finally found something in common when he’d discovered that she loved playing darts. At last she appeared more comfortable around him.

  He sure felt easy with her. This was what he’d needed: a respite from the gnawing in his gut, the sense of impotence when he had so much to accomplish.

  Standing behind her, he scanned her from the honey-gold hair over a figure with more curves than he would have first guessed, all the way down long, long legs to trim ankles. She’d doffed her suit jacket, leaving her arms bare; she’d kicked her heels off under the table, and the tight French twist had strands escaping everywhere. Just now, her concentration was focused on only one thing—the dartboard in front of her.

  Vince smiled. A fierce competitor, too—that had surprised him. She’d always seemed as if nothing really ruffled her, except that evening at the shelter. He was realizing that he’d bought into the facade, but beneath the patrician appearance lay someone altogether different, someone fascinating and elusive. Vince found himself wanting to uncover all her secrets.

  You’ve got plenty else to investigate, Vince. Leave her alone. But the Vince who dared much cast sense to the winds and moved closer behind Chloe. “You’re going to bite off that tongue if you don’t stop sticking it out before you throw,” he murmured
beside her ear.

  She stiffened slightly but tossed a smirk in his direction. “Out of my way, Detective. You’re just hoping to throw me off.”

  “And your point is…?”

  She merely arched one slender eyebrow.

  Damn, he wanted to touch her. He put up his hands in surrender but only backed up about six inches.

  He could still feel the heat of her all along the front of him, and his body responded. Instead of grabbing her waist with both hands the way he’d prefer, he settled for one escaping lock of her hair, sliding it through his fingers.

  Chloe went still. But she didn’t move away.

  He exhaled, stirring the wisps at her nape.

  A shiver rippled through her. From his height, he could see her nipples peak beneath the thin silk of her blouse. The hand that held the dart trembled, but she didn’t turn around.

  This was insane. Swallowing hard, he moved aside, striving to lighten things. “You know, you’ve got one hell of an aim.”

  “Thanks.” Her gaze darted toward him and quickly back.

  “For a girl, that is.” He grinned.

  Her chin rose. “Those are fighting words, Detective.” Squaring her shoulders, she studied the board.

  Vince looked down for a brief second, aware that he’d just dodged a bullet. He had to be crazy to even consider letting this go any further.

  Chloe did a little skip-dance and clapped, eyes sparkling as she pointed out the dart sitting squarely in the center.

  Well, hell. Everybody knew he had a taste for danger.

  THE RIDE BACK to her car passed in silence. He wanted, more than was wise, to shoot past the right exit and take her home with him, but even if he thought she’d let him, he didn’t dare. Tino was supposed to make contact tonight.

  Chloe sat, legs curled beneath her, head leaning against one hand, elbow propped against the door frame. Light shifted over her as they passed each street lamp, tendrils of hair escaping her tight French twist, flying in the breeze swooping over the windshield. He kept waiting for her to ask him to put the top up, but she seemed not to mind the whip of the wind.

  “Home Warehouse,” she murmured. “I’ve spent a bundle in that place.”