by Beverly Bird
“No, you did the other.”
“What other?”
“This.” He sighed. “You let air out instead of taking it in.”
She threw a piece of cheese at him. He caught it neatly and popped it in his mouth, and that just irritated her more. Molly imitated his sigh. “That’s a Cinderella sound. I don’t do Cinderella.”
“No kidding. She wore dresses.”
Molly recoiled, hurt. “I wear dresses. Sometimes.”
He wiggled his brows at her. “Double dare you.” He realized he really wanted to see those legs of hers. Without the spandex.
“You want me to wear a skirt to play basketball around here?”
“Why not? Cia does.”
Molly choked on her cheese.
“Besides, you’re not supposed to be playing basketball. You’re supposed to be raising money.”
“I did that already. Now I’m working on finding someone to play the team you don’t have. Give me that.” She reached for the wine bottle.
He didn’t intend for his fingers to brush hers as he passed it to her. It just happened. And so did the next words out of his mouth. “You know, when I went away, it was only six years. I figured even then that I’d get out on my first parole hearing. So it only meant six years of my life.”
She went still with the bottle half-poised over her paper cup.
“That’s all it meant to me,” he said, staring down into his own cup because he couldn’t stand the look on her face—the hope there, the fierce, pure need to hear him say something that would make everything he’d done into something she could live with. “It was just years. Time. A portion of my life sacrificed so I could have more years later. I was cutting my losses. I guess I hoped that would be the end of it, if I didn’t talk, didn’t say a word. But I always knew better.”
“The police had no case, Danny, no strong case against you.”
“It would have gotten stronger in a hurry if I had fought it.”
Something cold seeped into her blood. Was he saying that the cops were in on framing him? That certain cops were involved with the Mercados? Who? If they were bad six years ago, were they still bad now? Were they even still on the force?
Molly opened her mouth and shut it again fast enough to nearly bite her tongue. She couldn’t ask him that. Somehow she knew, instinctively, that it would cross a line—for both of them. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling an odd pain there.
Danny drank more wine, chewed more cheese. “It was a done deal from the time I got the phone call that day. Carmine wanted to see me. A ‘final’ meeting, he called it. Stupid of me. I thought he was just going to try one more time to talk me into staying. The whole damned lunch was casual, a lot of old-times conversation. I honestly thought he’d let me go. I’d saved his life so damned many times, I figured emotion, gratitude, whatever, would count for something.
“Then the store was held up while I was out there at the Mercado compound. I don’t know what they paid the store owner to ID me—or what they had on him to twist his arm. All I know is that I was driving home and suddenly there was a posse of red and blue lights blinking behind me. Then I knew. I knew.”
“And you let them take you in.”
“Sure I did. I knew it was Carmine’s way of telling me, Take this or die. Like I said, the store owner had already ID’d me. They found the money in my apartment at the same time they were throwing handcuffs on me on the roadside. And sure as hell Carmine wasn’t going to give me an alibi.” He watched her face and drained the last of his cup. “There’s a reason I’m telling you this. I went down for that crime never believing that it would matter to a person like you.”
Before she could open her mouth to respond, he stood up. He grabbed the last of the bottle of wine from beside her. “That’s all I’m sharing.”
“But—”
“No, Molly, that’s it. You’ve got to understand that I’m never going to talk about this again.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re on that side of the line, and I’m on this side. And damn it, that’s where we have to stay.” If I’m going to keep you alive. Carmine would die. Someday—maybe even soon—Carmine’s heart would fail him. And maybe then, as Ricky had said, everything would be different. But pretty Molly French with her staunch, law-abiding ideals would never last that long.
Danny finally turned away and headed for his apartment. For the first time he almost wished he’d taken the grave instead.
When Molly dragged herself into roll call at four o’clock, her stomach felt a little sour from the wine, she had a headache, and her temper was pumping. This was her eighth straight night without time off—more penance for worming her way onto the task force, she knew. She’d worked for Harry Roscoe on Thursday night and was supposed to have had tonight off in exchange—until someone from dispatch had called her at 3:30 to tell her that they were shorthanded and they needed her to come in after all. Now Molly looked around the room and felt her anger ratchet up another notch. Everyone who was supposed to be here was present…except for Harry Roscoe.
“Enjoy it, friend,” she muttered aloud. “It’s the last time I’ll ever work for you.”
“Did you say something, Officer French?” her sergeant asked.
“No. You must have imagined it.”
He scowled at her. Molly eased back to stand against the wall rather than sit down among Maguire and the others. If one of his kind tried to take a piece of her again tonight, she was in the right frame of mind to flatten him.
“I take it that you’re present, Officer,” the sergeant said, “and not happy about it.”
“Ten-four.”
“Well, I think your day is about to get worse. Deputy Chief Stanmeyer would like to see you before you head out tonight.”
Trouble, Molly thought. Either that or she was finally getting her personnel clearance—but why would Stanmeyer get involved in that? Her back came away from the wall. “Why?”
The officer moved on with roll call without answering her. That wasn’t good. Molly swore under her breath and left the room, stalking to Stanmeyer’s office. The man was just standing up from behind his desk when she stuck her head in the door.
“Excuse me, Martin. You wanted to see me?”
Stanmeyer looked up, startled. Then he seemed to flush a little. He reminded her a great deal of Ralph Bunderling, except Ralph was eternally single and Martin was in the process of clearing his second divorce. She’d gone out with Martin once, too, but she’d let him down even more gently than she had Ralph. She’d been fully aware of what he could do to her career if she hurt him or made him mad. So far they’d remained friends.
“Ah, Molly, I hate to be the one to do this to you. Stone threw it to me.” Stanmeyer sat again, looking miserable.
Molly felt her internal organs begin to sink slowly. “What?” she asked warily.
“You’ve been written up.”
She was the cleanest, most honest cop she knew. She was fanatical about it—especially lately, knowing there were people gunning for her. “What do they think I did?”
“You’ve been consorting with a person of ill repute.”
“I have not—” Danny.
Her stomach heaved. She pressed a hand to it. She’d never thought of that, had been too wrapped up in the personal implications of his past to worry about any impact it might have on her professionally. But she was a police officer. He was a convicted felon. And any time she spent with him was against the departmental rules and regulations.
“I’m sorry,” Stanmeyer said, and he sounded sincere. “You know the drill—it’s been turned over to Internal Affairs. They’ll contact you for an interview and you can have a hearing fourteen days after that to defend yourself against the charges. If you do so successfully, it won’t be a permanent part of your record.”
“Am I suspended until then?” She had to force the words out. Her throat was raspy and tight.
Martin looked surprised. “I
don’t think so. No one said anything about that.”
“Of course not. Without me, who would they torment?” But it was coming, she knew suddenly. This was a warning. If she didn’t take it and back down from the task force, she’d be off duty completely.
But why? This went well beyond her gender or her Laredo experience. Molly felt an invisible hand tugging her gold shield right out of her fingers. “This is insane.”
“That’s what I tried to tell Chief Stone. He—Daniel Gates—only works at the same place you volunteer, right?”
“Right.” And I wanted to kiss him. But no one on earth knew that, and wanting was hardly a chargeable offense. Molly started shaking a little.
“Why don’t you stop volunteering until this blows over?” Martin suggested.
“I can’t do that.” The kids, she thought. Oh, heaven help her, she couldn’t abandon her kids.
Besides, this had nothing to do with the rec center, she realized. It had everything to do with having pushed her way onto the task force. Cutting out her time at the center wouldn’t affect things at all, except that they’d have a harder time proving she had any real association with Danny. And if they couldn’t get her for that, they’d just come after her for something else.
Obviously, she was closer on the issue of bad cops than she knew, she realized suddenly. They really wanted to clear her out of that war room.
“Who initiated this?” Which one? Hasselman? McCauley? Maguire? Who had done it?
“I don’t know,” Martin said quickly. “An anonymous tip came in to Chief Stone. He had no choice, Molly. You were there at the center after your shift last night, in the wee hours of the morning. Someone took pictures of your car.”
“Big deal. I was practicing basketball. I’ve been volunteering there for two years. My car being there isn’t grounds for anything.”
“They also have a photo of you and Mr. Gates in a, um, compromising position. On the gym floor.”
“Like hell they do!” Molly exploded. “There’s never been such a position!” Then her heart stalled. She remembered the way Danny had fallen on top of her when their feet had tangled together, when she had started to pull him closer before he’d suddenly rolled away. Molly closed her eyes briefly, feeling sick.
“You can see both photos,” Martin reminded her. “Your representative has a right to view the file. It might prod your memory.”
“Please don’t be condescending to me.”
When she opened her eyes again, he looked shocked and hurt. “Molly, I wouldn’t. We went out. I know the kind of woman you are. I don’t believe a word of this. I know you must have an explanation for whatever…whatever it is they think they captured on film.”
She was a woman who had somehow managed to sidestep a kiss good-night with him, Molly remembered. But she would have been more than willing to kiss Danny last night if he hadn’t aborted the moment. And why exactly had he done that? she wondered now. Because she was a cop. And he hated cops. Her stomach pushed up into her throat. All this over a man who didn’t even want her.
Martin was trying to hand her the pink sheet. “A copy already went to Eli, as well. He’s waiting to hear from you. He’ll help in any way he can.”
Eli Tripician, she thought. The PBA president. She stepped forward and snatched the sheet from his hand. “I’m leaving now, Martin.”
“Yes, well…yes. You should have been on patrol ten minutes ago.”
“No, I mean I’m leaving. I’m going home. I was supposed to be off tonight. I exchanged time off as a favor to Harry Roscoe. But, gosh darn it, I’m feeling a case of the flu coming on.”
“Molly, don’t do this. It can only hurt you.”
“Well, guess what, Martin? I’m getting real tired of lying down and letting them kick me.” Temper flooded her face with heat. “No matter what I do from here on in—if I toe the line or not—I’m screwed. You know it and I know it. I can call in sick tonight or I can stay on and be beaten up by another drugged-out hoodlum because they threw another horrible call to me without a partner. It won’t make a bit of difference either way.”
Martin looked miserable. She wondered if he realized, too, that this was about the task force. “Talk to Eli,” he suggested.
“Count on it. But for now, why don’t you do me a favor and call Roscoe and tell him he’s needed tonight after all?” She shoved the pink sheet down into her trousers pocket and left the office.
Damn them, damn them, damn them. She’d never been written up in the whole twelve years she’d worked in law enforcement. When she reached her car, she leaned her head against the roof and did something she rarely allowed herself to do.
Molly cried.
After taxes, Danny’s paycheck for his first week of legitimate labor in sixteen years came to $256.43. He stood in Ron Glover’s office at the rec center and stared at it for a moment, then he laughed.
“I know,” Ron said, clearly embarrassed. “I wish I could do better.”
“No, it’s fine. I have no overhead.” But he had spent more than twice that on the basketball shoes. The fifteen-hundred-dollar suit was his own problem.
His money was dwindling and it was dwindling fast. Eventually he was going to have to think of another way to survive than just teaching basketball. With a record? It wasn’t going to be easy, he thought. It was just one more thing he hadn’t considered six years ago when he’d swallowed the lesser of two evils.
Danny left Ron’s office and headed for his apartment. Paltry though it was, this $256 was going to have to be the basis for his new—legitimate—checking account. He was halfway up the steps to his apartment to find his car keys when he heard a sound overhead that froze him in his tracks.
Movement. In his apartment.
Danny went still on the sixth tread down. Adrenaline flooded his system, and it made him hot enough to itch. The sound from above had been stealthy, the kind of step that happened when someone was trying not to make floorboards squeak. Someone was up there. Waiting for him, or looking for something? Damn you, Ricky, I believed in you. I trusted you. Danny’s right hand went instinctively to his side, beneath his left arm. And, of course, there was no gun there anymore.
He would have to use his fists. And his cunning. He knew how to travel the next six steps without making a sound. He’d made it a point to know, the day he’d moved in.
He moved to the top door in silence. It was closed. He folded his hand over the knob and gently determined that no one had locked it behind them when they’d gone in. Surprise was the only edge he had. He hit the door hard and suddenly with his shoulder and was crouched on the floor of the apartment before the intruder could react. Then he could only stare.
Bobby J. Bobby J.?
Danny swore in a way he’d forgotten he knew how to do and came to his feet again. The boy stared back at him impassively.
“Just helping myself to a drink, man,” Bobby said. “What’s with you?”
Danny gave himself a second to let his blood settle. “You’ve heard of private property, Bobby? This place qualifies.”
Bobby sneered and tilted his head back to swig from the soft drink can he’d lifted from Danny’s fridge. “They own you.”
“Who owns me?”
“Molly, Ron. All the rest.”
Something was happening here, Danny realized, something huge. He could not believe this boy had found his way into his apartment…and why? Danny went to the fridge for his own soft drink to buy some time before he responded.
“Texas owns me,” he said finally, “for another three years or so, anyway. But that’s about it.” He popped the tab and drank deeply, keeping one eye on the kid with the ghostly skin and the cunning eyes.
“Why’d you do it?” Bobby asked suddenly.
“Steal the money? Break the law?” Danny wanted to be sure what they were talking about.
“No. Why’d you turn and quit?”
Danny felt his heart kick. Who had the kid heard that from? Molly? He cou
ldn’t quite believe that she would repeat something like that. “Who said I turned?”
“I just heard it.”
“Where?”
The kid’s eyes said he wasn’t going to tell him. Danny’s heart went to his gut, and his gut went to his toes. Was the kid in with the Mercados? How else would he have heard such a thing?
There’d been little doubt in Danny’s mind from the first that this boy was into something worse than the others, and he was in deep. Danny went to the sofa and sat, deciding to play this according to his gut instincts. He wanted to find out more. “Okay, you’re right. I turned.”
“So how come?” The boy continued to stand, watching him suspiciously.
“I was protecting a man from his enemies. That was my job. Then I realized that his enemies had a good case against him.”
The kid frowned and took a step back, putting space between them.
Danny kept on. “You know a lot. Do you know I was framed because I left, that I never stole that money in the first place?”
Bobby scowled. “I didn’t hear that. Just heard you quit. But I bet the money would have been damned good, right?”
“The money was top caliber.”
“How much?”
Danny went with him. He shrugged. “A few hundred thousand a year, including bonuses.” Carmine had always been real generous whenever he’d realized that he was—against all odds—still alive.
“And you quit that for this?” Bobby waved a hand around the shabby apartment.
“I quit because people who had no business dying kept ending up dead, Bobby. I quit because no amount of money can condone being a part of that.”
The boy was quiet for a long time. “Did you kill any of those people?”
“No.”
“Did they ask you to?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get out of doing it? You said no and they just said okay?” He made a sound of disgusted disbelief.
“Not quite. Like I said, eventually they landed me in jail for it.”
The boy leaned back against the wall. That surprised Danny. He was relaxing. “Okay, if you’re that much of a candy-ass how come you started up with them in the first place?” Bobby asked.