Madeline didn’t know how long she remained in Connor’s office after Cruz slammed the door. His words hammered at her insides, and there was enough truth in them to make her whole body ache. How could she have let things go so far wrong? If she’d been able to tell him in her own time, in her own way, would things have been different? Or was it inevitable from the very beginning? She wearily acknowledged that it really didn’t matter now. To use Cruz’s words, the end result was the same. He’d walked out, and she’d lost him, just as she’d feared she would.
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, to stem the tears she could feel pooling there. She didn’t know how she was going to get through this. The knowledge that she’d hurt Cruz was the worst kind of pain of all. Ordinarily she could push all unpleasantness aside and throw herself into her work. She gave a choked laugh. Since she worked with Cruz, that wouldn’t be a possibility.
A rap on the doorjamb and a voice startled her. “Madeline? Are you done in there?”
She whirled around in dismay. While her whole world had fallen apart, Connor McLain had been waiting outside, no doubt wondering when he was going to get his office back. She crossed to his desk and snatched up some tissues from the box there and hurriedly blew her nose. “Yes,” she called out, her voice husky. She crossed to the door and opened it, not meeting his eyes as she apologized, “I’m sorry. That was rude. I… forgot where I was.” She meant to duck by him, not willing to be pinned in place by his assessing gaze. But before she was able, he spoke again.
“Mind staying for a minute?” Connor leaned against the door, an effective means of blocking this woman’s escape, should she be so inclined. Studying her, he realized that she would have made no such move. She looked as though she’d been leveled by a bulldozer.
“Care to tell me what that was all about?” he asked bluntly. “Cruz will tell me anyway, in time. I don’t remember when I last saw him looking the way he did when he walked out of here, and, lady, I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”
She let out a choked breath at his words. “Well, I’m afraid that will have to wait. I don’t have the authority to discuss this with you.” She walked to the door, and after staring at her intently for a moment he slowly moved aside.
“When the time comes, you will give me that explanation, Detective,” he said, sotto voce.
Her voice was weary when she answered. “I’m afraid that when the time comes for explanations, Lieutenant, you’re going to have to wait in line.”
Madeline made a trip to the rest room to restore a semblance of order to her makeup. Then she used a stall for privacy while she put the vest on. When she could delay it no longer, she headed back toward Cruz’s desk. She met him in the aisle, walking toward the door.
“C’mon,” he said brusquely, passing by and not turning to see whether she obeyed. “It’s time to head back to the warehouse.”
Madeline followed him silently. She’d never seen his face look like this before. Rarely was it without some remnant of humor, a crooked smile, a quirked eyebrow. Now it was as impassive as a statue’s, and she despaired of ever reaching him on any level again.
She waited awhile, but when it became obvious that he had no intention of speaking, she broke the silence. “I know you’re hurt and angry. But, Cruz, sometime we’re going to have to talk about this.”
His eyes never left the street in front of him. His voice, when he answered, was devoid of inflection. “Madeline, we have to work together. Maybe for a day more, a few days, tops. The only things we have to say to each other in that time have to do with the case. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t wish this situation away!” she exclaimed. “And you can’t pretend that we never happened.”
“No, I sure can’t, much as I’d like to.” His voice turned grim. “I’ve got a job to do, and we both know how good you are at your job, so let’s make an agreement right now. We both see this case through, and when it ends, it’s over. And, lady, let me tell you, the sight of you walking away for the last time will be the most welcome sight in the world.”
Those words proved prophetic to Madeline in the next few days. It was tortuous to be so close to Cruz, yet to have this emotional chasm between them. He was as professional as he’d promised to be. Every word he uttered had to do with the case. Otherwise there was only deafening silence.
And she was helpless to bridge that silence. He had been agonizingly clear about his feelings regarding her actions. What else was there to say to him? She wanted to beg with him again to hear her out, but she wasn’t sure how to after he’d been so precise about his wishes. She wasn’t up to dealing with another verbal slap, however justified it might be.
She hadn’t spoken to her father since he’d gone to the headquarters, and she couldn’t imagine a time when she would willingly speak to him again. She’d known he was a snob, and that was what had motivated him to ensure that she and Cruz would not continue a relationship. Casey could barely stand the idea that his daughter was a cop. He’d never given up the hope that she would come to her senses and make her living in a more “acceptable” fashion. The idea of her with Cruz on a personal level was a threat to the control he attempted to maintain over her life. The fact that he would also be smashing any feelings that she would have toward him would not have occurred to Geoffrey Casey. He regarded emotion as a frivolity best cast aside in any case.
In all the time she’d spent agonizing over how she was going to tell Cruz, never had she come close to predicting the mind-shattering pain of Cruz’s rejection. It was torment to see his attitude toward her turn into the same courteous manner with which he would treat a stranger. Stiffer than that, really, because Cruz Martinez had never met a stranger. His charm had always been in evidence, no matter whom he was speaking to. But now, toward her, his face was blank. His tone was carefully even, and not by one flicker of an eyelash did he exhibit any emotion toward her. When he did address her, he called her Madeline, and that, more than anything else, told her how far he’d really withdrawn from her. She’d been Maddy to him since the night they first made love. The once-hated nickname had taken a different flavor on his lips. She realized with bitter certainty that she wasn’t likely to hear it again.
Even as the time seemed to crawl, part of her wished it would slow even more. If these last few days were all she had left with Cruz, part of her wanted them to last forever. Madeline felt torn in two by the constant tug-of-war within her. When she made mistakes, she went all out.
But somehow she still felt that if she’d been able to be the one to tell him, things might not have gone so badly awry.
Cruz shifted in the passenger seat. Despite the darkness that had fallen outside, despite his usual ability to relax anyplace, anytime, the news that Geoffrey Casey had given him two days before had taken its toll. It had been strange, meeting Madeline’s father for the first time. Never had he suspected that Madeline was the daughter of Councilman Casey. Certainly she’d never mentioned it. At first he’d been struck by the resemblance between the two, obvious in the bone structure of their faces, the same straight noses. He’d been so sidetracked by the similarities that it had taken him a moment to catch the gist of what the man was saying to him.
Councilman Casey was a cold bastard. First he dropped the bombshell that Madeline worked for Internal Affairs. Then he’d laid the news of the investigation right at Cruz’s feet, and he’d smiled charmingly as he’d twisted the knife. Apparently telling of his daughter’s duplicity hadn’t bothered him a bit. Hell, he’d probably been proud of her. A chip off the old block, and all that. Obviously they had more than bone structure in common.
There had been times, especially in the year since Connor had met and married Michele, that Cruz had felt what came close to envy for his friend. Maybe it was his age, but there had been occasions when he’d wondered what it would feel like to find someone he wanted to spend his life with. To marry that someone, plan to spend every day with her, plan to have a family with her.
Now he not only knew what it was like to experience those feelings, he knew what it was like to have them blow up in his face. He hadn’t reckoned with the flip side of it. Letting a person get that close meant they had the ability to inflict excruciating emotional pain. And he was sure feeling his share of that, thanks to Madeline Casey.
It shouldn’t have been difficult to shove her out of his mind, and his system. There had been plenty of women over the years who-for one reason or another- no longer had a place in his life. He’d always managed to extricate them with grace, and he was still on friendly terms with most of them. Why didn’t that seem possible with the woman keeping silent watch next to him?
Because she’d gotten to him, he acknowledged dourly. He’d let her matter to him, too much. And he’d gotten burned big time. It was a bit difficult to get her out of his mind when all he had to do was look across the car to see her. It was hard to forget her voice when it was the only one he heard all day, albeit not often.
His hands clenched on his lap. Who was he kidding? It was damn hard to forget Maddy even when he had a few hours at home, before they were due back on watch again. His apartment was full of her. She was in front of his patio doors, her hair afire with light. She was in the kitchen, fiddling with her sandwich or, even more erotic, sprawling across the counter beneath him. She was in his bedroom, lying across his bed in wanton splendor.
It angered him that he was haunted by those images of her even when she wasn’t near. The first time he’d gone upstairs and found her hairbrush on his dresser he’d been frozen with an anguish so deep it could have been physical. He’d hurled the brush across the room, where it had fallen to the floor with a soft thud. But the images were harder to banish.
Lying in his bed alone, it was impossible for him to forget the times she’d been next to him. Although their time together had been brief, he’d gotten to know her better than he figured anyone else ever had. He knew, for instance, that beneath those no-nonsense suits she wore lingerie that made him break out into a sweat just envisioning it. He couldn’t sleep in that bed anymore with the specter of her there. Memories taunted him-of her lying sleeping, curled up beside him; of the way she slept with her lips slightly parted, as if waiting for his kiss; of the satiny fabric of her nighties, and the way they rode up in the night, to leave her bottom delightfully, arousingly bare. Nor were those images banished when he slept instead on the sectional sofa he’d ordered for the living room. No, they followed him, tantalizing reminders of what had been, and what he’d hoped for.
He didn’t know which was worse, the times home alone tortured by memories of Maddy, or those hours in the car, being forced to sit inches away from her. She had acceded to his wishes, and now the only words between them had to do with the case. One part of him was grateful for that; the other wanted to demand an explanation from her.
But he remained stubbornly silent. A fierce male pride was part of his heritage, and it coursed strongly through his veins. Yet more than that kept him from speaking. He’d never allowed a woman as close before, and it was too hurtful to think of her lack of faith in him. Just imagining her delving into his life, checking up on him while they worked together made him want to punch something. The laughable thing was, she could have asked him anything, anything about himself, and he probably would have told her, sooner or later. He’d have told her things that he’d gone to pains to hide from almost all his friends, because he’d thought her interest lay in him. He smiled bitterly. And so it had. But not in the way he’d counted on. He couldn’t forget that every moment he’d been drawn closer to her, every moment she’d pretended to feel the same, she was cold-bloodedly running an investigation on him at the same time. That was hard to forget.
Madeline Casey wasn’t the only one with a long memory.
Three days after the scene with Cruz, Madeline was questioning her sanity. Each day seemed to blur into the next, and her whole world seemed to have narrowed to the front seat of the unluxurious police-issue car. Stakeouts were always tedious, but the situation with Cruz made this one intolerable. The endless hours they spent together with this insurmountable breach between them had her constantly on edge, her entire body one jangling nerve. The inactivity was working on both of them. Even Cruz was losing that flat, expressionless tone he’d adopted. When he did speak, it was in close to a snarl.
He’d run a check on the plates of the truck Valdez had been driving, and, unsurprisingly, it had been registered to Andersen Steel. They’d agreed, in one of their rare moments of conversation, that in all likelihood Valdez had been hired as the distributor. With his criminal experience and contacts on the streets, he would certainly have the reputation and experience to find buyers.
It was close to noon, and they’d both already silently eaten the lunches they’d brought. Madeline had forced herself to eat most of a sandwich, then put the rest of the food away. It was difficult to swallow these days, and hunger was the last thing she was feeling.
“Looks like pay dirt,” Cruz muttered, training the binoculars on the warehouse.
She craned her neck to look and saw a large ship approaching the Andersen dock.
“That’s got to be the shipment of steel the project manager was talking about,” she said.
“And this must be the night Andersen wants Valdez here.” He put down the binoculars and turned on the ignition.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now it’s time to type up another warrant.”
Several hours later found them back on the same street, the search warrant in their possession. They’d talked in the car that afternoon, more than they had in the total time they’d spent watching the warehouse. In fact, they’d argued.
“I still don’t agree with this,” she muttered, crossing her arms stubbornly. “It’s a dangerous risk, one we don’t have to take.”
“Be realistic, Madeline,” he retorted for what seemed the hundredth time. His use of her full name made her flinch a little. “If we do as you wish and present this to Andersen right now, what’s the best-case scenario? We could get him to come down here, open up a few crates, hopefully find the parts to some AK-47s and take him downtown to book him. We still won’t have Valdez.”
“You don’t know that,” she argued heatedly. “We could be back here at midnight when Valdez shows up, and nab him then.”
“That wouldn’t happen. He’s going to be expecting Andersen to be here, and he’s cautious as hell. That’s how he’s managed to elude us for so long. Knowing him, he’ll be waiting for some sign that all is well. When he doesn’t see it, he’ll take off. And then we’ll have no chance of finding him, because you can be sure he won’t be sticking around when he hears of Andersen’s arrest.”
“It’s more dangerous your way,” she said, even as she realized the logic in his argument. “We won’t be able to radio for backup. If a detective is involved in this whole thing, we can’t take the chance of leaking our surveillance to the wrong person. We have no idea which cop is dirty. We wouldn’t know who to trust.”
“We know there’s only going to be two of them tonight-three at the most, if this mystery detective is there. We can handle them ourselves.”
She resented the way he had of simplifying a situation that, she somehow knew, was going to turn out to be anything but simple. “How about this?” she bargained. “We’ll be able to tell from our position how many of them there are. If it’s just Valdez and Andersen, we’ll go in ourselves. We won’t be able to afford the risk of the wrong person responding to our call. But if we see a third person, we radio for backup.”
Cruz hesitated, then nodded curtly, and their attention returned to the street.
Evening had descended before either of them spoke again. “Let’s get closer,” Cruz suggested. Without another word they both checked their weapons and extra clips. Then they moved across the street to take up station behind the same utility shed they’d sheltered behind nights ago.
Several hours in the same position had every one of Madeline’s muscles screaming a protest. Despite the danger, she was almost relieved when Andersen’s large car rolled to a stop in front of the warehouse. He got out and walked rapidly up to the gate, fumbling with the key in the lock until he finally swung the gate open. Propping it open a few feet, he waited with seeming impatience, casting continual glances up and down the street.
“Came dressed for gunrunning, I see,” Cruz remarked in an almost soundless whisper. The man was dressed in a black sweatshirt and trousers. “Guess you can’t buy an Italian suit that’s right for this kind of work.”
She had to smile at his outrageous remark. “Probably got it at Crooks R Us.”
“Ah, there’s his sidekick. I knew he’d be too cautious to show if he wasn’t sure Andersen was here.”
“Don’t be obnoxious, Martinez. The night isn’t over yet.”
They both watched as Valdez slowly approached the gate, exchanged a few words with Andersen, then walked away again. A few moments later the truck he’d been driving a few days ago pulled up. Andersen opened the gate wide, and it rumbled slowly through.
They waited fifteen agonizingly long minutes. Then Cruz whispered, “It’s show time.” They drew their weapons and moved silently across the street and through the still-open gate.
They entered through the open door of the warehouse. It was shadowy, but light spilled out from a distant corner, making it possible to see where they were going. Sheets of metal and cartons filled the huge expanse, piles of materials everywhere. They approached the lighted area cautiously, stopping frequently to listen.
Stopping in back of a huge stack of boxes, Cruz realized that they were as close as they were going to get to the two without showing themselves. As it was, when they peered around the corners of their hiding place, they had a clear view of Andersen and Valdez working. The cavernous structure provided perfect acoustics for their conversation.
“Be a hell of a lot easier if you’d have the guns shipped already assembled and in the same damn crates.” It was Valdez speaking. “Then we’d just have to open them up, count them and toss them on the truck. This takes too damn long.”
When Andersen spoke, it was obvious he was winded from his labors. “The simplest method isn’t necessarily the smartest, Valdez. Each of these crates has to look perfectly legitimate for anyone who happens to look inside it. Taking precautions is what makes an operation like this run smoothly. Don’t try to think. That’s not what you’re paid for.”
It was obvious from the look Valdez shot the other man that there was no love lost between the two. “Yeah, you’re real brilliant,” he muttered. “And so is that buddy of yours. But as usual, when there’s work to be done, he don’t show up.”
“We can handle this ourselves,” Andersen told him. “We’re half done already.”
Andersen was opening the crates, extracting pieces from them, then piling the pieces next to Valdez. Valdez assembled the guns, put them into empty crates and loaded them into the truck.
Madeline nudged Cruz, and he nodded. They’d seen enough. With the mysterious third party not in sight, now was the time to make their move. Both men’s bands were occupied, which would make it difficult for them to go for a weapon, assuming either had one. Cruz indicated to Madeline that he would take Valdez, leaving Andersen for her. She frowned at him, but he gave her no time for dispute. Holding up a hand, he held up one finger, then two, then three. They stepped around a corner of the boxes and yelled simultaneously, “Freeze! Police!”
Andersen’s head jerked around and stopped in midmotion. Valdez reacted more quickly. He threw the crate he’d been lifting in their direction and took off.
“I got him,” Cruz yelled, jumping over a stack of steel poles as he went off in pursuit.
“Drop it,” Madeline ordered Andersen. “And get your hands behind your head.”
The man seemed to recover some of his smoothness. “What’s the meaning of this, Detective? What are you doing here? This is private property.”
“Private property with a very lucrative sideline,” she answered while she trained her gun on him and quickly frisked him. Finding no weapon, she snapped a cuff on his wrist and led him over to the truck. The other cuff was snapped to the door handle. Quickly she went to the other side of the truck, opened the door and leaned over to remove the keys from the ignition. Then she proceeded to read him his rights.
“Guns?” he scoffed. “You’ve got quite an imagination, and absolutely no proof. You’d better think hard, Detective, before you bring me in on such a ridiculous charge. My family is well regarded in this town.”
“Somehow I think your family’s reputation is about to take a nosedive.”
The man blustered, “This is undoubtedly an illegal search, and my lawyer will have it thrown out of court. You and your partner will lose your jobs over this.”
Madeline tucked the warrant in his free hand. “I suggest you read that while you’re waiting.” She ran silently in the direction that Cruz had disappeared in. She heard the report of a shot, and then another. Heading in the direction of the sound, she saw a figure running toward the gate. She raised her gun and then hesitated. At this distance it was impossible to tell the identity of the runner. She started after him.
In front of her, another figure came flying out of the shadows and tackled the runner. They rolled over and over on the ground. As she drew closer she could make out Cruz on top of Valdez, drawing back a fist. Valdez reached up and grasped Cruz’s throat with both hands, and Cruz dropped his fist to pry at the other man’s fingers.
A movement in the darkness near the struggling pair attracted her attention. A figure stepped out, and when Madeline saw the gun aimed toward Cruz’s head, she reacted instinctively. She twirled and fired a shot. The force from the impact of the bullet swung the man around. He dropped his gun, clutching at his shoulder.
Cruz used the distraction to free himself from Valdez’s grasp, and after a few more moments the struggle was over. Valdez lay motionless on the ground.
Cruz got up and walked over, picking up the gun that had been dropped, as well as his own weapon. He tucked Valdez’s gun into the waistband of his jeans.
“Let’s see who we’ve got here,” he muttered, walking over to the wounded man.
“An old friend of yours, I believe,” she said shakily, her gun still aimed.
“So I see,” Cruz said, recognizing Detective Gerald Baker. The man glared at him, blood seeping from between his fingers. “Your partner’s as crazy as you are, Martinez,” Baker snarled. “You’ll both be laughed out of the department over this. I had this place staked out myself, and came to help when I heard shots.”
“Somehow I don’t think I could have afforded your help,” Cruz mocked. “If it hadn’t been for Maddy, I’d have been a chalk outline.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Somehow, his showing up here now seems a little too coincidental.”
She nodded, and stepped forward to frisk Baker quickly, using his own handcuffs on him.
“I need medical attention,” Baker told her. “It’s going to be up to you to get me some.” He jerked his head at Cruz. “He’d just as soon see me die.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Madeline corrected him grimly, searching his pockets for a handkerchief. Wadding it up, she applied it ungently to the wound. “I’m the one who’d like to see you in hell, bunking with the bad guys.”
“Yeah, I’d just as soon have you alive, Baker,” Cruz said. “So I can enjoy thinking of you in prison, with a guy you put away as your cell mate.” He addressed Madeline. “What did you do with Andersen, shoot him, too?”
“Not yet,” she answered unsteadily. The adrenaline high that had been pumping through her veins was leaving her in a rush. The image of Baker pointing a gun toward Cruz’s head was still agonizingly vivid.
Baker was protesting loudly. “Get me to the hospital, you fools. I’ll bleed to death here.”
“One can only hope, pal,” Cruz said unsympathetically. He went over to Valdez, who was showing signs of returning to consciousness. Rolling him over, he cuffed him and pulled him to his feet. He stopped then and looked at Madeline. He cocked a grin at her, a shadow of the one she used to see. “Good work, Maddy. We make a good team.”
Their eyes met, and held. “Yes,” she said softly. “We do.”
His face changed then as he interpreted her meaning. He turned away. “Let’s get these guys to the car and call for backup. Where’s Andersen?”
She bit her lip. She knew what she read in his sudden change of mood. “He’s not going anywhere.”
He nodded, turned and led Valdez away.
A week later Madeline was in her apartment, staring unexcitedly at the TV dinner she’d cooked. She’d forced herself to go to the gym and work out tonight more for something to do than because she any longer felt a burning desire to stay on schedule. As a matter of fact, she no longer felt a burning desire for much of anything in her life.
Returning to her desk at Internal Affairs should have made her feel as though her life were getting back to normal. Already she was being given more cases than she could possibly handle. Brewer was actually in a pleasant mood, basking in the attention brought by the conclusion of the high-profile case.
But nothing seemed normal these days. Each day dawned, a vacuum stretching interminably in front of her, to be filled with events to save her sanity. Each night closed with her inability to remember much of anything that had mattered that day.
Her cell rang then and she reached for it automatically. When she saw her father’s number on the screen, she set it back down without answering it. It was the third time in as many days that he’d called, and it was the third time she’d dismissed the call so summarily. She had nothing to say to him.
Her attention returned to her unappetizing meal. She’d fixed it because eating was one of those chores she’d tried to return to. She could ill afford to lose any more weight. But eating held about as much interest for her as talking to her father, and with a sigh she threw yet another meal into the trash.
Her doorbell rang, and she considered not answering it. When she finally realized that it was likely to be Ariel, and that she’d only use her key if Madeline didn’t come to the door, she got up and reached for the knob. She didn’t use the peephole, not because she didn’t think of it, but because she just could not summon up enough emotion to care whether it was Ariel on the other side or a serial killer.
It was neither. Cruz Martinez stood facing her when the door swung open. She stared at him, her eyes wide as they hungrily took in the sight of him that had been too long denied her.
“Could have gotten Ariel’s key, but thought I’d do the classy thing and give you a chance to invite me in,” he said cheekily. When she remained silent, he said more seriously, “Are you going to? Invite me in, I mean?”
She stepped away from the door, allowing him to enter. She closed the door and surreptitiously wiped her palms on her jeans. Just seeing Cruz had her dormant senses springing to life. Her pulse was racing; her heart was in her throat. The wonderful side effect of living her life as an automaton the past several days had been that the pain of losing Cruz had been held to a manageable level. Now it was back, full force.
“I thought I’d come by to fill you in on the case,” he said, walking restlessly around her living room. Ignoring her furniture, he propped himself against a wall and looked at her. Her throat clutched at the familiarity of the pose.
“Andersen spilled all. I’m sure he’s working on some kind of plea bargain. Once his attorney convinced him that we had him cold, he changed his tune. His uncle, the owner of Andersen Steel, apparently knew nothing of his side income. The old man’s really taking it hard.”
He stopped then and studied her. She stood motionless, hadn’t moved since she let him in. He frowned in concern. She hadn’t been frequenting any of the grease pits she favored, that was apparent. She obviously hadn’t been thinking of food at all. Or eating it.
He continued, “Stephen Andersen had worked his way into his uncle’s company over the years, but he was always impatient to be the one fully in charge. His uncle wasn’t going to hand over the reins-or all the money-soon enough for his liking. So apparently he came up with this gun supply deal to supplement his income. We’re still working on his supplier in Europe. Have you heard anything else on Baker?”
She nodded. “Apparently he was one of the detectives being investigated. But the Internal Affairs detective who’d been assigned to Baker hadn’t been able to get a thing on him. There didn’t seem to be a second source of income, and he was never trailed to the same spot. The investigation was ongoing.”
“Oh, there’s money somewhere, all right,” Cruz said. “At least, according to Andersen. They had a real sweet deal going. The money Baker was paid was placed in Andersen Steel’s credit union, under a fictitious employee’s name. Baler has been playing it safe. Either he was saving it for a very golden retirement, or he was planning an extended trip out of the country. What he wasn’t doing was spending it and leaving a trail.”
“Baker must have been the link to Valdez,” Madeline said.
“That’s what I found when I did some checking,” Cruz agreed. “Baker was the arresting officer the last time Valdez got sent away. And Baker and Andersen go way back. Baker used to moonlight as a security guard for Andersen Steel. He was in a position to know just who to pick to help them in this, someone from the streets who had experience with guns and a reputation that commanded enough respect that no one would talk about him.”
“I’d wondered why no one on the streets would be willing to give up a cop,” Madeline said. “I figured whoever the involved detective was, he was buried so deep that few people knew about him. And one who found out didn’t live long after telling about it.” At Cruz’s quizzical look she told him about the snitch who’d been killed.
He looked grim at the news. “Sounds like Baker’s handiwork to me.”
“Possibly,” she said. “And we’ve already heard that Valdez was the one who shot Stover.”
“That’s the story Andersen is still telling, although Valdez hasn’t admitted to it.” Cruz drummed his fingers restlessly on the wall behind him. “Well, that’s all the loose ends, then. I thought they’d be driving you crazy.”
She’d been driven crazy, all right, but these loose ends had had very little to do with it. When she realized he was waiting for an answer, she said, “Thanks for coming by and filling me in.”
“Yeah.” He fell silent then, training his intense dark gaze on her. He made no move toward the door.
Finally he said, “Look, I’ve been thinking. And I guess I can understand how you felt when this whole thing got started. I was just another assignment for you.”
“Yes, you were an assignment,” she answered, her eyes never swerving from his. “And then you very quickly became more. I found that difficult to accept. I didn’t want to believe you were involved in the gun supply, but I was scared to trust my judgment about you. I’d made a rather costly mistake about a man once before, and I was afraid it was happening again.”
Her voice dropped. “But I couldn’t control it. You became too important to me, and I lost my objectivity.” At his continued silence she asked him, a little desperately, “What would you have done, Cruz? If our situations had been reversed?”
It was the same question Connor had asked him when he’d talked to him over a few beers, and the same question that had plagued Cruz every hour since. “Probably the same thing,” he admitted for the first time. His gaze was steady. “But you could have told me at the end, Maddy. You should have told me.”
Her throat grew tight. “I would have. But I had stretched my code of ethics about as far as I could by believing in you, even though I hadn’t really cleared you in the eyes of the department. I couldn’t allow myself to put the investigation in jeopardy.”
“Your father took care of that little task for you.”
“My father,” she said, her voice suddenly harsh, “completely abused his position with the city in doing so. He acted out of spite and, believe me, he isn’t going to get away with it this time.” She’d accept the next phone call from him, certain there would be a next one. Then she’d make it very clear just how far over the line he’d gone this time. If she went to Brewer and told him how her father had used the information someone had leaked him about the case, she was sure the repercussions would be very ugly, indeed. Councilman Casey was going to be able to keep his job only if Madeline kept quiet about what he’d done. And the price for her silence was going to be his absence from her life from now on. Her mouth twisted. Somehow she was certain that when it came down to protecting his career or giving up a relationship with his daughter, she would come in a very distant second. And that was fine with her.
Cruz studied her. From the look of the suppressed fury in her face, Casey was going to be one sorry old man when Maddy finished with him. Cruz didn’t waste any sympathy on him, though. Whatever the man got, he had coming, in spades.
“I didn’t like knowing that I’d been under suspicion,” he said bluntly. “Who would? And Internal Affairs doesn’t have a real winning track record in my book. The combination of the two was enough to send me ballistic when your father told me what was going on.”
She flinched a little, but then recovered. “I know.”
“And the fact that it was you doing the investigation, well…” He shrugged. “That made it worse.”
Madeline nodded. She’d had firsthand experience being the target of an investigation. She knew what that felt like. But she’d at least known it was going on. She’d had a chance to present her own account of what had happened.
“One thing, though, still bothers me,” he continued. He crossed his booted feet deliberately. “Maybe you can help me with this. Over the course of this case I’ve gotten to know you, Maddy. I know you’re a good cop, that you’re almost fanatical about doing your job professionally. And I think I know a lot about you as a person, too. Enough to be sure that you wouldn’t sleep with a man just to further a case along.”
Hope unfurled within her. “That’s not what you thought a few days ago,” she reminded him shakily.
“But I’ve had time to think about it now,” he said. “And I think you would have had to believe in me, at least a little. So how about it, Maddy?” His intent dark eyes snared her own.
“If I hadn’t trusted you already,” she affirmed softly, “at least subconsciously, that first night in your apartment would never have happened. And feeling that level of trust, when I had no real proof of your innocence, was a frightening experience for someone who had kept her instincts in cold storage for the last few years.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, “that’s what I thought.” He pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. “You said you loved me,” he reminded her. “That day in Connor’s office. Did you mean it?” His hands grasped her elbows, and drew her slowly, inexorably closer to him.
Her pulse quickened with a tiny flicker of hope. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” she affirmed unsteadily. Tipping her head back to look up into his face, she continued bravely, “I hadn’t exactly picked that time to tell you. It just sort of slipped out.”
“That’s okay,” he reassured her. “I’ll give you another chance. As a matter of fact, I’m going to give you lots of chances to repeat that again. Because I love you, too, Maddy. And since I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy I want to do this right.” He dropped to one knee quickly, pulling her with him to settle her on the other. Her hands clasped around his neck. “How do you feel about being married to a detective-slash-restaurant owner?”
The feeling of impending doom that had enveloped her for the past few days was lifting, and Madeline felt almost giddy at the change. “Restaurant owner?” she repeated, pretending to be mystified. “Whatever do you mean?”
He nipped her earlobe. “Brat. I know you must have found out about my partnership with Dan Chambers during the investigation.”
“Was it supposed to be a secret?”
“Not exactly. Although I figured I could do without a bunch of cops asking me to do my impression of Julia Child at district headquarters.”
She chuckled, picturing it. “Well, I think I can handle being married to a detective with your hidden talents. Your secret is safe with me. As a matter of fact, I’m even willing to hand over all the cooking duties to you.”
He smiled that wicked, sinful smile of his and whispered suggestively, “Oh, I think you’ll discover that cooking is just one of my many hidden talents.”
She laughed again and then gasped when his teeth found the delicate cord at her throat.
“How’s Maddy Martinez sound to you?” he asked.
She smiled. “Like a mixed drink.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he assured her, pressing a necklace of kisses at her throat. “And about those kids I was talking about in the hallway the first time I came to see you? I was exaggerating. Five will be plenty for me.”
She caught his face in her hands and brought it up to meet hers. “Okay, Martinez,” she whispered. “Let’s negotiate.”