The sound of men at play reached Madeline’s ears as she got out of the car. Slamming the door, she paused, surveying the scene they made. The cracked asphalt of the basketball court was a jumble of males, most stripped to the waist. A half-dozen others stood on the sidelines shouting words that could not pass for encouragement. None of them glanced her way and she felt a moment of uncustomary hesitation. There was something about the sight of all those masculine bodies gleaming with sweat in the late spring sunlight, the noise of their exertions and the jeers of their audience that almost made her reluctant to intrude on their domain. Ruthlessly squashing that sentiment, she raised her chin and walked toward the court.
She winced at the sound of human flesh colliding and a moment later a body hurtled into the chain links separating her from the court. She jumped back reflexively, but the young man just grasped the fence and jumped to his feet nimbly, sending her an appraising look. Seeing her chance, she called, “Is Cruz Martinez around?”
The man trotted back to the court. “Martinez,” he called in a plaintive croon, “babe’s looking for you.” The word quickly spread across the court.
“Hottie with a body.”
“Smokin’!”
“You playin’ on her court, bro?”
Madeline damned her fair complexion, which she could feel heating from the shouts of the men. She drew herself up even straighter and crossed her arms. The body language was unmistakable. It elicited further observations from the court.
“Uh-oh, BWA.”
“BWA, son, watch out!”
Cruz Martinez grinned and bounced the basketball to the man next to him. As he jogged slowly toward the fence, he couldn’t help agreeing with those final shouted assessments. BWA, Babe With an Attitude, was a chauvinistically accurate description of the woman waiting for him. For an attitude she did exude. From the top of her auburn head, flashing with streaks of gold in the sunlight, down her rigidly held body to her shapely feet clad in narrow-toed shoes this woman was uptight with a capital ‘U’. Cruz’s gaze took a slow, thorough reverse journey up those slender legs, lingering on the gentle curves encased in her fitted skirt, appreciatively inspected the swell of bosom beneath her loose sweater before wandering back up to her pointed chin, full lips, straight nose and high cheekbones. He mentally lamented the fact that her eyes were hidden by large-framed sunglasses. Reaching the fence, he grasped it with both hands and flashed her the lopsided grin that never failed to melt the hearts of the strongest women. “You looking for me, ma’am?”
Madeline hadn’t missed his blatant perusal, and that, accompanied by his cocky grin and suggestive drawl made her voice sharp when she fairly snapped, “Cruz Martinez?”
“Yes, ma’am. At your service.”
Madeline reached into her purse and pulled out her shield, flipping it open and holding it out to him. “Detective Sergeant Madeline Casey.”
Cruz reached through the fence with one hand, more for the opportunity to touch her than to study the shield she was holding out. He brought it closer, taking his time examining it. He made sure their hands met when he handed it back. “Very nice. Shiny. You been polishing that?”
Madeline ignored his bantering, just as she ignored the flicker of awareness she’d felt when he’d pressed the shield back into her palm. From the looks of him, he knew too well the effect he had on women, and his technique was probably well rehearsed. She fixed him with her own studied gaze, noting the well-muscled legs encased in long baggy nylon shorts. He was shod in tennis shoes, but unlike most of the other men, he wasn’t bare-chested. Instead he wore a ragged sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped out. With the sweatband around his forehead keeping his straight dark hair out of his face, and with an earring in one ear, he looked like a modern-day pirate. One would never guess that he was a detective sergeant of the Philadelphia Police Department.
She pulled her gaze from his forearms roped with muscles, secure in the knowledge that he was unable to see the direction of her gaze behind the tinted glasses. “Captain Ritter requested that I ask you to come in to discuss a case you’re working on.”
His smile never faded, but she thought she noted a flicker of wariness in his dark eyes. “And what case might that be?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” Her voice sounded prim, even to her own ears.
“You’re not at liberty to say,” he echoed soberly.
Though there was no hint of it on his handsome, bronzed face, she was certain he was laughing at her. He cocked his head. “You must have been busy if you’ve been tracking me down. On my days off I don’t follow a planned schedule.”
Madeline shrugged carelessly, although it had taken her better than three hours to trace his whereabouts. It had been her own decision to find Martinez herself. She’d wanted to pick their first meeting, to arrange to see the man, instead of the detective. It gave her some small advantage, and she’d orchestrated it with her usual meticulous precision. “When shall I tell Captain Ritter to expect you?”
Cruz took his time answering, enjoying watching her. She looked completely composed, every inch the tough lady cop. He dropped his gaze to give her another thorough once-over. Although her face remained devoid of expression, her annoyance showed in the sudden clenching of her slender fingers around the strap of her purse. The corners of his mouth quirked. Detective Sergeant Madeline Casey wasn’t as emotionless as she would have him believe.
“I’ll go home and change first,” he finally replied, looking up at her again. “Tell him I’ll be there in about an hour and a half.”
Madeline nodded and turned away, walking swiftly back to her car. She was no longer certain that she had gained an advantage in that encounter.
It was closer to two hours before Cruz showed up at the Southwest District headquarters, where he was stationed. He was ushered immediately into Captain Ritter’s office. He hesitated in the doorway in surprise. Already seated across from the captain was Madeline Casey. Cruz crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him.
Striding to the desk, he exchanged a handshake with the other man. “Captain.” Don Ritter had a long, narrow face with sagging jowls and deep-set eyes. He’d always reminded Cruz of a gloomy basset hound, but there was nothing wrong with the man’s mind. He was fully apprised of the details of his detectives’ caseloads, and little got by him.
“Detective Martinez.” Ritter motioned for him to take a seat next to Madeline. “Sorry to summon you in like this on your day off.”
“No problem.”
“I believe you met Detective Casey earlier.”
Cruz’s attention was once again diverted to the woman in the room, and grinned. “Detective Sergeant Madeline Casey. How nice to see you. Again.”
“Detective.” She nodded shortly. His dark hair was combed back and he’d replaced his earlier clothes with a pair of battered jeans, white shirt and cowboy boots. The jeans were obviously a favorite, well-worn and supple. The shirt was by no means new, but the stark contrast between it and his dark good looks was hard to ignore. The boots were the only incongruous aspect in the picture he made. In contrast to the worn clothes, they gleamed with polish. He looked only slightly more formally dressed than he had this morning, and no less dangerous.
Cruz dropped into the chair next to Madeline, keeping her in his line of vision. Her hair lacked the highlights it had glinted with in the sunlight, the fluorescent lights overhead turning it a pure dark red. She had it pulled back and wrapped in some sort of knot at her nape- a twist, he thought his sisters called it. He wondered how long it was and whether he’d ever see it hanging loose. The moment she turned her head to look at him, he caught his breath. Her eyes, which had been hidden by her sunglasses earlier, were a pure grass green, and tilted at the edges, like a cat’s. She was one hell of a good-looking woman, although not pretty in the insipid tradition preferred by fashion these days. Her mouth was a little too wide, her lips a bit too full to be conventional. She reminded him vaguely of that red-haired movie actress whose name he could never recall.
“Detective Casey will be joining us here at the Southwest District,” the captain told Cruz. “She’s being transferred in.”
Silently wondering how that information was supposed to affect him, Cruz quizzed, “What district are you transferring from?”
“The Northeast.” She stared at him steadily. “Know anybody there?”
He thought for a moment then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The room was silent for a moment, before Captain Ritter cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t want to tie you up the rest of the day, Detective Martinez, so I’ll get right to the point. I wanted to talk to you about that string of drive-by shootings you’ve been working on.”
Cruz nodded. “I think some were the work of rival gangs establishing turf, and others were probably retaliatory shootings. Of course, I don’t have much yet. The cases just recently got dropped in my lap.”
“I had a meeting with the police commissioner yesterday,” Ritter informed them. “The department has reason to believe that there’s a large-scale supplier who’s putting automatic assault weapons in the hands of these kids. There have been several other cases recently in which similar guns have been involved. Homicides, robberies, that attempted bank holdup at the First National?” His tone questioned whether Cruz had heard of it. He inclined his head, indicating he had. “We’ve seen more assault weapons used in crimes in the last few months than in the entire previous year.”
Cruz nodded. Drive-by shootings were alarmingly commonplace, but it had been the selection of guns that made these even more dangerous. AK-47s had been the weapon of choice in all the crimes the captain had mentioned, and that was an ominous similarity. Use of assault weapons in the commission of crimes was up seventeen per cent across the city this year. Cruz had never much believed in coincidence, and he had to agree with Ritter. Someone was selling these guns on the street, at prices too low for the gangs to resist.
“What I want, Detective,” Captain Ritter continued, resting his elbows on his desk and leaning forward, “is for you to drop everything else and concentrate your investigation on the supplier of these weapons. I want him found and stopped as soon as possible. If you’re right about these drive-by shootings being gang related, that means the weapons are already in the hands of kids. I hate to think of how widespread the distribution already is. I’ve already had your other cases reassigned.”
Cruz couldn’t keep his surprise from his expression. This investigation had to be critical to warrant clearing his caseload. It was customary for a detective to work on several cases at the same time, and only rarely had he ever been ordered to drop everything to concentrate on one matter, as the captain was requesting. But he hated being relieved of cases after he’d already become involved in them. “It sounds like the drive-bys might be related in some way to the distributor,” he said slowly. “I’d be glad to continue that investigation while working on the supply angle.”
Ritter shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I want all your time available to wrap up this investigation as soon as possible.” He hesitated, and then continued. “I was telling Detective Casey earlier that you’re one of the best detectives in the district.” He paused, but Cruz didn’t respond to the compliment. “That’s why I’m assigning you as her partner, for the duration of this case.”
Like hell, Cruz wanted to say, but swallowed the words. Diplomacy was a gift and, with the captain, a necessity. He remained bonelessly molded to his chair, and when he spoke his tone was mild. “I usually work alone.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I prefer it that way.” Cruz felt compelled to continue. He turned his head to include Madeline. “No offense to my would-be partner,”
“Will-be partner,” Ritter corrected him. “That’s the way it’s going to be, Detective, at least on this case. You two can start pairing up tomorrow.”
His tone brooked no argument, and Cruz subsided. With one last long look at Madeline, he rose and left the room.
She started to follow him, but Ritter stopped her. “Shut the door, Sergeant. I have something else I want to discuss with you.”
Madeline obeyed, and returned to her seat. The look on the captain’s face would have been a glower had it appeared on another’s countenance. It only made his features appear more hang dog. However, there was nothing comical about the suppressed steel in his voice. “I know you didn’t choose this assignment, Detective Casey, but I feel compelled to share with you my distaste for it.” He gave her another fierce look, daring her to respond, but she remained silent. “I met with your captain at Internal Affairs yesterday, and I have to tell you, this whole mess bothers me. A lot. I don’t like Internal Affairs running undercover cases in my district, conducting investigations on my men. I especially don’t like it when one of my best detectives is under suspicion.”
“I understand, sir.”
His brows met over his nose at her even response. He rose to pace around the desk. “Martinez is a great detective. Uncanny instincts. He’s got the best record for closed cases in the district. He’s also on the fast track for lieutenant. One breath of scandal could freeze his career for good.”
“I assure you, Captain, one thing Internal Affairs trains us in is discretion.”
The man snorted. “You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t buy that. I’ve been around longer than you have, and I’ve seen a lot more. I don’t believe for one second that Cruz Martinez is involved in the supply of illegal weapons, or that you’ll find one shred of evidence to prove otherwise. But I am warning you, Casey-” he pointed a finger at her “-not to botch this case. Because if even a hint gets out that the job is looking at Martinez, I’ll hold you personally responsible. Do I make myself clear?”
She returned his stare calmly. “Perfectly.”
He frowned for a few more moments, but when she said nothing else, he waved her away. “You can go. I understand your captain at Internal Affairs wants to see you this afternoon.”
With his warning still ringing in her ears, Madeline rose and left the room.
As unpleasant as the final scene with Ritter had been, Madeline would rather have relived it than meet with Captain Brewer. Although the meeting was set for three o’clock sharp, she cooled her heels outside his office for almost half an hour before he was ready for her. Chronic tardiness was only one of Brewer’s less endearing traits. Even worse was his tendency to brief her on a case by presenting her with the file, then proceeding to lecture her on its contents. She’d never been able to figure out whether he did it to all his officers, or if he did it specifically to annoy her. She suspected the latter.
Once she’d been ushered into his office he had her report on every detail of her meeting with Martinez and Ritter that day. Twice.
“So you found him playing basketball, eh?” Brewer repeated. “How’d he look to you?”
Madeline’s face was blank. “Look?” Her powers of observation and her memory were legendary in the department, but she had a feeling that this man’s appearance wouldn’t have escaped even the dullest-witted woman. There was definitely something about Cruz Martinez that left a lasting impression.
“You know,” Brewer said impatiently. “How did he seem?”
She was quiet for a moment, wondering what the man was getting at. Finally she said, “He seemed… sweaty, sir.”
Brewer glanced sharply at her, but Madeline’s face was expressionless. “Very funny, Detective Casey. But what’s he like? How did you read him?”
Madeline knew it would do no good to point out how difficult it was to form an accurate assessment of somebody after being in his presence twenty minutes. And she would rather have her tongue cut out than share some of the impressions she had formed of the man. She took her time answering. “He seemed confident. Self-assured. I didn’t detect any nervousness about being asked to come in and speak to Ritter.” She shrugged. “If you’re asking me what kind of cop he is, I don’t have the answer to that yet. Although his captain seems to hold him in high regard.”
Brewer merely grunted at this. “And you’re sure he doesn’t have any contacts in the Northeast District who he can call to check up on you?”
Her tone was bored. “It appears the information in his file was correct on that score. And he said he didn’t.”
“Good, then, good.”
If Cruz talked to someone in the Northeast District, the investigation would be in jeopardy. He’d find out that Madeline had been placed there at one time, but had transferred out five years ago. And then he would wonder what she’d been doing in the time since.
“You say you’ve never met him before today?”
Madeline gritted her teeth. The man could get a job as a human echo. He seemed compelled to repeat everything she said. “No, sir, I haven’t.
“Neither have I,” mused the captain, “but I’ve certainly heard of him.” He eyed her shrewdly. “Surely you’ve heard of him, Casey.”
Madeline shook her head.
“Supposed to be a great detective,” the man informed her. “One of the best. His captain’s not the only one who thinks so. But I would have figured that you would have at least heard the rumors about him.”
Her lips thinned. “I’m not much for listening to rumors, Captain.” Actually, that was a huge understatement. Having been the subject of ugly speculation herself, she detested anything that resembled gossip. But she knew that wouldn’t stop Brewer from repeating his, and he did so, with obvious relish.
“He’s earned himself some interesting nicknames. Latin Lover. Casanova.” The captain smirked. “I understand he’s quite a player. His reputed success with women is famous throughout the department.”
Madeline schooled her features into an impassive mask. “What does that have to do with this case?”
“Nothing,” the man said with deceptive mildness. “Just thought you’d be interested. It wasn’t included in that file you read on him, was it?”
Although her spine remained straight, her gaze unswerving, Madeline could feel her control slip a notch or two. The man was really incredibly irritating. “No, sir.”
“I assume you’ve already memorized the file’s contents?”
She nodded shortly, bored with his little games.
Brewer picked up a flat piece of granite that he used as a paperweight from his desk top. Leaning back in his chair, he began tossing it from hand to hand. “And?”
Feeling somewhat like a trained circus seal, she quickly recited what she’d learned. “A couple of weeks ago an informant told one of our men that a cop was involved in these arms sales. A cop who was also involved in one of the investigations having to do with their use. By finding out what was being investigated, and who was assigned, you came up with a list of five detectives, any one of whom might be the cop the snitch was talking about. Each of the five is being paired with an undercover detective from Internal Affairs. I’m to find out how Martinez lives, if he seems to have an extra source of income and who his associates are.” She stopped here, her face showing none of the distaste she felt for the case. Hers was an inherently private nature, and everything in her shrank from the obvious prying that would have to be done here, especially to another cop. She had a question of her own to ask. “How reliable is the snitch?”
“He’s proven reliable in the past, but we won’t be using him again. Three days after he gave us that information he was found in a Dumpster, full of bullet holes.”
“Then how do you know he wasn’t wrong, or feeding you a line?”
This time it was the captain’s turn to shrug. “We don’t. Which is why we can’t get warrants to look at the detectives’ bank accounts without more info. But this could be potentially damaging enough to the department that we have to check them all out. The brass will be breathing down my neck if we don’t find something soon.”
“If Martinez is as great a detective as we hear,” she observed, “he would surely be smart enough to hide any money he had gotten illegally.”
Brewer looked impatient. “Maybe, maybe not. You just do your job. If you uncover something in the course of the case that points to Martinez’s involvement, turn it over to us and we’ll have him removed from the assignment, pending a thorough investigation. You of all people should know how it works, Casey.”
Her lips tightened at the gibe. Yes, she knew how it worked. He could have been referring to her five years’ experience working for Internal Affairs, but she doubted it. The captain had a knack for returning to unpleasant memories, like touching a bruise over and over. She would have liked to make a scathing retort, but she swallowed it. Her voice was even when she asked, “Is there any other information you have on Martinez that I should know about?”
The granite piece made a slap against the man’s palm as he tossed it back and forth. “Not much. I have heard that he grew up in the barrio, on the northeast side of the city. That’s part of his local-boy-makes-good mystique.”
“He wouldn’t be the first person to grow up motivated to succeed.”
The captain stopped his game of catch and stared hard at her. “He wouldn’t be the first to grow up to want more, either. A lot more. I’m not making judgments about whether he’s a dirty cop. That’s your job. You find out and report to me. If he’s clean, fine. If not, we’ll nail him. At the same time you’ll find the dirt bag arming every two-bit punk in the city. Just watch yourself, Casey. From what I’ve heard, Martinez is one smooth operator, on and off the streets.” The rock flew in an arc again, and he caught it with his other hand.
She ignored his smirk, as well as his suggestive words. Not trusting herself to say anything more, she rose and turned toward the door.
“Oh, and Casey, I’ll expect complete written reports from you weekly.”
She gritted her teeth. Paperwork was the bane of any detective’s job, and she hated it with passionate intensity. She left the room, wishing darkly that the piece of granite would slip and knock Brewer on the head.
Hard.
Cruz stretched his long legs out in the recliner, sipping the beer Michele Easton McLain had just handed him. Michele sat on the couch next to her husband, Connor.
“To what do we owe the honor?” inquired Connor lazily, referring to his best friend’s unexpected appearance.
“Connor, don’t be rude,” his wife admonished him. “Cruz is welcome here anytime.”
“That’s right, pal,” Cruz echoed. “Anytime.” He winked at him. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Well, not anytime,” Connor corrected him, a glint of amusement in his pale green eyes. “Michele still insists on getting me to bed pretty early, you know.” He heaved a mock sigh, ignoring his wife’s narrowed look. “Marriage! What can I say, I have to do what I can to keep her happy…” His words were muffled by the pillow she swatted him with.
Cruz laughed along with them. “Yeah, I can see what a strain it’s putting on you. I was just telling Michele how weak you were looking. If you need any help in that area, just give me a call. I’m always ready to help out, buddy.”
“Forget it,” Connor shot back. “I’m sure your services are in great demand elsewhere.”
“Well, since you’re out of circulation, amigo, there are lots of devastated women out there, and they are so lonely. I do what I can.”
From long practice Michele ignored their bantering. “Are you still dating Jill, Cruz?” she inquired. “You haven’t brought anyone around since we all got together to celebrate your promotion.”
“I still see her occasionally. But I’ve been pretty busy lately.”
“The department has been keeping his nose to the grindstone,” Connor informed his wife. Addressing Cruz, he added, “I heard you picked up those cases on the drive-by shootings.”
His friend grimaced. “They were my cases. Not anymore, as of today.”
“Why, what happened?”
“I was summoned to the captain’s office today.” His brows lowered again just thinking about that interview. “He more or less ordered me to drop the case and concentrate on the supplier of the guns. He’s reassigned my caseload, so I guess I don’t have any choice. But what I want to know is, why me?”
“Must be your ‘atta boy’ file,” Connor said, only half joking. Cruz’s personnel folder was impressively filled with commendations, and Connor knew firsthand what a good cop the man was. They’d been rookies together, then partners. Their friendship had grown until they were as close as brothers. Later they had chosen different paths in the department, Cruz gravitating toward undercover work and Connor working his way up the officer ranks. But when Cruz had returned to plainclothes duty a couple of years ago, they had ended up in the same district. Whenever Connor was given a particularly sticky case to supervise, he always requested that Cruz be part of the investigation. He was among the few men on earth whom Connor trusted implicitly.
Cruz interrupted his thoughts. “Yeah, he started on that bullshit, talked about my record, but I still wonder…” He shook his head. “Heck, you know me, I guess I just can’t stand to have investigations yanked when I’m just getting into them. Plus,” he added morosely, “he assigned me a partner.”
Connor smiled in commiseration. “Bad luck, friend. I know you like to work solo.” He picked up Michele’s hand, threading their fingers together. Turning to her, he said in an aside, “I’m sure his new partner won’t be as handsome as his first one.”
Cruz slouched deeper into his chair. “Has your ugly mug beat hands down,” he contradicted mildly. “And he’s a she.”
“Your new partner is a woman?” Michele asked interestedly.
“Ritter obviously doesn’t know as much about you as he claims to,” Connor gibed, “or he would have heard that no female is safe from you.”
“Can I help it if I’m friendly?” His two friends laughed. The phone rang then, and Michele went to the kitchen to answer it.
“Who is she?” Connor asked. “Maybe I know her.”
“I doubt it. Beautiful redheads were never your type. Her name is Madeline Casey.”
“Casey?” Connor thought a moment then shook his head. “Haven’t heard of her. How experienced a detective is she?”
Cruz shrugged. “That’s just it, I don’t know. She’s transferring in, and I’m stuck with her, unless Ritter changes his mind.”
“Ritter?” Connor echoed. “Change his mind?” He shook his head. “Give up that hope. Sounds like you and Casey are joined at the hip, at least for the time being.”
Michele rejoined them and said to Connor, “That was your mother. She wants us to come to dinner on Sunday. Your sister is going to be home.”
“Sherry?” His interest was captured. “We haven’t seen her since our wedding.”
As his friends’ conversation turned for a moment to family, Cruz tuned out. Joined at the hip. That wouldn’t have been his choice of words, though it brought something anatomically close to mind. Madeline Casey was too head-turning to escape attention. Amid the male atmosphere of the basketball game, her cool, composed beauty had stood out in vivid contrast. She had presented a dispassionate pose throughout the day, but when he’d looked closer he’d been able to see hints of the woman beneath. Though her face had remained impassive throughout the meeting with Ritter, there had been a slight twist to her mouth when the man had mentioned Cruz’s record with the department. Of course, he acknowledged silently, he wouldn’t have noticed that small hint of emotion if his attention hadn’t strayed, again and again, to those shapely lips.
He stared unseeingly at the empty beer bottle in his hand. He wouldn’t be happy about having any partner assigned to him, but the fact that this one was a woman didn’t have anything to do with his bias. He didn’t doubt his ability to concentrate on the case at hand, regardless of whom he worked with. He’d been accused in the past of having a one-track mind, and that was probably true, when it came to his work. Every case was like a jigsaw puzzle with just a jumble of pieces at the beginning, each clue, each piece of information to be joined to reconstruct the whole picture. His analytical mind enjoyed the challenge, his determination was the drive that solved most of his investigations. He’d also been at it long enough that he trusted his own instincts, and didn’t relish having to explain them to a partner. He hadn’t worked with one for any length of time since Connor.
His mouth kicked up at one corner. But if he was going to be saddled with one, he thought wickedly, it sure didn’t hurt that she was so easy on the eyes.
His gaze shifted to the couple on the couch across from him. When their heads moved closer together, Cruz felt an uncustomary stab of envy. He was damn happy for Connor’s good fortune in meeting Michele. It was a miracle that the other man had finally found a woman he trusted. And the way they’d met had seemed predestined. Michele worked as a child psychologist, but it wasn’t in her professional capacity that she had come to district headquarters to speak to Connor a year ago. They’d been investigating a rash of kidnappings in the area and Michele had information to give them, information revealed to her through her clairvoyant senses. Connor had fought believing her, and in her psychic dreams. But in the end it was Michele who had helped solve the case and save Connor’s life.
He didn’t begrudge his friend his wife, and Connor damn sure deserved some happiness. Cruz didn’t suffer from loneliness often. But occasionally with Connor and Michele, or watching his own parents who’d been married almost forty years, he experienced an indefinable yearning for… something. Something more.
He shook off the unfamiliar melancholy impatiently. His life was perfect just the way it was. He knew a lot of people, and his leisure time was as social as he wanted it. He’d never met a woman yet who couldn’t be forgotten easily when he became involved in a case. Most of the females of his acquaintance didn’t seem to mind waiting around until he had time for them again. And those who did mind weren’t missed.
Connor spoke then, interrupting his thoughts. “C’mon, Cruz, settle our argument. Michele still thinks of those little family discussions we get into at my parents as fights. Explain to her the dynamics of sibling conversation.”
“You’ll never understand,” Cruz told Michele patiently, “being an only child yourself. But there’s no such thing as arguing among brothers and sisters. It’s all the art of negotiation and compromise, and merely improves our communication abilities.” His eyes twinkled. “Surely you’ve read that in those child psychology texts of yours.”
“What I have read,” Michele replied dryly, “tells me that you two are full of it. You both just enjoy getting things stirred up and then sitting back to watch the fireworks.”
The men laughed. “I think she’s got your number,” Cruz told Connor, “although she’s completely wrong about me.”
“Yeah, right,” Connor retorted good-naturedly. “Can I get you another beer?”
Cruz shook his head and rose. “I think I’ll be heading home. I’ve got a new partner to break in tomorrow, remember?” He said goodbye to Michele and then Connor walked out to the porch with him.
“Don’t get too chummy with Madeline Casey,” his friend advised him. “Sounds like this could turn into a high-profile case. You don’t need any distractions.”
“Your concern is touching, but I can take care of myself,” Cruz responded. “Especially,” he added in a drawl, “where women are concerned.”
“Do not,” stressed Connor, staring hard at him, “start thinking of her as a woman. That would be your first mistake”
“Sorry, buddy.” Cruz slapped him on the shoulder and headed for the car. “But it would be impossible to think of her as anything else.”