Madeline hurriedly scraped her long wet tresses back from her face with a wide-tooth comb. She winced as she hit a snarl, and rapidly braided the mass, pinning it up off her neck. She walked quickly out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, checking the clock to see if she had time for coffee. She grimaced when she saw the hour. A phone call from her father had upset her daily routine, and now she had just barely enough time to get to work. She didn’t like to hurry, not in anything. And she detested being late. She picked up the blazer that matched her navy slacks and slipped it on over her white blouse. Scooping up her purse, she found her keys and headed out the door.
As she drove toward the Southwest District headquarters she reflected upon that phone call. Her father had called to summon her-there was no other word for it, she thought darkly-to his home for dinner. She looked forward to their monthly dinners with the same anticipation she reserved for root canals, and had valiantly attempted to come up with a legitimate excuse to cry off, to no avail. People didn’t say no to city councilman Geoffrey Casey often. He didn’t allow it.
After thirty years of practice, the man could make her feel guilty with a single word, or with one meaning-filled moment of silence. Even knowing she was being manipulated didn’t make it possible for her to turn those feelings off. It was easier to give in to the inevitable and try to prepare herself for the ordeal of spending an evening with him and get it over with.
Or that’s what she’d told herself. But after hanging up the phone she’d mentally berated herself for failing to stand up to him. Not for the first time she wished that she, like her older brother, had moved far away from Philadelphia. Not that Kevin had moved, exactly; fled would be a better word. If being Geoffrey Casey’s daughter was unpleasant, being his son was intolerable.
Madeline pushed aside thoughts of her family as she parked the car and strode toward the building that housed the Southwest District headquarters. She had left Martinez a message yesterday that she would meet him there. After inquiring about his whereabouts at the front desk, she made her way through the maze of desks and cabinets, and found him propped against the edge of his desk, talking to several other officers. One of the men noticed her first, and stopped in midsentence.
“Well, hello,” the officer greeted her in a drawl, his gaze sweeping her figure appreciatively. “Can I help you?”
Some women might enjoy having four men watch her approach with avid interest. Madeline wasn’t one of them. She ignored the look, and the suggestion in the man’s voice. “No.” She turned to look at Cruz. “Are you ready to go to work?”
“Sure,” he answered, a slight smile on his face. He noticed the other men’s curiosity and made introductions. “Madeline, meet Officers Brent, Nolan and Detective Ryan.” He indicated each man in turn. “Guys, this is Detective Sergeant Madeline Casey. She’s new to the district.” He allowed that to sink in before adding, “She’s also my new partner.”
“Yeah, right, partner in what, Martinez?” jeered Brent, the man who had greeted her. “This will be department business, won’t it, kids?”
Before Cruz could frame a reply Madeline did it for him. “I’m sure the department would greatly appreciate it if you men would attend to your jobs and let us do ours.” Her voice was even, but her no-nonsense manner had the three men backing off slowly.
“Yeah, sure,” muttered Nolan. He lifted a hand. “Talk to you later, Cruz.” He and Ryan sauntered off, and Brent trailed behind them.
Cruz cocked an eyebrow, his gaze slipping from her to the departing men, then back to Madeline. “That’s quite a gift. Did you have to take a special course to learn how to impress people like that?”
Madeline pulled up an extra chair to sit it next to his desk. “I wasn’t trying to impress them. I was trying to get rid of them.”
As she seated herself, Cruz walked around to his own chair. “Well, you certainly managed that.” He wondered if she was aware that giving men the cold shoulder like that would pique their interest, not dampen it. From the looks of the woman, she didn’t much care. The corner of his mouth lifted. This was getting more and more interesting. He sat down and picked up two file folders and handed them to her. “I copied everything I had so far on the drive-by shootings. Then I found what I could on the rash of other crimes lately involving AK-47s. Take some time and go through these.”
Madeline frowned slightly as she took the files from him. “I thought the drive-by shootings were being reassigned to someone else since we’re working on the supply angle.”
“They are. But we’re going to have to start somewhere. Our best chance of finding the supplier is through one of his customers.”
That made sense, so Madeline subsided and began reading through the first file. Cruz left for a short time and came back with two steaming cups of coffee and placed one of them in front of her. She reached out to take it, not looking up from her reading.
The files were thick and it took her more than an hour to go through them. When she finally finished, she rubbed the back of her neck, which ached from being bent over in her reading. She looked at Cruz, who was leaning back in his chair. His booted feet were crossed atop the desk, alarmingly close to his still half-full cup of coffee, and he was flipping through the pages of a report.
He glanced up, catching her gaze. “So, what do you think?” he asked.
“I think the sooner we nail the guy selling these guns, the sooner the streets will become a little bit safer,” she responded. At least for a while. Until the next crook came along, looking to get rich and not being too concerned about how he did it. She couldn’t help but be sickened by the reports of the bodies, mostly teens and young men, who had been shot by persons unknown. Persons wielding some of the most deadly weaponry available on this continent.
She looked at the man next to her. He was frowning slightly at the report in his hand. Was it possible that he was mixed up in these arms deals? And if he was, how would he handle having a totally unwanted partner assigned to him? Would he try to lead the investigation astray, destroy evidence or file false reports? Any of these means would be a way to deflect guilt from himself, but all would be harder to do with another detective at his side. Madeline hated the thought of having to examine his every word, every action, looking for possible signs of incrimination. But that was exactly what she would have to do if she was to complete the job Brewer had assigned her.
She wondered, for what seemed like the hundredth time, why she had been picked for this case. She detested duplicity in any form. After the fiasco that had brought scrutiny to her own private life, she’d vowed to remain painfully honest in her dealings with others. Madeline wished she could believe that it was only her capabilities as a police detective that had affected Brewer’s decision in pairing her with Martinez. But she knew the captain too well not to doubt his motives. If he’d thought that her role in the investigation would make her uncomfortable, that alone would have accounted for his decision.
She sighed silently. She should have known. Life had been going along a little too smoothly lately. Others might disagree, arguing that “boring” was a more accurate description of her life. But Madeline had had enough excitement while she’d known Dennis Belding to last her a lifetime. She would take uneventful any day.
She surveyed the file in front of her with a slight frown. She had a feeling that her partnership with Cruz Martinez was not, by any stretch of the imagination, going to be uneventful.
“So, you’ve already questioned the victim’s family in each of the drive-bys,” Madeline said, nodding at the files. “And you found that all the victims belonged to some kind of gang.”
Cruz nodded. “Each of them was wearing gang colors when they were shot. But when the families gave me the names of their sons’ friends to talk to, I hit a brick wall. All of those friends are fellow gang members, and they don’t like talking to cops. I haven’t gotten anywhere interviewing them.”
“Counting the one earlier this week, that’s seven incidents involving three different gangs,” she noted. “Sounds like we should be expecting another shooting any day.”
He eased lower in his chair and smiled a little. The lady was sharp, he’d give her that. Of course, it was just a guess, but he’d already arrived at a similar conclusion. The gangs had kept busy trading bullets with each other, but this was the first time that a member of the Lords had been shot. It didn’t require a major leap of logic to guess that it was only a matter of time before the Lords retaliated.
Cruz tossed a picture across the top of the file folder in front of her. “Have you seen one of these before?”
“It’s an AK-47 automatic assault weapon,” she murmured, picking up the picture and examining it cursorily.
“Right. And until recently, these babies would have been hard to get.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “So, Detective Casey, let me pick your brain. What angle do you think we should pursue first?”
Madeline ignored the way the casual pose accentuated his well- defined torso. She answered his question surely. “I’d like to talk to the perp they collared trying to hold up the bank with one of these. What’s his name? Which district is he being held in?”
“Randy Stover, and he’s in the South,” Cruz answered. “But we’re not likely to get anything out of him. I heard he isn’t talking.”
“That’s a little unusual. He was caught in the act, right?” At his nod, she continued, “They’ve got witnesses, the weapon and fingerprints. By now he should be copping a plea.”
Cruz shrugged. “Maybe he will. But the one thing he isn’t doing is telling anyone where he got the gun.”
“I’d still like to talk to him,” she answered. At Cruz’s silence, she raised an eyebrow. “Well, wouldn’t you?”
He was silent so long that she almost repeated her question. Finally he responded. “Okay. I’ll set it up.”
He turned to the phone on his desk and began dialing. Madeline studied him silently as he spoke into the receiver. She wondered at his unwillingness to follow through on her suggestion. Was he afraid the perp might identify him as being involved in the supply? Or was it simpler than that? Perhaps he just didn’t believe it would lead anywhere.
When he hung up the phone and looked at her, his face was expressionless. “It’s all set. Let’s go.” Madeline followed him out of the squad room, wondering if she’d imagined his reluctance.
She slid into the front seat of the navy Crown Vic, and Cruz got behind the wheel. He turned on the ignition and glanced at her. “We’ll trade off driving, if that’s all right with you. Tomorrow will be your turn.”
His offer took her by surprise, but since she really preferred to do her own driving, she readily agreed. “All right.”
He expertly turned the car into the traffic. “How long have you been with the department?”
So he was a talker. That shouldn’t have surprised her. He had a free and easy manner guaranteed to put the most anxious person at ease. However, Madeline would have preferred to skip the small talk. She was normally very reserved; even as a child she’d difficulty making friends. But the best way to find out things about Cruz Martinez, things that would aid in the investigation she was assigned to do on him, was to divulge some information about herself. Then he would have to reciprocate.
“Over ten years.”
That would make her about thirty, Cruz estimated. Four years younger than himself.
“How about you, Detective?”
He took his eyes off the traffic long enough to shoot her a half smile. “Detective’ sounds kind of formal. Won’t we get each other mixed up? Call me Cruz.” When she didn’t respond, he added coaxingly, “And I’ll call you Madeline. Or do you prefer Maddy?”
She turned her heard slowly to throw him a lethal look. “Don’t… you… dare.”
“Madeline it is, then.” He made sure his amusement didn’t show. With her hair pulled back, and dressed in those neatly tailored clothes, she did look like a Madeline. But in something softer, more alluring, with her hair loosened to spill down her neck, then he thought she would resemble a Maddy. But now wasn’t the time for such imaginings, and he pushed the mental picture away.
“I’ve been on the force fourteen years,” he answered her belatedly. “My grandfather was a cop. So were two of my uncles. I grew up thinking it was the greatest thing in the world to be.” He shrugged. “Once on the force, I got hooked by the glamour of the job.” His humor drew a smile from her. Sometimes tedious, other times gritty and horrifying, police work bore little resemblance to the way it was often depicted by Hollywood.
“How about you?” he inquired.
“What?”
“Why did you become a cop?”
Madeline thought for a few moments, wondering if she could answer the question truthfully, without sounding like an idealistic fool. Only her father had ever asked her that question before, and he hadn’t been interested in a truthful answer. He’d always regarded her choice of career as an attempt to spite him. No matter how often she’d tried to explain it to him, he’d never really heard her, so after a while she’d stopped trying. “I wanted to make a difference,” she responded finally, looking out the window at her side.
“And have you?”
She turned back to stare at him.
“Made a difference?” he clarified.
In the dark of night, after a particularly brutal case, that was a question that always hammered away inside her mind with an insidious pounding. Had she? “I don’t know,” she answered. “Sometimes I wonder.” Her hand went to the car radio. “Mind if I change the station?”
He quirked a brow. “You’re not a fan of country western music?”
“It all sounds the same. Lo-o-ove hurts,” she mimicked with a twang.
That surprised a gust of laughter from him. “Well, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not supposed to,” she muttered, flipping channels until she finally settled on one playing soft rock.
She probably didn’t realize how much she’d just revealed with that last comment, Cruz mused silently. And she most certainly hadn’t meant her tone to sound so wistful just then. He was becoming intrigued. There was a great deal more to her than met the eye, certainly more than the aura she attempted to exude, that of the cool, capable detective. Not that the image was false, but he was sure she was a damned sight more. Still, he recognized her retreat for what it was, so he obliged her by going silent.
After several minutes Madeline glanced at him warily. He seemed to have dropped the conversational ball and was now whistling tunelessly to the music on the radio. He must have found trying to converse with her tough going, and she sighed inwardly. As much as she hated to, she needed to get on a friendly footing with the man. He seemed so open; it might prove easy to find out much of the preliminary information about his life directly from him. And the things he didn’t want to share… well, it was her job to find those things out on her own.
Her gaze dropped to the steering wheel where his hands rested, one doing most of the driving and the fingers of the other tapping to the beat coming from the radio. His plain, light blue shirt accented his bronzed good looks, although she doubted a color existed that wouldn’t suit him. The long sleeves were rolled up partway to reveal strong wrists, the forearms above them lightly dusted with black hair. She noticed for the first time the thick silver bracelet he wore on his right wrist. It was an intricately woven chain, about three-quarters of an inch wide. Strangely enough, it didn’t detract from his masculine looks, nor did the cross he was wearing in his ear. She didn’t know much about jewelry but if the bracelet was expensive maybe it could be considered evidence that he was living above his means. Then, just as quickly, she wondered if it was a gift from a lover, and was strangely discomfited by the thought.
Her gaze slid downward. Today he was wearing a different pair of cowboy boots, and she made a mental note to find out what such a pair cost. As much as she disliked delving into his personal life, Brewer would be expecting at least a preliminary report on Martinez by next week, and she’d better have something for the captain by that time.
He was dressed only slightly more formally than he had been yesterday; at least the jeans he was wearing today looked fairly new. She had trouble tearing her gaze away from his hard thighs faithfully outlined by the denim.
“Like them?”
Madeline’s eyes bounced to Cruz’s at the question. “Pardon me?”
“The boots.” He pointed. “You were staring. I asked if you liked the boots.”
Her breathing became normal again. Of course, the boots. “They look expensive,” she said casually.
He shrugged and gave her a wink. “My one vice.”
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She had no doubt that the man beside her could give lessons on vice. And with that face and physique, he probably had plenty of eager pupils.
At the South District headquarters they were kept waiting almost an hour before they were motioned to by Stover’s arresting officer, Ronald Lee. They followed him to a small interrogation room. Waiting there was a man wearing the county jail uniform. Seated next to him at a table was a man in a double-breasted suit.
“This is Detective Casey and Detective Martinez.” The officer indicated each as he spoke. Motioning to the man in prison garb, he continued, “Randy Stover and his lawyer, Sam Powell, from the Public Defender’s Office.” Madeline and Cruz sat across from the men and the officer remained standing.
Madeline surveyed the alleged criminal before her. Narrow faced, with a receding hairline and thin body, his eyes were shifting between her and Cruz. “Already told him,” he jerked his head at the officer. “I got nothing to say.”
“Neither of you detectives were involved in the arrest.” Powell spoke up. “What do you want with my client?”
“We have permission to interview him about a case we’re working on.” Cruz took a picture out of his shirt pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Stover. “I’m told they’ve got an AK-47 just like that one with your fingerprints all over it.”
The man didn’t answer. Cruz went on easily. “It’s not like you’re admitting to anything we don’t already know. The gun’s in the evidence room right now.”
“Yeah, so what?”
“So,” Madeline interjected, “we’d like to know where you got it.”
Stover snorted derisively.
Cruz turned to ask the officer, “Did he have papers for it?”
The man shook his head. “We didn’t find any.”
“So if you don’t have papers-” Cruz addressed Stover again “-you got it from someone on the street. We want to know who.”
The prisoner looked at his lawyer. “They offering me a deal, or what?”
Powell looked at Cruz and Madeline. “Detectives?”
Cruz shook his head. “That would be up to the D.A. But if you cooperated with us, I’d make sure it got on the record, so things could go easier for you at sentencing.”
Stover crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “If you ain’t got nothing to deal with, don’t waste my time.”
“Do you know Victor Ramirez?” Madeline inquired. The man shook his head and she continued. “How about Tyson Greene?” Another shake. She named off each of the victims of the drive-by shootings, and each time the man responded negatively.
Cruz stared at her in surprise. She wasn’t consulting any notes, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. As far as he knew, she hadn’t heard any of those names before she’d read them in the file today. The lady must have one hell of a memory.
“What you have in common with those boys, Mr. Stover,” Madeline continued in a hard voice, “is that you were caught using a weapon like this-” she indicated the picture “-and each of them was shot by the same kind of gun. We’re interested in that coincidence.”
The man’s eyes widened. “What! You can’t pin them shootings on me, too.” His head swiveled to his lawyer’s. “They can’t, can they?”
“Do you have any evidence to suggest a link between my client and any of these other shootings, Detective?” Powell asked.
Madeline replied smoothly, “Not yet, but we’re just getting started. The point we’re making is that your client has information we can use to nail the supplier of these weapons. If he doesn’t want to cooperate with us, fine. But then we’d have some free time to fill. And we might use that time to check up on his alibis for each of these shootings. That’s assuming, of course, that he has alibis.”
“Go ahead,” Stover invited in an insolent tone. “You guys are just fishing. Think I don’t know that?”
“Detectives, I’d like a couple of minutes to confer with my client in private,” Powell said finally.
Madeline, Cruz and Officer Lee stepped out of the room. “Do you really think there’s a link between Stover and those shootings?” Lee asked them.
Cruz shrugged, looking at Madeline. “Do we?”
“Who knows? None of the shooters have been identified yet. But if Stover thinks we’re going to try to hang him for some other crimes as well, he might be more likely to talk.”
That didn’t turn out to be the case. When they reentered the room Powell brusquely informed them, “My client has no knowledge of the shootings you mentioned. And he isn’t going to answer any more of your questions. If you manage to work something out with the D.A., he might have some information of interest to you regarding the person who sold him the gun.”
Officer Lee escorted Stover back to his cell, and Madeline and Cruz walked out.
“How much pull do you have with Brad Jacobs, the D.A.?” she asked.
Cruz shook his head as he guessed her reason for asking. “None, and even if I had some, it wouldn’t be enough to convince Jacobs to give up a high-profile, sure conviction just to help our investigation.”
“Maybe he would,” Madeline argued. “After all, if Stover could help us nail the supplier, that would be an even bigger fish for Jacobs to prosecute.”
“The operative word here is ‘if.’ But if you want to give it a shot, I’ll talk to Ritter about suggesting it to him.”
They were moving through the station house now, and both were intent on their discussion. Madeline didn’t even notice a man standing nearby until she heard him call out, “Hey, Romeo.” Cruz didn’t miss a stride, although she turned her head to look at the man curiously.
“Martinez! I’m talking to you.” The man stepped in front of them, halting their progress.
“What do you want?” Cruz’s voice was emotionless.
The man Cruz addressed smirked. He was almost as tall as Cruz, and his thin brown hair was slicked back. “You weren’t going to leave here without saying hi to your old buddy, were you, Detective?”
Madeline’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two men, mystified. Something was going on here; the undercurrents of animosity were evident.
Cruz said sardonically, “Yeah, sure, buddy, how you doing? Shoot anybody lately?”
The other man’s smile slipped a notch. “Nobody who didn’t deserve it. But then, I never did shoot anyone who didn’t deserve it, did I?”
Cruz struck so quickly that Madeline didn’t even see him move. One minute he was standing motionless beside her, the next he had the man by the shirt, pushed up against a nearby wall. “Stay out of my face, Baker,” he said in a soft but deadly tone, “or I’ll rearrange yours.”
A long second crawled by. Baker must have sensed the same danger that Madeline could feel emanating from Cruz, because he kept his mouth shut. Slowly Cruz loosened his grip and moved away.
When they were a safe distance from him, Baker called after them loudly, “Better watch that temper of yours, Pretty Boy. It wouldn’t look good for you to get hauled in on assault charges so soon after your promotion. People might get the wrong idea. Or should I say, the right idea?”
Madeline started to turn once more to look at the man, but Cruz grasped her elbow, guiding her inexorably through the maze of desks and out the front door. Once outside she pulled free. He walked quickly down the steps toward the car. She followed more slowly, trying to assimilate this new facet of his personality. She knew as well as anyone that a person couldn’t be judged by surface charm. Duress always brought out well-hidden, sometimes darker sides of their personalities. But even knowing that, she couldn’t help but be stunned by the suddenness of his fury. There was much, much more to this man than his easy manner and glib charm would suggest.
She got into the car and adjusted her seat belt. Cruz threw one arm across the back of the seat and turned his head to back out of the parking place. His gaze met hers.
“Friend of yours?” she asked blandly.
His face was expressionless. “Yeah, we’re real close.”
“Who is he?”
She didn’t think he was going to answer, he was silent so long. Finally he replied, “Detective Gerald Baker.”
Madeline realized she’d just witnessed firsthand the reason for his initial reluctance to interrogate Stover. He must have known Baker was stationed here, and wanted to avoid the possibility of encountering him. The preliminary file she’d read on Martinez had included the reason for his animosity toward the man. But he would expect her to wonder about the scene she’d witnessed, so she asked, “How do you explain Baker’s devotion to you? Did you donate a kidney for him or something?”
One side of his mouth quirked. “Or something,” Cruz agreed as he navigated the car through the congested downtown traffic. “He shot me.”
Her stomach clenched at the terse words, despite her prior knowledge of the incident.
Cruz explained, “I was working undercover at the time. Baker was with the transit police then. I’d busted a white-collar drug ring operating out of a train terminal, but one of the perps took off. I chased him through the building and I saw Detective Wondercop. I identified myself as a police officer, but he ordered me to stop. When I continued the chase, he shot me. The perp,” he added wryly, “got away.”
“So… he thought you were a crook?” Madeline had no doubt that, undercover, Cruz Martinez could look like a very dangerous customer indeed.
His mouth twisted. “So he claimed. And Internal Affairs cleared him of any wrongdoing. They called it a ‘clean shoot.’” He laughed without amusement. “A clean shoot. Imagine hearing that after you’ve had two surgeries to repair the damage he did.”
“They must have believed him.” She defended the bureau’s decision automatically.
“Oh, I’m sure they did.” His tone was mocking. “He was damn convincing. You can be certain they never saw the side of him we just had the privilege of observing. I.A. didn’t want to consider the truth of the matter, though-that the reason Baker shot me was because a Hispanic was chasing after a well-dressed Caucasian. I mean, what could look more suspicious, right?”
She was uncomfortable in the face of his charge of prejudice. “Well, I’m sure it seems that way to you, but it is the department’s job to remain objective…”
He gave a snort. “Objective? Let me tell you something, Detective Casey. There’s nothing objective about having two bullets removed from your leg. Or having one crease the side of your skull. I suppose I should be grateful that Baker is a damn poor shot, as well as a bigot, or I’d be taking a dirt nap right now.”
Her stomach, normally not the least bit queasy, turned over at his words. “Is that why you quit undercover work?”
“That was a big part of it,” he affirmed. Undercover he’d often worked alone, and he’d accepted the risk he took in his work. It had seemed a fair exchange for being able to get some of the garbage off the street. But after the shooting he’d had to face the fact that cops like Baker were at least as dangerous to him as the dirt bags he’d been investigating. He couldn’t do his job constantly looking over his shoulder, and what he despised Baker for the most was taking away any real choice Cruz should have had about his career.
They rode silently for a time, engrossed in their own thoughts. Madeline looked up after several minutes and said, “The turn you want is right ahead.”
“Naw, it’s the next one.”
“I’m telling you, Martinez, this corner is where you should… have turned,” she ended as they passed the corner in question.
“Don’t worry,” he said patiently. “I did the driving on the way over, remember? I know which way we came, and this next corner is the one we take.”
Madeline threw him an impatient glance but sat back to wait. Cruz took several more turns, and they ended up in a dilapidated neighborhood she didn’t recognize. He stopped the car, pulled a map of the city out from under the seat and studied it.
“Very scenic,” she drawled. “I guess this means we’re skipping lunch.”
A grunt was her only answer as he wadded up the map and shoved it beneath the seat again. As he began backtracking, Madeline said mildly, “One thing you need to learn about me, Martinez.” She paused a heartbeat. “I’m never wrong.”
He spared her barely a glance. “One of your most endearing qualities, I’m sure.”
She allowed herself a tiny smile. He sounded positively ill-humored, and something told her that that was rare for him.
Once back at Cruz’s desk, they planned the next step of their strategy. “You’re going to talk to Ritter about going to the D.A., right?” she asked.
“First thing in the morning,” he promised. “And I’ll let Ryan know what went on today. My cases were reassigned to him. He may want to follow a possible link between Stover and the drive-by shootings. In the meantime, since we followed your hunch today, tomorrow we’ll follow mine.”
Madeline eyed him curiously. “Which is?”
“Ramsey Elliot is due to be released from the hospital soon. Since he was the first of the Lords to be shot, I think we need to concentrate on him, and on the rest of the gang, to see if we can get a feel for which way they’re beaded.”
“They’ll retaliate.”
Cruz nodded at her statement. “I’d be surprised if they didn’t. And I’d love to know if they’ve already gotten their hands on the weapon of choice, or whether they’re currently dealing on one.”
“If they haven’t gotten it yet, we may be in time to track down the supplier as they deal on one,” Madeline said hopefully.
Cruz raised his eyebrows. “Wishful thinking, I’m afraid, Maddy, my girl.”
“Do not-”
“Call you Maddy,” he finished in unison with her.
She glared at him, but the look of amusement on that handsome bronze face was hard to resist. “Martinez, I have the feeling that you are one hell of a pest.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And I have the feeling that you are one hell of a…”
“Yes?” she prompted when he didn’t finish.
Distraction. But perhaps it wouldn’t be wise for him to admit that to her. Instead he improvised. “Detective.” He finished the sentence. “Especially if your sense for police work is as good as your sense of direction.”
They made arrangements to meet the next day, and Madeline left. Other than the incident with Baker, she had little to put in her report to Brewer. And of course her boss already knew about the Internal Affairs investigation that had cleared Baker of any wrongdoing. No doubt the incident was another reason Martinez was under suspicion right now. Aside from the fact that he had been one of the five detectives investigating a crime related to the AK-47s, he also had reason to be carrying a major grudge against the department. To outward appearances, that didn’t seem to be the case, of course. He had continued his work, had even started moving up the ranks of officer. But she couldn’t shake her uneasiness as she remembered Cruz’s abrupt switch of moods when dealing with the other man.
How deep did his animosity toward Baker run? Deep enough to include the department because they’d sided with him? One thing she’d learned about Martinez today-he had a ruthless streak that she never would have suspected. She still wondered how deep that streak ran.
And whether he was ruthless enough to be involved in trading lives for cash.