Madeline tore her eyes from the embracing couple with difficulty. Movements suddenly jerky, she walked a few steps to throw her napkin into a nearby trash container. She felt like a fool, and she didn’t enjoy the emotion. The girl had saved her from looking even more foolish, though. If it hadn’t been for her arrival, Madeline was quite certain that Cruz would have kissed her. And she was very much afraid that she would have let him.
She forced herself to turn back to the couple. She observed the affectionate way Cruz had his arm draped around the girl’s shoulders. And she wasn’t much more than a girl, Madeline noted. She looked no more than twenty, and had a figure normally found on centerfolds. She was a full foot shorter than Cruz. She was exactly the kind of woman who’d always made Madeline feel like a giraffe, as she towered over her from her own height of five-ten. She squelched the urge to slouch and cross her arms.
Cruz was laughing at something the girl had said, and, turning, he introduced the two. “Madeline, this is Maureen. She’s-”
“Hush,” the girl said, clapping a hand over his mouth. “I’ll bet Madeline can tell who I am. Can’t you, Madeline?”
“It’s pretty obvious,” Madeline agreed tightly.
Cruz rolled his eyes at the dark-haired woman’s crow of delight. “See! I told you, I look just like you. You’re the only one who refuses to see it.”
Madeline froze. For the first time she really looked at the woman. Dark hair tumbled in artful disarray down her narrow shoulders. Her face was heart shaped, lightly made-up, but there was a trace of resemblance in the eyes. Madeline’s gaze bounced to Cruz as he continued the introduction.
“As I was saying, this is my younger sister Maureen. My baby sister,” he stressed, earning himself a punch on the arm.
Madeline smiled tentatively. “Nice to meet you.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Cruz asked Maureen. “Don’t you have classes?”
“Not until three,” she replied. “And that bookstore,” she said, pointing across the street, “is where I started working part-time last week, which you would have known if you hadn’t missed the last two Sunday dinners.” She continued chattering, barely pausing to take a breath. “You’re in big trouble at home and Mom is ready to lynch you. Pop says you’d better show up this week, if you know what’s good for you, or you’d better have a damn good reason.”
“Maureen!” Both women blinked at the tone of command that had entered his voice, but it accomplished its goal. His sister’s mouth snapped shut. Then, in a normal voice, he continued, “As I’ve tried to explain, I’ve been busy recently. But tell Mom and Pop I should be able to make it this Sunday.”
“You call and tell them,” his sister retorted calmly, plainly unfazed by her brother’s order. “I’m sure they have lots to say to you.” She reached up and kissed him lightly again. “Gotta run. See you this weekend. Bye, Madeline.” Her voice carried over her shoulder as she waved blithely and hurried back across the street.
Madeline smiled at the look of sheer frustration stamped on Cruz’s face as he watched his sister swing away. “Who was that masked woman?” she joked.
He shook his head wryly. “My conscience, she thinks. She could give Jiminy Cricket lessons.”
“And do you need an extra conscience?” Madeline asked, suddenly serious. She was again thinking of what he’d been accused of. At times like these he seemed so real, so human, that she wondered how he could be a suspect. But she knew too well that the most successful criminals didn’t look the part. Getting others to trust them was their stock-in-trade.
He nodded and said with mock solemnity, “Sometimes. My own doesn’t have a very loud speaking voice. I can’t always hear it.”
I’ll bet, Madeline thought darkly. And somehow she was no longer thinking at all about the crime he might have committed.
As they walked back to the car he explained, “I’m one of six kids in what is a pretty close-knit family. Too close, sometimes. It’s kind of an unspoken rule that if you live in the city, you’re expected home for dinners on Sundays, unless you have a good excuse. Mom doesn’t accept too many of those. Since all of us live here when everyone’s out of school, the weekly dinner gets to be pretty wild sometimes.”
She tried to visualize the scene he’d just described, a large warm family gathered around a dinner table, voices vying to be heard. Though she’d never experienced such a scene, it was easy to picture. She was curious to hear more about his family, and finding out from him would save her some checking. At least, that’s what she told herself. “Where do you fall in the family?”
“Second to the oldest. Let’s see, there’s Sean, me, Shannon, Antonio, Maureen and Miguel.”
Madeline blinked. “I know I’ll hate myself for asking,” she muttered, “but Sean, Shannon and Maureen… Martinez?”
They’d reached the car, but neither made a move to get in. Cruz chuckled. “We’re a little unconventional, I guess. I’m only half Puerto Rican-my mother is Irish.”
“Hence the names,” she surmised, interest caught despite herself.
“Mom and Pop decided they would take turns naming us when we were born.” He winked. “Lucky there was an even number of us. I’d hate to consider what kind of name they would have chosen as a compromise.”
“Six kids is a large family,” Madeline said. “Where did you live?”
“A series of apartments on the northeast side,” he answered. “Pop works on the docks, and as he improved his job, his first concern was always getting us a better place to live. A few years ago they moved to a small house. Mom was home with us when we were growing up, but Maureen and Miguel are both in college. A few years ago Mom went back to school and now she works as a legal secretary.”
She tried and failed to imagine what it must have been like growing up with an apartment full of siblings in crowded rooms, with a mother home all day to ride herd. Noisy, she guessed. The one thing she remembered above all else from her own childhood was the quiet. She was the only child in the huge home most of the time, and even though her mother hadn’t worked, she’d been gone frequently, involved in her clubs and charity work. Madeline had always looked forward to cleaning day each week, when the housekeeper ran the vacuum. For that short time the house would seem a little less empty.
“So by now you’ve probably guessed how safe you are with me.” His words interrupted her thoughts and she looked across the car at him. He was leaning; he seemed to do that a lot, she noted.
“How’s that?”
“Puerto Rican and Irish-of course I had the required Catholic upbringing.” His eyes glinted wickedly. “I was even an altar boy.”
She smiled at that information. “Proof that God does work in mysterious ways.”
“That’s just what Father Dougherty used to say to me,” he agreed. “I think he believed that I was his own personal trial on earth. I got along better with the nuns at school. At least, most of them. Sister Mary Joseph never understood me. Did you ever notice that the nuns all used to have men’s names?” he added irrelevantly.
Madeline shook her head. She hadn’t had much experience with nuns.
“Things are different now,” he went on. “The school my nieces and nephews attend has nuns with names like Sister Cathy and Rosita Marie. They worry about developing positive self-concepts instead of repressing evil thoughts, and they never, ever rap students on the knuckles with a ruler.”
“Now, why do I have the feeling that your knuckles didn’t get rapped a fraction as often as you deserved it?” she wondered aloud. It was all too easy to picture him as he must have appeared when he was a mischievous youngster, all dancing dark eyes with a mop of black hair. The charm would have been apparent even then, and no doubt he’d used it shamelessly.
He shrugged. “You misunderstand me, I suppose. Just like Sister Mary Joseph.”
She gave up and got in the car. She had Cruz Martinez’s number, all right. Exactly like Sister Mary Joseph. “Where to?” she asked when he joined her in the front seat.
Cruz leaned over and turned up the radio, smiling as she winced at the mournful tune filling the air. “I think it’s time to talk to some members of the Lords, especially one Dirk Cantoney.”
Madeline agreed and Cruz directed her through the streets. “What about you?” he asked as she drove silently. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“An older brother, but he was away at school much of the time when I was growing up.”
“I should bring you home with me some Sunday,” he said idly. “Give you a look at all you missed.”
“No!” Even she was shocked at the vehement denial. At his quizzical look she explained quickly, “I mean, it wouldn’t be a good idea. Your parents probably look forward to spending the day with family, not with strangers.”
He laughed at the thought. “My parents don’t understand the word ‘stranger.’ And they always encourage us to bring friends home to meet them. My mom is a firm believer in the power of good cooking.”
She mentally scolded herself for reacting so strongly to his invitation. She should have seized the chance to observe more about Cruz Martinez-who he was, where he came from. But everything inside her recoiled from the thought of getting to know his family, even casually. She couldn’t imagine anything more uncomfortable than sitting across from his parents, being treated as a friend, all the while trying to establish whether a link existed between Cruz and the supplier. She could imagine herself conversing with his parents. “Actually, Mr. and Mrs. Martinez, I’m more than Cruz’s partner-I’m the lady who’s going to get his butt hauled to jail if he’s involved in illegal arms sales.”
She shuddered. She didn’t think she was that cool an actress. Especially if the entire family was as open and friendly as Cruz was. Seemingly open, she corrected herself. She had to keep that in mind. Here she was doubting her own ability to carry off such a masquerade at his home and he might even now be delivering an act deserving of an Academy Award. She couldn’t remember the last time a case had left a worse taste in her mouth. She wished it had been possible to do as her father wished, and ask Brewer to put someone else on this case. But that had never been an option. She was too much a professional for that.
“Slow down,” Cruz commanded as she drove by the parking lot of a business that had been vacated. He peered out the window at the people collected there, then sat back in the seat. “Keep driving.” They cruised slowly up and down streets in the area, slowing down at corners, or wherever a group of youths was found. Finally he said, “Here we are. Pull over.”
She obeyed and they got out of the car and approached a knot of several young men of various races, all of whom were wearing Lords colors.
The young men had been talking and joking loudly, occasionally jostling one another, but silence fell over the group when the unmarked car stopped and the detectives got out and approached them.
“Hey, nice wheels, man,” one finally remarked, and the rest guffawed.
“Yo, Mama,” another said to Madeline. “What you doing wasting your time with a cop?”
Madeline reached into her breast pocket and took out her shield, flipping it open. “Earning a living,” she said succinctly. “And I’m not your mama. But if I were, I’d tell you that smoking is bad for your health.”
There was a short silence at her words before the group broke into laughter again, ribbing the boy who was holding a cigarette in his hand.
“I’ve talked to some of you guys already,” Cruz interjected. “I’m Detective Martinez, and this is Detective Casey. We’re investigating the shooting of Ramsey Elliot.”
“I was there,” one volunteered. “I told you about the car. When are you going to find it?”
“Yeah, man,” said another, “you talked to all of us who was there. You mean you ain’t found the guy yet?”
“Just checking,” Cruz answered. “I don’t suppose any of you have remembered anything else about the car or its occupants, have you? Or something really helpful, like the license number?”
“It had local plates, I know that,” one said surely.
“It didn’t have no plates,” contradicted another.
“I didn’t see nuthin’. I wasn’t paying attention before, and once the bullets started flying I hit the dirt,” said a third. “I wasn’t looking at the car then, I was looking at Ramsey. There was blood all over the place.” Several others nodded at this.
“Why hasn’t Dirk Cantoney gotten in touch with me?” Cruz asked. No one spoke a word. A few glanced at each other, some shuffled their feet, but no one seemed willing to answer. Cruz went on, “I left word with several of you that I wanted to speak to him. Did any of you tell him that?” Still no response.
“We need to talk to him about the shooting, since he was there, too,” Madeline said. “He isn’t in any trouble-we just have some routine questions to ask.”
One snorted at this. “Dirk ain’t afraid of no cops,” he said derisively. The mood of the group seemed to take a menacing turn. The once cocky, bantering tone was absent now, each of the members’ faces wearing the same sullen, closed mask.
“Then he should be willing to talk to us,” Madeline inserted smoothly. “Where can we find him?”
There was another long silence before one muttered, “If he wants to talk, he’ll find you.”
“Tell him we’ll be at the Blue Pelican the rest of the afternoon,” Cruz said, naming a bar in the neighborhood. “He can find us there.”
One of the boys shrugged. “Don’t even know if we’ll see him.”
“Make a point of it,” Madeline advised. “Because if he doesn’t talk to us today, we’ll have to go looking for him. And if we do go looking for him, we’ll bring his parole officer with us.”
A few of the young men glanced at one another, and then away. No one responded, but Madeline and Cruz, sure the message would be delivered, walked back to the car.
“Tough lady,” Cruz remarked as they drove away.
“When I have to be.”
“Need I ask how you knew he was on parole?”
“The file,” she answered shortly, and Cruz shook his head in amazement. He had given her an hour to read two files, both of which had been at least two inches thick. He wondered if she’d committed the whole thing to memory, or just the highlights. “He served two years for breaking and entering,” he tried, testing her on some of the details.
Her eyes never left the road. “He served thirty-three months for aggravated assault, and the only reason he’s out is because some ACLU lawyer managed to convince a parole board that he should never have been tried as an adult in the first place.”
Madeline listened to his directions to the Blue Pelican, and drove silently. She was aware of what he’d been doing just then, and it neither angered nor amused her. She was too used to it to give it much attention. She’d been born with an uncannily accurate memory, and she accepted it the way others accepted their hair or eye color. She’d learned to trust it, then rely on it as she grew older. And she blessed it now, because she knew she would be needing it more than ever. As her father had pointed out, her instincts, at least when it came to men, had not proven to be the best. The fiasco with Dennis Belding had come very close to ending her career, all because she had trusted the wrong man. The experience, though, had taught her a valuable lesson. Instincts could be faulty, clouded by emotion, but her memory never was. And she had the remarkable ability to remember every bit of the hell she had gone through the last time she had misjudged a man. It would never be allowed to happen again.
Of course, she added silently, she would be greatly aided in that vow if she could refrain from kissing Cruz Martinez. Her palms still moistened when she remembered the look of intent his face had worn as it had neared hers. The lingering amusement on it had been wiped away, to be replaced with the most compelling expression of masculine desire that she’d ever witnessed. Desire that she was sure had been reflected on her own face.
Even if she wasn’t working with him, even if she wasn’t investigating him, Cruz was not a man she would ever consider getting involved with. He was glib and oh-so-charming. And he was too damn gorgeous by half. With those perfect features and well-honed body, he’d be right at home on a Hollywood screen set, and she’d bet a month’s pay that he had as many adoring fans as any movie star. A woman would have to be crazy to fall prey to that easygoing manner and bone-melting grin. He was the most dangerous of men; he radiated a vibrant sexuality that would normally frighten some women, even as it drew them. But he could be so easy to talk to, so fascinating with the combination of those blatantly bedroom eyes and aw-shucks manner, that even the most sensible women might be tempted to cast caution aside.
Luckily she had more than her share of good sense. And up against the temptation of Cruz Martinez, she was going to need every bit of it.
“It’s right here,” Cruz said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Looks like a real dive.” She wasn’t especially surprised, but she wasn’t looking forward to spending the next few hours in such an establishment.
“Don’t worry,” he teased as they parked in the small rutted lot next to the bar and got out of the car. “I’ll protect you.”
She rolled her eyes at his remark and he laughed. When they entered the place, she wrinkled her nose at the smell. The aromas of stale beer and unwashed bodies hung in the air. It was surprisingly full for midafternoon, but from the looks of the disreputable occupants, it wasn’t as if they had jobs to go to. It was more likely that any business these people conducted was done right here in the bar. Or out of the trunks of their cars.
There were a few tables scattered about, but they were all taken. Madeline followed Cruz to a booth in the back, where they would have a view of anyone entering through the front or rear door. He stood while she scooted in one side, but she looked up, openmouthed, when he slid in after her.
“There’s plenty of room over there,” she said pointedly, indicating the other side of the booth.
“I’d prefer to keep my back to the wall in a place like this, and Cantoney isn’t going to join us if it means he has to sit next to either of us. He’s too wary for that.”
Though his explanation sounded logical, she still looked at him suspiciously. The length of the afternoon seemed much longer now that she knew she was going to spend it with him pressed against her side like this. “Well, quit crowding me,” she ordered shortly. His big body seemed to take up much more than its share of the small seat, even when she shrank into the corner.
He paid no attention to her, his eyes scanning the bar carefully. His lack of awareness of her made her relax a bit, even as it made her want to kick him. It was impossible for her to feign a similar unawareness of him. He was so close that his muscled arms brushed hers. Though he was wearing a long- sleeved shirt, again roiled up to just below the elbows, she could recall in detail what those arms looked like bare, and mentally groaned. This was not her idea of how to spend a productive afternoon. Or of how to remain immune to this man’s charm.
Cruz relaxed imperceptibly when he satisfied himself that Cantoney wasn’t there. He recognized a few of the customers, and either they hadn’t seen him or they were doing their best to pretend they hadn’t. He’d rousted a few of them on more than one occasion, and he’d busted two of the men at the bar for petty theft. He didn’t know if this was an establishment that Cantoney usually frequented, but it was on turf claimed by the Lords. And it was exactly the kind of place that a two-bit punk like Dirk would feel at home in.
He shifted his weight to a more comfortable position, aware for the first time just how close he was to Madeline. He moved again, uneasily. This might not prove to be the brightest plan he’d ever had. Passing the next few hours pressed up against Madeline Casey’s slender body might be just enough to turn him into a eunuch. Because if the agony didn’t do the job, he was sure she’d be glad to, if he lifted one finger in her direction.
Not that he had any intention of doing that. He was the first to admit that he had an eye for attractive women, but it was plain to see that this one had Hands Off written all over her. And he had done his best in the short time they’d been working together to put her at ease, to show her that she had nothing to fear from him.
Well, okay, he’d almost made a little slip this afternoon. He frowned slightly. He had come damn close to kissing Madeline then, and finding out at last if those delectably full lips were as soft as they looked. He knew exactly what had made him almost abandon his careful distance from her. She’d been too darn inviting, standing there savoring that damn hot dog, smug because he was having to eat one, too. She’d looked more approachable than he’d ever seen her, and it hadn’t taken long for their bantering to turn to awareness. At least, it hadn’t taken long for him, and her Hands Off sign hadn’t been anywhere in sight.
A slovenly-looking waitress meandered over to take their order. “What can I get for ya, big guy?” she asked with a wink, her eyes never touching Madeline.
“Two Coors Lite bottles,” he said shortly. Madeline raised her eyebrows at him and he waited for the waitress to leave to forestall her argument “We don’t have to drink them, but this isn’t exactly the kind of place where we can order cups of coffee.”
The woman came back with two lukewarm beers and set them down. “That’ll be eight bucks, handsome,” she cooed. She placed both elbows on the table and leaned toward Cruz, affording him a revealing view of her ample breasts. To Madeline’s amazement he looked distinctly uncomfortable at the attention, a dull red stain reaching his cheekbones as he pulled the bills out of his pocket. The waitress took her time collecting the money and swayed slowly back to the bar.
“Don’t worry, handsome,” Madeline couldn’t help gibing, “I’ll protect you.”
He grinned at her use of his earlier words. “Ah, subtlety doesn’t seem to be her strong suit, does it?”
“I doubt she unbuttoned half her blouse to show her ‘subtlety’ off to advantage,” Madeline agreed dryly.
“Did she? I didn’t notice.”
Madeline snorted inelegantly. “And birds don’t fly.”
He affected a wounded expression. “Somewhere along the line you’ve gotten the wrong impression of me. I wouldn’t lie to you. I still go to confession every Saturday.”
“I’ll bet that’s a real trip for some poor unsuspecting priest. He probably needs a stiff drink afterward to recover.”
“Naw, I lead a very quiet life.”
Somehow she doubted that. Everything about Cruz Martinez pointed to just the opposite. The attitude of the waitress was probably identical to the way most women behaved around him. Throwing themselves at his feet, willing to take a number for their turn with him. Madeline had no illusions about how far some women would go to catch the eye of a man who looked like him. Luckily she had never been partial to tall, dark and perfect types herself.
“What has had you so busy the last couple of weeks that you missed the family dinners?” What the heck. She might as well do some digging as long as they seemed to be stuck here for a while.
“This and that,” he said vaguely.
Her interest immediately sharpened. This was the first sign of reticence he’d ever exhibited. She slanted a glance at him. He didn’t appear to be trying to avoid the question. He seemed preoccupied, as he had when they’d first come in. His eyes were once again searching the room.
“Is your mother likely to accept ‘this and that’ as a good enough reason to miss going home?”
He finally looked at her, amusement apparent on his face. “Afraid for my safety? I can assure you it’s been a while since she’s taken the wooden spoon to me.”
She subsided. He obviously wasn’t going to tell her what he’d been busy with, and if she pressed he might get the wrong idea about her curiosity, might think she wanted to know out of a more personal interest. The glint in his eye told her he was already thinking exactly that, and it was time to put that misconception to rest. “Just making conversation. Looks like we’re in for a long, boring afternoon waiting for Cantoney.”
Cruz silently disagreed. Boring was one word that could never be applied to the feeling he got sitting this close to her. It wasn’t the same as in the car. He didn’t have to touch her then. He shifted again. Maybe she had the right idea, after all. Perhaps he should engage in some very idle conversation to distract his mind, and a few other body parts, from thinking about the temptation sitting so close.
“How about you? What do you do on the weekends?”
She shrugged. “Work out at the gym. Go to the shooting range. Do the laundry. Clean my apartment.”
“And?” His eyes were lit with lazy interest. She couldn’t fool him. A woman who looked like her had to have an active social life. He didn’t know why he found the thought of that so intriguing, but he did. As long as he didn’t dwell too long on what she and her dates did once they got back to her place. That thought brought an unfamiliar knot to his gut.
“And what? I’m not Catholic, so I don’t have to spend my Saturdays at confession. Not that I’d need to, anyway,” she informed him smugly.
“Is that right? What are you telling me, that your life-style is as perfect as your memory?”
“No, I’m saying that my life-style is dull. Boring compared to yours, I’m sure. It doesn’t take a whole lot to keep me happy.” When he chuckled at this, she lifted her eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”
“That’s not the way I’ve got you pegged, no,” he answered, still chuckling. “You definitely strike me as high maintenance.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. She was going to regret this. She absolutely did not want to hear his explanation of his words. “And just what, may I ask, is that supposed to mean?”
At her uncomprehending look, he explained cheerfully. “It’s simple. You’re the kind of woman who has certain standards. Fairly high standards. They apply to your home, what you drive, who you date and what you do in your free time. ‘Regimented’ might describe you, but definitely not ‘boring.’”
“Regimented?” Her eyes spit green sparks at him and he leaned back to enjoy the fireworks. He’d suspected all along that Madeline Casey had a temper to match that flaming hair and he didn’t want to miss a moment of it. “What the heck would you know about being regimented?”
“It’s not an insult,” he assured her. “Just an observation. Don’t worry I’m sure some men find that quality attractive. My grandma used to say that every pot will find its lid.”
“What a quaint saying. I should needlepoint that,” she said sarcastically, still smarting from his words. Regimented, she fumed. Her life might be orderly, she might value organization, but the word he’d used was distinctly unflattering. It implied that she was rigidly controlled, and though that was the aura she tried to project professionally, it didn’t sound very attractive.
“At the risk of sounding like a cliché, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” His eyes were crinkled with amusement.
“And you’re annoying when you’re stupid,” she returned, irritated. What did he know about her? Or about anything? So she prized order in her life. After it had been turned into such shambles a few years ago, was that so wrong? So she was organized. That certainly didn’t used to be considered a fault. And yes, maybe she was cautious. She’d bet he knew nothing about that, not in his personal life, anyway. She was quite sure that when it came to the opposite sex, he jumped in with both feet, not to mention other body parts. She glared at him again, and the amused look on his face made her want to smack him, for she was suddenly certain that he’d done this on purpose. He’d baited her into flaring up. The big jerk.
“I’ll bet you were the kind of brother who delighted in starting fights among your siblings and then left the room when you heard your mother coming.”
He had to smile at how close her remark came to the observation Michele McLain had made the last time he’d visited there. “Are you implying that I’m a tease?” he asked with mock affront.
“That’s exactly what I’m implying.”
“Then I’d have to disagree. That’s not being a tease. A tease is-” he turned to look more fully at her, and stopped when he took in the picture she made. Temper had flared color to her face and brightened the hue of her eyes. “To tease is to taunt. Tantalize. To hold something irresistible just out of reach.” His voice deepened. He was no longer responding to her comment. “Teasing is prolonging anticipation, sometimes to an almost unbearable point.”
She swallowed hard, his tone as much as his words affecting her. He could have been referring to her remark, but he wasn’t. The timbre of his voice was too suggestive, the words too rife with innuendo. She knew what he was doing but she was helpless to control her response to it. They looked at each other for a long moment, and what she saw in his face made her stomach clutch reflexively. Bad idea, her usually reasonable voice screeched inside her. Don’t talk to him, don’t argue with him, don’t listen to him and for heaven’s sake, quit looking at him. Because there was something about the way he was gazing at her mouth that gave new meaning to the word tease. She tore her eyes away with a difficulty that felt almost physical and concentrated for the rest of the afternoon on the comings and goings in the bar. And on shredding her napkin into small bits.
Cruz, too, fell silent. Finally he rose. “It’s after five. Let’s get out of here.”
The sun was still shining brightly when they left the bar, and Madeline squinted in its glare. They strode quickly toward the car, each in a hurry to get back to headquarters, to put the tension of the afternoon behind them. They slowed simultaneously, noticing the figure leaning against their car at the same time.
“Cantoney,” Cruz noted under his breath, and Madeline nodded. There hadn’t been a picture of the man in the files she’d read, but she could easily believe that this was the man described in one report. Studying him, she had no difficulty believing that he’d assaulted another with a tire iron for the indiscretion of talking to Cantoney’s girlfriend. He was about her own height, lean, with skin so fair it looked as if the sun had forgotten him. He would have appeared almost harmless if it hadn’t been for his eyes. They were a pale blue, and absolutely devoid of emotion. When they flicked over her, Madeline could feel a physical chill. He appeared older than the members of the gang he led. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he had orchestrated the numerous criminal activities that the Lords were suspected of.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
They finished their approach toward him. “I’ve been looking for you since Ramsey got shot,” Cruz said. “Where have you been?”
The man shrugged. “Been around. You just didn’t look in the right places.”
“What can you tell us about Ramsey’s shooting?” Madeline asked.
“I saw the gun and I yelled at everyone to get down. Ramsey was too slow. Bullets were spraying, and he took a couple of them.”
“You don’t seem too concerned about his getting hit,” Cruz noted.
His words drew no reaction from the man in front of them. “What good would my concern do Ramsey? I been to see him a couple times, he tell you that? I’m making sure his bills get paid. That’ll do him a lot more good than my concern.”
“You’re taking care of his hospital bills, huh?” Cruz rested a hip against the car next to his. “That’s real good of you, Dirk. You’re a prince. Just how do you manage to do that, since your parole officer tells me you haven’t stuck to a job for more than a few weeks at a time?”
The man’s tone iced. “I got friends, man, I don’t need no job.”
“Who do you think did the shooting?”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to find out instead of wasting time asking me all these question?”
“Well, tell you what I think, Dirk,” Cruz said. His arms were crossed and he leaned back, one foot bracing himself against the bumper of the car. He could have been discussing the cure for crabgrass with a neighbor. “I think you know who shot at you guys that day. I think it was a rival gang, and you know what else? I think they were shooting at you. That’s why you’ve been keeping such a low profile lately. And I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you were planning to get some revenge for it, either.”
Cantoney threw his head back and laughed, an ugly sound. “Martinez, you got some imagination. Why are you accusing me of something you think might happen?” His eyes slid to Madeline and he said, “You better tell him, lady. Get him back on the right track. You guys are supposed to be looking for someone who almost killed Ramsey Elliot, not busting my ass.”
“All Detective Martinez is telling you is that we’re going to be watching. Very closely. If there’s another shooting, we’re going to be looking for you.” Her gaze was steady.
He snorted. “Typical cops. Come after me when I ain’t even done nothing.”
“Never said you did, Dirk.” Cruz’s tone was pleasant. “Just want to keep it that way.”
Cantoney pushed himself away from the car and sauntered off without another word. Madeline got in the car and waited for Cruz to join her. When he did, she started the engine and headed back toward district headquarters. “I hope we didn’t tip him off by warning him like that.”
“I doubt anything we said to him had much effect. He’s smart. If he’s planning a retaliation, and I’d bet my paycheck he is, he’s already got the whole thing planned, especially how to avoid getting caught at it.”
“He didn’t seem too worried about us keeping an eye on him,” Madeline mused. “That could mean a couple of different things. Either he isn’t planning on making a move…”
“Which I don’t believe for a minute,” Cruz put in.
“Neither do I.” Someone with Cantoney’s history of assaults for the most imaginary slights couldn’t possibly be expected to ignore getting shot at. Especially if Cruz’s hunch was correct and Cantoney himself had been the target. “It could also mean that he’s already purchased a gun, and has figured out how to get away with retaliating. Or maybe someone else will actually be dealing on the gun, so it wouldn’t matter how long we watched him.”
“I’m betting he hasn’t gotten his hands on it yet. He’s bright, but he has a real short fuse. I don’t think he could hold off using it for long. I also don’t doubt he has plenty of weapons he can use. He just wants to get his hands on the same type of gun. It’s a prestige thing. And while he’s dealing on one he’s just biding his time. Because he has it all figured out who did the shooting and how he’s going to hit back,” Cruz said grimly. “And the bastard knows there’s nothing we can do but wait.”
“Wait for more bodies to show up?” Madeline grimaced. She didn’t like the thought of that.
“Unless Ritter manages to convince Jacobs to offer that plea bargain to Stover, our options are limited at this point.”
Madeline nodded, a slight frown creasing her forehead. She should be used to this, after all the years she’d been on the force, but these occasional brick walls that cropped up in most investigations always made her impatient. She had never been one to enjoy spinning her wheels while some perp was on the loose. She glanced at Martinez. If he shared her frustration, it didn’t show. He was slouched in the seat with his head on the headrest, looking for all the world as if he could drop off to sleep at any second. How did he do that? The man seemed to have no vertebrae. He was constantly leaning on whatever happened to be handy, and she’d yet to see him sit up straight.
A smile pulled at her lips. She’d been reminded of her posture so often as a child that by now it was second nature. Perhaps she was just jealous of his ability to be comfortable no matter the circumstances. But he was a little too comfortable, she decided. In an instant her hand went to the radio and she turned it up full blast. She grinned as his big body jackknifed straight up, his eyes flying open. He turned to fix her with an accusing look.
“Oops,” she said without apology, turning the radio back down.
His face turned pained. “Please tell me, Madeline, that you’re not one of those women who can’t stand to see a man at rest.”
“The last time I saw a man looking that restful they piled six feet of dirt on top of him.”
He chuckled. “Witch.”
“If you need that much test, you must have a big weekend ahead of you,” she noted with studied indifference.
Cruz’s lips curved as he thought of the plans he had for the next two days. “The biggest,” he agreed cryptically. He studied her as she brought the car to a halt and switched off the ignition. “Now why do I have the feeling that your little trick a minute ago was in response to our conversation at the Blue Pelican?”
“I don’t get mad,” she acknowledged sweetly, “I get even.”
His smile widened. “I don’t know about that. I seem to recall a hint of temper earlier.”
Somehow she’d known that her reaction had been duly noted by him, and that he’d invoked it purposely. “Martinez, you can be a real pain, did anyone ever tell you that?” she asked as they got out and she handed him the keys.
He shook his head. “I don’t think anyone else has put it quite that way,” he denied cheerfully. He slanted her a look. “What do you have planned this weekend?”
She walked toward her own car. “Nothing.”
“Got a date?”
Gosh, he was nosy. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
She looked at him impatiently. He hadn’t learned a thing from that little payback she’d staged. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”
“What fun would that be?”
She unlocked her car and got in, returning his careless wave as they parted. She didn’t spend more than a few moments admiring the way his taut male buttocks moved as he sauntered toward the building.
As she drove away, Madeline reflected that it would be a lot easier to investigate Cruz Martinez if he wasn’t so darn likable.