“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what was the point… of your big macho act a minute ago?”
He stared hard at her, noticing the flare of color across her cheeks. She hadn’t quite recovered from being hit with a hundred-eighty pound tackle, but from what he could discern, her flush was due more to anger than breathlessness.
“I’m sorry. I heard the car backfire, and it was so close…” He shrugged. “I reacted without thinking. I thought it was a gunshot.”
She glared at him. “So did I, at first, but that doesn’t answer my question. What the hell were you doing on top of me?”
He opened his mouth to answer, and then found that he couldn’t. His jaws snapped shut. Finally he muttered, “I don’t suppose you’d believe I tripped?”
Her gaze pierced him like a rapier. He studied the ground, feeling remarkably similar to how he’d felt when Sister Mary Joseph had caught him in some prank.
“No.” Her voice dripped with disdain, “I would not believe that you tripped. Admit it, Martinez, you were trying to protect me.”
It was obvious that she thought she was accusing him of the most heinous crime in the world. He knew there was no way he could weasel out of this one, so he raised his eyes and looked straight into hers. When in doubt, try bluffing. “Yeah, maybe. So what?”
She looked as though she was going to explode. “So what? I’m a trained police officer, Martinez, a detective with ten years’ experience on the force. I’m not in need of protection, not from you or from anybody else.”
“Look, I apologize, all right? I didn’t plan it, it just happened. Blame it on instincts.”
His words didn’t appear to mollify her. If anything, she became even more incensed. “Instincts? Well, I’m here to tell you, buddy, your instincts suck.”
Cruz felt his usually even temper begin to simmer. “Look, Madeline, why don’t we wait until you cool down before we do this, okay?”
She moved forward to stab him in the chest with one long, tapered finger. “No, not okay. We’re going to do this now. If you have a problem working with a woman, that’s tough. I’m not going to let you make it my problem, you got that?”
His eyes narrowed. “I do not,” he said with precise enunciation, “have a problem working with a woman. Your being a woman has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, no?” Disbelief colored her voice. “Tell me something. When you were partners with McLain, how many times did you dive on top of him when you thought you heard a gunshot?”
Silence reigned for a minute. Madeline saw the truth of her words written on his face, but he remained stubbornly quiet. “Look,” she continued, a little calmer, “you can’t do your job if you’re worried about me. And neither of us can do our jobs if you don’t trust my ability out here on the street. If that’s going to be a problem for you, you’d better let me know now.”
“It’s not,” he said finally.
She could feel most of her ire fade away. It was hard to maintain a resounding fury when the other person refused to argue. She became aware of how close they were standing to each other, and she took an unconscious step backward. “Well, good. As long as you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Because the next time we’re in danger, you have to think of me as your partner first. I don’t want your instincts turning me into a woman.”
“Forgive me for believing it could be possible,” he muttered, half turning away.
“What?” she demanded.
He turned back to her and said with exaggerated care, “I said that would be impossible, because I won’t let it happen again. Now, why don’t we get back to work and see if we can track down Valdez?”
Without a word they walked back to the car. They made their rounds again, to Valdez’s apartment, to his usual haunts, but there was no sign of him. By mutual agreement they decided to quit for the day. Neither of them was anxious to prolong their time together.
They separated in the parking lot of the district headquarters, Madeline getting into her car and Cruz striding into the building. He wound his way through the maze of desks until he came to his own, and dropped into his chair wearily. Wiping his hands over his face, he stared out over the top of his fingers unseeingly. The room was a welter of activity, with officers leaving for the day, and others reporting for duty. But the noise didn’t filter through his deep introspection. He sat silently brooding, staring into space. He didn’t notice the man standing next to his desk until a voice in his ear said, “Forget her. She’s not worth it.”
His head snapped around. “Oh, hi,” he said without enthusiasm.
Connor raised his eyebrows. “Whoever she is, she must be something to turn you into such a zombie. How come you haven’t gone home yet?”
Cruz ignored the second question, and scowled at the first. “What makes you so sure I’m thinking of a woman?”
Connor clapped him on the shoulder. “Because, pal, I know you. You don’t have to think so hard when it’s only a case that’s bothering you.”
His friend didn’t crack a smile. “Well, you’re wrong. I wasn’t thinking about a woman.”
“Oh?”
“I was thinking about Madeline Casey.”
“Ah.”
Cruz frowned at Connor. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Connor seated himself on the edge of the desk. “Nothing. Just ‘ah.’” He paused for a moment, then asked curiously, “Care to tell me why Detective Casey doesn’t qualify as a female?”
“Because she doesn’t care to qualify,” Cruz told him sourly. “She made it very clear this afternoon that I was to think of her as a cop only, and not as a woman. And let me tell you, there are times that isn’t very damn hard,” he added.
“Don’t tell me. You hit on her.”
“I didn’t hit on her,” Cruz denied. A moment later he added reluctantly, “I dove on top of her.”
Connor sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“It wasn’t like that.” Cruz explained the events of the afternoon after they’d sighted Valdez and the argument he’d had with Madeline. Then he sank into silence once more.
“Well, she’s right, you know,” Connor said, stifling a chuckle. He’d have given a week’s pay to see the scene Cruz had just described. “You gave a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘cover your partner.’” He lost the struggle and guffawed out loud.
“Oh, you’re very funny,” Cruz noted. “A real riot.” A reluctant grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. A moment later he joined in the laughter.
“Anyway,” he said when they’d both recovered, “she really let me have it. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how her mind works.”
“She was right,” Connor said. “You can’t afford to worry about her. You have to believe that your partner can take care of herself. Why is that so difficult for you?”
“Oh, right, and you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have done the same thing,” Cruz scoffed. “C’mon, I know you better than that. When danger strikes, instinct takes over.”
“And your instincts had you diving to protect Madeline Casey,” Connor said slowly, very serious now. “Sounds like the lady gave you some good advice. You can’t afford to let yourself get sidetracked on the street. Concentrate on the case. And try to keep your distance from Casey. You’ll both be better off.”
Cruz waved desultorily as Connor took his leave. He mulled over his friend’s words. Connor’s warning didn’t surprise him. His friend didn’t trust easily, especially not women. It must have been the hand of fate that had brought Michele and him together. She’d melted the icy reserve that Connor guarded himself with. He grinned slightly as he remembered some of the sparks that had flown between the two before Connor had finally forgotten about being noble and given in to what he’d really wanted, a lifetime with Michele.
But his friend was way off base on this one. Cruz’s protective instincts had nothing to do with Madeline personally. He’d react the same way to any woman who was in danger. His thoughts drifting again, he propped his booted feet up on the desk and leaned back in his chair. What was it about Madeline that kept distracting him?
Madeline considered not answering the doorbell when it rang the first time. It had been a long, frustrating day, and she definitely didn’t feel up to Ariel’s brand of wacky humor. But when it rang a third time, followed by a loud knocking, she rose to her feet. It couldn’t be Ariel; she would never stand out there that long. She’d have gone back to her apartment and gotten her key.
Irritated, she went to the peephole and looked out. A miniature Cruz Martinez was in her view, leaning, of course, against her doorbell, with a sack of groceries in one arm.
“C’mon, Madeline, I know you’re in there. I saw your car outside. Open up.”
She stood frozen on the other side of the door. What on earth was he doing here? He was the last person she wanted to see right now. Today had been a grueling one, in more than the usual sense. The episode in the alley was still too vivid, and much too embarrassing. She’d meant every word she’d said to him, but at the same time she’d been berating herself. For despite her very real anger that he’d tried to protect her from the dangers of her job, there lingered a pervasive warmth for the same reason. She groaned silently. The feel of his lean body on top of hers had not been entirely unpleasant. In fact, she wondered uncomfortably how much of her breathlessness had been caused by his weight, and how much from the intimate position. She cringed at the thought. She couldn’t afford to complicate things with this awareness of him. She didn’t want to be aware of him at all, at least not as a man
The knocking continued. Ignoring him obviously wasn’t working.
“C’mon, Madeline, honey, open the door. Don’t be mad. I’ve reconsidered. You can have my baby after all. Now that I’m getting used to the idea, I kind of like the idea of six or seven little Martinez babies of our own. We’ll have as many as you like.”
Her eyes flew open and her mouth dropped, aghast. His purposely loud voice was sure to carry up and down the hallway. Certainly she was having no trouble hearing him.
She unlocked the door and threw it open. “Will you please be quiet?” she implored in a loud whisper. “Are you trying to humiliate me?”
Cruz leaned against her doorjamb. “Hi.” His smile was lazy. “I didn’t think you were ever going to let me in.”
“You were right. I’m not. I just wanted to tell you to leave. Now.”
Before he could answer, Ariel’s door opened. Madeline’s heart plummeted.
“I was in the bathtub, or I’d have been out sooner. I couldn’t figure out what all the racket was, and-well, well, well.” She stopped her litany and walked slowly around Cruz, looking him up and down. She fluttered her eyelashes coyly. “What do we have here?”
Madeline looked wildly about for the floor to open up and swallow her. No such luck. Ariel was eying Cruz like a starving lioness at fresh prey, and he, darn him, was enjoying it. He grinned at her.
“I’ve got all my own teeth, too.”
“I’ll just bet you have,” Ariel cooed. “I’m Madeline’s friend Ariel. Maybe she’s told you, I’m very interested in natural herbs and their healing powers. I’d love to have you tell me about the wonder treatment you must have used to shed thirty pounds, shoot up a foot and grow hair.”
Cruz looked puzzled, Madeline desperate. She should have known that she would have to pay for telling Ariel those whoppers about her new partner. The need to shut her friend up won out over the need to get rid of Cruz. She grasped his arm and pulled him into her apartment. “Goodbye, Ariel,” she said as she swung the door closed.
“Nice meeting you, Ariel,” Cruz called with amusement.
“Nice meeting you, Mr. Martinez.”
He turned to look at Madeline. “Seems a little weird, but nice. How’d she know my name?”
“Thanks to your performance in the hallway, the entire apartment complex knows your name,” Madeline retorted. “You’ve been here only five minutes and already you’ve managed to disrupt my neighbors, ruin my reputation and embarrass me in front of my friend.” She glared at him. “Get a new hobby.”
His mouth quirked. “Gee, and I wasn’t even trying. Imagine what I could do if I really set my mind to it.”
“I shudder to think of it. You have to leave. Now.”
“Can’t,” he said cheerfully over his shoulder as he strode to her small kitchen and set the bag on the counter. “I came over tonight to fix you dinner, to apologize for this afternoon.”
“I already ate,” she fibbed.
“What did you have?” he shot back.
Madeline blinked. “Um, I had…” Her mind went blank. “Chicken,” she finished lamely.
“Liar.” He chuckled, unpacking the groceries and setting them about. “Now if you’d said something dripping in grease and full of cholesterol, I might have believed you.”
She gave up. “So I haven’t eaten, but I’m not going to eat with you. This isn’t necessary. Cruz!”
He was ignoring her as he opened packages, but looked up at his name. “Do you like stir fry?”
“I hate it.”
“You’ll like mine,” he said surely. He began opening cupboard doors. “Where do you keep your pans?”
Common sense said she needed to get this man out of her apartment. Self-preservation demanded that she put a great distance, preferably miles, between them. But from the looks of him, it would take an earthquake to move him. Madeline mentally calculated the chance of that particular natural disaster coming to her aid now. The odds didn’t look good.
She sighed and capitulated. “Pans are beneath the stove, silverware is in the top drawer and the fire extinguisher is on the wall.”
His eyebrows rose. “Why, Ms. Casey. That sounded very much like a sexist remark to me. Are you saying you doubt that I can cook?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“I’ll have you know,” he said, his voice muffled as he squatted and rummaged through her cupboard, “that my culinary reputation is legendary.”
She could certainly imagine that something about his reputation was legendary, but somehow doubted that it had anything to do with his cooking ability. However, she wisely refrained from telling him that. She stood there, ill at ease watching as he deftly began to chop ingredients on her cutting board. Stubbornness warred with years of good manners. Manners won. “Would you like any help?”
He stifled a smile. Her tone belied the helpful words. She sounded decidedly out of sorts. Obviously she wasn’t used to finding herself on the sidelines while someone else barged in and took over. And that was exactly what he’d had to do, he admitted to himself cheerfully, to get into her apartment. He cast a glance at her. He much preferred to work alone when preparing a masterpiece, but from the looks of her, he’d be better off giving her something useful to do. Maybe it would improve her mood.
“There’s a bottle of wine in the sack. Why don’t you pour us a couple of glasses?”
That sounded like something she could handle. She obeyed, retrieving the bottle and reading the label curiously. Her eyebrows rose. Another example of his expensive taste, she noted. However, it raised her spirits somewhat. She loved that brand of white wine.
She removed the cork easily and poured some for each of them. She even went so far as to get a small wedge of cheese and a box of crackers from her cupboard and put them on a plate on the counter. If he was intent on coming into her apartment and feeding her, the least she could do was to be hospitable, she reasoned. Besides, she added silently as she sat on a stool across the counter from Cruz, the cheese and crackers might be the only edible items on the menu tonight.
“Is there anything else I can do?” she asked halfheartedly.
He shook his head. She looked more relaxed already. He saw that her wineglass was half-empty, and reached over to fill it again. “No, why don’t you take it easy? You had a rough day.” Without giving her time to respond to that, he went on easily, “I enjoy cooking. It relaxes me after work.” He winked at her. “Of course, I only do it when I feel like it, so it’s not a chore to me.”
“It seems like such a waste of time for one person. I rarely make a real meal for myself.” Having someone in the kitchen cooking for her while she sat and relaxed was beginning to gain merit. There was something to be said for laziness. She studied him judiciously, over her second glass of wine. He didn’t look any less masculine moving about in the tiny room with the ruffled curtains. His movements were lithe and sure. He hadn’t been exaggerating. He obviously knew his way around a stove. He stirred several ingredients together in the frying pan, his hand going to adjust the heat. Her gaze drifted over him. It was especially pleasant to watch someone cook for her when that someone was so easy to look at.
The wine was pleasantly uninhibiting. Her gaze wandered down his well-muscled legs, and back up to trace the inverted triangle of narrow waist, lean back and broad shoulders. His hair looked thick. She wondered if it would be soft or coarse to the touch.
She mentally shook herself. That way of thinking was not for her. She pushed her wineglass away. It might be responsible for easing some of the day’s tensions, but she’d better stop now, before it drained away some of her common sense, as well. This case didn’t need any further complications.
“Out of deference for your finicky appetite, we’re keeping the green things to a minimum tonight. I’m fixing a pasta salad.”
“I like pasta,” she said cautiously. Maybe this meal wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
“Now how did I guess that?” he joked. “I didn’t want to shock your system by introducing too many new foods at once. We’ll expand your salad appetite another time.”
Madeline wondered at his assumption that there would be a next time. But he was a surprisingly pleasant companion, conversing the whole time he cooked. By the time dinner was ready their patter had finished the job the wine had started, and she felt thoroughly relaxed.
Cruz filled both of their plates and set them down at the tiny table in the dining area. She sat down almost nervously. The room wasn’t large enough for a bigger piece of furniture, but since she rarely entertained, she’d never given it much thought. But now, with Cruz sitting across from her, the table seemed too cozy, almost intimate.
To mask her unease, she turned her attention to her food. To her astonishment, the meal was delicious. She surprised herself by putting her normal reservations aside and ate with enjoyment.
Cruz watched her over the top of his wineglass. She had approached the first few forkfuls warily, he noted with amusement. She definitely did not have a trusting nature. But after several minutes their conversation had her so involved that she forgot to surreptitiously examine the food, and just ate it. They were arguing about national politics and he was surprised to find that their viewpoints were not that far apart. But he’d never been one to let similar viewpoints get in the way of a stimulating discussion.
“I agree with you.” He interrupted her in the midst of a spirited argument. He replaced his wineglass on the table and resumed eating his meal.
She frowned at him. “But you said-”
“I know what I said. I just wanted to see how strongly you would defend your position. And you did it quite well, I thought.” His eyes twinkled. “You should have been a lawyer.”
Madeline stared at him. “You did it to me again,” she finally murmured, shaking her head in bemusement. “Why do I keep forgetting how you operate? You just like to get people stirred up, don’t you?”
“Yep,” he admitted without shame. “It’s my forte. You go with your strengths. Plus your impassioned persuasion kept you so busy you forgot what you were eating.” He pointed his fork at her plate.
“Very tricky,” she said, noticing for the first time that she’d eaten most of her helping. “But you’ll notice I managed to avoid the peppers.”
“You did quite well for the first time. And for your reward…” He got up and went to the refrigerator. “I brought something that would earn your forgiveness if you absolutely hated the meal.”
Her mouth watered on cue when he presented the dessert. “For French silk pie I would forgive you for starting World War III. But there’s no need for it. Everything was delicious.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he said with false modesty. “But I have to admit, my culinary genius does not extend to baked goods. I got this at a Miller’s Bakery.”
They savored the sweet dessert and when they were finished, Madeline sat back contentedly. “I don’t think I’ll move for the next several hours.”
“In that case, maybe we’d better go into the living room. You’ll be more comfortable on the couch in case you fall asleep. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
Shaking her head, Madeline rose and walked over to the TV, flipping it on and dropping onto the couch as he’d suggested. “Forget the dishes,” she said. “I’ll do them later when I have more energy.”
He didn’t need any more encouragement, and sat on the other end of the couch. She would be amazed later to recall how quickly the evening passed. They talked as freely as two friends who’d known each other for years, with an easy familiarity. When Cruz rose later, remarking about the time, Madeline’s eyes flew to the clock. She was shocked to see how late it was getting. She followed him to the door.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, “for the meal.”
“Well, I guess I owed you. I really didn’t mean to offend you this afternoon.”
“You didn’t have to do this, but…” She smiled impishly. “I’m glad you did.”
He gazed down at her. “So am I.” She was so close he could reach out and touch her, and he did so without thinking. One finger traced her delicate jawline, and the others curled under her chin of their own accord. He didn’t plan it, but his head began descending.
Just a quick kiss, that was all he expected. A light brushing of lips, a friendly goodbye. It would have been a fitting ending to a spontaneous evening that had turned out surprisingly well. But once his mouth met hers, his expectations faded, to be replaced with something deeper, more demanding.
She saw his face draw closer and she didn’t pull away as she knew she ought to. A kiss seemed almost natural after the evening they’d shared, and her eyelids drooped in anticipation. But anticipation didn’t prepare her for the onslaught of emotion that accompanied his kiss. She’d expected a casual peck, perhaps a teasing brush of mouths, and a joking remark to accompany him out the door. But there was nothing teasing about this.
At the first taste of her, Cruz could feel a spark in his belly quickly grow into a knot of fire. It wasn’t enough, and he followed the dictates of his body, not his mind. He pulled her closer, cupped her head in the palm of his hand and kissed her the way he wanted to, the way he’d thought about doing since the first time he’d seen her, looking so prim and professional.
His lips pressed hers apart and his tongue swept in, exploring boldly. Not expecting such an intimate caress, Madeline’s fingers clutched reflexively on his chest. The heat from his stroking tongue generated an answering heat in the pit of her stomach. She allowed the sparks to sweep away reason for a moment. For an instant she allowed herself to respond to the demand implicit in his kiss, and issued a demand of her own.
Their mouths twisted together in a mindless wanting that reduced their earlier friendliness to a sham. It was long moments before Cruz raised his head.
With her lips bereft of his, her eyes flickered open slowly. He was staring down at her, his eyes still full of the promise his mouth had been issuing a second ago. There was a slight frown on his face. Then he brushed his lips across her forehead and left, as if not trusting himself to do more.
His departure seemed no more abrupt than the cessation of that mind-drugging kiss of a minute ago, and when the door shut behind him, Madeline sagged weakly against it. What a fool she’d been just then, she thought dizzily. She’d imagined what a kiss from him would be like. But her expectations hadn’t prepared her for this thought-draining, soul-racking kiss, which left her boneless and alarmingly empty-headed.
It was some time before her mind cleared enough for her to lock the door behind him. But after she did, she leaned against it again. Later would come the self-recriminations. For now, words escaped her mind, and all she could do was touch her lips in remembrance and smile.
# # # #
Morning seemed to come with the gentleness of a sledgehammer against cement. Cruz hadn’t slept particularly well, and his mood didn’t improve much over coffee. His brilliant idea of the previous evening, to get on a better footing with Madeline Casey, had succeeded all too well. Except for the fact that he’d reacted to her as hot and fast as a randy sixteen-year-old in the back seat of his father’s car. He rubbed his forehead in remembrance. Keep it light, that had been his plan for the evening. But somehow he’d lost that thought at the first taste of her.
His sudden physical response was not a mystery; he’d been attracted to her from the beginning. He appreciated women, and he especially appreciated women who were smart as well as beautiful. It was his momentary lack of control last night that bothered him. Cruz hadn’t gotten to be a thirty-four-year-old bachelor without his share of experience with the opposite sex. But somehow none of that experience had come to his aid last night, and that was disturbing.
He was used to arranging things to suit himself. He had an innate charm that prevented people from protesting, even when they realized how he stayed in control of a situation. He’d figured the situation with Madeline had called for a little more camaraderie, a little lighthearted friendliness, and that was exactly what he’d provided. Until he’d lost control of that plan at the end, when their kiss had become much more than that.
He didn’t like the feeling he had now, as if he’d made a rather large mistake, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on when or why things had gone so awry. All he knew was that they had less to do with him and much more to do with Madeline Casey. And his reaction to her. He brooded over this on the drive to work. When he got to his desk, she was already there.
“Hi,” she said, glancing up at him. “It’s not often I beat you to work.” She took a closer look at his closed expression. “Bad morning?”
Bad night, he wanted to tell her. Long, sleepless and fitful. And if you want to know the cause of it, look in the mirror. But there was no way he was going to admit that to her. Not when she sat there in front of him looking fresh and starched, as if she weren’t bothered in the slightest by the memory of her lips opening for his tongue. He shrugged in answer to her question. “Not especially.”
“I was looking through the files you compiled. I couldn’t find that picture of Valdez we had yesterday. Do you know where it is?”
Her matter-of-fact manner helped restore his own, even as it annoyed him further. He walked to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. He took out the picture and handed it to her. “What’s on your mind?”
She studied the picture intently, as if she didn’t already have the face memorized. He’d be shocked if she answered that question truthfully. However, there was no chance of that happening. She’d thought for an instant that he shared her discomfort at facing him this morning. But she’d obviously been wrong. There was nothing in his manner to suggest that. She, on the other hand, had had to mentally prepare herself for the moment she would see him again. And she resented bitterly the fact that the effort seemed to be one-sided.
But she was, above all things, a professional, and she’d do her job without consideration of any personal feelings if it killed her. She was proud that her voice was matter-of-fact when she answered. “What do you think Stover might have to say if we showed him this and told him we know he got the gun from this man?”
“Bluff him, you mean?”
“We don’t have anything to lose,” she reasoned. “He didn’t seem willing to talk without a guaranteed deal from the D.A. We aren’t going to get that. Maybe, if nothing else, we can surprise him. We might be able to tell from his expression, at least, if we’re on the right track.”
“It’s worth a try,” Cruz agreed after considering for a moment. “Is it your turn to drive, or mine?”
When they arrived at the South District headquarters they received a shock. Cruz stared at the desk sergeant. “What do you mean, Stover made bail yesterday?”
The older man looked annoyed at the question. “Just what I said. Some woman came by yesterday afternoon with wads of hundred-dollar bills stuffed into baggies, and he walked.”
Madeline looked at her partner, stunned. “There’s no way he could come up with that much money. If he could, he would have been out before.”
The desk sergeant pointedly went back to his paperwork, already dismissing them.
“Can we see the paperwork on the bail?” Cruz asked.
The man let out a great sigh, threw his pen down and left his chair. A moment later he came back with the necessary papers. Cruz took them, holding them so both he and Madeline could read them. It was a measure of how much he was coming to rely on her ability; he didn’t even bother to take notes. After perusing the papers they thanked the officer, who didn’t look unhappy to see them go.
“Seems a little strange,” Cruz remarked as they pulled away from the building. “Somehow I hadn’t pictured him as the type to inspire such devotion from a woman. I wonder what her relationship to him was?”
Madeline shrugged.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.
She nodded. “His address was on the papers. Let’s go see if he had any second thoughts about talking after being a prolonged guest of the county.”
Stover lived in a part of the city that he was unfamiliar with, and Cruz used the GPS on his cell. The neighborhoods began to get seedier. A group of youths on one corner were amusing themselves by setting litter baskets on fire.
Seeing them, Madeline began to wonder what would be left of the car by the time they were finished talking to Stover.
“That must be it up ahead,” Cruz finally said. “This is 1014 right here, so 1016 must be the yellow house.”
Madeline pulled to a stop, double-parking in front. His description was too kind. Any paint the house had ever seen was nothing but a dim memory. Curls of faded yellow latex clung to the siding in places, but more of the house was a dull, faded gray. They walked up to the porch, avoiding the steps that had large holes in them. An old screen door hung uselessly by one hinge. Four mailboxes lined the wall next to the door.
“Which one is Stover supposed to be in?”
“1B.”
They pushed open the inner door and were in a small foyer. Stover’s door was slightly ajar. “Detectives Martinez and Casey, Stover,” Madeline called. “We’d like to talk to you for a minute.” There was no response.
She shared a glance, and he pounded his fist against the rickety doorjamb. “Open up, Stover. Police.” Still there was no answer. Though she listened intently, Madeline could not hear any sound in the room. She turned away in disgust, but Cruz used his free hand to push the door open all the way, simultaneously barking, “Police!”
They both saw Stover at the same time, lying facedown on the bed. Slowly they approached him, each sure of what they would find. Cruz pulled the sheet back for a better look at the man.
There was a neat bullet hole at the base of his scalp.