gone upstairs and found her hairbrush on his dresser he’d been frozen with an anguish so deep it could have been physical. He’d hurled the brush across the room, where it had fallen to the floor with a soft thud. But the images were harder to banish.
Lying in his bed alone, it was impossible for him to forget the times she’d been next to him. Although their time together had been brief, he’d gotten to know her better than he figured anyone else ever had. He knew, for instance, that beneath those no-nonsense suits she wore lingerie that made him break out into a sweat just envisioning it. He couldn’t sleep in that bed anymore with the specter of her there. Memories taunted him-of her lying sleeping, curled up beside him; of the way she slept with her lips slightly parted, as if waiting for his kiss; of the satiny fabric of her nighties, and the way they rode up in the night, to leave her bottom delightfully, arousingly bare. Nor were those images banished when he slept instead on the sectional sofa he’d ordered for the living room. No, they followed him, tantalizing reminders of what had been, and what he’d hoped for.
He didn’t know which was worse, the times home alone tortured by memories of Maddy, or those hours in the car, being forced to sit inches away from her. She had acceded to his wishes, and now the only words between them had to do with the case. One part of him was grateful for that; the other wanted to demand an explanation from her.
But he remained stubbornly silent. A fierce male pride was part of his heritage, and it coursed strongly through his veins. Yet more than that kept him from speaking. He’d never allowed a woman as close before, and it was too hurtful to think of her lack of faith in him. Just imagining her delving into his life, checking up on him while they worked together made him want to punch something. The laughable thing was, she could have asked him anything, anything about himself, and he probably would have told her, sooner or later. He’d have told her things that he’d gone to pains to hide from almost all his friends, because he’d thought her interest lay in him. He smiled bitterly. And so it had. But not in the way he’d counted on. He couldn’t forget that every moment he’d been drawn closer to her, every moment she’d pretended to feel the same, she was cold-bloodedly running an investigation on him at the same time. That was hard to forget.
Madeline Casey wasn’t the only one with a long memory.
Three days after the scene with Cruz, Madeline was questioning her sanity. Each day seemed to blur into the next, and her whole world seemed to have narrowed to the front seat of the unluxurious police-issue car. Stakeouts were always tedious, but the situation with Cruz made this one intolerable. The endless hours they spent together with this insurmountable breach between them had her constantly on edge, her entire body one jangling nerve. The inactivity was working on both of them. Even Cruz was losing that flat, expressionless tone he’d adopted. When he did speak, it was in close to a snarl.
He’d run a check on the plates of the truck Valdez had been driving, and, unsurprisingly, it had been registered to Andersen Steel. They’d agreed, in one of their rare moments of conversation, that in all likelihood Valdez had been hired as the distributor. With his criminal experience and contacts on the streets, he would certainly have the reputation and experience to find buyers.
It was close to noon, and they’d both already silently eaten the lunches they’d brought. Madeline had forced herself to eat most of a sandwich, then put the rest of the food away. It was difficult to swallow these days, and hunger was the last thing she was feeling.
“Looks like pay dirt,” Cruz muttered, training the binoculars on the warehouse.
She craned her neck to look and saw a large ship approaching the Andersen dock.
“That’s got to be the shipment of steel the project manager was talking about,” she said.
“And this must be the night Andersen wants Valdez here.” He put down the binoculars and turned on the ignition.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now it’s time to type up another warrant.”
Several hours later found them back on the same street, the search warrant in their possession. They’d talked in the car that afternoon, more than they had in the total time they’d spent watching the warehouse. In fact, they’d argued.
“I still don’t agree with this,” she muttered, crossing her arms stubbornly. “It’s a dangerous risk, one we don’t have to take.”
“Be realistic, Madeline,” he retorted for what seemed the hundredth time. His use of her full name made her flinch a little. “If we do as you wish and present this to Andersen right now, what’s the best-case scenario? We could get him to come down here, open up a few crates, hopefully find the parts to some AK-47s and take him downtown to book him. We still won’t have Valdez.”
“You don’t know that,” she argued heatedly. “We could be back here at midnight when Valdez shows up, and nab him then.”
“That wouldn’t happen. He’s going to be expecting Andersen to be here, and he’s cautious as hell. That’s how he’s managed to elude us for so long. Knowing him, he’ll be waiting for some sign that all is well. When he doesn’t see it, he’ll take off. And then we’ll have no chance of finding him, because you can be sure he won’t be sticking around when he hears of Andersen’s arrest.”
“It’s more dangerous your way,” she said, even as she realized the logic in his argument. “We won’t be able to radio for backup. If a detective is involved in this whole thing, we can’t take the chance of leaking our surveillance to the wrong person. We have no idea which cop is dirty. We wouldn’t know who to trust.”
“We know there’s only going to be two of them tonight-three at the most, if this mystery detective is there. We can handle them ourselves.”
She resented the way he had of simplifying a situation that, she somehow knew, was going to turn out to be anything but simple. “How about this?” she bargained. “We’ll be able to tell from our position how many of them there are. If it’s just Valdez and Andersen, we’ll go in ourselves. We won’t be able to afford the risk of the wrong person responding to our call. But if we see a third person, we radio for backup.”
Cruz hesitated, then nodded curtly, and their attention returned to the street.
Evening had descended before either of them spoke again. “Let’s get closer,” Cruz suggested. Without another word they both checked their weapons and extra clips. Then they moved across the street to take up station behind the same utility shed they’d sheltered behind nights ago.
Several hours in the same position had every one of Madeline’s muscles screaming a protest. Despite the danger, she was almost relieved when Andersen’s large car rolled to a stop in front of the warehouse. He got out and walked rapidly up to the gate, fumbling with the key in the lock until he finally swung the gate open. Propping it open a few feet, he waited with seeming impatience, casting continual glances up and down the street.
“Came dressed for gunrunning, I see,” Cruz remarked in an almost soundless whisper. The man was dressed in a black sweatshirt and trousers. “Guess you can’t buy an Italian suit that’s right for this kind of work.”
She had to smile at his outrageous remark. “Probably got it at Crooks R Us.”
“Ah, there’s his sidekick. I knew he’d be too cautious to show if he wasn’t sure Andersen was here.”
“Don’t be obnoxious, Martinez. The night isn’t over yet.”
They both watched as Valdez slowly approached the gate, exchanged a few words with Andersen, then walked away again. A few moments later the truck he’d been driving a few days ago pulled up. Andersen opened the gate wide, and it rumbled slowly through.
They waited fifteen agonizingly long minutes. Then Cruz whispered, “It’s show time.” They drew their weapons and moved silently across the street and through the still-open gate.
They entered through the open door of the warehouse. It was shadowy, but light spilled out from a distant corner, making it possible to see where they were going. Sheets of metal and cartons filled the huge expanse, piles of materials everywhere. They approached the lighted area cautiously, stopping frequently to listen.
Stopping in back of a huge stack of boxes, Cruz realized that they were as close as they were going to get to the two without showing themselves. As it was, when they peered around the corners of their hiding place, they had a clear view of Andersen and Valdez working. The cavernous structure provided perfect acoustics for their conversation.
“Be a hell of a lot easier if you’d have the guns shipped already assembled and in the same damn crates.” It was Valdez speaking. “Then we’d just have to open them up, count them and toss them on the truck. This takes too damn long.”
When Andersen spoke, it was obvious he was winded from his labors. “The simplest method isn’t necessarily the smartest, Valdez. Each of these crates has to look perfectly legitimate for anyone who happens to look inside it.
