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.
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.
Chapter 3
Madeline left her car in the long circular driveway in front of her father’s house. As she approached the luxurious brick home she didn’t even notice the flawlessly manicured lawn and neatly trimmed shrubs. Perfection was something Geoffrey Casey demanded; he would accept nothing less. She let herself in the front door and headed to the study.
As expected, she found him seated behind his walnut desk in the darkly paneled room. She crossed the plush Oriental carpet, and he rose, looking pointedly at his watch. From long experience Madeline ignored his silent disapproval. She knew she was on time for dinner, just as she was aware that he liked to enjoy a leisurely cocktail a half hour prior to dining. It was her custom to skip that part of the evening if she could.
“Father,” she murmured, kissing his cheek perfunctorily. “How have you been?”
“Busy, as usual. You’re looking well, Madeline. It’s a shame we can’t manage to see each other more often than our monthly dinners.”
Mentally disagreeing, she said, “Well, with our schedules, I guess we’ll have to take what we can get.”
“You’re too late to join me for a drink,” he continued. “I’m sure the cook has dinner ready.”
Together they walked to the dining room. Madeline had never been able to understand why her father insisted on dining every night in the coldly elegant room, at a table that could easily seat twelve. But then the thought of him eating in the kitchen, or anywhere less formal than one of his many clubs, was equally incongruous. Geoffrey Casey was one of those people whom Madeline couldn’t imagine doing any of a number of routine things in the course of a day.
They made small talk as the cook entered the room wheeling a cart. She began removing the steaming dishes from it and setting them on the table. Geoffrey abruptly fell into silence at her arrival, but Madeline smiled warmly at the woman serving them.
