“It went alright,” Christian replied. “I’m thinking I need to get more lead time on some of these jobs though. So I can be better prepared for what I’m getting into.”
“Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that,” Midnight said. “Why don’t you come by my office whenever you get out of bed tomorrow and we’ll talk.”
Christian nodded, glancing at Susan. At the rate things were going, he’d be getting up early, and from a cold, lonely bed.
During dinner they all talked about their views on law enforcement, how they thought things could be improved. Kyle and Christian agreed on the high-tech crimes issue; it was becoming a much bigger and more frequent problem than ever before. At one point Kyle turned to Randy. “You’re on an extended leave from the department? Can I ask why?”
Randy nodded, smiling at Kyle. She already liked him; he was smart and openly friendly and really seemed to fit in with their group. “I’m going to school right now. I’m just a few classes away from my bachelor’s degree in child psychology.”
Kyle smiled. “That’s great. How do you plan to use your degree?”
Randy glanced at Joe, who was sitting across from her. He grinned in response; they’d talked about this often enough. “Well, actually I want to set up a center for kids that get displaced from their homes during enforcement upheavals.”
Kyle thought about it for a long minute, then nodded. “So when the parents get arrested and there’s no one to take them, this center would?”
Randy smiled, happy that he understood the concept. “Yes, I think it’s far too traumatic for children to first see their parents arrested, and to then be marched off themselves to some cold, impersonal facility to be ‘processed.’”
Kyle nodded, his mind working. “What would be different about your center?”
Randy considered her answer, appreciating the intelligent, direct way Kyle communicated. “It’s my plan to have this center be a warm, loving, temporary environment for these kids. I would only have people working there that have a complete understanding of the process a child’s mind goes through when they see their parents arrested, and how to handle that.”
Kyle looked impressed. “Would your center help with a more permanent placement if the parent ends up incarcerated for a long period of time?”
“Certainly,” Randy said, smiling. Kyle Masterson was indeed thorough. “It’s my hope to have an up-to-date running list of good, pre-approved foster homes with profiles on each to match the right children with the right home. I don’t think the child should be punished for the parents’ inability to obey the law. I want them to have every chance of succeeding in spite of their parents’ minor or major failures.”
Kyle nodded again, then glanced at Joe. “She keep you up nights a lot?”
“You have no idea,” Joe said, laughing as Randy made an indignant sound and shot her husband a mockingly vile look.
“Seriously, Randy,” Kyle said. “I think it’s an excellent idea, and one I hope you are able to put into action.”
“Oh, she’ll do it,” Joe said seriously. “If it takes every penny I have, she’ll do it.”
There was silence at the table then, as Randy and Joe exchanged a deep, meaningful look. It was obvious to everyone that they’d discussed this many times.
“What about the other idea?” Joe asked Randy, his tone leading.
Randy narrowed her eyes at him, and he grinned back insolently.
“What other idea?” Midnight asked, her eyes going between the two.
When Randy didn’t speak, Joe turned to Midnight “She has an idea for a mentoring program.”
“Mentoring? Who would be mentoring? And who would they mentor?” Midnight asked, her mind obviously working already.
Joe again turned to Randy. She sighed and leaned her elbows on the table, looking down toward Midnight. “I had this idea that the department’s officers and support staff could do the mentoring.”
“And?” Midnight said, waiting for the rest.
“And,” Randy began, giving Joe another narrowed look, “I was planning to present the idea to you formally in a week or so.”
“Well, lay it out for me real quick,” Midnight replied, used to making decisions at the drop of a hat.
“Okay, basically I thought we could take the juvenile hall referrals and match them up with some of our officers, perhaps cross-referencing particular types of offenses to an officer’s specialty. It would benefit the youths because they would get to see that being a person that obeys the law can be “cool” as well as law-abiding and law-enforcing. The kids that would be part of this would have at least one juvenile hall booking. I’ve already made a contact there, a counselor who would be happy to refer kids he sees going the wrong direction to us.”
“How much time would the officers have to dedicate to this?” Rick asked.
“At least three hours a week,” Randy replied. “In order to make any type of impact on these kids, some time will be necessary. But that time can be anytime during the officers’ off hours…” She trailed off as Rick looked over at Midnight expectantly.
Joe canted his head in Midnight’s direction as well, and she started to grin. “Oh, no pressure here. I guess if we made this a departmental program, the officers could get credited a certain allotment of hours to do this as a public service.”
Randy bit her lip, looking over at Joe, her eyes blazing with suppressed excitement.
“Do you already have a list?” Midnight asked, noting the excited light in Randy’s eyes.
Randy looked a bit chagrined. “Well, I did take the liberty of asking my contact if he could give me a list for illustrative purposes.”
“But these are kids he’d recommend for this program?” Midnight countered.
“Yes.”
Midnight looked thoughtful for a moment, leaning back in her chair and steepling her fingers together, her eyes narrowing. Then she sat up.
“Be in my office tomorrow morning at ten, with your list. We’ll iron out the details,” she said, her voice all chief but her smile friendly.
Kyle turned to Susan and Christian, obviously intent on getting to know everyone at the table.
“So, Susan, what do you do?” he asked.
“I am the Sinclair children’s nanny,” Susan answered, sounding very proper.
Kyle narrowed his eyes, glancing between Rick and Susan. “And do I see a family resemblance here?”
Susan smiled, nodding.
“She’s my niece,” Rick supplied.
Kyle nodded, then looked at Christian quizzically. Christian chuckled. “Joe’s my cousin.”
Kyle shook his head, grinning and looked over at Midnight “You keep things all in the family around here, don’t you?”
Midnight laughed. “Who can you trust but your own family?”
“You’re stuck with us now too, Masterson,” Rick put in, his look pointed.
Kyle inclined his head slightly at the significance of that comment. Rick was stating his acceptance of him publicly. Kyle knew that it meant a lot. Noting the exchange, Joe lifted his glass, and everyone followed suit.
“To our new Assistant Chief,” Joe said, grinning.
“To someone that has a clue about hi-tech,” Christian chimed in, giving Midnight a wink.
“To the man that is going to facilitate my seeing my wife more often,” Rick said, smiling.
Midnight laughed, giving the men a mockingly sour look. “As long as you guys don’t run him off the first day.”
“Is the second okay?” Joe asked drily.
“Watch it, Sinclair,” Midnight said, narrowing her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” Joe said, waving his hand airily.
Midnight turned to Kyle. “The first thing I want you to do as Assistant Chief is get Joe in line.”
“Patrol?” Kyle asked, his tone comical.
“At least—maybe even desk sergeant,” Midnight replied.
“Hey now,” Joe said, laughing.
“What about meter maid?” Rick put in.
Joe looked over at his lifelong friend, his eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Sorry,” Rick said, looking anything but contrite.
They toasted, and the evening proceeded in an easy manner. Kyle left the Debenshire home feeling a sense of belonging starting in him. It felt good.
Chapter 4
The following week, Dave had managed to work his way through the chain and arrange a meeting with Tiempo. He knew Stevie would be on hand, having garnered that she was Tiempo’s security. Most drug dealers surrounded themselves with brawny bodyguards. Tiempo had chosen one that many men wished would guard their bodies horizontally for long periods of time. As Dave made his way into the palatial estate Tiempo owned high in the La Jolla hills, he noted there were other men lounging about the place, many of them armed. So Ms. O’Neil did have backup. When he was led into the library he got his first sight of Stevie O’Neil. She stood leaning against one of the windows, smoking a thin cigar. She wore all black. Her auburn hair fell well past her shoulders in a tousled, appealing way. Her green eyes were on him the moment he walked in; they widened ever so slightly, but no other emotion showed on her face.
“Mr. Tiempo will be with us in a moment,” she said evenly. Her voice was just slightly husky.
Dave nodded, looking around him, his stance casual and unaffected by his surroundings. Many longtime drug dealers grew nervous when waiting for a man of Tiempo’s reputation. He’d been known to grow angry at the slightest thing, and even to kill for the fun of it. In Dave’s case, he would have everything to be nervous about, considering he was a cop and that Mr. Tiempo’s security person almost assuredly knew just that and could tell Tiempo the moment he walked in. But no apprehension showed in Dave’s manner; he might as well have been waiting for the maid to bring tea rather than for a notorious drug dealer.
After letting his eyes trail over the shelves of books and the room’s leather furnishings, Dave allowed them to connect with Stevie’s again. She was still watching him. After a few long moments he inclined his head, dropping his eyes momentarily in a sign of respect she was quite unaccustomed to. When his eyes came back to hers, he noted the surprise in them; his lips curled ever so slightly in a lopsided smile.
Tiempo walked in then, and Dave turned to him. They talked briefly about a shipment Tiempo expected the following week, and Dave wanting to score some higher-grade coke. Tiempo was, as usual, careful about how he discussed the shipment, especially since he had never dealt with Dave before.
After Dave left, Tiempo turned to Stevie and said, “Check him out.”
Stevie nodded, and Tiempo left her alone again.
That night, Dave was already in bed, half asleep, when he heard the intercom to his front door buzz. Reaching above his head to the button, he depressed it. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice gravelly.
“Let’s talk,” came the reply. A female voice that Dave recognized.
“’kay,” he said, pressing the button to unlock the door as he sat up and got out of bed, reaching for a shirt to put on over his sweatpants. He was still buttoning it as he walked out of his bedroom. Stevie stood in the living room, watching him come down the hall. Dave gestured for her to sit; she shook her head. Dave moved to perch on the arm of his couch, watching her. She wore the same clothes as earlier, but she’d pulled her hair back in a long braid with a red hair tie hanging at the end. Dave’s eyes trained on the only spot of color.
Stevie’s eyes dropped to the braid hanging halfway to her waist. She shrugged. “I hate all black,” she said offhandedly.
Dave nodded, his eyes not leaving hers. He was waiting, his posture relaxed.
Stevie glanced around the room. His living room was made up of light elegance, with a very definite feel of the laidback person that lived there. His surf board stood in the corner by the entryway, as if ready to go whenever the mood took him, which it did most mornings. The furnishings were nice but uncomplicated, low-slung and sand-colored leather, unadorned tables, brass lamps with cream shades. His home seemed as uncomplicated as Dave appeared to be. But appearances could always be deceiving.
“So,” Stevie began, her tone casual. “Should I be flattered or nervous?”
Dave’s eyes reflected nothing. “Because?”
Stevie rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then looked back at him. “Because I have the city’s best narc checkin’ me out.” Her tone remained casual, but it was clear she was quite serious.
The thought flickered through Dave’s mind that he should have picked up his gun on the way out of his room. But nothing showed on his face as he answered her. “And I thought you were the one doing the checking out.”
Stevie’s eyes dropped to do a cursory check of his person. They lingered over his chest, which was for the most part bare, then trailed back up to his eyes. Dave was surprised to feel an instant response to that unspoken allusion, and didn’t bother to hide the heat that sprang to his eyes. He was rewarded with her quick intake of breath, even as she glanced away. Dave grinned in spite of himself.
“So what does San Diego PD want?” Stevie asked when her composure returned moments later.
“You,” Dave replied, his tone direct.
Again her eyes returned to his, searching as if trying to discern the meaning of what he’d just said. She saw nothing.
“I can’t imagine why,” she replied finally as she dropped into the chair behind her.
“No?” Dave asked conversationally. “You wouldn’t happen to know about a guy that turned up dead in his apartment last week, would ya?”
“Lots of people turn up dead all around this city—what’s that got to do with me?” Stevie shot back, her tone just as calm.
“Well, this one had a bad case of stitching. Seemed pretty textbook.”
Stevie’s expression didn’t change, but her jaw tightened noticeably. “Damn shame.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dave said, his eyes boring into hers, the disapproval in them clear.
Stevie didn’t flinch or shrink from his reproof. It was clear to Dave that she was guilty of killing the guy. It was also clear that, as he and Midnight had suspected, she had had a reason and it was more than revenge.
There was a long moment of silence as they stared at each other, hunter and hunted—but it wasn’t obvious who was who.
“So what’s it going to take to get rid of you?” Stevie asked.
A slight smile played on Dave’s lips. “You.”
Stevie narrowed her eyes. She knew instinctively that he didn’t mean it the way he’d said it. “What do I have to do?”
“Come back.”
“What?” Stevie asked, dumbfounded by his answer and momentarily losing her cool. “Come back where?”
“To the department.”
“For what? A shakedown?” Stevie replied, in a good imitation of many of the drug dealers he’d dealt with in the past.
“For your family.”
“What the hell does my family have to do with this?” Stevie got to her feet, staring at him warily.
Dave gave her a look of reproach. “Your family has everything to do with this, O’Neil.”
“No,” Stevie said, shaking her head. She started to glance around, as if waiting for her sister and mother to appear out of nowhere.
Dave walked toward her, searching her eyes. “It does, Stevie. We know it does.”
“We?”
Dave’s eyes held hers. “Your sister, me, the chief…” he replied, his voice softening.
“And she wants you to take me down.” Stevie’s voice held just the slightest tremor. It was obvious she was referring to the Chief of Police.
Dave reached out involuntarily, smoothing his thumb over her cheek, wanting to take the wariness out of her eyes. “She wants me to bring you back, Stevie. To the family.”
Stevie’s brows furrowed momentarily. Then it became apparent that understanding had dawned. To his su
rprise, she started to shake her head as she moved away from him. His hand on her arm stopped her. “Stevie, if I can’t bring you back, I’ll have to take you down. I don’t want to have to do that.”
She pinned him with a look. “Then don’t,” she said bitingly.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You have a fucking choice, dammit,” she snapped, her cool lost in the face of his admission.
“No, I don’t,” he said softly, his hand still on her arm. “Give me one.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, again thrown off by his demeanor.
“Give me a choice—help me.”
“How?” she asked, surprised by his intensity. Why did he care what happened to her?
“Make a deal with me.”
“What kind of deal?”
“A deal of give and take.”
“Give and take? Who does the giving?” she asked, her tone taking on the cynical note of someone who’d grown used to one-sided deals.
“I do.”
“And I’ll bet all the taking too.”
“Nope, you’d have to do the taking,” Dave said, staring into her eyes. She couldn’t detect any sexual advance from him, so what were they bargaining for?
“Okay,” she said finally, stepping back and brushing his hand off her arm. “Let’s put our cards on the table here. What will you give me?”
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks? Of what?” she asked, wondering if she was ever going to catch up in this conversation.
“Of my experience, knowledge, and expertise.”
“And what do I have to take?” she said, trying to cover the fact that she still didn’t know what he was offering.
“You have to take the outcome for better or worse.”
“Goddamn it, Dibbins, just fucking say what you mean!” she yelled, her anger boiling to the surface. She felt like a fool in the presence of someone obviously used to playing games of innuendo and half-truths.
Dave grinned openly at her outburst. “Okay, here’s the deal. I will help you. I’ll clear my desk of all my other cases for two weeks. I will work with you on this, to take this bastard down. I will dedicate all of my time to it. But,” he said, holding up his index finger, “at the end of two weeks, regardless of whether we have enough to bust him, you come back to the department with me and never look back. Do we have a deal?”
Past in the Present (MidKnight Blue Book 9) Page 12
