GAGE BUTLER'S RECKONING

by Justine Davis

  "Until now," she said softly.

  "Until now," he agreed, not caring that grim triumph echoed in his voice.

  "Did he … hurt her?"

  "Physically? Some. But that's not the worst." He gave her a sideways look. "Ever hear of gamma hydroxybutyrate?" She looked startled. "GHB," he said. "Also known as liquid X, or scoop."

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't think so."

  "How about roofies? Roachies?"

  "Roofies…" she said slowly. "Isn't that a … drug?"

  He nodded. "Rohypnol. It's a similar thing. Hypnotic, sedative drugs."

  "The … date-rape drugs," she said slowly. "Oh, God, is that what he did?"

  "Yes." He felt the familiar burning in his gut as the memories stirred. He stood up, abruptly. "GHB is a little different than Rohypnol. It acts a little bit faster, in fifteen to twenty minutes, and wears off sooner. But it's more dangerous, too. If the dosage is too large, it can kill. In lower doses, it makes you giddy, makes you drop your guard. By the time you realize something's wrong, it's too late, you're already in trouble. Or you may even realize something's wrong, but you just don't care." His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "It also has the advantage of being fairly easily manufactured. At home, even."

  Her eyes widened. "You mean … somebody could just make up a batch in the kitchen?"

  "If they know how, yes."

  Laurey shivered. "That's awful. Is it true, they just dissolve in a drink, and you can't taste them at all?"

  "Rohypnol, yes. GHB is sometimes bitter, but in a drink it's pretty undetectable. Until it's too late. Both of them hit fast and progress just as quickly. In this case, it was lemonade."

  "Lemonade?"

  "Safer that way. Mixed with alcohol, the stuff can sometimes be dangerous, and he doesn't want them dead. Just … unable to fight."

  "Lemonade," Laurey said again, still sounding stunned.

  He understood; it was such an … innocent drink.

  "At a church carnival yet." At Laurey's expression, he nodded. "Yeah. A kids' fund-raising carnival. Nice, huh? He goes in the guise of the benevolent benefactor, donating a nice bit of cash to the cause. Figures that donation should earn him something, so he picks her out of the crowd as his payment. She's a very pretty girl."

  "My God," Laurey whispered.

  He got up and began to pace; he was never able to think about this case calmly. Only now did he realize the lawn mower had stopped. The silence seemed loud somehow. A stupid thought.

  "He sweet-talks her," he explained. "Gives her money to play some of the games, buys her food … all part of his charitable act. Then he slips the GHB into her lemonade, and as soon as she's wobbly enough, he leads her off as if he's concerned that she's ill, and stuffs her into the trunk of his car. She wakes up a couple of hours later … handcuffed to a bed. He … uses her most of the night, then takes her home to her parents."

  "Takes her home?" Laurey said, clearly astonished. "In person?"

  Gage smiled humorlessly. "You still don't quite see it, Laurey. He picked her out specifically because she met all his criteria. She's young, innocent, pretty, Hispanic and poor."

  "I don't … understand."

  "Young, innocent and pretty is what he gets off on. That she's Hispanic is how he justifies it to himself. She's less than he is, so he has the right to take her if he wants."

  Laurey's eyes were wide with horror as she stared at him.

  "And the poor part, that's how he stays out of jail. He takes her home and offers the family, who are scraping along at poverty level, enough money to take care of them for a year. Or longer. More money than they'll ever see from honest work. Just to keep quiet."

  Laurey swallowed, and he could see how this was affecting her. But she'd insisted on knowing; he couldn't help it if the reality of the answer wasn't to her liking.

  "You…" She swallowed again. "You say that like he's done this … before."

  "He has. I've found at least two other girls I know were his victims. But they won't come forward, and I can't prove it."

  "You mean … the other families … took the money?"

  "I have to assume so."

  "But … this girl's didn't?"

  "No, they didn't. They told him to take his filthy money and leave." His voice rang with as much pride as if it was his own family he spoke of. "Her father warned him that if he saw him near his daughter again he'd kill him. Scared Martin off with a shotgun, apparently. And then he called me."

  "You? Personally?"

  He nodded. "Jorge Cordero, he told her father I was … all right. That I'd do right by them."

  "Is he the old man who came out the night of the acci—" She broke off, obviously realizing that term was no longer accurate; there had been nothing accidental about what had happened that night.

  "Yes," he said, letting it go. "He's helped me out a lot, putting some kids to work at the store, sometimes even kids he'd caught stealing from him in the past."

  She looked at him for a silent moment. "That's a lot of trust," she said at last.

  "Yes," he agreed.

  "You seem to … inspire that in a lot of people."

  He shrugged, not saying anything. He knew that to a certain extent it was true, but he couldn't help wondering what it would take for him to inspire that kind of feeling in her.

  She looked at him for a moment, silently, intently. "Will Martin really go to prison?"

  "I hope so. We broke his alibi when we finally found a reliable, independent witness who saw the man Martin claimed to be with somewhere else on the night in question. Through that we came up with a waitress who also saw him. That was the last bit we needed to get the warrant."

  "What if he isn't … found guilty?"

  "If he isn't," Gage said grimly, "I may hand in my badge."

  * * *

  "You're really determined he won't get away with this, aren't you?"

  Gage pulled at the cheese to free another piece of the huge sausage pizza Cruz had brought over when he'd relieved Beresford for a dinner break. They'd invited him to stay, but Cruz had demurred, saying he had to get home as soon as Beresford got back; he'd been informed that Sam had fixed dinner tonight, and he was under strict orders to be there, and on time.

  "I wouldn't argue with Samantha Jayne Gregerson," Gage had said teasingly. "She's liable to turn her zoo loose on you."

  "I can deal with the regular zoo," Cruz had retorted. "It's that damned Slither."

  "I thought you two had declared a truce?" Gage said. "After he helped you round up that crazy doper that had Sam."

  "Let's just say we've agreed to peacefully coexist."

  It wasn't until after Cruz had gone that Laurey had turned to Gage and said merely, "Slither?"

  "Sam's king snake."

  "The 'pet' Cruz was talking about, the one he wanted you to take?"

  He nodded. "Cruz hates snakes."

  "Then why…?"

  "He hates snakes, but he loves his little girl."

  "Oh." Laurey had smiled. "That's sweet."

  "Careful, girl," he warned. "That's a cop you're talking about. A man might think you were starting to like them."

  Instead of the rejoinder he'd expected, her usual response about it only being one cop she didn't like, she'd only given him an oddly intent look and said cryptically, "A man might."

  That had silenced him until now, when Laurey had made her observation about his determination that Martin would not get away with what he'd done this time.

  "I am," he admitted. "He represents everything that's wrong with the justice system, the utter and complete belief that with enough money you can buy your way out of anything. He couldn't believe it when we arrested him. He really thought he was untouchable, that we wouldn't dare."

  "But you did."

  "Yes. And as long as the girl and her family hang in there, we'll put him away."

  "Will they?"

  "I think so. They have more integrity than Martin's ever
even been introduced to. And they love their daughter, something else outside Martin's comprehension. I think they'll stick it out."

  He grimaced, staring at the remainder of the slice of pizza. It seemed to have lost its flavor. He'd only eaten in the first place because he knew he needed some kind of fuel to keep going. He'd never found it so hard before to do that simple thing, to just keep going. He remembered what Kit had said about hitting the wall and wondered if this was it. But it couldn't be. Not now. He couldn't afford it. The Santos family couldn't afford it.

  "All I have to do is make sure the damn system works. To show them it really does level the field, that the law is for the rich and the poor alike, and that what's supposed to be true is, that all people really are equal before the law. That's the part they don't quite believe, and I can't blame them. It sure as hell seems to work that way too often."

  "Do you believe it?"

  He sighed. "No. Not anymore. The ideal works, but we've gotten so far away from it, so concerned with protecting the criminal that the victim gets lost… It's no wonder they don't trust in it." Determination crept back into his voice. "But they trust me, and I'll be damned if I'll let them down."

  He finished the slice, wiped his fingers, took a sip out of his bottle of soda, set it down … and only then became aware that Laurey was looking at him. Silently. Steadily.

  And he could swear there was at least a trace of approval in her smoky eyes.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  She had finally stopped pacing, had taken a seat on the sofa. Somehow, it didn't make Gage feel much better; there was a tightly wound tension in her that seemed worse when she was still. It was late, very late, but they'd slept so long into the afternoon that neither one of them was sleepy. But they both, it seemed, were antsy as hell.

  But still, he thought, it was better than watching her move back and forth across the living room with that long, leggy stride that had him thinking things he shouldn't be thinking. And remembering things better forgotten. Like that explosive, unexpectedly hot kiss last night by the car.

  He'd never meant to do it. He knew it was a mistake. He knew it was a violation of, if not formal regulations, then certainly ethical police conduct. She was a witness in a felony case; you didn't mess with that.

  Of course, he hadn't realized that at the time; he'd only been so damned glad she hadn't been hurt, that his failure to take seriously enough the threat on his life hadn't caused her injury or worse. But that was no excuse. She'd been frightened, and he'd taken advantage of that. That he'd been damned near scared to death himself was no excuse, either.

  And even then, even knowing all that, he couldn't manage to regret it. Not when that kiss, despite its quickness, despite the ludicrous circumstances, had shocked to life nerves he'd never known he had and sensations he'd thought long dead.

  "Want to send out for another movie?" he asked quickly, before he could dwell too long on thoughts that had a tendency to make his jeans a bit too snug.

  "No."

  He tried again. "Kelsey offered to send over some more books. Want to call her with a list?"

  "No."

  He sighed and asked with wry humor, "Want Ryan to stop by so you can gape at him a while?"

  She looked at him then. For an instant he thought he saw the corners of her mouth twitch, but he wasn't sure. "Thanks for the offer. He's lovely, but not my type."

  "I thought tall, dark and handsome was every woman's type."

  "Men who are taken," she said, "are not my type. And Ryan is very much taken."

  "That he is," Gage said softly, liking the quiet respect with which she'd said it. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, "I, on the other hand, am not."

  She gave him a long, sideways look. "Aren't you?" There was a wealth of innuendo in her tone, and Gage wondered just what can of worms he'd inadvertently opened. "No," he said slowly.

  "Aren't you?" she repeated. "Aren't you taken, lock, stock and barrel? Aren't you owned? Isn't there something that holds you more than any mere woman ever could?"

  He drew back, seeing now where she was headed and not liking it much.

  "What happened with your wife, Gage?"

  "She couldn't hack being married to a police officer. We were divorced five years ago."

  He knew it was a cop-out, but he resorted to it anyway. And Laurey was looking at him as if she knew it was just that, as if she knew much more than he was saying. He did a hasty revision of his assumptions about her naiveté. She might be naive, but she wasn't stupid, which was what he would be if he mistook the one with the other.

  "Was it the cop she couldn't handle? Or the man who put his work before her?"

  Gage fought down the heat he felt rising. How many times had Trish said it? How many times had she told him one day he was going to have to choose? And then she had chosen for him, walking out of the small house, leaving only a note behind, saying she would have told him in person, but she hadn't felt like staging a crime to grab his interest long enough to get it said.

  "I…" He couldn't think of a damned thing to say. What could he say, when she was right?

  "Both, huh?" Laurey said.

  He lowered his gaze, staring at the toes of his worn running shoes, wishing he could put them to use now. "Just drop it, will you?"

  "Oh, sure," Laurey said, her tone falsely bright. "I'm very good at not talking about—or to—workaholics. I've had lots of practice."

  His gaze shot to her face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing." She sounded suddenly weary. "It doesn't matter."

  "Look, it takes time and concentration to do this damned job. To build cases against guys like Martin, to—"

  "I know," she said. "I'm sorry. At least your job is … worthwhile. Does somebody some good."

  As quickly as that, she'd defused his defensiveness and left him wondering just who she was comparing him to. But before he could think of a way to ask, she was looking at him, her expression very different.

  "I know … from Caitlin, and Kelsey and Lacey, too, that it's not easy being married to a cop."

  Glad—at least, he thought so—for the change of subject, he shook his head. "No. No, it's not. They're tough ladies, stronger than just about anyone I know, and it's still tough."

  For a long time she was silent. And when she did speak again, her voice was very low and oddly strained.

  "Dealing with this kind of thing, people like this Martin, seeing such horrible things…" She paused, shaking her head, and when she looked at him again there was honest bewilderment in her eyes. "Why, Gage? Why do you do it? I know you said it was all you ever wanted to do since you were ten, but … why? And why do you remember so specifically when?"

  He hesitated, but something about that look in her eyes made him speak. "I … Something … terrible happened in my family when I was ten. The police … they took care of me."

  It came out awkwardly, choppily, but it was more than he'd said about it in years. And it was all he could manage, never mind that Laurey was looking at him as if he'd said much more.

  "'At least then the world can't take them away from you.'"

  She said it softly, as if quoting. The words sounded familiar to him. Had he said that to her sometime during the chaos of the past few days?

  "Who was taken away from you, Gage?" she asked, taking his breath away with the perceptive jump she'd made.

  He turned his back on her, unable to look at her and deal with the memories her simple words had set free at the same time. He walked over to the window and stared, as if he could see something through the miniblinds that were tilted to allow in light during the day while preventing any line of sight into the house. But all he saw was darkness, the distant halo of a streetlight the only illumination.

  "What happened, Gage?" she asked in that same quiet, gentle voice. "What made you believe it's better not to have a family than to have one and lose it?"

  She'd leapt past
his guard by guessing more than most people even wondered about. The rest of the reason he'd become a cop. And then, with more quiet words, more perceptive guessing, she ripped away the last of his defenses.

  "It was your sister, wasn't it? You said you'd lost a sister, too…"

  "She was murdered," he said, the words ripped out of him in a voice he didn't even recognize as his own. "She was raped and murdered within twenty feet of me, and I never did a damn thing to help her."

  Laurey stifled a gasp. Something Caitlin had said hit her with the force of a blow. He takes on the worst rape cases, the ones no one else has the stomach for, even though it tears him apart inside. Was this why? Instinctively she knew it was.

  He moved suddenly, sharply, grabbing his jacket, which was tossed over the back of the couch. He held it so that she could see the mended spot on one sleeve. "She fought him. She yanked this jacket off him."

  Laurey looked at him as if she felt suddenly queasy, then as if she understood too well the reason he wore the jacket of his sister's killer.

  "Dear God," she whispered. "I've heard of hair shirts before, but this?"

  "I should have helped her," he said, almost numbly.

  "Could you have?" Laurey asked, her voice a bit shaky, as if she were fighting for calm. "Could you have helped her, if you were only ten?"

  "I … should have tried. But she told me to hide. In the closet. And not to come out no matter what happened, no matter what I heard. I had to do what she said. My mother always said that, that when we were home alone, she was in charge. That I had to do exactly as she said, because she was older. She was fifteen, old enough to boss me. So I hid. Like she told me. And I didn't come out. Even when … she screamed."

  He could hear himself, knew he was sounding like the child he'd been then, but he couldn't help it any more than he could seem to stop the ugly words from pouring out at the gentle probing of this woman who had turned his life into such turmoil so quickly.