by Style, Linda
Alex handed her the rolled-up paper, his expression sober
Crista smoothed it out on her lap and smiled. It was a crayon drawing, and on the bottom, scribbled letters spelled out S-A-M.
“She told me she made it for you.”
“How sweet.” And how sweet of him to come all the way over to give it to her in person. “It’s…” She angled her head, trying to decipher the child’s artwork.
His arm brushed against hers as he pointed to the stick people. “What do you think?”
Think? She couldn’t think of anything except the searing heat she felt where his arm had touched hers. She was acutely aware of the man’s sexuality. “I’m sorry. I’m really bad at this. Is that supposed to be you and Sam?”
“Sam told me that’s a car, and these two are the people inside.”
“And the line there?” She pointed to something coming from one of the stick figure’s hands.
“Sam’s exact words when I asked the same thing were, ‘I don’t know, but that’s when I got blood all over Snuffy.’”
Crista’s stomach dropped like an anvil. Oh, my God. Had the little girl actually seen the shooters?
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the third book in the WOMEN IN BLUE series about six women who met in training for the Houston Police Academy and remained friends long after. While The Witness stands alone, I hope you’ll have the opportunity to read the five other books, too.
The Witness is Crista Santiago’s story. Born and raised in one of Houston’s impoverished East End barrios, Crista married at seventeen to escape an abusive stepfather. But her marriage proved to be a disaster. Determined to make a better life for herself, she left her husband and vowed never to return to the barrio. As a detective in the HPD Homicide Division, she thinks she’s succeeded—until she meets Alex Del Rio, a man who forces her to come to grips with her past.
Since his wife’s death, Alex Del Rio has directed all his energy toward his four-year-old daughter, Samantha, and his job. A traditional man whose values and beliefs are firmly cemented in his Latino heritage, he never dreamed he’d fall for a modern, independent woman like Crista.
I had a great time figuring out if two such polar opposites could ever get together. And I discovered that Crista and Alex’s romantic story is one of self-discovery and self-love.
It was a pleasure to work with the talented authors behind the WOMEN IN BLUE series: Kay David, Sherry Lewis, Anna Adams, Roz Denny Fox and K.N. Casper. I hope you’ll enjoy The Witness as much as I know you’ll enjoy their books.
I always like hearing from readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 2292, Mesa, AZ 85214 or [email protected]. Please visit my Web site at www.LindaStyle.com and www.superromanceauthors.com to read about upcoming books and other fun stuff.
Wishing you the best,
Linda Style
The Witness
Linda Style
To my family
and to all the dedicated officers of the
law who make our world a safer place
My deep appreciation to those who contributed to the
research for this book: Virginia Vail for lending her Spanish
expertise and Jane Perrine for sharing her knowledge of the
city of Houston. I’d also like to thank the Houston Police
Department and the task force on gang activity. Since this
is a work of fiction, I have taken liberties in some areas.
Any errors are mine.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
“SANTIAGO, GET UP HERE!”
Sixty recruits in the Houston Police Academy and the instructor picks her to be the guinea pig for their first self-defense demonstration. “Yes, Sir.” Crista crossed to the mat and stood at the edge.
“Okay. I’m gonna show you guys how to get away from someone who’s grabbing you, regardless of your size. Santiago, pick a partner.”
“Oh, pick me,” Bernie Schwartz, the largest, most obnoxious man in the class, said in a girly voice and elbowed the recruit next to him.
A rash of laughter filtered through the group. “Yeah, if she wants to be in traction tomorrow,” someone else said.
“Don’t listen to him,” Mei Lu Ling whispered.
Crista couldn’t help listening. The women in the class had nicknamed Schwartz “The Mouth” because he continually harassed them. Every other word had a sexual connotation or was something related to how the women would never make it through training. So far, Crista had ignored his gibes, but she was tired of it—and there was only one way to shut a guy like that up.
Her adrenaline surged. “Okay, Schwartz. You’re on.”
The man grinned. “Uh, maybe you better pick someone else, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want to hurt a little thing like you.”
Her nerves bunched at the condescending tone in his voice. She wasn’t sure which was bigger, Schwartz’s mouth or his inflated ego.
When she didn’t back down, he glanced at the other recruits and shrugged as if it was going to be her fault when she got hurt.
“Get up here,” the instructor ordered.
Schwartz sauntered over, so impressed with himself Crista wanted to puke. Instead, she stood quietly with her arms crossed and, after glancing at her friends on the sidelines, she gave them a tiny, satisfied smile. It was time for Bernie Schwartz to go down.
Chose your fights wisely. Crista remembered Catherine Tanner’s warning. Catherine was their first instructor at the academy and had privately told the women in the class that they might not like some of the things that happened during training. The police department was still a brotherhood of sorts, and if the women wanted to make it through their six months, they’d do well to ignore a lot of things.
The thought galled Crista. She’d had enough abuse in her life and had vowed never to get in that position again.
But right now, it was more important to protect her future. Getting hired by the Houston Police Department was the single most significant thing she’d done with her life, and it wouldn’t mean much if she didn’t make it through the academy. Heeding Catherine’s advice, she’d kept her mouth shut. All the women in the class had done the same.
Only this time, the situation was different. She had the perfect opportunity to make a statement without saying a word.
“Okay, you two, over here on the mat.” Their instructor, Max Wilson, pointed to where Crista and Bernie should stand, and then he explained the maneuver, point by point.
Crista considered her opponent. Broad chest and biceps that strained at the seams of his tight T-shirt, overdeveloped thighs that rubbed together when he walked. Schwartz was a bodybuilder, and bodybuilders weren’t known to be fast on their feet. Certainly no match for her expertise. She wasn’t a Master’s level yet, but she knew she was a worthy opponent for any man.
Wilson looked at Crista. “Santiago, Schwartz is going to grab you and you’re going to attempt the maneuver.”
Schwartz gave a lecherous grin and did a Groucho with his eyebrows. More laughter tittered through the group.
Crista focused on her attacker. “Okay, Schwartz, do you
r thing.”
Just as he reached out, Crista grabbed his left arm at the elbow, shoved her leg behind his and pulled hard as she turned into his body. In one quick flowing motion, she bent over, yanked his arm to bring him across her back and he landed on the floor in front of her with a thud.
A hushed “Ohh,” emanated from the recruits and then—utter silence. After a moment, isolated clapping broke the air. One of her friends, no doubt. Then she heard a couple hoots and one of the guys said, “Hey, Santiago! I want you to be my partner.” Another said, “Yeah, you can cover me on the streets anytime.”
The Mouth, still flat on his back with the air knocked out of him, glared up at her. She reached out a hand to help him. “Thanks for volunteering, Bern.”
Schwartz batted her hand away, rolled to a sitting position and then launched to his feet, every muscle in his body tensed for a fight.
“Okay, let’s do a few more routines before we take a break.” Wilson gave Crista a nod and said, “Good job, Santiago.”
Later, as the larger group scattered and Crista’s friends rushed to her side, she heard some of the guys ribbing Schwartz about getting taken down by a woman. Then she heard, “That bitch better watch her back.”
Mei was standing next to Crista and patted her on the shoulder. “Nice work.” Lucy gave her two thumbs up, Abby reached out for a hug, and Risa said, “Way to go, sister!”
Crista nodded and smiled, the rush of adrenaline still pumping through her veins.
“Did you hear him?” Abby asked. “It’s gonna be tough on you to go through the rest of training with that jerk hauling his bruised ego around.”
“Crista can handle Schwartz,” Risa piped up.
“I made the decision, I’ll live with it,” Crista said softly. “Besides, I have my friends for moral support.” It was true. The closeness and camaraderie they’d developed in such a short time meant a lot to Crista.
By the end of their first week at the academy, the women in the class—Risa Taylor, Lucy Montalvo, Abby Carlton, Mei Lu Ling and Crista—quickly realized they needed to support one another and had formed a sisterhood. Catherine Tanner, who’d taught the Law Enforcement Ethics class and had warned them right off to play it cool, joined, too.
In her whole life, Crista had never felt such a close bond with anyone as she did her five friends. She doubted anything could tear them apart.
CHAPTER ONE
Six years later
THE LITTLE GIRL was still alive.
Detective Crista Santiago braced one arm on the door frame of the ICU at the Texas Children’s Hospital, closed her eyes and drew a breath.
Alex Del Rio, the child’s father, slumped in a chair at her bedside, his dark head bowed, hands clasped and pressed against his forehead.
Crista prayed, too. Prayed the girl would live.
A moment later the man started humming, his voice barely audible. Hush little baby, don’t you cry…a lullaby he’d probably sung to his daughter from the time she was an infant. Grief was etched in deep lines on his face as he reached out to hold the child’s tiny hand.
Swallowing around a sudden lump in her throat, Crista pushed away from the door, dark memories of her own surfacing like demons from the deep, memories of another hospital—another time. Fourteen years ago.
She hurried down the hall and past the nurses chatting in hushed tones at the desk, her boot heels clicking too loudly against the tile, the sharp scent of alcohol burning her nostrils. No…she couldn’t question Alex Del Rio right now. Not when he didn’t know if his little girl would be okay.
As she approached the glass doors to exit, she saw her partner, Pete Richter, pacing outside.
“Finished?” he asked as the automatic doors swished open.
Crista stepped outside into the crisp autumn air, squinting in the morning sun. She shook her head, still disturbed by the image of Del Rio at his little girl’s bedside. The child’s name was Samantha, and whether she lived or died, Crista still had to question her father about the shooting.
“You must think I’m really good if you expected me to finish in ten minutes.” Crista kept walking toward the car, her partner in step alongside.
“I would have.”
“Of course. You’re a much better cop than I am,” she said facetiously.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” The tall, blond man shrugged.
Pete hadn’t gone in with her because his wife was about to have a baby and had kept him on the phone while she was experiencing false labor pains, the third time it had happened in the past two weeks. And from the dry tobacco scent in the air, Crista guessed he’d needed a cigarette, as well.
“So what’s the problem?”
“The father was distraught. I couldn’t question him right now.”
Pete looked at her askance as she slipped into the passenger seat of the gray, department-issue sedan.
She knew the look. “I know. I know. I’m thinking like a woman, not a detective. And Englend’s not going to be happy.”
Pete nodded, not mentioning the most important part of the equation. Houston’s mayor, Stan Walbrun, was all over their captain about the recent increase in drive-by shootings, most of them in the tougher barrios. On Wednesday there’d been a drive-by in Paloverde Park, and a man had died. This time the shooters had targeted Encanto, the old but upscale Hispanic community where Alex Del Rio, one of the mayor’s staff, lived. Bottom line—the mayor wanted the case solved and he wanted it done yesterday.
Pete pulled onto Fannin Street, the main road that curved around the Texas Medical Center. “So where to?”
“We’ve got some research to do.”
Her partner popped a breath mint into his mouth and made a quick U-turn to head back to the station. “I say gang initiation. Open and shut.”
“It appears that way, doesn’t it. Or maybe one of the gangs was claiming new turf.” She was going to need a reliable contact to find out anything about the shooting. “You know any good snitches in the barrio, Pete?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I was North Patrol before I came here. You’re the one with the experience.”
“Not recently.” It’d been fifteen years since she’d lived in the Paloverde barrio—a place she despised and had vowed never to return to. How ironic that her new assignment would take her right back. Anger coiled in her stomach at the thought.
When she’d received the promotion to detective a year ago, she’d put in for a job in Special Operations. She’d heard nothing until several months later when she was transferred to Homicide’s Chicano Squad—supposedly because she knew the culture and spoke the language.
Lord, she was tired of being labeled. Tired of being defined by a happenstance of birth. Her identity didn’t hinge on her heritage—only now it seemed, her job did.
“Yeah, but you have experience with the homies. Right?”
Crista had to chuckle at Pete’s attempt to sound hip. “It was a long time ago. And if you talk like that in the hood, you’ll be laughed off the street.”
She knew there was more to her transfer to the Chicano Squad than experience. In her former unit, she’d been branded a troublemaker for speaking up for herself and for standing up for her friend Risa when she was under investigation. Voicing her opinion when it was different than most officers on her team was the same as breaking the code. The silent code every cop knew. Cops didn’t make waves against the system. One cop didn’t complain about another. If you had a problem, you had to suck it up. It had taken a long time on the force for Crista to learn that lesson.
She figured the powers that be, namely her old captain, wanted to show her she had to toe the line if she planned to remain on the force. In addition, she’d heard the Chicano Squad had an affirmative action quota to meet. How convenient that Crista hit two AA marks—she was a woman and a Latina.
Well, she had no plans to stay on the Chicano Squad and was going to put in for a transfer as soon as another opening in Special Ops came up. But for any transf
er she needed the captain’s recommendation. To get that, she had to prove herself—and solving the Encanto case seemed the perfect way to do it.
At headquarters, they cruised into the parking garage and up to the fourth floor, pulling into the space for unmarked police vehicles. Together, they headed inside to the Chicano Squad’s offices, a unit separate from the rest of Homicide, located at the end of a long hall.
Crossing to her desk in the middle of the room, Crista nodded at Laura, the department clerk, ignoring the low whistle, the click of a tongue. More subtle than catcalls, yet the effect was the same.
At least she could wear pantsuits with long jackets to cover herself. But nothing stopped the guys with only one thought on the brain. Thank heaven the whole unit wasn’t like that. She sat at her desk and pulled out the papers to write up her report.
“Hey, Pete. You and J. Lo crack the case?” Clyde Hanover, asked. From the suggestive tone in his voice he wasn’t talking about the drive-by.
Pete gave the other detective a hand gesture. “You guys are animals.”
Thank you, Pete. If she’d been there longer, she would’ve given Hanover a shot herself, but after all the trouble she’d had in her last unit she wasn’t going to challenge something so insignificant. Before she’d arrived, the Chicano Squad had been an all-male unit, and she knew she had to gain the team’s confidence before they considered her one of them. Even then, she wasn’t sure it would happen.
Her first day on the job, she’d learned she was one of five Latinos on an eight-person team. An interesting mix. In addition to regular duties, the Chicano Squad provided investigative support and follow-up on homicides, serious assaults and kidnapping that required knowledge of the Hispanic culture and language.
