by Style, Linda
“¿Cómo est ás?” he asked cheerily, almost as if he was happy to hear from her.
She knew different. He’d never be happy to hear from the police.
“I’m fine,” she responded.
“You want to talk to Diego?”
“Uh…is he there?” She hadn’t expected her brother to be there. She wanted to talk to Marco.
In the background she heard Marco say, “Your sister is on the phone.” The next voice she heard was Diego’s. “You tracking me down?”
“No. I had no idea you were there. I was calling to talk to Marco, but as long as I have you on the ph—”
“I can’t talk now.”
His voice was muffled, as if he’d cupped a hand over the receiver.
“I’ll call you later tonight,” he said.
That was a switch. “What time? I planned to go to the gym, but if it’s important…”
“It’s important.” He hung up. No goodbye, nothing.
Just as she replaced the receiver, the phone rang again. She picked it up.
“Will you please come into my office,” the captain’s voice boomed into her ear.
She glanced up to see Englend sitting at his desk staring directly at her. “Sure. Be right there.”
She’d barely stepped inside the room when he asked, “Where are you on the case?”
“I have a couple good leads in the Paloverde barrio.”
The captain picked up a form from his desk, glanced at it and leaned against the back of his chair. “I can get you a replacement for Pete while he’s gone.”
Crista’s stomach knotted. “Pete’s only going to be gone for a week. It would take that long to get someone up to speed.”
Englend frowned. “Maybe you’ll do better with another partner.”
The back of Crista’s neck prickled. “Do better? In what way?”
“Maybe you’ll get some results on the Encanto case.”
“I’m getting results.”
“We need a suspect.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Make it fast or you’re off the case.”
CRISTA SHOVED another batch of cookies into the oven and turned on the timer. Baking was good therapy. Baking and going to the gym. And she’d already worked out early so she’d be at her apartment for Diego’s call.
She glanced at the clock again. It was already 8:00 p.m. He’d said it was important, but apparently not enough to call early.
The timer dinged and just as she went to the oven to remove the cookies, the phone rang. She answered and said, “Hold on for a sec.” She rushed to take the cookie sheet out of the oven and then went back to the phone. “Sorry about that. I was in the middle of something.”
“No problem.”
The deep, smooth voice wasn’t Diego’s, but she recognized it instantly. Her stomach clenched way down low. “Alex.”
“Yes. Sorry if I interrupted you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. But I have something I think you should see.”
“Is it about the case? I can stop by tomorrow whenever you like.”
“Can we meet somewhere tonight?”
If she left, she’d miss Diego’s call. “I’m sorry, I can’t leave right now.” What was so important it couldn’t wait?
“How about if I come there?”
The request took her off guard. But if he had information about the case…and if he felt that strongly about it…
“It’s about Samantha.”
Samantha? A jolt of fear shot through her. “Has something happened—”
“No. Nothing has happened. But I really need to talk to you about her and I have something to show you.”
Relieved to hear Sam was okay, she gave him her address. After they’d said goodbye, she wondered if she’d done the right thing. While she needed all the information she could get on the case, she knew her feelings for Alex weren’t all business, and inviting him to her apartment wasn’t the wisest decision in the world.
Crista had finished two batches of cookies before she heard the knock at the door. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and then hurried to answer, smoothing the front of her T-shirt on the way. Peeking through the security hole to make sure it was Alex, she slid off the chain and opened the door. “Hi. C’mon in.”
His eyes traveled over her, his expression approving.
“I’m really sorry about barging in like this.”
She stepped back and he came inside. “You’re not interrupting. I’m finished what I was doing, but I’m waiting for a phone call and couldn’t leave.”
He sucked in a breath. “Whatever you’re making smells great.”
Crista grinned. “Your mother-in-law inspired me to do a little baking for the holidays.”
He glanced around, apparently searching for a place to sit. Her apartment was so small the whole thing would probably fit in his living room. Well, it might not be fancy, but it served her purposes for now and allowed her to save part of her paycheck for the down payment on a house.
“Here, let me take your jacket.”
He reached into a pocket and pulled out a rolled-up paper. Shrugging off his jacket, he handed it to her before sitting on the brown frizee couch she’d picked up a few years ago at a garage sale. She sat on the chair opposite him, another find that some of her friends actually thought was pretty cool—1950s modern, Catherine had said. To Crista, it was the pumpkin chair. Round and orange. She’d always meant to recover it, but good intentions didn’t make it happen.
“You look different,” he said.
She glanced at her clothes. “I suppose I do. I don’t usually wear jeans on the job.” Or a T-shirt that said Juicy across her boobs. She waved a hand over her shirt. “It’s a designer name. One of my friends gave it to me as a birthday present. A joke.”
He grinned. “The clothes are different. But I think it’s the hair.”
She raised a hand to touch her hair. “It’s…better to wear it up for work. Not as dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“If I got into a physical altercation with a suspect and my hair was down, that person would have an advantage.”
And this would be where he’d take the opportunity to give her his opinion on the dangers of women in law enforcement again. Crista braced herself. But, surprisingly, he didn’t. Instead, he said, “You have nice hair. I like it better this way.”
She shifted in the pumpkin chair. It felt good to get a compliment even though it embarrassed her a little. “Thank you,” she said. “What did you want to show me?”
He handed her the rolled paper, his expression immediately sober.
Crista smoothed out the paper on her lap, then 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. He motioned for her to sit next to him. Though hesitant, she went over and sat, holding out the picture so he could explain. The drawing consisted of two stick people on top of a black box, which was next to another pink box with a roof on top. A house maybe.
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 his 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—” he waved his hand over the stick figures “—are the people inside.”
Crista’s nerves pinched. “And the line there?” She pointed to something coming from one of the stick figures’ 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 stom
ach dropped like an anvil. The look in Alex’s eyes sent an ominous shiver up her spine. Ohmygod.
“I think it’s what she saw the night of the shooting.”
The thought was so awful, Crista couldn’t find any words. Had Sam actually seen the shooters?
Alex launched to his feet, his anger vibrating as he paced across the tiny living room. “What happened was bad enough, but now this…” He dropped down onto the couch next to her again, his hands on his knees. “I didn’t know what to do with the picture, and when Sam said she wanted me to give it to you, I realized that she was right. I also realized she’s probably more affected by the shooting than I imagined.”
Crista reached out and placed her hand over his. “That’s not necessarily true, Alex. I’ve had other cases involving child witnesses. When children don’t understand what they’ve seen, they aren’t usually affected by it. You’ve given her love and security. That should help in her recovery.”
He looked at her hand on his and then caught her gaze. His eyes filled with appreciation. “Thank you for that,” he said, then placed his other hand over hers and tightened his grip. “I hope that’s the case with Sam. I had no idea she saw the whole thing. I never explained anything to her except to say she’d had an accident. I didn’t want her to remember anything.”
“It might help if she talked with a professional. I can give you the name of a child psychiatrist who’s very good.”
“Thanks. But I’ve already got a call in to someone. She helped us after Marissa died.”
“Are you sure Sam actually saw something?”
His eyes narrowed.
“No, I don’t know if she did. I was so upset, I just assumed…” His hands balled into fists. “Damn. I just want Sam to grow up happy.”
“She will, Alex. She’s a loving, well-adjusted child. She’ll be fine.”
She hoped Sam would be fine. Now it was even more urgent that she talk to the child—to find out if she actually saw the shooters and if she could identify anyone. Alex wouldn’t like it, but if the child was really a witness, she could be in danger.
He stood, as if to go.
With utmost seriousness, she said, “About Samantha.”
“What about her?”
“I’ll need to talk with her.”
Alex’s eyes locked with Crista’s. “I know. I knew the second I saw the picture.”
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Crista said, studying the picture again. “This could mean she witnessed the crime, and because of that—”
“I’m aware of that,” he interrupted. “All too aware.”
“I won’t tell her anything you don’t want her to know. I can work around almost anything.”
He nodded again. “I trust you.”
Crista felt warm inside. I trust you. He didn’t like that she had to question his daughter, but he trusted her to do it gently.
“I trust you. Awk. Awk.” Calvin squawked, breaking the seriousness of the moment.
They looked at each other in shared amusement, then laughed. She’d covered Calvin’s cage before Alex arrived and had thought the bird was asleep. When Alex glanced at his watch, Crista looked at hers and was amazed at how quickly the time had passed. It was ten o’clock. Her brother hadn’t called yet.
Alex gave her a grateful smile and said, “I suppose I had better go.”
“But first…let me give you some cookies to take home to Samantha for tomorrow.” She rose to her feet.
“Sam would like that.” He was smiling, but the worry lines around his mouth were still there.
“I’ll be right back.” At that, Crista hustled into the kitchen where Alex couldn’t see her. Where he couldn’t see how much he had affected her.
Inappropriate as her feelings were where Alex was concerned, she seemed to have no control. Whenever he was around, all she could think about was being with him. She dreamed about it.
“How about me?”
Alex’s voice behind her made her jump like a skittish cat. She caught her breath and did a one-eighty. He was so close she almost couldn’t breathe, but she managed to sound casual. “Sure. I’ll put some in for Elena, too, though the Mexican wedding cookies she makes are probably much better than this. I haven’t done much baking in the past couple of years.”
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t we sit down and have some right now. Together.” With that he pulled out two kitchen chairs.
She couldn’t help laughing. Was this guy sure of himself or what! That kind of cocky behavior usually turned her off. But on Alex, the self-confidence seemed sincere and, strangely, made him even more appealing. “Okay. How about some coffee or cocoa with your cookies.”
“How about milk,” he said as he sat in one of the chairs. “I’m still a kid at heart.”
Crista went to get the glasses, sensing his eyes following her every step of the way. Handing him the glasses, she said, “Okay, then you can get the milk while I put some cookies on a plate.”
He launched to his feet and walked to the fridge. His backside was toward her as he poured the milk so she took the opportunity to appreciate his finer qualities. He looked different tonight, too. His hair was messier, not his usual combed-back do. In faded Levi’s and a black mock-turtleneck T-shirt, he looked imposing and…a little dangerous.
She liked this new casual Alex, the way his jeans hugged his backside. Not tight, but fitted enough to show his assets. Her gaze traveled upward from his trim hips to where his shoulders broadened nicely. This was a guy who had to spend time working out. Maybe he wasn’t kidding when he said he had some martial arts skills?
Just then he turned and, catching her in the act, gave her a slow, sexy, smile. He held up the glasses. “Milk’s ready.”
Heat burned her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “Good,” she mumbled and quickly placed a half-dozen cookies on the plate, brought them to the table and sat. Alex set a glass in front of her and grabbed a cookie before his butt hit the chair. “I haven’t had a good wedding cookie in a long time.”
“I haven’t made them for a long time, either, so you better reserve judgment.”
He bit off an end and chewed slowly—very slowly—as if doing a taste test. The rest he wolfed down in one bite. “Delicious. The best I’ve ever had.”
“Don’t overdo it,” she joked, then bit into a cookie herself. She had to admit, they were pretty good.
For the next hour they ate cookies and talked. Mostly they talked. Alex started to tell her more about his work, but she wanted to know more about Alex, the man. “Is the job why you left California?” she asked.
He smiled thoughtfully. “No, it wasn’t. I left California to get married.”
“Oh.” Crista hadn’t expected that answer, but wasn’t sorry she asked. She didn’t want to open old wounds, but she did want to know more.
“Marissa grew up in Houston. She couldn’t bear to leave her home, so we stayed. Her roots were in Encanto, and now, so are mine and Sam’s.”
Which was why he’d said he’d never leave. There was more of a tie than just belonging to the community. He had memories. Memories of his wife. “Do you miss California?”
“Sure. At first I missed it a lot. Then Marissa got me involved with the community and everything changed.”
How ironic. She’d spent her life running away from the place where she grew up, and he was more committed to it than many who’d been there all their lives.
Even though he wasn’t realistic about the changes he could affect in the barrio, she admired his conviction. If anyone could make a difference, it would be Alex.
“So how about you?”
“Me?”
“How’d you get into law enforcement?”
Crista worried her bottom lip between her front teeth. “It’s a long story.”
“Okay, how about the short version?”
“It’s a boring story, short or long.”
“Not to me,” he said in a low husky tone.
Her
nerves tense, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I was living in Plano and working as an administrative assistant at the local police department when a co-worker suggested that with all my martial arts training, I should try for a job as a police officer. I thought about it. And when I came home for my mother’s funeral seven years ago and saw a posting for openings at the Houston P.D., I applied. I never expected to get hired.”
Interest sparked in his eyes.
“I guess you’d say the martial arts training was my springboard to the job.”
“And how did you get involved with martial arts in the first place? It seems an unusual hobby for a woman.”
For a woman. Sometimes it was hard not to think Alex was a chauvinist.
Apparently recognizing his blunder, he quickly added, “I mean it’s usually considered a guy thing.”
She’d never told anyone the real reason she’d become involved in the sport and she didn’t want to divulge it now. “It was an evolution,” she said. “The same co-worker had signed up for a basic self-defense course and suggested I come, too. I was a fast learner and was good at it. The specialization in Wing Chun grew from that basic course a few years later.”
“Uh-huh.”
She liked that he didn’t dig any deeper and she allowed herself to relax against the back of her chair. She felt a comfort level with Alex that she’d not felt with a man in a very long time.
If ever.
“Have you ever been married?”
“Once for about twenty minutes. I was very young and it didn’t work out.”
“A steady boyfriend?”
She shook her head. “No steady boyfriend.”
“But you do date.”
“My friends fixed me up on a blind date once and the guy was…uh, let’s just say it wasn’t meant to be.”
“The same friends who gave you the shirt?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes. Six of us trained together at the police academy and we’ve been friends ever since. One is now the chief of police,” Crista said proudly. She glanced away. “We haven’t had much time to spend together for a while. We’re all really busy with our jobs.”
Thinking about the broken friendships made her sad and she didn’t want to talk about it any longer. She gulped down the last swallow of milk.
