“Patrick, please, come in.” Too polite to ask, Alicia looked at the woman beside him with a silent query in her eyes.
“This is Detective McKenna. She’s—”
About to say that she was his new partner, Patrick couldn’t quite get himself to do it. Perforce, life always went on, but for those left behind when the train pulled out of the station again, it was a difficult thing to accept. He didn’t want to make it any worse for Alicia than it already was.
“I work with Detective Cavanaugh,” Maggi explained, extending her hand to the woman. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”
Bright tears shone in Alicia’s eyes as she took Maggi’s hand. “Thank you. Did you know my husband?”
“No,” Maggi replied honestly. “But I heard very good things about him.”
“That’s because he was a very good man.” Alicia led the way inside. The two-story house was in the kind of perpetual comfortable disarray that having three children under the age of ten sustained.
The kitchen was a little better, Patrick thought. The counters were cleared, the sink empty. It looked as if Alicia Ramirez was reclaiming her life a room at a time. Progress was slow.
“I—we,” he amended, bringing Maggi into it because the situation begged for it, “didn’t come to put you out,” Patrick protested as Alicia insisted on serving them each tea. Obligingly, he accepted the cup she’d poured and kept it sitting in front of him on the table. “I just wanted to see how you were managing.”
Alicia took a seat between them. Wrapping her hands around her cup, she took a sip of the dark liquid and let it warm her before answering.
“I’m managing.” The smile on her lips was sad. “The kids keep me busy and my sisters come by every day to help out.” She raised her eyes to Patrick. “I still can’t—” Alicia pressed her lips together. Grief stole the last few words away from her.
He’d come to the conclusion long ago that he’d rather face bullets than tears. He hadn’t known how to handle them when he’d seen his mother crying, when they had sprung up in Patience’s eyes the time she’d turned to him for consolation. All he knew to do was fight what had caused them. Which was why at the age of ten, he’d pitted himself against his father and why he’d fought a bully teasing his sister in the schoolyard when he’d been one half the bully’s size.
But there was no one he could take on here. Only a formless entity, a sadness that couldn’t be vanquished with any amount of blows. He gave Alicia his handkerchief. A helplessness pervaded him that he neither tolerated nor knew what to do with.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maggi reaching across the table, putting her hand over Alicia’s.
“It’s okay to cry,” Maggi told the woman softly. “It takes about a year for the tears to stop coming unexpectedly.”
Alicia dried her eyes with the handkerchief. “You lost someone?”
“My mother.” She was nine at the time. Sometimes it still felt like yesterday. “Only time I saw my father cry. Took me six months to stop blaming her for dying. Took longer to stop crying every time I thought of her.” Maggi offered the other woman an encouraging smile. “It’s rough, but it passes into something you can live with,” she promised. “Something you can handle instead of having it handle you.”
Alicia nodded. Folding it again, she offered the handkerchief back to Patrick along with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, you didn’t come here to see this.”
Patrick took the handkerchief, shifting slightly in his discomfort. He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came to see if you needed anything.”
Alicia cocked her head slightly, not following him. “Needed anything?”
Though it was invading a private area, it was easier for him to talk about finances than trying to handle the woman’s tears.
“I know that Ed must have left debts.” His late partner had had trouble hanging on to a dollar. There was always some new venture, some surefire scheme that called to him. Patrick knew that he was treading on the woman’s pride, but children were involved. And he felt responsible. If he’d just been a little faster, there would be no tears in this household. “If you need any money, Alicia, you just have to ask.”
To his amazement, Alicia laughed softly. “Money is the one thing I don’t need.” He looked at her, puzzled. “Eddie was very smart when it came to money. He made a lot of good investments, put the money in the bank. First Republic,” she murmured, her voice dying out. The sadness threatened to take her over again. “If only he was as smart about what he did for a living.” And then she sighed. “That’s not fair. He loved being a policeman.”
She looked at Maggi. “Said it was what he’d wanted to be ever since he was a little boy. The only thing that meant more to him were me and the kids.”
Alicia looked over toward the framed photograph on the mantel. It was of a handsome man wearing a dress uniform and a huge, bright smile. Her breath hitched. Another round of tears threatened to come and she struggled to hold them back.
The doorbell rang a second before they heard the sound of the front door being opened and someone calling out to Alicia.
“I’m in here,” she called back. Overhead they heard the sound of small feet pounding down the stairs. “That’s Teresa, one of my sisters,” Alicia explained. Her mouth curved. “They take turns baby-sitting me. Teresa brings ice cream for the kids. They get excited every time she comes over.”
Patrick was already rising. He’d overstayed his visit. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
Alicia was on her feet. She looked at Patrick’s untouched cup of tea. “No, really, you can stay if you’d like.”
If he saw her indicating the tea, he gave no sign. “Like I said, I just wanted to see how you were doing and to make sure that you knew if you needed anything, all you have to do is ask.”
Alicia paused to kiss his cheek and then give him a grateful hug. After a beat, he closed his arms around her in response, though he was obviously a man uncomfortable with displays of emotion. “He was lucky to have you,” Alicia said.
Maggi noted that Patrick’s discomfort seemed to heighten. She slipped between them as Alicia released Patrick from the hug. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Ramirez.”
“Alicia, please.” She walked with them to the front door. “And if you’re ever in the neighborhood,” she told Maggi, “you’re welcome to stop by.”
“Thank you.” Maggi squeezed her hand. “I will.”
They nodded at Alicia’s sister as they passed her and let themselves out.
Maggi stepped off the front step, then turned to Patrick. “Don’t much like tea, do you?”
He hoped it hadn’t been overly obvious. “I’d rather drink poison.”
She laughed. The sound was oddly comforting to him. But then it faded as she asked, “When are you going to stop blaming yourself?”
“What?”
She disregarded the sharp note in his voice. “I saw it in your eyes when she said Ramirez was lucky to have had you as a partner.” He looked angry, like a bear whose wound was being probed. She didn’t let that stop her. “I read the report, Cavanaugh. There was nothing you could do.”
That wasn’t the way he saw it. Ramirez had a family, a wife and kids who had depended on him. He didn’t. “He took the bullet meant for me. I was supposed to be the one walking into that crack house first.”
“You said it was friendly fire. What are you saying now—that you were supposed to be the one killed by our own side?”
“I was talking about fate, not intent.” He waved his hand. Why was he trying to explain it to her anyway? There was something more important on his mind right now. “Never mind. Look, I’m going to go back to the station. You go home.”
Maggi felt as if she as being dismissed. Not that easy, fella. She glanced at her watch. It was a little after five.
“You’re off duty. Technically.” She was beginning to get the impression that Cavanaugh felt he was never off duty. Which conflicted with h
er reasons for being assigned to the case in the first place. If he was so dedicated, could he really be dirty? “Why don’t we go somewhere and I’ll buy you a beer to wash the taste of that tea out of your mouth?”
It was tempting. So was doing something else to rid his mouth of the taste that was there. But right now, something bothered him more than the rebellion of his own hormones. What Alicia had told them wasn’t sitting right with him.
“Some other time.”
She deliberately moved in front of him, blocking the way to his car. “What’s on your mind?”
Annoyed, he had to repress the desire to physically move her out of his way. “What?”
“I’m starting to know you, Cavanaugh.” The funny part of it was, she was. What’s more, she liked what she had learned. He exhibited all the warmth of a clay statue, but it was obvious that he cared about the welfare of his late partner’s family. He got points for that. “I can see the little wheels in your head turning. Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
“Other than a nagging partner?”
He’d called her his partner again. He was getting used to her. That was both good and bad, depending on what side of her guilt she was standing on. “Goes without saying.”
Maybe two heads were better than one. At the very least, maybe he could use her as a sounding board. Just thinking of that surprised him. The whole concept of sharing his thoughts was foreign to him because he’d always gone it alone, always relied on his own instincts.
But maybe this time he was too close, too involved to be impartial. He cared about Ramirez, and about the welfare of the man’s family. “Okay, I’ll take you up on that beer.”
Score one for the home team. “Great. Do I get to choose the place this time?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.” She nodded toward his car. “You drive, I’ll follow.”
He was already getting in. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Maggi bit her tongue to keep from commenting.
Chapter 11
This time Patrick took her to a place with more light, more noise, more anonymity. If she was interpreting body language correctly, no one here seemed to know him by name or by sight. The noise around them guaranteed their privacy.
She was secretly grateful he hadn’t brought her back to the bar they’d been to last night. What had happened there was still very fresh in her mind and the velvety darkness would have only aided and abetted the desire that still hummed through her. A booth with a proper-sized table between them was a lot better.
She was also secretly disappointed.
Maggi waited until the waiter brought over their beers, bottles again, before she said anything. She had a feeling that if she didn’t initiate the conversation, Cavanaugh would go on sitting there, not a syllable leaving his lips, until he decided it was time to get up and go.
“All right, I’m all ears.”
She saw the way his eyes swept over her. For a second, she could almost feel them touching her as they passed. Her mouth grew a little drier. She felt less like a partner and a great deal more like a woman.
“Figuratively speaking,” she felt bound to add. “Something’s been bothering you since we were in Ramirez’s house. What is it?” When he didn’t begin to speak, frustration raised its head faster than she knew it should have. The man really knew how to press her buttons. A lot of them. “Talk to me, Cavanaugh. That’s what I’m here for.”
Even as she uttered the words, Maggi couldn’t help wondering if the man she was sitting opposite had any idea how true those words were. That was what she was here for, to get him to talk to her. To wheedle into his confidence, not as a partner but as a spy.
She felt an unwanted shiver creeping through her system and banked it down.
Patrick sat for a long moment, regarding the neck on his bottle of beer. He hated what he was thinking. He wasn’t outgoing, but his late partner had gotten to him, gotten his trust. Facing the possibility that he’d been fooled wasn’t easy for him.
Finally he looked up. “He didn’t have that kind of money.”
“Ramirez?” she guessed.
He nodded slowly. “He always needed money. He was always into something that would get him rich, quick. Anytime he did anything right, anytime something panned out for him—and it wasn’t often—” Patrick emphasized “—he told me about it. Told everyone about it. That man couldn’t keep his mouth shut. That was just his way.”
He needed to believe in his partner, she realized. It made Cavanaugh a little more real to her, a little less like some remote, two-dimensional being. It also made her want to help him hang on to his memory of the man.
“Maybe his wife’s not asking for anything because of pride.”
Patrick shook his head. “Alicia’s not like that.”
“You’d be surprised how much pride someone can have when it comes to preserving the reputation of someone they love.” Patrick looked at her sharply. She’d only been throwing out words. What are you thinking, Cavanaugh? Have I set off something in your head? “A man’s not a good provider for his wife and kids,” she continued, pretending she hadn’t noticed his reaction, “that brings his stock down.”
He wasn’t convinced. Something felt wrong. “It wouldn’t have been something she would have kept from me.” He thought of Ramirez. The first thing he remembered was the man’s wide grin. The second was the sound of his voice, going on incessantly. Not unlike the woman in the booth with him now. “Partners get close. They spend a lot of time together—it’s hard not to.”
“And the two of you got close.” It was hard picturing him getting close to anyone, Maggi thought. Maybe that was why he was resisting the idea they were silently waltzing around, because he’d gotten in close and put his faith in someone. And that someone had died.
He looked at her. “As close as I’ve ever gotten to someone who’s not a member of my family.”
His steady gaze held her prisoner. Needing to pull back, Maggi tried to lighten the moment. “So I’ve got something to live for.”
“Maybe.”
There was no way to know what he was thinking now, she noted. His clear blue eyes gave nothing away.
Maggi struggled to keep her mind on the object of all this. “You do know how to put someone in what you think is their place, Cavanaugh.” Maggi leaned forward, playing out her line, trying to reel him in a little closer. Ignoring the slight spasmodic twinges running up and down her conscience like a short circuit. “Okay, so if you were privy to everything Ramirez did that was aboveboard, maybe this wasn’t.”
“What are you saying?”
The man looked as if he could shoot lightning bolts from his eyes. She suddenly felt sorry for anyone on the wrong side of his temper. “That maybe Ramirez was getting something on the side. It’s not the kind of thing he’d share with a partner.”
Anger flared like unguarded flames. “You’re saying he was dirty?”
She kept her voice light, low. “I’m spinning theories, not trying to get in a fight.”
Patrick sucked in his breath. His voice had a dangerous ring to it as he said, “He wasn’t the type.”
Maggi didn’t budge. “Everyone’s the type if the situation is dire enough.”
“Now you sound like Wiley.” There was no missing his disgust.
“No,” she insisted, “I sound like a realist.”
Patrick started to leave the table. She grabbed his wrist. If looks could kill, she figured the one he shot her would have left her mortally wounded. But now that she’d gotten on to something, she was not about to back away.
“Follow me on this. The man had three kids, a wife, a mortgage, maybe a shoe box full of other debts. You said he was always getting into things that didn’t pay off.” Reluctantly Patrick sat down again. She continued holding his wrist. “Somebody offers to give him a little money to look the other way. He’s a good guy but he’s got creditors breathing down his neck, that kind of thing. So h
e does it.” Seeing that she had his attention, Maggi slipped her hand from his wrist. “It’s a onetime thing. Or so he tells himself. Except that once he’s in, he’s in. Like you said, he had no more control over the situation. It had control over him. So he goes along with it, putting aside money for the kids’ college funds, a vacation, something pretty for his wife. And all it takes is not saying anything.
“But his conscience eats at him until he says ‘that’s it, I’ve had it.’ Now whoever slipped Ramirez that money gets nervous. They know they’ve got a liability on their hands—”
“They?” He looked at her closely. Did she know something she wasn’t telling him? After subjecting him to days of useless information and endless rhetoric, was there actually something useful she was holding back?
“Or he,” Maggi allowed. “She, whatever. Bottom line is Ramirez has to be eliminated before he talks.”
He hated to admit it, but the scenario fit. “And he gets killed.”
“And he gets killed,” she echoed.
He gazed at her intently. “So you think this is an inside thing?”
She raised her hands from the table, palms up. “I’m only spinning theories,” she repeated. “But it does make sense.” And it did, she thought, now that she’d put it out on the table. She only had to prove it. And then she had to see if perhaps Cavanaugh was a hell of a lot better actor than he let on and was actually part of all this. Damn, but this job was making her paranoid. “Puts a different light on ‘friendly fire,’ doesn’t it?”
The theory put McKenna in a whole different light as well, he thought. “You’re a lot darker than I thought you’d be.”
“It’s the lighting,” she cracked, taking a drag from her bottle.
Why did she do that? he wondered. Why did she say something flippant to throw him off, keep him off balance? He didn’t like it. “You know damn well what I mean.”
Maggi sobered. “Yes, I do. I’m just not sure if it’s a compliment or not.”
“Neither am I.” Leaning back, he contemplated the mouth of the empty bottle. He didn’t like what she was saying, but he was too good a cop not to admit that, at least from the outside, it made sense. “We’d need proof. Evidence.”
Internal Affair Page 12
