An Irresistible Man

by Kylie Brant

  Before Cruz could frame a reply Madeline did it for him. “I’m sure the department would greatly appreciate it if you men would attend to your jobs and let us do ours.” Her voice was even, but her no-nonsense manner had the three men backing off slowly.

  “Yeah, sure,” muttered Nolan. He lifted a hand. “Talk to you later, Cruz.” He and Ryan sauntered off, and Brent trailed behind them.

  Cruz cocked an eyebrow, his gaze slipping from her to the departing men, then back to Madeline. “That’s quite a gift. Did you have to take a special course to learn how to impress people like that?”

  Madeline pulled up an extra chair to sit it next to his desk. “I wasn’t trying to impress them. I was trying to get rid of them.”

  As she seated herself, Cruz walked around to his own chair. “Well, you certainly managed that.” He wondered if she was aware that giving men the cold shoulder like that would pique their interest, not dampen it. From the looks of the woman, she didn’t much care. The corner of his mouth lifted. This was getting more and more interesting. He sat down and picked up two file folders and handed them to her. “I copied everything I had so far on the drive-by shootings. Then I found what I could on the rash of other crimes lately involving AK-47s. Take some time and go through these.”

  Madeline frowned slightly as she took the files from him. “I thought the drive-by shootings were being reassigned to someone else since we’re working on the supply angle.”

  “They are. But we’re going to have to start somewhere. Our best chance of finding the supplier is through one of his customers.”

  That made sense, so Madeline subsided and began reading through the first file. Cruz left for a short time and came back with two steaming cups of coffee and placed one of them in front of her. She reached out to take it, not looking up from her reading.

  The files were thick and it took her more than an hour to go through them. When she finally finished, she rubbed the back of her neck, which ached from being bent over in her reading. She looked at Cruz, who was leaning back in his chair. His booted feet were crossed atop the desk, alarmingly close to his still half-full cup of coffee, and he was flipping through the pages of a report.

  He glanced up, catching her gaze. “So, what do you think?” he asked.

  “I think the sooner we nail the guy selling these guns, the sooner the streets will become a little bit safer,” she responded. At least for a while. Until the next crook came along, looking to get rich and not being too concerned about how he did it. She couldn’t help but be sickened by the reports of the bodies, mostly teens and young men, who had been shot by persons unknown. Persons wielding some of the most deadly weaponry available on this continent.

  She looked at the man next to her. He was frowning slightly at the report in his hand. Was it possible that he was mixed up in these arms deals? And if he was, how would he handle having a totally unwanted partner assigned to him? Would he try to lead the investigation astray, destroy evidence or file false reports? Any of these means would be a way to deflect guilt from himself, but all would be harder to do with another detective at his side. Madeline hated the thought of having to examine his every word, every action, looking for possible signs of incrimination. But that was exactly what she would have to do if she was to complete the job Brewer had assigned her.

  She wondered, for what seemed like the hundredth time, why she had been picked for this case. She detested duplicity in any form. After the fiasco that had brought scrutiny to her own private life, she’d vowed to remain painfully honest in her dealings with others. Madeline wished she could believe that it was only her capabilities as a police detective that had affected Brewer’s decision in pairing her with Martinez. But she knew the captain too well not to doubt his motives. If he’d thought that her role in the investigation would make her uncomfortable, that alone would have accounted for his decision.

  She sighed silently. She should have known. Life had been going along a little too smoothly lately. Others might disagree, arguing that “boring” was a more accurate description of her life. But Madeline had had enough excitement while she’d known Dennis Belding to last her a lifetime. She would take uneventful any day.

  She surveyed the file in front of her with a slight frown. She had a feeling that her partnership with Cruz Martinez was not, by any stretch of the imagination, going to be uneventful.

  “So, you’ve already questioned the victim’s family in each of the drive-bys,” Madeline said, nodding at the files. “And you found that all the victims belonged to some kind of gang.”

  Cruz nodded. “Each of them was wearing gang colors when they were shot. But when the families gave me the names of their sons’ friends to talk to, I hit a brick wall. All of those friends are fellow gang members, and they don’t like talking to cops. I haven’t gotten anywhere interviewing them.”

  “Counting the one earlier this week, that’s seven incidents involving three different gangs,” she noted. “Sounds like we should be expecting another shooting any day.”

  He eased lower in his chair and smiled a little. The lady was sharp, he’d give her that. Of course, it was just a guess, but he’d already arrived at a similar conclusion. The gangs had kept busy trading bullets with each other, but this was the first time that a member of the Lords had been shot. It didn’t require a major leap of logic to guess that it was only a matter of time before the Lords retaliated.

  Cruz tossed a picture across the top of the file folder in front of her. “Have you seen one of these before?”

  “It’s an AK-47 automatic assault weapon,” she murmured, picking up the picture and examining it cursorily.

  “Right. And until recently, these babies would have been hard to get.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “So, Detective Casey, let me pick your brain. What angle do you think we should pursue first?”

  Madeline ignored the way the casual pose accentuated his well- defined torso. She answered his question surely. “I’d like to talk to the perp they collared trying to hold up the bank with one of these. What’s his name? Which district is he being held in?”

  “Randy Stover, and he’s in the South,” Cruz answered. “But we’re not likely to get anything out of him. I heard he isn’t talking.”

  “That’s a little unusual. He was caught in the act, right?” At his nod, she continued, “They’ve got witnesses, the weapon and fingerprints. By now he should be copping a plea.”

  Cruz shrugged. “Maybe he will. But the one thing he isn’t doing is telling anyone where he got the gun.”

  “I’d still like to talk to him,” she answered. At Cruz’s silence, she raised an eyebrow. “Well, wouldn’t you?”

  He was silent so long that she almost repeated her question. Finally he responded. “Okay. I’ll set it up.”

  He turned to the phone on his desk and began dialing. Madeline studied him silently as he spoke into the receiver. She wondered at his unwillingness to follow through on her suggestion. Was he afraid the perp might identify him as being involved in the supply? Or was it simpler than that? Perhaps he just didn’t believe it would lead anywhere.

  When he hung up the phone and looked at her, his face was expressionless. “It’s all set. Let’s go.” Madeline followed him out of the squad room, wondering if she’d imagined his reluctance.

  She slid into the front seat of the navy Crown Vic, and Cruz got behind the wheel. He turned on the ignition and glanced at her. “We’ll trade off driving, if that’s all right with you. Tomorrow will be your turn.”

  His offer took her by surprise, but since she really preferred to do her own driving, she readily agreed. “All right.”

  He expertly turned the car into the traffic. “How long have you been with the department?”

  So he was a talker. That shouldn’t have surprised her. He had a free and easy manner guaranteed to put the most anxious person at ease. However, Madeline would have preferred to skip the small talk. She was normally very
reserved; even as a child she’d difficulty making friends. But the best way to find out things about Cruz Martinez, things that would aid in the investigation she was assigned to do on him, was to divulge some information about herself. Then he would have to reciprocate.

  “Over ten years.”

  That would make her about thirty, Cruz estimated. Four years younger than himself.

  “How about you, Detective?”

  He took his eyes off the traffic long enough to shoot her a half smile. “Detective’ sounds kind of formal. Won’t we get each other mixed up? Call me Cruz.” When she didn’t respond, he added coaxingly, “And I’ll call you Madeline. Or do you prefer Maddy?”

  She turned her heard slowly to throw him a lethal look. “Don’t… you… dare.”

  “Madeline it is, then.” He made sure his amusement didn’t show. With her hair pulled back, and dressed in those neatly tailored clothes, she did look like a Madeline. But in something softer, more alluring, with her hair loosened to spill down her neck, then he thought she would resemble a Maddy. But now wasn’t the time for such imaginings, and he pushed the mental picture away.

  “I’ve been on the force fourteen years,” he answered her belatedly. “My grandfather was a cop. So were two of my uncles. I grew up thinking it was the greatest thing in the world to be.” He shrugged. “Once on the force, I got hooked by the glamour of the job.” His humor drew a smile from her. Sometimes tedious, other times gritty and horrifying, police work bore little resemblance to the way it was often depicted by Hollywood.

  “How about you?” he inquired.

  “What?”

  “Why did you become a cop?”

  Madeline thought for a few moments, wondering if she could answer the question truthfully, without sounding like an idealistic fool. Only her father had ever asked her that question before, and he hadn’t been interested in a truthful answer. He’d always regarded her choice of career as an attempt to spite him. No matter how often she’d tried to explain it to him, he’d never really heard her, so after a while she’d stopped trying. “I wanted to make a difference,” she responded finally, looking out the window at her side.

  “And have you?”

  She turned back to stare at him.

  “Made a difference?” he clarified.

  In the dark of night, after a particularly brutal case, that was a question that always hammered away inside her mind with an insidious pounding. Had she? “I don’t know,” she answered. “Sometimes I wonder.” Her hand went to the car radio. “Mind if I change the station?”

  He quirked a brow. “You’re not a fan of country western music?”

  “It all sounds the same. Lo-o-ove hurts,” she mimicked with a twang.

  That surprised a gust of laughter from him. “Well, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s not supposed to,” she muttered, flipping channels until she finally settled on one playing soft rock.

  She probably didn’t realize how much she’d just revealed with that last comment, Cruz mused silently. And she most certainly hadn’t meant her tone to sound so wistful just then. He was becoming intrigued. There was a great deal more to her than met the eye, certainly more than the aura she attempted to exude, that of the cool, capable detective. Not that the image was false, but he was sure she was a damned sight more. Still, he recognized her retreat for what it was, so he obliged her by going silent.

  After several minutes Madeline glanced at him warily. He seemed to have dropped the conversational ball and was now whistling tunelessly to the music on the radio. He must have found trying to converse with her tough going, and she sighed inwardly. As much as she hated to, she needed to get on a friendly footing with the man. He seemed so open; it might prove easy to find out much of the preliminary information about his life directly from him. And the things he didn’t want to share… well, it was her job to find those things out on her own.

  Her gaze dropped to the steering wheel where his hands rested, one doing most of the driving and the fingers of the other tapping to the beat coming from the radio. His plain, light blue shirt accented his bronzed good looks, although she doubted a color existed that wouldn’t suit him. The long sleeves were rolled up partway to reveal strong wrists, the forearms above them lightly dusted with black hair. She noticed for the first time the thick silver bracelet he wore on his right wrist. It was an intricately woven chain, about three-quarters of an inch wide. Strangely enough, it didn’t detract from his masculine looks, nor did the cross he was wearing in his ear. She didn’t know much about jewelry but if the bracelet was expensive maybe it could be considered evidence that he was living above his means. Then, just as quickly, she wondered if it was a gift from a lover, and was strangely discomfited by the thought.

  Her gaze slid downward. Today he was wearing a different pair of cowboy boots, and she made a mental note to find out what such a pair cost. As much as she disliked delving into his personal life, Brewer would be expecting at least a preliminary report on Martinez by next week, and she’d better have something for the captain by that time.

  He was dressed only slightly more formally than he had been yesterday; at least the jeans he was wearing today looked fairly new. She had trouble tearing her gaze away from his hard thighs faithfully outlined by the denim.

  “Like them?”

  Madeline’s eyes bounced to Cruz’s at the question. “Pardon me?”

  “The boots.” He pointed. “You were staring. I asked if you liked the boots.”

  Her breathing became normal again. Of course, the boots. “They look expensive,” she said casually.

  He shrugged and gave her a wink. “My one vice.”

  She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She had no doubt that the man beside her could give lessons on vice. And with that face and physique, he probably had plenty of eager pupils.

  At the South District headquarters they were kept waiting almost an hour before they were motioned to by Stover’s arresting officer, Ronald Lee. They followed him to a small interrogation room. Waiting there was a man wearing the county jail uniform. Seated next to him at a table was a man in a double-breasted suit.

  “This is Detective Casey and Detective Martinez.” The officer indicated each as he spoke. Motioning to the man in prison garb, he continued, “Randy Stover and his lawyer, Sam Powell, from the Public Defender’s Office.” Madeline and Cruz sat across from the men and the officer remained standing.

  Madeline surveyed the alleged criminal before her. Narrow faced, with a receding hairline and thin body, his eyes were shifting between her and Cruz. “Already told him,” he jerked his head at the officer. “I got nothing to say.”

  “Neither of you detectives were involved in the arrest.” Powell spoke up. “What do you want with my client?”

  “We have permission to interview him about a case we’re working on.” Cruz took a picture out of his shirt pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Stover. “I’m told they’ve got an AK-47 just like that one with your fingerprints all over it.”

  The man didn’t answer. Cruz went on easily. “It’s not like you’re admitting to anything we don’t already know. The gun’s in the evidence room right now.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “So,” Madeline interjected, “we’d like to know where you got it.”

  Stover snorted derisively.

  Cruz turned to ask the officer, “Did he have papers for it?”

  The man shook his head. “We didn’t find any.”

  “So if you don’t have papers-” Cruz addressed Stover again “-you got it from someone on the street. We want to know who.”

  The prisoner looked at his lawyer. “They offering me a deal, or what?”

  Powell looked at Cruz and Madeline. “Detectives?”

  Cruz shook his head. “That would be up to the D.A. But if you cooperated with us, I’d make sure it got on the record, so things could go easier for you at sentencing.”

  Stover crossed his arms and leaned bac
k in his chair. “If you ain’t got nothing to deal with, don’t waste my time.”

  “Do you know Victor Ramirez?” Madeline inquired. The man shook his head and she continued. “How about Tyson Greene?” Another shake. She named off each of the victims of the drive-by shootings, and each time the man responded negatively.

  Cruz stared at her in surprise. She wasn’t consulting any notes, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. As far as he knew, she hadn’t heard any of those names before she’d read them in the file today. The lady must have one hell of a memory.

  “What you have in common with those boys, Mr. Stover,” Madeline continued in a hard voice, “is that you were caught using a weapon like this-” she indicated the picture “-and each of them was shot by the same kind of gun. We’re interested in that coincidence.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “What! You can’t pin them shootings on me, too.” His head swiveled to his lawyer’s. “They can’t, can they?”

  “Do you have any evidence to suggest a link between my client and any of these other shootings, Detective?” Powell asked.

  Madeline replied smoothly, “Not yet, but we’re just getting started. The point we’re making is that your client has information we can use to nail the supplier of these weapons. If he doesn’t want to cooperate with us, fine. But then we’d have some free time to fill. And we might use that time to check up on his alibis for each of these shootings. That’s assuming, of course, that he has alibis.”

  “Go ahead,” Stover invited in an insolent tone. “You guys are just fishing. Think I don’t know that?”

  “Detectives, I’d like a couple of minutes to confer with my client in private,” Powell said finally.

  Madeline, Cruz and Officer Lee stepped out of the room. “Do you really think there’s a link between Stover and those shootings?” Lee asked them.

  Cruz shrugged, looking at Madeline. “Do we?”

  “Who knows? None of the shooters have been identified yet. But if Stover thinks we’re going to try to hang him for some other crimes as well, he might be more likely to talk.”