by Kylie Brant
“You got it.”
Cruz and Madeline walked out of the building. “Next stop- Valdez?” Madeline questioned, already knowing the answer.
He nodded. “But somehow I suspect that we’re going to find that he is far, far underground.”
The search for the man proved futile. They revisited the places they had looked yesterday, this time asking for him by name and showing his picture. They went to his home again and were told by a neighbor that Valdez hadn’t been there lately. Ever since he figured out he was wanted for questioning, Madeline surmised. Before Cruz had come in to work that morning, she had taken the opportunity to call Valdez’s parole officer. He’d given her the name and address of Wynn Construction, where Valdez had been working. After relaying this information to Cruz, they drove there, and were told by a surly manager that Valdez hadn’t shown up for work all week.
By the end of the day they had to admit defeat. No one they talked to claimed any knowledge of Valdez’s whereabouts. Most of the people they approached seemed fearful to discuss him. Back in the car Madeline said, “Well, it seems like one of our hunches might be correct. No one wanted to talk about the supplier, and they’re just as unwilling to discuss Valdez. Maybe they’re one and the same.” She was suddenly struck with an idea. “Why don’t we talk to Tommy again?Maybe he’s heard something else since we last spoke to him.”
Cruz shook his head. “Tommy is long gone by now. He’s taken off to lie low for a while, and wherever he is, you can be sure that he’s so deep into a bottle he wouldn’t be coherent anyway.”
“It’s not like we have a lot of other options at the moment.” She drove toward the area in which they’d found the newsstand.
When he guessed where they were going, Cruz frowned. “I told you this is a waste of time. “I know Tommy well enough to know his habits. We’re not going to find him.”
“It won’t hurt to ask.” But when she neared the newsstand, Cruz got out of the car without waiting for her to find a place to park.
“Damn!” Madeline swung into the parking lot of the convenience store across the street and hurried to join him. She wanted to be there when he asked for Tommy. She couldn’t afford to take whatever Cruz told her at face value. But by the time she was halfway across the street he was headed back toward her again.
She turned to follow him back to the car. “What did he say?”
He looked impatient. “Exactly what I knew he’d say. He hasn’t seen Tommy since I dropped off the money for the information. And he probably won’t, either. Tommy won’t show until he thinks the coast is clear, or when he’s out of booze again.”
She stared at him, thinking hard. “Did that guy have any idea where he might be?”
“No, Madeline, he didn’t.” There was an edge to Cruz’s voice. “Tommy isn’t the type to leave a forwarding address. He doesn’t have to. He always comes back, in time.”
She got into the car, frustrated. There was no way she could check what he was telling her without letting him know how far she was from trusting him. She couldn’t allow him to suspect that. There was still far too much she had to learn about Cruz Martinez, and if he knew she was suspicious of him, her efforts would be for nil.
“You in a hurry to get home?” Cruz asked after she’d been driving several minutes.
“Not especially. Why?”
“Ramsey Elliot was released from the hospital this week. Why don’t we swing by and pay him a visit?” He consulted his GPS again and gave her directions to the boy’s home. “I’d sure like to find out what the Lords have planned in retaliation for Ramsey’s shooting.”
“And whether they’ve obtained the gun to do it,” she agreed. “Do you think it would do any good to show Valdez’s picture to Ramsey?”
Cruz thought for a moment, then shrugged. “It seems doubtful that he would have been in on the actual dealing for the gun, if they’ve gotten that far. It would have been handled by Cantoney. But it sure wouldn’t hurt to ask Ramsey a few questions about what’s been going on with the Lords since he’s gotten home.”
“And next we’ll talk to Cantoney again. My guess is that he’ll recognize the picture of Valdez. Even if he won’t admit it.”
Ramsey Elliot lived in one of a group of government-subsidized apartments. They were run-down, but they were in a lot better condition than some of the places Cruz and Madeline had been in lately. When they knocked at his door it was opened by a little girl, her hair pulled back in braids and secured with colorful barrettes. She said nothing, just stood looking up at them.
Cruz squatted down so his face was on her level. “Hi,” he said softly, and smiled at her. A shy smile crept across her face in response, but she didn’t answer. “We’re friends of Ramsey’s. We heard he’d gotten out of the hospital, and we’ve come to see him.”
“He’s not here,” the little girl said.
Cruz remained where he was. “But he is out of the hospital, right?” She nodded.
“Who is it, Rhonda?” a voice called. A moment later Ricky came to the door.
“Oh,” he said, looking from one of them to the other. Cruz rose slowly to his feet.
“Hi, Ricky,” Madeline said. “We’ve come to see how Ramsey is getting along. Rhonda said he got out of the hospital.”
“Go to your room, Rhonda,” Ricky ordered brusquely.
“Don’t want to.” The little girl’s lip jutted out mulishly.
“Go!” She obeyed, if slowly. Ricky watched her until a door shut behind her. Then his gaze turned back to them.
“What do you want with Ramsey? Did you find out who shot him yet?”
Madeline shook her head. “Not yet. How’s he feeling?”
The boy looked at the floor. “He’s doing okay.”
“Where is he now?” Cruz asked him.
The boy shrugged.
“Hanging with the Lords?” Madeline asked in a gentle voice.
After several moments he nodded reluctantly. “Mama’s real upset with him. She told him the Lords are nothing but trouble, but he don’t listen to no one.” He shook his head, still looking down. “He should be smarter, man. He should have wised up by now.”
“Ricky, we want to help Ramsey. We want to find the person who shot him. But you know what we think?” At the boy’s silence, Madeline continued, “We believe that a rival gang shot at your brother. And that the Lords know which gang is responsible.”
“We think Dirk Cantoney is planning something,” Cruz broke in, watching the boy closely. “Like maybe arranging a shooting himself.”
The boy’s reaction would have been hard to miss. His gaze bounced up, a look of real fright in them, but he remained silent.
“If we’re right, your brother and the rest of the Lords could be in a lot of trouble. So if you know anything about their plans, anything at all, you should tell us,” Madeline urged. “Help us get this thing stopped before anybody else gets hurt.”
Ricky opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. Finally he shook his head. “I don’t know nothing.”
Cruz wasn’t convinced, but he let it go. “If you do hear anything, please let us know, will you?”
Still silent, Ricky shrugged.
The detectives shared a glance. “We’ll be in touch, Ricky,” Madeline said. Both of them left, and the door shut behind them.
When they got back to the car Madeline surprised Cruz by asking him to drive back. He shot her a concerned glance as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Are you all right?”
“Just a headache,” she said shortly, fishing in her purse for some pain relievers. He winced as he watched her swallow two of them dry. Then she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
“I’m not surprised your head hurts after a day like this,” he noted. “Finding a corpse is enough to shoot anyone’s day to hell.”
“It’s not just that. I didn’t sleep very well last night,” she admitted without thinking. “Plus, we skipped lunch.”
She didn’t open her eyes until she felt the car come to a halt and heard the sound of the ignition being turned off. She opened them slowly, already dreading the drive back to her apartment. But to her amazement they weren’t back at headquarters. They were in a parking lot next to a well-known seafood restaurant. “Don’t tell me,” she drawled, her gaze sweeping to Cruz’s. “You took a wrong turn again.”
“Nope.” He got out of the car and came around to open her door. “You need to eat, and I know you can’t be trusted to make yourself something when you get home, so we’ll run in here and take care of it.”
She got out of the car slowly. “You know, you have an unhealthy interest in feeding me. You should see someone about that.”
He winked at her. “Remember, I’ve seen your kitchen. If you had mice, they’d have to order take-out.”
She sighed. He was right, darn it. Grocery shopping was far down on the list of her favorite things to do. If she went home right now, she would probably skip supper altogether. Reluctantly she followed him into the building, where they were quickly seated by the hostess.
“I’ll let you buy me dinner if you’re still feeling guilty about all the trouble I went to last night to make supper for you,” he offered judiciously.
She lowered her menu to fix him with a jaundiced look. “How kind of you.”
He looked modest. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Is that how you maintain your frantic social life, Martinez? Drive women to high-priced restaurants and invite them to pay?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “Now how would you know how frantic my social life is?” he asked interestedly.
Madeline froze. The lingering headache was obviously affecting her thought process. How else could she explain her verbal slip? She couldn’t reveal what Brewer had told her, or that they’d been discussing him at all. Better to let him think she was interested in him herself, for more personal reasons, than to have him suspect that she had a more devious interest in him.
“Well, I can only guess, but I’d figure that with the face of a Greek god, you might have more than your share of willing companions,” she managed indifferently.
To her surprise, he laughed. “Cheek god, huh? You’re the only person I know who could say that and make it sound so little like a compliment.”
She flushed. It hadn’t been a compliment, exactly, but she hadn’t intended to offend him, either. “I didn’t mean…”
He waved her words away. “It doesn’t matter. And you’re partially right. I can have a lot of dates, if I want them. But going out with women attracted to me based solely on my looks long ago ceased to thrill me. I’m thirty-four years old, Madeline. It’s dehumanizing to be seen as some kind of trophy. I don’t want to be wanted that way, any more than you’d wish to date a man who was interested only in your beauty.”
Now she really was embarrassed, but her interest was caught in spite of it. “Does that happen often?” she asked.
“Much more often than being pursued by women interested in my mind,” he said wryly. “And although you probably don’t believe this, men find that as annoying as women do.”
“I guess I never considered it that way before.” And she hadn’t. She had been as guilty of generalizing about him, based on his looks, as anybody, she realized in a flash. Brewer had laid the groundwork by revealing to her, in that half-snide, half-envious tone, just how popular Cruz was with women. And she’d drawn her own conclusions the first time she’d laid eyes on him.
He shrugged, as if the matter was not of great consequence, and looked at his menu again. Madeline returned to hers also, but her mind wasn’t on food. Not for the first time since she’d started this case, she felt a flicker of remorse for deceiving him. She couldn’t permit that feeling; it meant she was getting too emotionally involved in the case, and that wouldn’t do. She needed to back up, maintain a little distance. But that was difficult when she was working this closely with Cruz. Each day she worked with him taught her a little more about him, and while that was necessary for her investigation, it was playing havoc with her judgment. Darn it, she liked him so much. It would be impossible not to. He was funny, charming and witty, even considerate. A person would have to be dead not to react to him, and react to him she did.
“Madeline?” Her gaze flew to his, then to the waitress standing patiently next to her, pen poised. She quickly made a selection and gave it to the waitress.
“You were a million miles away,” he observed as the woman took their menus and left. “Is your headache still bothering you?”
She shook her head. “Not much. I was just… thinking.”
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself,” he invited. At her look of refusal, he cajoled, “C’mon. I really know very little about you. I talk all the time. My life’s an open book to you.”
If only he knew, she thought. While it was true that he revealed much by his easy banter, he hadn’t yet given her the kind of information she was seeking about him. She was growing weary of the subterfuge, yet she had no choice but to continue. After all, if she could tie up the source of his second income, she would be just as likely to clear him as to incriminate him, wouldn’t she? She might end up doing him a favor.
Right, she derided herself. As if he would thank her for digging up every single thing she could about him, and filing it in a report to Internal Affairs. He wasn’t likely to feel grateful to find she’d been weighing the evidence against him, to see if it pointed to his guilt in a crime that would offend any decent person to be suspected of. He’d hate her if he ever found out what other task she’d been busy with during their partnership.
Not that it would matter. This case, as well as this partnership, was merely temporary. When it ended, Cruz Martinez would cease to have any effect on her at all. Whether she proved him guilty or innocent, her life would resume as before. She need never see him again. She forced down the strange sense of desolation her thoughts brought.
She became belatedly aware that he was looking at her expectantly. “There’s nothing important to tell,” she said finally.
“Family?”
That was one of the last things she wanted to discuss with him, or with anyone else, for that matter. “A father, one brother,” she said shortly. “My mother died when I was a teenager. Other than that, I had the usual childhood.”
He waited, but she had clearly finished.
“C’mon,” he wheedled. “There must be some juicy morsel from your past you’d like to share with me.”
“What are you hoping for, Martinez?” she gibed. “That I can relate some incidents that will rival those from your misspent youth?” She shook her bead. “Sorry to disappoint you. Most of my indiscretions were purely imaginary.” Although there were still some who remained convinced that she’d been guilty of much more than an indiscretion when Dennis Belding’s crimes had come to light. She had no doubt that her father’s publicity team and advisers had worked frantically to reduce the impact the fiasco would have on his career. But she steadfastly refused to believe her father responsible for her being cleared in the department’s internal investigation. It was important for her to think there was one major portion of her life that her father would never have any direct control over.
“How often do you see your family?” he quizzed.
“Not often. My brother lives on the West Coast. I have dinner with my father once a month, when I can’t get out of it.” She gave a wry smile and added, “We don’t have a lot in common.”
Cruz was silent, absorbing her words. He couldn’t imagine a father no
t having more of a relationship with his daughter, whatever their differences. Certainly he didn’t always agree with his father. But the bond between them was strong, as was the sense of family loyalty.
Madeline seemed unwilling to continue and he studied her, wondering if he dared push her any farther. She seemed to have an innate sense of caution, a protective guardedness about her that prevented others from getting too close too quickly. That added to her intrigue. But when she wasn’t guarding her words carefully, when her defenses lowered a bit, she went far beyond intriguing. She had a sparkle, a depth to her that was compelling. And he was finding himself very much compelled.
His attention was snared by a man approaching their table, a broad smile on his face.
“Cruz, how are you? I’ve left several messages on your answering machine. It’s lucky I’ve run into you like this.”
Cruz rose to his feet, mentally cursing the man’s timing. “Good to see you,” he said insincerely, shaking his hand. “Madeline, will you excuse us for a minute?” Without waiting for her answer, he was leaving the table, guiding the man across the room.
She watched in confusion as they stopped in a corner and fell into a discussion. Now what was that all about? Cruz had seemed ill at ease at the man’s appearance and had wasted no time getting him away from the table. She watched the two carefully, but could discern little from where she was sitting. The other man seemed to be doing much of the talking, gesturing periodically. Cruz shook his head a few times, but mostly listened. Her attention drifted when the waitress returned to their table with their meals. Madeline waited several minutes, but Cruz showed no signs of returning. It gave her an excuse to go fetch him. There was no sense in either of them eating a cold meal.
As she approached, she heard the other man say, “Great! I knew this was too good for you to pass up.”
“I’m serious, though, Dan,” Cruz answered. “If you’re going to insist on taking chances like this, you’re going to have to count me out. I’ve got too much to lose if we-” He broke off as his companion’s eyes looked past him. Cruz turned to see Madeline standing there.
