by Kylie Brant
It angered him that he was haunted by those images of her even when she wasn’t near. The first time he’d gone upstairs and found her hairbrush on his dresser he’d been frozen with an anguish so deep it could have been physical. He’d hurled the brush across the room, where it had fallen to the floor with a soft thud. But the images were harder to banish.
Lying in his bed alone, it was impossible for him to forget the times she’d been next to him. Although their time together had been brief, he’d gotten to know her better than he figured anyone else ever had. He knew, for instance, that beneath those no-nonsense suits she wore lingerie that made him break out into a sweat just envisioning it. He couldn’t sleep in that bed anymore with the specter of her there. Memories taunted him-of her lying sleeping, curled up beside him; of the way she slept with her lips slightly parted, as if waiting for his kiss; of the satiny fabric of her nighties, and the way they rode up in the night, to leave her bottom delightfully, arousingly bare. Nor were those images banished when he slept instead on the sectional sofa he’d ordered for the living room. No, they followed him, tantalizing reminders of what had been, and what he’d hoped for.
He didn’t know which was worse, the times home alone tortured by memories of Maddy, or those hours in the car, being forced to sit inches away from her. She had acceded to his wishes, and now the only words between them had to do with the case. One part of him was grateful for that; the other wanted to demand an explanation from her.
But he remained stubbornly silent. A fierce male pride was part of his heritage, and it coursed strongly through his veins. Yet more than that kept him from speaking. He’d never allowed a woman as close before, and it was too hurtful to think of her lack of faith in him. Just imagining her delving into his life, checking up on him while they worked together made him want to punch something. The laughable thing was, she could have asked him anything, anything about himself, and he probably would have told her, sooner or later. He’d have told her things that he’d gone to pains to hide from almost all his friends, because he’d thought her interest lay in him. He smiled bitterly. And so it had. But not in the way he’d counted on. He couldn’t forget that every moment he’d been drawn closer to her, every moment she’d pretended to feel the same, she was cold-bloodedly running an investigation on him at the same time. That was hard to forget.
Madeline Casey wasn’t the only one with a long memory.
Three days after the scene with Cruz, Madeline was questioning her sanity. Each day seemed to blur into the next, and her whole world seemed to have narrowed to the front seat of the unluxurious police-issue car. Stakeouts were always tedious, but the situation with Cruz made this one intolerable. The endless hours they spent together with this insurmountable breach between them had her constantly on edge, her entire body one jangling nerve. The inactivity was working on both of them. Even Cruz was losing that flat, expressionless tone he’d adopted. When he did speak, it was in close to a snarl.
He’d run a check on the plates of the truck Valdez had been driving, and, unsurprisingly, it had been registered to Andersen Steel. They’d agreed, in one of their rare moments of conversation, that in all likelihood Valdez had been hired as the distributor. With his criminal experience and contacts on the streets, he would certainly have the reputation and experience to find buyers.
It was close to noon, and they’d both already silently eaten the lunches they’d brought. Madeline had forced herself to eat most of a sandwich, then put the rest of the food away. It was difficult to swallow these days, and hunger was the last thing she was feeling.
“Looks like pay dirt,” Cruz muttered, training the binoculars on the warehouse.
She craned her neck to look and saw a large ship approaching the Andersen dock.
“That’s got to be the shipment of steel the project manager was talking about,” she said.
“And this must be the night Andersen wants Valdez here.” He put down the binoculars and turned on the ignition.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now it’s time to type up another warrant.”
Several hours later found them back on the same street, the search warrant in their possession. They’d talked in the car that afternoon, more than they had in the total time they’d spent watching the warehouse. In fact, they’d argued.
“I still don’t agree with this,” she muttered, crossing her arms stubbornly. “It’s a dangerous risk, one we don’t have to take.”
“Be realistic, Madeline,” he retorted for what seemed the hundredth time. His use of her full name made her flinch a little. “If we do as you wish and present this to Andersen right now, what’s the best-case scenario? We could get him to come down here, open up a few crates, hopefully find the parts to some AK-47s and take him downtown to book him. We still won’t have Valdez.”
“You don’t know that,” she argued heatedly. “We could be back here at midnight when Valdez shows up, and nab him then.”
“That wouldn’t happen. He’s going to be expecting Andersen to be here, and he’s cautious as hell. That’s how he’s managed to elude us for so long. Knowing him, he’ll be waiting for some sign that all is well. When he doesn’t see it, he’ll take off. And then we’ll have no chance of finding him, because you can be sure he won’t be sticking around when he hears of Andersen’s arrest.”
“It’s more dangerous your way,” she said, even as she realized the logic in his argument. “We won’t be able to radio for backup. If a detective is involved in this whole thing, we can’t take the chance of leaking our surveillance to the wrong person. We have no idea which cop is dirty. We wouldn’t know who to trust.”
“We know there’s only going to be two of them tonight-three at the most, if this mystery detective is there. We can handle them ourselves.”
She resented the way he had of simplifying a situation that, she somehow knew, was going to turn out to be anything but simple. “How about this?” she bargained. “We’ll be able to tell from our position how many of them there are. If it’s just Valdez and Andersen, we’ll go in ourselves. We won’t be able to afford the risk of the wrong person responding to our call. But if we see a third person, we radio for backup.”
Cruz hesitated, then nodded curtly, and their attention returned to the street.
Evening had descended before either of them spoke again. “Let’s get closer,” Cruz suggested. Without another word they both checked their weapons and extra clips. Then they moved across the street to take up station behind the same utility shed they’d sheltered behind nights ago.
Several hours in the same position had every one of Madeline’s muscles screaming a protest. Despite the danger, she was almost relieved when Andersen’s large car rolled to a stop in front of the warehouse. He got out and walked rapidly up to the gate, fumbling with the key in the lock until he finally swung the gate open. Propping it open a few feet, he waited with seeming impatience, casting continual glances up and down the street.
“Came dressed for gunrunning, I see,” Cruz remarked in an almost soundless whisper. The man was dressed in a black sweatshirt and trousers. “Guess you can’t buy an Italian suit that’s right for this kind of work.”
She had to smile at his outrageous remark. “Probably got it at Crooks R Us.”
“Ah, there’s his sidekick. I knew he’d be too cautious to show if he wasn’t sure Andersen was here.”
“Don’t be obnoxious, Martinez. The night isn’t over yet.”
They both watched as Valdez slowly approached the gate, exchanged a few words with Andersen, then walked away again. A few moments later the truck he’d been driving a few days ago pulled up. Andersen opened the gate wide, and it rumbled slowly through.
They waited fifteen agonizingly long minutes. Then Cruz whispered, “It’s show time.” They drew their weapons and moved silently across the street and through the still-open gate.
They entered through the open door of the warehouse. It was shadowy, but light spilled
out from a distant corner, making it possible to see where they were going. Sheets of metal and cartons filled the huge expanse, piles of materials everywhere. They approached the lighted area cautiously, stopping frequently to listen.
Stopping in back of a huge stack of boxes, Cruz realized that they were as close as they were going to get to the two without showing themselves. As it was, when they peered around the corners of their hiding place, they had a clear view of Andersen and Valdez working. The cavernous structure provided perfect acoustics for their conversation.
“Be a hell of a lot easier if you’d have the guns shipped already assembled and in the same damn crates.” It was Valdez speaking. “Then we’d just have to open them up, count them and toss them on the truck. This takes too damn long.”
When Andersen spoke, it was obvious he was winded from his labors. “The simplest method isn’t necessarily the smartest, Valdez. Each of these crates has to look perfectly legitimate for anyone who happens to look inside it. Taking precautions is what makes an operation like this run smoothly. Don’t try to think. That’s not what you’re paid for.”
It was obvious from the look Valdez shot the other man that there was no love lost between the two. “Yeah, you’re real brilliant,” he muttered. “And so is that buddy of yours. But as usual, when there’s work to be done, he don’t show up.”
“We can handle this ourselves,” Andersen told him. “We’re half done already.”
Andersen was opening the crates, extracting pieces from them, then piling the pieces next to Valdez. Valdez assembled the guns, put them into empty crates and loaded them into the truck.
Madeline nudged Cruz, and he nodded. They’d seen enough. With the mysterious third party not in sight, now was the time to make their move. Both men’s bands were occupied, which would make it difficult for them to go for a weapon, assuming either had one. Cruz indicated to Madeline that he would take Valdez, leaving Andersen for her. She frowned at him, but he gave her no time for dispute. Holding up a hand, he held up one finger, then two, then three. They stepped around a corner of the boxes and yelled simultaneously, “Freeze! Police!”
Andersen’s head jerked around and stopped in midmotion. Valdez reacted more quickly. He threw the crate he’d been lifting in their direction and took off.
“I got him,” Cruz yelled, jumping over a stack of steel poles as he went off in pursuit.
“Drop it,” Madeline ordered Andersen. “And get your hands behind your head.”
The man seemed to recover some of his smoothness. “What’s the meaning of this, Detective? What are you doing here? This is private property.”
“Private property with a very lucrative sideline,” she answered while she trained her gun on him and quickly frisked him. Finding no weapon, she snapped a cuff on his wrist and led him over to the truck. The other cuff was snapped to the door handle. Quickly she went to the other side of the truck, opened the door and leaned over to remove the keys from the ignition. Then she proceeded to read him his rights.
“Guns?” he scoffed. “You’ve got quite an imagination, and absolutely no proof. You’d better think hard, Detective, before you bring me in on such a ridiculous charge. My family is well regarded in this town.”
“Somehow I think your family’s reputation is about to take a nosedive.”
The man blustered, “This is undoubtedly an illegal search, and my lawyer will have it thrown out of court. You and your partner will lose your jobs over this.”
Madeline tucked the warrant in his free hand. “I suggest you read that while you’re waiting.” She ran silently in the direction that Cruz had disappeared in. She heard the report of a shot, and then another. Heading in the direction of the sound, she saw a figure running toward the gate. She raised her gun and then hesitated. At this distance it was impossible to tell the identity of the runner. She started after him.
In front of her, another figure came flying out of the shadows and tackled the runner. They rolled over and over on the ground. As she drew closer she could make out Cruz on top of Valdez, drawing back a fist. Valdez reached up and grasped Cruz’s throat with both hands, and Cruz dropped his fist to pry at the other man’s fingers.
A movement in the darkness near the struggling pair attracted her attention. A figure stepped out, and when Madeline saw the gun aimed toward Cruz’s head, she reacted instinctively. She twirled and fired a shot. The force from the impact of the bullet swung the man around. He dropped his gun, clutching at his shoulder.
Cruz used the distraction to free himself from Valdez’s grasp, and after a few more moments the struggle was over. Valdez lay motionless on the ground.
Cruz got up and walked over, picking up the gun that had been dropped, as well as his own weapon. He tucked Valdez’s gun into the waistband of his jeans.
“Let’s see who we’ve got here,” he muttered, walking over to the wounded man.
“An old friend of yours, I believe,” she said shakily, her gun still aimed.
“So I see,” Cruz said, recognizing Detective Gerald Baker. The man glared at him, blood seeping from between his fingers. “Your partner’s as crazy as you are, Martinez,” Baker snarled. “You’ll both be laughed out of the department over this. I had this place staked out myself, and came to help when I heard shots.”
“Somehow I don’t think I could have afforded your help,” Cruz mocked. “If it hadn’t been for Maddy, I’d have been a chalk outline.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Somehow, his showing up here now seems a little too coincidental.”
She nodded, and stepped forward to frisk Baker quickly, using his own handcuffs on him.
“I need medical attention,” Baker told her. “It’s going to be up to you to get me some.” He jerked his head at Cruz. “He’d just as soon see me die.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Madeline corrected him grimly, searching his pockets for a handkerchief. Wadding it up, she applied it ungently to the wound. “I’m the one who’d like to see you in hell, bunking with the bad guys.”
“Yeah, I’d just as soon have you alive, Baker,” Cruz said. “So I can enjoy thinking of you in prison, with a guy you put away as your cell mate.” He addressed Madeline. “What did you do with Andersen, shoot him, too?”
“Not yet,” she answered unsteadily. The adrenaline high that had been pumping through her veins was leaving her in a rush. The image of Baker pointing a gun toward Cruz’s head was still agonizingly vivid.
Baker was protesting loudly. “Get me to the hospital, you fools. I’ll bleed to death here.”
“One can only hope, pal,” Cruz said unsympathetically. He went over to Valdez, who was showing signs of returning to consciousness. Rolling him over, he cuffed him and pulled him to his feet. He stopped then and looked at Madeline. He cocked a grin at her, a shadow of the one she used to see. “Good work, Maddy. We make a good team.”
Their eyes met, and held. “Yes,” she said softly. “We do.”
His face changed then as he interpreted her meaning. He turned away. “Let’s get these guys to the car and call for backup. Where’s Andersen?”
She bit her lip. She knew what she read in his sudden change of mood. “He’s not going anywhere.”
He nodded, turned and led Valdez away.
A week later Madeline was in her apartment, staring unexcitedly at the TV dinner she’d cooked. She’d forced herself to go to the gym and work out tonight more for something to do than because she any longer felt a burning desire to stay on schedule. As a matter of fact, she no longer felt a burning desire for much of anything in her life.
Returning to her desk at Internal Affairs should have made her feel as though her life were getting back to normal. Already she was being given more cases than she could possibly handle. Brewer was actually in a pleasant mood, basking in the attention brought by the conclusion of the high-profile case.
But nothing seemed normal these days. Each day dawned, a vacuum stretching interminably in front of her, to be filled wi
th events to save her sanity. Each night closed with her inability to remember much of anything that had mattered that day.
Her cell rang then and she reached for it automatically. When she saw her father’s number on the screen, she set it back down without answering it. It was the third time in as many days that he’d called, and it was the third time she’d dismissed the call so summarily. She had nothing to say to him.
Her attention returned to her unappetizing meal. She’d fixed it because eating was one of those chores she’d tried to return to. She could ill afford to lose any more weight. But eating held about as much interest for her as talking to her father, and with a sigh she threw yet another meal into the trash.
Her doorbell rang, and she considered not answering it. When she finally realized that it was likely to be Ariel, and that she’d only use her key if Madeline didn’t come to the door, she got up and reached for the knob. She didn’t use the peephole, not because she didn’t think of it, but because she just could not summon up enough emotion to care whether it was Ariel on the other side or a serial killer.
It was neither. Cruz Martinez stood facing her when the door swung open. She stared at him, her eyes wide as they hungrily took in the sight of him that had been too long denied her.
“Could have gotten Ariel’s key, but thought I’d do the classy thing and give you a chance to invite me in,” he said cheekily. When she remained silent, he said more seriously, “Are you going to? Invite me in, I mean?”
She stepped away from the door, allowing him to enter. She closed the door and surreptitiously wiped her palms on her jeans. Just seeing Cruz had her dormant senses springing to life. Her pulse was racing; her heart was in her throat. The wonderful side effect of living her life as an automaton the past several days had been that the pain of losing Cruz had been held to a manageable level. Now it was back, full force.
“I thought I’d come by to fill you in on the case,” he said, walking restlessly around her living room. Ignoring her furniture, he propped himself against a wall and looked at her. Her throat clutched at the familiarity of the pose.
