Cilla, hours later, saying goodbye and walking out the door.
Was Cilla in the chair next to him?
He moved his head carefully to get a better look at her. The dim light in the room stabbed at his eyes, and he clenched his teeth at the pain. Drawing a careful breath, he turned again.
Not Cilla. Mia was the one slumped in the chair. Sound asleep.
His mouth felt as if the Russian army had marched through it. He reached for the glass with the straw sticking out of in on the table next to the bed and yelped when pain exploded in his head. Jesus!
"Bren?"
He opened his eyes to see Mia bent over the bed railing, her hair mussed and her clothes wrinkled. "Mia. What are you doing here?"
"I got the short straw," she said with a grin. "Overnight detail."
Cilla hadn't stayed. He'd really screwed up whatever it was they had.
Used to have.
He put his hand over his eyes to block the light. To hide his grief from his sister. If Cilla had been the one in the hospital bed, they couldn't have pried him away with a crowbar. "Thanks, Mimi, but you don't have to stay. I'm fine."
"You're an idiot, Bren." She plopped back down in the chair and edged it closer to the bed. "I had to fight off everyone else. We all wanted to stay. I won."
"You beat Cilla?"
Mia watched him for a long moment. "Cilla didn't stick around," she finally said. "What happened with you guys?"
"Hell if I know." He closed his eyes to hide the lie from his sister.
He knew damn well what he'd done. And Cilla had seen it. She'd understood he was terrified of what he felt for her. He'd burst into her apartment that day he'd thought Bates or Ward might have gotten to her. She'd seen him freaking out afterward, when he'd realized how he felt. How much he lov...cared about her.
For fuck's sake. He couldn't even say it now? Not even when he was alone in a hospital room with his sister instead of Cilla, the woman he loved?
For a guy who loved words, why was it so hard to use that particular one? To say it out loud. Hell, to even think it.
The men in his family never used words. They used jokes. Teasing. Actions. They all knew their brothers and sister loved them. That their father loved them, too. Even though it was never actually spoken.
So he hadn't told Cilla. The woman who'd told him she loved him. Who'd said they could have been great as she walked away.
"I screwed up, Mia."
"There's a news flash," she answered, leaning against the back of the chair and propping her feet on the bottom of his bed rail. "What did you do?"
"Where do you want me to start?" he said, his head and his heart both aching.
"Wherever you want, Brenny," Mia said softly. She hadn't used his pet name in a long time.
Eyes prickling, he stared at the black screen on the television set attached to the wall. "I love her," he said out loud. No lightning bolt struck him, so he said it again. Louder. "I love her."
"A blind person could see that," she said. "So what's the problem?"
"I...I didn't want to love her. I was scared. And I pushed her away. The worst part? She knew what I was doing."
"So she bailed on you?" Mia scowled back. "Let you push her away? Doesn't have a lot of sticking power, does she?"
He scowled. "She did exactly what I intended. What I wanted her to do. Walked away." His stomach twisted as he remembered the ugly words he'd thrown at her. "I was reckless. Impulsive. Did shit that I knew would piss her off." His voice caught in his throat. "Hell, I got myself shot. Seemed to work, too, 'cause she's not here."
"You're a dumbass, Brendan Donovan." Mia's feet hit the floor, and she gripped the rail to stare down at him. "The biggest dumbass of all of my brothers, and that's saying a lot. You better fix this, genius. Find her and straighten this out."
"You're right." He pressed the button to raise the bed. "Where are my clothes? I'm getting out of here."
She snatched the control from his hand and lowered the bed. "Relax, Bren. You aren't going anywhere tonight. If you're lucky, you'll get out of here tomorrow. You're coming home with me until you're back on your feet."
"I'm not staying with you." He needed to find Cilla. Make this right.
"Okay. Then you're staying with Mom." She studied him, and he squirmed. She knew what he was thinking. "You're not getting your car keys back until you're cleared to drive."
"What are you, the police or something?"
"Ha ha, Bren. Funny. You have a choice. Me or mom."
Mia wasn't going to back down. He swallowed, steeling himself to face another fear. "Fine. I'll stay with you. But I need my computer."
"Why? You can use my computer."
"I need my own."
Mia peered over the bed rail again. "Why is it so important to have your own computer?"
He drew in a deep breath. Let it out. Breathed in again. He needed to step up to the plate. Be true to who he really was. It was time to stop hiding.
"I've been keeping something from all of you, Mimi. I'm not just a cop. I...write. I'm a writer." It felt really good to say it out loud.
"What?" Mia stared at him, shocked. "What do you mean?"
"You know that Cops and Robbers blog?" When she nodded, he said, "It's mine. I write it."
"What?" She stared at him, her eyes wide. "Are you kidding me?"
"Nope. Not kidding."
"That blog is brilliant, Brenny. Every cop I know reads it."
"Yeah?" He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Oh, my God. My dumbass brother is a writer." She grabbed his hand and squeezed. "That's the coolest thing I've ever heard." She stood up and plopped down on the bed next to him. "How long have you been writing?"
Brendan shifted on the bed and studied his hands. Flexed them, the way he did when he'd been writing too long and they cramped up. "My whole life, pretty much. Started scribbling in notebooks in grade school. Writing stories in high school. I started the blog because I needed a way to...to deal with what happened every day on the job."
"That's amazing, Bren," Mia whispered. "I've never known a writer before. Tell me everything. Where you get your ideas. What it feels like to write something like your blog and get all those great comments. Where all those words come from."
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "Spill."
* * *
Cilla walked into the first district station at ten the next morning. Instead of Cook County Jail, Bates had been transferred to the closest station after his release from the hospital.
It was standard procedure after a cop was arrested – everyone knew what happened to police officers in Cook County jail.
She understood the reasons. The necessity.
But. Cops were still protecting Bates.
Cilla stopped at the desk and showed the Sergeant her badge. "I understand you have Anson Bates in holding."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "What if we do?"
"I'm Detective Cilla Marini," she said evenly. "The one who arrested him. I'd like to question him."
"Too late, Detective. The feds are on the job." The sergeant picked up his newspaper and snapped it open.
"What?" Cilla slapped her hand onto the sports section and flattened it on the desk. "What are you talking about?"
"DEA has him in the box. You're welcome to watch from observation." The sergeant slid the paper out from beneath her hand and pretended to read it.
"Police officer or not, Detective Bates is responsible for the deaths of five people." Cilla knocked the paper out of his hand. "Our job is getting murderers off the streets. No matter who they are."
The sergeant stared at her for a long moment, then jerked his head toward the door behind him. "Observation room is the third door down on the left."
Fuming, Cilla slammed through the door and strode down the hall to the third door. When she yanked open the door to the observation room, another man was already there, watching. Ignoring him, she sat down two seats a
way.
Then bolted to her feet. "What the hell?" On the other side of the glass, interrogating Bates, was Nick Romano from the Pipe and Shamrock pub. A guy they suspected was working with Bates.
"Henry at the desk didn't tell you the DEA was here?" the man on her left asked.
She spun to face Ryan Ward. Recoiled. "What are you doing here, Ward? Waiting for your turn in the box?"
Ward rubbed his hand across his face. Purple circles bagged beneath his puffy eyes, and his face was putty-gray. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all. "Romano's already taken his shot at me."
"If he already questioned you, shouldn't you be in holding?" Cilla stared down at him, waiting for the guilt. The defeat.
"Think whatever you want, Marini. I had no idea what Anson was doing."
"Right." Cilla rolled her eyes. "You're his partner. How could you not know?"
Ward turned his gaze back to the tableau beneath them. Romano leaned across the table, talking. Bates sat stone-faced and unmoving. His right arm was encased in white plaster from his hand to above his elbow, and a sling held his arm immobile across his chest.
"A cop's partner is the person who knows him or her best," he said, not taking his gaze off Bates. "You spend more time with your partner than you do with your family. You tell him everything. He's the guy who has your back. You trust him completely. Otherwise, the partnership isn't going to work."
Cilla nodded once. She understood that. But..."At some point, you must have suspected something."
"How long have you had a partner, Marini?"
"Just for this undercover op," she said, clenching her hands in her lap. "After...after what happened with you, no one wanted to partner with me. And I was fine with that."
"I'm sorry about that," Ward said quietly. "I really am. You were right. I was too rough with that woman. I wasn't arresting her. She hadn't committed a crime, as far as I knew. But she'd accused Anson of stealing drugs from her. I was pissed off. Trying to make her recant."
He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. "I couldn't accept that my partner had done something wrong. Something illegal. I believed Anson was the best guy in the world."
"He's also a criminal," Cilla said, her voice cold as she watched the scene below. Romano wasn't getting flustered. Wasn't getting pissed. He sat across the table from Bates, calm and cool. As if he knew he had Bates.
"Yeah, I know that now. But I couldn't accept that everything I thought about my partner was wrong. I thought she was just trying to get him into trouble.
"That's why I'm here. Watching." He rubbed a shaking hand across his face. "I need to remember this day. Remember how I was so wrong about all the things I believed. About everything I thought was true. I thought I was good at reading people, but I was a spectacular failure. Don't know how I'm gonna function as a cop after this."
In spite of all the problems Ryan Ward had caused Cilla, she understood. She knew what the bond between partners was like. She bowed her head and took a deep breath. "Maybe we both learned some lessons, Ward. I stand with my fellow officers, too. I don't want to believe any of us is crooked. But we're cops. We're supposed to follow where the trail leads, even if it's to a place we don't want to go."
In the room on the other side of the glass, Romano stood up and exited the interrogation room. Cilla headed for the door, but Ward put his hand on her arm.
"I'm sorry about what I did to you," he said. "Sorrier than I can say. You're a good cop, Marini. You didn't deserve the shit I dumped on you. If I could go back and change what I did, I'd do it in a second. But I can't. All I can do is apologize."
Cilla nodded once, short and cool. He was sincere. She could see that. But right now, what Ward had done was just a blip on the radar. Compared to the devastation engulfing her, it was insignificant. "Thank you, Ward. I appreciate that."
Then she turned and exited the room.
Romano was coming around the corner as she closed the door behind her. "Hey," he said. "Marini, right?"
"Yes." She studied his expensive suit, blue shirt, dark tie. He looked like an ad for some big-name designer in an expensive men's magazine. "I thought you were working with him, Romano. I'm still not sure you aren't."
He smiled. "That's what you were supposed to think. And that's why you're a good detective. My name's Giuliani. Dominic Giuliani. You and your partner did a very nice job with this case. We've been looking for that shithead for a long time."
"Glad we could deliver him to you." She made a mental note to check on Giuliani. "Are you getting any information from him?"
"Not yet," Giuliani said cheerfully. "He's being the tough guy now. But he'll crack. He knows what's down the line for him if he doesn't cooperate."
"Good luck. I hope he goes away for a long time."
"Oh, he will. The only difference is whether it's on our terms, or his."
Cilla nodded. "I know you'll need to talk to me and my partner. Donovan is supposed to get out of the hospital today. He's from the nineteenth district. Belmont. You can get hold of him there. I'm in the sixteenth. Let me know when you need to talk to me."
"You two aren't permanent partners?" Giuliani asked, frowning. "I would have bet money that you were."
"Nope. Just for this job." Her heart ached, but she forced a smile. "Glad to know we fooled the feds."
The DEA agent studied her for a long moment, his mouth curling into a tiny smile. "Not sure you were fooling anyone, Marini. Good luck."
"Thanks." Cilla turned and walked away, blinking furiously. She rushed out of the building and gulped in deep breaths of the cool autumn air. God! Even the damn DEA knew how she felt about Brendan.
She pulled out her phone and called her sister. She needed more of the support that Olivia had provided the night before.
Hell, she might call Sam in Iowa, too.
And her mom.
Chapter 31
Cilla pushed back from her desk and stretched, trying to ease tight muscles. Two straight days of paperwork had left her feeling as achy and sore as an old woman.
Her phone pinged. She picked it up, smiling grimly at the text.
Tiffany had decided to cooperate with Giuliani. And with his main seller spilling her guts, Bates had finally understood the case against him was rock-solid. He'd just agreed to cooperate, as well.
The bullet and casing from Franny's shooting had matched Bates's gun, so he'd be charged with attempted assault, as well.
She'd checked out Giuliani, and he was clean. She'd been convinced when she discovered Giuliani had enlisted Holly, the self-contained, aloof woman from the Pipe and Shamrock, to help him.
Holly's boyfriend had been one of the men who'd died after taking the drug. Giuliani had persuaded her to hang around the pub to try and identify the sellers.
Now that Cilla's paperwork was done and Giuliani was taking apart Bates's network, Cilla could focus on the rest of the loose ends.
She phoned the lab and requested the DNA results on Mike Welles. According to the technician, Welles's DNA from the second sample had matched saliva and skin cells on nail clippings from all of the rape victims from the Beverly area.
The first sample, the one Johnstone delivered, had been contaminated. Unusable.
Something else to share with Internal Affairs.
Cilla grabbed her phone. "Hey, Liv," she said when her sister answered. "Just got the DNA results back on Welles. Matches all the rape victims."
Cilla heard rustling, then a door opening. "I'm heading down the hall to the prosecutor assigned to his case," Livvy said. "The judge's assistant let me know that Welles's attorney was coming in this morning with the money for his bond. I'll make sure the prosecutor goes back to court to revoke the bail offer."
"Thanks, Liv," Cilla said softly. She smiled as she ended the call. Her relationship with Livvy had changed since the night she'd gone to her sister after Brendan's shooting. They talked more frequently. Leaned on each other after a hard day. And Livvy was doing as much
for Cilla as Cilla did for her.
Finally. Last but not least. Sighing, she picked up the phone and made an appointment with Internal Affairs.
No police officer wanted to talk to IAD. But Cilla had no choice. Too much had happened in the twenty-second district.
As her partner on this operation, Brendan should be part of the conversation. She'd tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid thinking about him since the night she walked out of the hospital. But everything reminded her of Brendan.
Her station. His. Talking to Giuliani. At her apartment, where he'd freaked out when he thought she'd been hurt.
It had been three days since he'd been shot. Three days of wondering how he was, worrying about him, hoping he was okay.
Three days, and he hadn't called. He hadn't even sent a damn text.
Hadn't even let her know how Franny was doing. Afraid that meant bad news, Cilla had called the vet herself.
Franny was doing well. She was out of the clinic and recuperating with Lizzy and Mac. She'd be back to normal in a month or so.
Her hand had been shaking when she hung up the phone. Brendan hadn't even let her know about Franny. So he could talk to Internal Affairs by himself whenever he was ready. She didn't give a damn when that was.
When Cilla handed in her last piece of paperwork, her Captain said, "Nice close, Marini. You and your partner did a hell of a job. How's he doing, by the way?"
"He's out of the hospital." Cilla had called the following day to make sure he was okay. When the nurse on his floor told Cilla that he was scheduled to be released, she'd thanked the woman and turned down her offer to connect Cilla to Brendan's room.
Cilla had called the next day and found out he had, indeed, been released.
"Tell him congratulations from me on cracking this case." Captain Francisco studied her, assessing. "You two going to put in to be permanent partners? I heard you worked really well together."
"No, sir." Cilla swallowed the lump that swelled in her throat. "Our styles are too different."
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