Protector’s Temptation

by Marilyn Pappano

  She snorted. “They’re corrupt, not stupid. They were careful. They didn’t do anything in front of witnesses.”

  “And yet Kinney left that message on your answering machine.”

  “Yeah, well, he must have felt safe, don’t you think? After all, he’d gotten away with murder.”

  Silence again, filled with tension that was echoed in his voice when he finally spoke. “If I believed for one second that they killed Teri—”

  And she snorted again. “You don’t want to believe. You made a rookie mistake, Decker. You settled for the obvious answer. You didn’t look at the evidence. You didn’t care if it was all just a little too neat. You knew Rodriguez had killed one of his girls when she tried to leave him, you knew Teri intended to leave him and you assumed he killed her, too. But you were wrong.”

  He leaned forward, his hazel gaze locking with hers. “You and I were partners. We shared everything. And you expect me to believe that all this crap was going on between you and the others but you kept it to yourself…until now, when you’re trying to destroy their careers. You were a good cop, Mas. Tell me that’s not damned convenient.”

  Too antsy to remain still, she sprang up from the bed and paced to the window, lifting the heavy drape just enough to see out. What Decker had said happened often enough: someone was arrested for rape or assault or robbery, and after his picture appeared in the media, suddenly, people who had never filed a report came forward, saying, “Oh, he did the same thing to me.” Sometimes they told the truth. Sometimes they didn’t.

  If their situations were reversed, if he were accusing three officers of murder and suddenly revealed wrongdoing on their part from years ago, would she think it was awfully convenient that he felt moved to share the information now?

  Anyone but Decker, and her answer would likely be yes. But she’d always trusted him implicitly. If he’d told her that the sun was now rising in the west, she would have nodded and turned her chair 180 degrees for the best view.

  But she hadn’t believed him when he insisted that the Brat Pack hadn’t killed Teri, because she knew things he didn’t. She’d seen a side to the men he hadn’t.

  “Come on, counselor,” Decker said. “You were always quick with the glib words and double-talk. Give me an answer.”

  She stared out the window a moment longer before slowly facing him. “You don’t need answers from me, Decker. You think you’ve already got them all. Someday, maybe you’ll find the nerve to look at what I’ve found. Until then, talking is pointless. You should lie down and try to get some sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  Without letting herself look at him, she returned to the far bed, threw back the covers, kicked off her shoes and lay down. Thankfully, not long after her head hit the pillow, she slept.

  Chapter 8

  Thursday morning, AJ awoke to the steady throb of pain. He was stiff and sore, his entire right arm hurt like the devil and his headache had achieved major proportions. If he thought he could go back to sleep, he’d give it a shot, but since he doubted that was going to happen, not when he was hurting like this, he shifted enough to see the clock—7:00 a.m.—and pulled the phone as far as it would go.

  Maricci sounded too damn cheery when he answered his cell. Of course, he hadn’t fallen down the stairs and broken his damn wrist and didn’t have Masiela to deal with.

  AJ filled him in: the fall, the E.R., the intruders in his house, the motel. He left enough out to make any good detective curious, but Maricci didn’t ask for more information. Instead, his response was simple. “What do you need?”

  AJ’s gaze strayed to the other bed, where Masiela lay, her breathing steady, her back to him, that silky black hair vivid against the cheap, white linens. What he really needed was to get her out of his care, out of his life. But he’d given Donovan his word, and he couldn’t go back on that. Wouldn’t, even if he could. “A ride to Copper Lake. And bring someone with you. Ty. He’ll need to stay here while we’re gone.”

  “We’ll be there soon.”

  With a grunt, AJ hung up, then cautiously got to his feet. After an awkward visit to the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror and winced. The splint made his arm appear twice its size, his fingers extending beyond it were purplish-red, a large bruise blackened his right knee, and another stretched along his left shoulder. In sixteen years as a cop, he’d looked worse before. He couldn’t remember feeling worse, though. Even the simple act of his heart beating made his wrist hurt.

  “There’s a diner across the street,” Masiela called. “I ordered breakfast and offered them a ten-dollar tip to deliver it.”

  His first thought was to tell her all he wanted was pain pills, but the growl in his stomach disagreed. “Thanks.”

  By the time he’d struggled into his shirt, a knock sounded at the door. He limped across the room, where Masiela waited behind the door, gun in hand. She gave him a twenty, then undid the locks so he could open the door.

  A gum-chewing waitress gave him a bag of food and a cardboard carrier with coffee, took the money and said a pleasant “Thanks” before she left.

  As she prepared her own food, he watched her, wondering what was going on behind those weary brown eyes. God knew, her mind was a strange and mysterious place, where it made sense to switch from being a good cop to a scum-representing lawyer. Where she preferred to pretend nothing had happened, rather than acknowledge that she’d had sex with her partner.

  The reminder that she knew about that night made his jaw clench. He washed down a bite of burrito, then fixed a stare on her. “Just how drunk were you that night?”

  She didn’t pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about, but she took her time answering, thoroughly chewing her food, swallowing, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Not as drunk as you apparently thought I was.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “Why didn’t you?” she shot back.

  Part of him hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. They’d had such a good working relationship—and any idiot knew that getting personal was the best way to royally screw that up.

  But the part of him that did want to acknowledge it had been waiting for her to do so first—to at least give some hint that she knew what they’d done—that part had been bothered that she apparently had no memory of what had been a few damn good hours in his life. What man wanted to think he was that forgettable?

  “I thought you didn’t remember…”

  “So you acted like you didn’t?” She snorted.

  He’d awakened that morning before dawn, feeling pretty good despite the fact he’d had only a few hours’ sleep—at least, for the first couple minutes. Then the impact of what they’d done hit him: him and Mas, down and dirty and naked. All he could think was that he’d screwed up, that he’d risked the best partnership he’d ever had…and he wasn’t sure he regretted it.

  Not sure what to think—or to want—he’d left her apartment while she still slept. He’d run eight miles, showered and been at his desk when she walked into work. No one would have guessed to look at her that she’d had too much to drink the night before or that anything had changed between her and AJ. AJ knew what had happened, and he couldn’t see even the faintest hint of it in her face or her actions. The way she looked at him, her tone of voice, her behavior—nothing was different from before.

  And so he’d done his damnedest to act the same.

  She finished eating her breakfast and sat, coffee cup cradled in both hands, watching him, unsatisfied with his last response. He shrugged awkwardly. “Since you didn’t say anything, I figured it would be best to ignore it.”

  “If you had said something, I would have responded.” She snorted again. “Don’t forget, you were the one who sneaked out while I was asleep.”

  His first impulse was to dispute her characterization; he had simply left. He’d had things to do before work. But he could have spared the time to wake her and tell her goodbye. He could have left a note for
her. He could have invited her to run the eight miles with him. They’d done it plenty of times before. Instead he had very quietly gathered his clothes, gotten dressed in the darkened living room and left.

  Wasn’t that pretty much the definition of sneaking out?

  Heat flushed his face. “I’d never slept with anyone I worked with,” he mumbled.

  “Neither had I.”

  “It was stupid.”

  “I agree.”

  Her expression was cool, her tone even. He studied her, wondering where his people-reading skills had disappeared to, because he couldn’t ID a single damn emotion on her face or in her voice.

  “But I don’t regret it,” he said belligerently, and there was a flash: surprise. For a moment she was at a loss for words. He sat there, scowling, waiting for her to recover.

  Waiting to hear that she regretted it.

  Or not.

  After a while, she took a breath and opened her mouth…and a knock sounded at the door. Obviously considering the interruption a reprieve, she clamped her jaw shut again.

  He glanced toward the door. “My best detectives.”

  “How much did you tell them?”

  “Not enough that they’ll be expecting you,” he said drily.

  Another knock came, followed by a low-pitched voice. “Hey, AJ, it’s us.”

  Masiela crossed the room, undoing the locks, then stepping back into the shadows as she opened the door. Maricci was first through, followed by Ty Gadney. When she moved to close and lock the door behind them, both men looked at her, at the pistol she wore, then at AJ. Maricci didn’t look surprised; he never did. The emotion flickered through Ty’s gaze, then he schooled his expression to a good imitation of Maricci’s cool blankness.

  Decker turned on the bedside lamp and, following his lead, Masiela hit the overhead light. “Masiela Leal, Tommy Maricci and Ty Gadney.”

  The three exchanged nods before she returned to sit on the other bed and pick up her coffee. She didn’t sip it, though. Just used it to hold on to.

  “We went by your house on the way here,” Maricci said. “Russ is fixing the back door and the light now, so the place will be secure, then you and I can go by for a look around after you see the doctor.”

  “Thanks.” AJ paused before bluntly saying, “Mas ran into some trouble back home. There’s a chance it might have followed her here. Ty, I need you to stay here with Mas.”

  Ty nodded somberly. “Anything in particular we should be watching for, here or at home?”

  “Anyone who doesn’t belong. Anyone who might be asking questions about Mas or me. Anyone from Texas.” Decker hesitated, then forced the final words out. “Particularly the Dallas PD.”

  The change in both men was palpable: sudden stillness, the immediate understanding that the people after Masiela were, like them, cops. It said a hell of a lot for their working relationship that they didn’t ask questions, voice concerns or even ask if she was wanted elsewhere. They both simply nodded.

  AJ stood up, biting back a groan, and gestured to his shirt. “Can you…?”

  Masiela set aside the coffee and did up the rest of the buttons. She stood close enough that he could smell the faded fragrance clinging to her skin and hair. He recognized it from his bathroom, where his shaving cream and bath soap had been pushed to the side by an entire array of her stuff, all in this same sweet fragrance.

  Done, she held out the pill bottle. “Take some of these.”

  He shook his head. “If I hadn’t taken them last night, I might have been of more use.”

  “If you hadn’t taken them, you would have been in too much pain to be of any use.”

  “You know how I get with narcotics.” He thought she might try to out-stubborn him, but after a moment, she nodded and set the bottle down again.

  “Be careful,” he told both her and Ty as he picked up his keys from the table, then limped to the door with Maricci following.

  Both gave the same answer: “I always am.”

  When the door closed, Gadney secured the locks while Masiela gathered the trash from breakfast and dropped it into the can under the sink. That done, she straightened first her bed, then Decker’s, before sitting down on it. “You might as well make yourself comfortable, detective.”

  “Call me Ty,” he said politely as he took a seat on her bed.

  Maricci was tall, dark and gorgeous. Ty was also tall, though leaner, darker and also gorgeous. A black detective in a small Southern town. She’d bet they had more than a few experiences in common.

  “You didn’t ask Decker many questions.”

  “Didn’t need to. He’s the lieutenant.” His expression turned thoughtful, then he amended that. “He’s AJ.”

  Not blind obedience to his boss, but loyalty to the man. Mas knew the feeling well. She just wished it had been reciprocated.

  “You been with the department long?” Without the neat beard that hugged his jaw, she would guess he was about twenty years old and far too wide-eyed to be a detective. Obviously, she would be wrong.

  “Seven years. Been a detective five weeks.” His grin was quick and devastating. “You don’t advance real quick in Copper Lake. People get in the job and stay until retirement.”

  “Is that your plan?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t yours?”

  Masiela smiled faintly. “You think I was a cop?”

  “I’m thinking not a lot of people outside of cops are as comfortable wearing a gun as you are.”

  “Dallas PD. I worked to put myself through law school, then became a defense attorney.”

  “Bet that went over big with the guys you worked with.”

  “Yeah, not so much.” She drew her feet onto the bed and leaned against the pillows that smelled of Decker. In all the years she’d known him, he hadn’t switched colognes. He’d found one that worked for him—earthy, rich, sexy—and stuck with it. Sometimes, when she was weak, it had haunted her. Now it just smelled comfortable. Familiar. Safe.

  With another sweet breath, she laid the situation out for Gadney. “I don’t have any warrants outstanding. I’ve never been arrested. But I have been threatened, and the guys who did it are homicide detectives. They’ve killed before, and there’s no reason to think they won’t do it again. Decker’s not convinced they’re guilty, but he agreed to give me a safe place to lay low.”

  “Which turned out to be not so safe. Is there any way you can find out if your guys are still in Dallas?”

  She considered it. Like any good ADA, Donovan had sources within the police department. Finding out if three officers had been on the job the day before would be a simple matter. Getting a hold of phone records for the district attorney’s office, for the Brat Pack, wouldn’t.

  Retrieving her laptop case, she took a notepad from the zippered pocket. “Use your cell phone and dial this number.” She read it off, then returned the pad to the case. “His name is Ray Donovan. Give the secretary your first name and tell her you’re an old friend of his from Georgia. Don’t leave a message if he’s out.”

  Ty’s voice was friendly, charming with its soft Southern flow when the call was answered. “Hey, is my man Ray in?” A pause. “Yeah, I know, he’s always busy. That’s the life of a hotshot prosecutor. But I’m sure he’ll take a couple minutes for me. Tell him it’s Tyler, his old buddy from Georgia.”

  After a moment, he held out the phone, and she took it. Her palm was clammy, her muscles taut. “Donovan.”

  His tone took on a strained note. Not only was she not the buddy he was expecting, he’d probably figured she would be the last person to call him. “What’s up?”

  “We had visitors last night. At least two, could have been three. Can you find out if everyone showed up for work last night?” The three detectives worked shift three. If they’d been on the job until midnight, there was no way they could have made it to Georgia in time to break into Decker’s house.

  “I’ll find out. Why are you calling instead of my ‘old buddy’
?”

  She smiled tightly again. “He’s getting a cast put on his wrist. Long story. Let us know, will you?” Ending the call, she gave the phone back to Ty, then settled back against the pillows, catching a faint whiff of Decker’s cologne again.

  “Even if they were at work, it doesn’t mean they couldn’t have hired someone,” Ty pointed out.

  “Yeah. But these guys…we go back a long way. It’s personal. I don’t think they would give someone else the pleasure of dealing with me.”

  “So now what? We wait?”

  “Yeah.” She stifled a sigh. “Now we wait.”

  As they approached the Copper Lake city limits, Maricci finally turned the conversation to what was apparently on his mind—what had been on AJ’s mind since they’d left the motel. “So…you two used to…what?”

  “She was a cop. We were partners.”

  “Hmm. I would’ve guessed…”

  What? That there was more? AJ had always been satisfied with partners to describe what was between him and Mas, but looking back, it seemed inadequate. She’d been his best friend, the key important person in his life, the one he’d trusted more than any other—except when it had mattered the most: when her doubts about Kinney and the others had threatened his ideas of honor and friendship. He had been persuaded—by others and himself—that it was one pissed-off ex-cop trying to undermine the reputations of three good cops.

  And that had been grossly unfair. It hadn’t been a pissed-off ex-cop making accusations; it was Masiela, his partner, best friend, the most important person in his life. He’d owed her a hell of a lot more than he’d given.

  “Anything you want to share about her trouble?” Maricci asked as he pulled into the parking lot that served various doctors’ offices.

  AJ had brought him and Gadney into this. They deserved to know what they might be up against. “She’s got the DA’s office—Donovan, the guy you met the other day—looking into an old case, her first homicide as a lawyer. Guy was convicted and sentenced to life. She thinks the cops on the case may have…”