5 Bargain Hunting

by Rhonda Pollero

  I had two choices: I could sit and obsess for an hour or I could keep my brain occupied by researching Liam. Again, I opted for the latter. I’d be just as fired in an hour as I was right this second.

  I started with a simple Google search but that brought up enough hits to be unmanageable. I narrowed the search to just his name and the word “shooting.” Now my results were culled enough for me to work with. What I gathered from news clippings was that Liam and six other officers were executing a warrant on a known gang hangout when a gunfight ensued, leaving one Fernàndo Peña, age fifteen, dead. After further searching, I found two more articles. One was an article about state’s attorney Alberto Garza’s inability to get indictments against any officers. The second was a few column inches about Detective Liam McGarrity deciding to leave the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office. No definitive reason was given.

  Not a ton of information but more than I’d had an hour ago. And now it was time for me to walk the employment plank.

  Tony’s office was much like his home. The décor was midcentury modern and about as un-Florida as you could get. I knew a decorator had redone the office but I also guessed Tony had something to say about the chrome, teak, and clean lines. The pops of color, in my humble opinion, looked more like they belonged in a loft in New York than a water-view office in South Florida.

  The man behind the desk was a different story. I was practically shaking until he greeted me with a smile.

  “Afternoon.”

  “Hi,” I returned as I took a seat, pad and pen in hand. “What’s up?”

  Tony tossed a thin folder across his messy desk. “New client. Travis Johnson. Murderer.”

  Yeah, my transgressions were still a secret. I opened the file and scanned the booking sheet. “He’s thirteen,” I fairly gasped.

  Reading Tony’s hastily scribbled notes, I found myself shaking my head. “What would make a thirteen-year-old stab his foster father to death?”

  “That’s our job,” Tony answered. “The kid is a basket case and not much help. They’re holding him at juvie pending his arraignment before the judge day after tomorrow.”

  “Will the case stay in family court?”

  Tony shook his head. “They’ll probably try him as an adult and I’m guessing they’ll go for the death penalty.”

  I felt my eyes grow wide. “But he’s thirteen!”

  “Which is why I need you to pull Thompson v. Oklahoma and Roper v. Simmons. Thompson sets the minimum age at sixteen and Simmons prohibits the execution of anyone under eighteen. I think we can avoid a death sentence, but it’s more important that we win at trial.”

  I wrote quickly. “But your notes say he did it.”

  “Travis called 911 after the stabbing. Then waited patiently for the police and paramedics. Spilled his guts to the responding officers. That’s going to be a problem, by the way. I need you to find me Florida case law on the admissibility of statements by juveniles outside the presence of a parent or guardian.”

  Noted and underlined. “Anything else?”

  He ticked items off on his fingers. “Travis’s school records, medical records, and get in touch with a shrink at University of Florida. His name is Reubins. He specializes in battered children and I want him to sit down with Travis.”

  “Travis was beaten?”

  “Just a hunch,” Tony said with a shrug of his impressive shoulders.

  That simple motion was just enough to send a hint of his cologne in my direction. He smelled delicious. Too bad he’d played the single-father card, taking me out of the running.

  “You’re taking Izzy shopping this weekend?”

  I nodded. “She needs shoes for her fall formal.”

  He sighed. “What’s wrong with the shoes she wore to homecoming?”

  I smiled. “They’re the shoes she wore to homecoming. It’s a girl thing.”

  “It’s an expensive thing.”

  “If you don’t want me to take her . . .”

  “No, no. Get her what she wants. And thank you for handling this so I don’t have to.”

  I’d tried Liam’s number several times during the rest of my workday to no avail. I even considered calling Ashley to see if she knew where he was, but that just felt too desperate. The more often I called him, the more my annoyance level skyrocketed. By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was considering calling Crime Stoppers and turning him in myself.

  I stopped by the store and grabbed a salad on my way home. Though I was pretty sure my attempt at eating healthy would be waylaid by a few handfuls of Lucky Charms, maybe I could be strong. And maybe hell would freeze over.

  Salad in hand, I unlocked the front door and went inside. That’s when I saw him and let out a startled scream. “You scared the crap out of me!”

  Liam just smiled and shrugged. Then he winced slightly. Good, karma is a bitch.

  “Welcome home.”

  My alarm was beeping so I automatically went to the keypad and reset the system. “How did you get in here without tripping the alarm and why is the alarm back on? That requires a code.”

  “Safety first,” he said.

  His voice was deep and seemed to resonate inside me. Tiny goose bumps tingled my skin, making it hard to concentrate.

  “How did you set the alarm?”

  “With the code.”

  “You don’t know the code.”

  He rose from the sofa. “Most people use easy to remember codes. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that you used your birthday.”

  I felt my cheeks warm with a blush. “Okay.” I made a mental note to change the code. “How did you get in? I locked the house after I came back here to check . . . when I came back here.”

  “The key taped to the palm out back. You’ve really got to learn to be less obvious. So,” he said as he moved close to me. “You came back to check on me?”

  He smelled deliciously male and looked sexy as all get out. He was back to wearing jeans and a faded shirt that did wonders for his already wonderful physique. A single lock of his black hair fell across his forehead and I had to struggle from reaching up to brush it away from his brilliant blue eyes. Truth be told, if he didn’t have a hole in his side from a gunshot, I might have jumped his bones in a heartbeat. I remembered vividly how glorious it felt to be pressed against his muscular frame.

  God, I needed to put some space between us before I did something stupid to a wounded man. “Want some coffee?” I asked as I quickly put the countertop between us.

  “Sure.”

  “Sit down before you fall down.”

  He laughed. “Stop acting like I’m on death’s door. It’s no big deal. I’ve had worse.”

  “Where were you all day?”

  “Here, mostly.”

  “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  “I turned it off. I didn’t want the cops to be able to track the GPS chip to find me.”

  “They can do that?” I asked as I filled the filter with a hazelnut blend.

  Liam returned to the sofa. “Sure. I bought a disposable when I went out. I wrote the number on that piece of paper,” he said as he pointed to a scrap on my counter.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “In a friend’s garage.”

  “How did you get back here?”

  “She dropped me off.”

  She? The joy drained out of my libido. I kept my back to him. “So where did you go today?” God, I sounded like a 1950s housewife.

  “The police station.”

  I twirled around. “You turned yourself in?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I’m going to find out who killed José.”

  “So, what? You sat in the parking lot waiting to see if a guy wearing an I’M GUILTY banner waltzed in?”

  “It was more like a covert operation.”

  “To find out what, exactly?”

  He shoved his hair off his forehead while I poured the coffee. I joined him in the living room, making a point o
f keeping as much space as possible between us.

  “Had to find out how my gun ended up at José’s place.”

  “Did you?”

  He frowned. Deep lines formed at the corners of his eyes. “According to the property clerk, José signed the gun out and swore he was returning it to me.”

  “Was he?”

  Liam took a sip of coffee. “Maybe. I went to his house because he called and told me he wanted to talk. First I’ve heard from him in nearly five years.”

  “Around the time Fernàndo was shot?”

  Shock registered on his face for a split second, then it was replaced by irritation. “I see you’ve been doing some research.”

  “You weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

  “I don’t need you digging into my past.”

  “Oh,” I shot back. “You just need me to help you destroy evidence and to harbor your fugitive ass. Sorry I crossed the line.”

  “Technically, I’m not a fugitive,” he corrected. “I’m simply a person of interest.”

  “Whatever.”

  Liam placed his mug on the coffee table—without a coaster—and stood, pacing in the space in front of me. I tried. I really tried not to notice the way his jeans fit snugly to his thighs. Or the way his broad shoulders filled out his shirt. I tried. And failed.

  “I guess you do deserve an explanation,” he said grudgingly.

  “It would be nice.”

  “Deal. If you’ll do me one favor.”

  “You mean another favor, right?”

  He smiled at me and my bones melted. “Point taken. I need one of your girlfriends to rent me a car.”

  “Why can’t I do that?”

  He shook his head, then raked his hair off his forehead. “You and I have a connection. It would be safer if the car was rented by someone other than you.”

  “So you want me to drag one of my friends into your mess?”

  “I was thinking Becky. I did just help you save her from a sicko.”

  “I won’t lie to my friends. I’ll rent the car, and if anyone asks, I’ll say I was trying to keep the mileage low on my leased car.”

  “Okay, but you may be biting off more than you can chew. You could get dragged into a mess.”

  “I think that ship sailed when I bleached your shoes last night. Please fill me in.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” he said.

  “How about the beginning?”

  Liam kept pacing. I took off my shoes and tucked my feet beneath me as I sipped my coffee and waited. And waited. And waited. When I couldn’t stand the silence any longer I prodded, “Well?”

  “My team got a tip about some guns for sale by a local gang called the Latin Bandits. They were using the gun money to buy and distribute drugs. So we get to the house and before SWAT even parked their van, the shooting started.”

  “You were shooting?”

  “We were all returning fire. It was a residential area and the Latin Bandits weren’t going to give it up without a fight. They aren’t the kind to back down from a fight.

  “So this goes on for about fifteen minutes, then SWAT floods the house with flash bangs and Latin Bandits come running out like lemmings. But there are still guys in the house firing, so we yelled for everyone to get on the ground while we continued to return fire. Eventually things quieted down and we scattered as we entered the house. We cuffed the gang members, and while we were doing that, a shot rang out. So I take cover and nothing happens. Then when I leave the house I see the paramedics working on one of the gang members, on the ground.

  “The kid didn’t make it. He was fifteen but he was a hard fifteen. Still, too young to be dead.”

  “I don’t understand why you resigned then.”

  “Internal Affairs did a routine investigation on the shooting and determined that the fatal shot came from my weapon.”

  “Well, you were in the middle of a gun battle with a gang.”

  “Except for two things.”

  “Which are?”

  “The kid’s hands were negative for gunshot residue, meaning he wasn’t one of our shooters. And the weapon identified as the gun that fired the fatal shot was ballistically matched to mine.”

  “Isn’t collateral damage part of police work?”

  “It wasn’t my service weapon. It was my off-duty gun and I didn’t have it at the scene.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I never did either. The last time I saw that gun it was locked in the gun cage at headquarters. I have no idea how it ended up at the scene.”

  Emptying my mug, I then asked, “So why did you get in trouble?”

  “Of the six guys there, only one, Stan Cain, told IA that I used only one weapon at the scene.” He raked his hand through his hair again. “It didn’t look good for the department for a white cop to kill an unarmed Hispanic kid. They brought me up on charges and even insisted that the state’s attorney convene a grand jury.”

  “What happened with the grand jury?”

  “Garza, he was the riding ASA, had my back. I don’t think he gave the case his all. He’s known as a friend of law enforcement, so he didn’t press as hard as he could have. Besides, when I told him my side and Stan backed me, he must have believed there was enough reasonable doubt to make a trial irrelevant. In the end it all shook out with me being given an opportunity to retire quietly or be fired publicly.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  Liam rejoined me on the sofa. “I never did figure out how my off-duty gun found its way to the scene, and after the IA investigation, I was pretty much a pariah. Even José turned on me. He was my partner and he gave a sworn statement that he saw me draw my off-duty weapon from an ankle holster. Which was total bullshit.”

  “Wasn’t there some way to trace how your gun left the locker at the sheriff’s office?”

  “Yeah, my name on a sign-out sheet and no record of me signing it back in. Which I did.”

  “Couldn’t the gun clerk support your story?”

  Liam shook his head. “He said he had no recollection of that happening.”

  “Then someone framed you. Just like now.”

  He shrugged. “Do you have any idea how many people would have to have been involved to carry out such an elaborate plan?”

  “No, but I suggest we find out.”

  Bad decisions make good stories.

  five

  “You need to get in touch with Tony,” I practically begged. “He can help you make things right with the police.”

  “How? He’s a great lawyer, but he’s not a magician. I have a history with the department, and my gun killed José. It isn’t like I can walk in and clear this up with a chat over some bad cop coffee.”

  “But you need legal representation. At the very least, Tony is your friend. You should bring him into the loop.”

  “Speaking of loops, make a U-turn here and park in the vacant lot,” Liam said as I cruised up Federal Highway in Martin County. “You can walk the rest of the way.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I replied. Obviously he had no idea how difficult it was to hike up the street in four-and-a-half-inch heels.

  “Sorry, but I don’t want to risk getting caught on security tape. Just rent the car and meet me back here.”

  “What are you going to do once you have a car?” I asked.

  “After I swing by Ashley’s place, I’m going to start tracking down the officers in my former unit.”

  “And Ashley can help with that?” Please don’t let that have come out as snarky as it sounded in my head.

  “No, but I have some clothes at her place.”

  Clothes? As in he kept a drawer at his ex’s house? That was bad. A drawer is a serious type of commitment. During the two years I was with Patrick, we never traded drawers. A drawer was a big step. Not that I’m sorry I didn’t do the drawer swap with him in light of how badly things ended, I was just stunned to hear Liam admit that he still had dresser privileges with Ashley. God, I su
re could pick ’em.

  The drawer thing rendered me mute as I exited my car and hiked to Enterprise, where out of pure spite, I rented him the smallest compact they had available. Let him squeeze his six-three frame into that while he was visiting his clothing at Beer Barbie’s house. I knew I was being petty but sometimes petty is the appropriate response.

  I drove back to the lot and hated the grin on Liam’s handsome face when he saw his minimobile. As usual, he was amused by my rebellion. Nothing seemed to irritate him except talking about himself.

  “Thanks for the help.”

  I shrugged. “Please reconsider talking to Tony.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” he said.

  Suddenly his arm snaked around my back and he was pulling me close to him. In spite of my irritation, the feel of his hand splayed at the small of my back seemed to chase reason right out of my head. I placed my hands on his chest fully intending to push him away. Then I felt corded muscle and all rational thought drained out of me.

  Liam tilted his head down. I could feel his warm, minty breath wash over my face. His free hand came up and cupped my cheek. His touch was warm. His thumb started to brush my skin, moving lower until he rubbed the pad of his thumb over my slightly parted lips. It was more sensual than any kiss. Well, except for the kiss I wanted so desperately.

  I stepped closer while grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him to me. My fantasy became a reality as his mouth covered mine. Tentative at first, then more urgent and needy. I was fairly certain that my knees would buckle at any moment. Then I felt him wince against my lips.

  Duh, gunshot.

  I immediately let go of his shirt and took an unsteady step back. His hand slowly slipped away and I was left slightly dazed and a lot confused. Why was I melting in his arms when he had just informed me that he was leaving me to go to Ashley? I’d just moved to the head of the jerk class. Where was my dignity? When did I turn into the kind of person who shared? I am an idiot.

  “You should get going,” I said, my tone blissfully even.

  “Thanks for everything.”