Vince, who was rough and raw, and undeniably sexy. His outrageous invitation sprang to mind. Alone now, Chloe could afford to consider what an evening spent with Vince would be like—
She shook her head. It didn’t matter. He was her client, no matter his wishes. Still, Chloe indulged herself in a slowly widening smile, pondering just how different it would no doubt be from an evening spent with Roger.
And what her parents and Roger would say if they knew how much, for a few insane moments, she’d been tempted to find out.
VINCE STRODE into the squad room to write up his statement for IAD. He planned to slip back out before somebody made him answer phones in the captain’s office. He’d find some other way to pass his restricted-duty time.
“Vince,” Woods called out from his doorway. “Come on into my office.”
He noticed Sarge’s frowning glance at something behind him. His gut clenched when he saw Barnes and Newcombe approaching. Newcombe smirked in triumph, his dark eyes hard with menace. “You heard your sergeant, Detective. Let’s go.”
“I didn’t hear your invitation, Newcombe.”
“I don’t need one. Now, get in there, unless you want to discuss this with a crowd.”
Vince glanced up at Barnes, noting the hostility radiating from the man cops called Mr. GQ for his always-perfect looks.
“Newcombe’s right. You don’t want everyone hearing this,” Barnes said.
Vince’s fingers flexed, clenching into a fist. He’d like to stand his ground and have it out here, but his instincts told him that whatever this was about, it was bad. With a brisk nod, he preceded them into the room, his mind racing.
Criminals had more rights than cops under investigation. He just had to be cool and see what was happening. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It would all work out, he told himself.
So why didn’t that reassure him?
Barnes closed the door quietly, while Newcombe walked around to the side of Sarge’s desk, crossing his arms across his chest, a smug smile on his face. “I knew you were dirty, Coronado. You’re finished and it’s about time.”
“What are you talking about?” Vince glanced over at Woods. Sarge wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Barnes planted himself at Vince’s right side, radiating hostility. “You lied to me, Coronado. You made me look bad in an election year. I don’t need problems.”
If only Vince knew what he meant. He decided to stay quiet and see who spoke first.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” Newcombe taunted. He shot a superior grin toward Barnes. “I told you he did it on purpose. The law means nothing to him.”
Vince couldn’t stand still for that. The law meant everything to him. Why else would he put up with this stinking system? “That’s not true and you know it. It was a good shooting.”
Newcombe smirked. “Not with a bad warrant.”
Vince recoiled. “What do you mean?”
Barnes responded. “You gave false information in your affidavit to obtain the search warrant.”
“The hell I did.”
“There were no drugs at Krueger’s, Coronado.”
He already knew that much. Everyone on the scene last night was aware that the shipment hadn’t arrived. It made things iffy for him, but they still had probable cause. “You got his ledgers.”
“The so-called ledgers are garbage—they’re nothing. We’ve heard from your source, and she says she never told you about the drug room you alleged to exist on the premises, nor did she ever tell you that Krueger kept his records there.”
Vince was stunned. Gloria Morgan was his friend. He’d baby-sat her child, for heaven’s sake. He’d bought the kid presents and taught him how to throw a football. Worse yet, he’d cared about both of them, tried to get her to leave the life, move out from under Krueger’s thumb. What was going on?
“You got to her, didn’t you?” he accused Newcombe. “You’d do anything to paint me the villain.”
“Don’t make this worse, Vince,” Woods warned.
Vince whirled on him. “How could it get any worse? He wants me off the force any way he can get it.”
Barnes intervened. “She never talked to Newcombe, Coronado. She spoke with me. I’m the one you’ve got to worry about. You told me it was a good bust.”
“It was.”
“We’ve got nothing to show for it but the dead body of a man everyone knew you wanted taken out.”
“I had good information.”
“Your source says not.”
“I acted in good faith. She’s given me tips before that led to arrests. That’s allowed.”
“She says she’s only seen you in passing, swears she’s never exchanged more than hellos with you.”
Vince stared at Barnes. Newcombe smirked behind him. He wouldn’t look away from the D.A., wouldn’t back down. It had been a good bust. He wanted to look at Woods to see if his sergeant’s confidence was slipping, but he would not give Newcombe the satisfaction—nor Barnes.
Barnes broke the impasse, checking his watch and frowning. “I’m going to be late for a dinner engagement.”
Vince’s jaw tightened. With the woman who wants me to trust her? Not hardly.
He itched to grind his fists into something, preferably Newcombe’s face. He forced his fingers to uncurl. “This isn’t over. You can’t take me down this way, Newcombe.”
“I won’t have to. You’re going to hang yourself. One less hot dog on the streets.”
“Then they’ll be a lot safer for your shiny behind, won’t they? Get me off the force and make the world safer for slime like you, you pathetic—”
Barnes stepped in the path of Newcombe’s charge. “Get out of here, Coronado. We’ll deal with you soon enough.”
“Yeah, got to tidy up the reputation before campaign season, right? Well, I’ve got news for you, Barnes. You’re backing the wrong horse. It was a clean shooting, and people are lying to you. I’m not your problem.”
But Barnes wasn’t listening. He’d already pronounced sentence. Vince bit back a curse, knowing there was nothing else to say. It was up to him to figure out what Gloria was doing—and why.
Finally, he looked over at Woods, but the sergeant’s face was impassive. Maybe he believed Vince, maybe not. Vince got the message. He was on his own. Without another word, he left the room.
“VINCE?”
Deep in thought, he almost didn’t hear the soft voice behind him. He turned and saw a face filled with worry. “Sally.”
“How are you?” Her head came barely past his shoulder, her long, dark hair braided neatly, completing the starkness of her black uniform. At her shoulder, the radio mike jiggled slightly when she moved. “Me? Fine.” Just great.
Solemn gray eyes scanned his face. A rookie under his training the last year he was in uniform, Sally had developed a crush on him. On the rebound from his divorce, he’d made one of his bigger mistakes. Only two nights, but he still didn’t kid himself that it had been smart. He’d been relieved that she’d taken it well when he’d backed away. They still went out to grab a beer now and again, but he was careful to keep things light.
“Vince, if I can do anything…” Obviously, she’d heard about last night’s events.
“It was a good shooting, Sally.”
“But the warrant—”
Vince cursed under his breath. News did travel fast. “What have you heard?”
“Word is that Newcombe says he’s got you cold.”
“Newcombe’s an idiot.”
“A lot of people think he’s solid.”
“Not when it comes to me.”
“Vince, you know I—” She stopped, then cleared her throat. Her eyes glistened as if with tears, but that couldn’t be true. Sally was too much cop to be sentimental. “I want to help you. Promise me you’ll tell me what I can do.”
He smiled at her. “You’re a good friend.” A tiny flicker of pain sparked in her eyes. “I don’t know where all this is headed. Newcombe has wante
d my hide nailed to the barn door for a long time, but he’s dead wrong on this one.”
“I believe you. All you have to do is ask for help, anytime, anyplace, Vince. Even if it’s just for company.”
He was sorry that he hadn’t been able, back then, to give her what she deserved. “Thanks, kiddo. I gotta be going now, but I’ll catch you later, all right?”
Sally managed a tiny smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before heading back to his desk. Sally was quickly forgotten, however, as thoughts of Barnes and Newcombe stalked him. Dinner engagement. With Chloe St. Claire.
Just give me a chance, Vince. I don’t mind having to earn your trust.
Trust. Sure, he was going to trust her now.
Vince looked around the squad room, seeing it anew. Wondering how long it would be before he would be back at work, could belong again.
You’re finished. Newcombe’s confident sneer.
Rapping his knuckles twice on the scarred metal surface of his desk, Vince stifled a quick shiver.
Newcombe was wrong. He had to be.
“CHLOE?”
She roused herself from perusing the operagoers below them. Having box seats had always been a treat; Chloe enjoyed scanning the crowd between acts almost as much as the performances.
“You’re lovely this evening,” Roger said. One finger trailed along the side of her neck.
She faced him, easing away from his touch. “Thank you, Roger. You’re quite dashing yourself.” It was true. He was always impeccably turned out. Tailor-made, most of his clothes, including this charcoal-gray suit. His blond hair gleamed under the amber houselights.
He touched the knot of his burgundy tie as though it was a totem. “You’re quiet tonight—rough day?”
She couldn’t—and wouldn’t—discuss Vince Coronado with him. “I have a headache. Probably just the heat.”
Roger smiled, reaching for her hand. “Not long until ski season in Utah. How does a week in Park City sound?”
Chloe wondered why he’d never noticed that she hardly skied at all when they went. He loved it, so he assumed she did. Just like her parents, Roger concerned himself more with what Chloe should be doing than what she might want. “Cold weather would be welcome,” she demurred.
He lifted her hand to his lips. “It’s a date.” A figure entering the next row caught his eye. “Excuse me, darling. I need to speak to Tom Griffin a moment.”
Chloe nodded, turning back to her people-watching.
And found herself caught in the gaze of the man who’d been too much on her mind today.
She blinked. Vince Coronado—here? At the opera?
He touched his forehead in salute. She broke the contact, wishing for her opera glasses to be sure she wasn’t seeing things, but Roger had them in his pocket.
As the houselights lowered, Chloe chanced one more glimpse. It was really Vince, and his eyes remained locked on hers long after she should have looked away. He didn’t release her until Roger settled into the seat beside her.
Chloe tried to lose herself in the music; however, it was not so easily managed as in the past.
“CHLOE, will you come with me? I need to speak to Tom again.”
She shook her head and smiled. “I’d rather wait here. My head is still pounding.”
“Very well. I won’t be a moment.” Roger slipped into the crowd bunching at the exit.
Chloe struggled to understand the strength of her reaction to Vince Coronado. Unbridled emotions had been discouraged in her household; dignity was paramount. Beyond her upbringing, her profession had made her all too aware of the price of losing control in any manner. Roger had never pressed her on having sex, their relationship based on the sounder principles of common backgrounds and views. He’d never stirred her to want more.
She closed her eyes against the headache and sighed softly. Was she ready to make this her future? Lately, she felt as though she’d sleepwalked through her life.
Just then, a sense of being watched assailed her. She opened her eyes.
Vince Coronado stood perhaps twenty feet away. Around him shimmered that raw, rugged energy that emanated from him whether still or in movement. Having only seen him in jeans before, she was frankly astonished at how polished he appeared, yet how uniquely his own man. Black pleated slacks and soft, black band-collared shirt, a pearl-gray jacket draping his broad shoulders—he could have stepped off a runway in New York.
But the vivid blue eyes drew her back to his face. He made no move to approach her, yet somehow she felt as though he stood right beside her, whispering in her ear.
“Ready to go?” Roger’s voice jolted her. She glanced up at him; when she looked back, Vince had disappeared.
“What is it?”
“I thought—” She shook her head to clear it. “I could have sworn I saw Detective Coronado.” There—she’d said his name. Maybe speaking it to Roger would rob Vince of the odd pull he exerted.
Roger laughed. “Coronado at the opera? Not likely. He’s probably shooting pool and drinking beer tonight.” His laughter turned harsh. “He’s got nothing else to do. In fact, he should probably be considering a new career.”
“I don’t think he’s—”
“Be careful, Chloe. You don’t have enough experience to understand men like him. We can’t allow rogue cops in this city.” His tone hardened. “We’re under enough heat for the recent crime wave. Someone like him only makes things worse.”
Chloe started to retort, but decided not to waste her time trying to open Roger’s closed mind. She was operating on instinct, anyway.
Instinct told her Roger was wrong. Vince wasn’t a rogue cop. He might be unconventional—aggressive, even. He quite certainly carried baggage from a past she could hardly imagine.
But he’d defended a child when he was one himself. He cared, probably too much for his own welfare. None of that, however, was grounds for taking a good cop off the force.
One of the reasons she’d taken this job was that she’d seen a chance to really help in a way she’d never have been able to in a safe suburban practice. Cops were human and they made mistakes, but they were extraordinary, too. Every day they put themselves in harm’s way for little money and few thanks.
Sometimes, however, they needed help, even the strongest of them. She might not have the makeup to strap on a gun and run toward danger, but she had her own contribution to make.
She smiled then. Even if certain recipients, like one Detective Coronado, fought like crazy to avoid taking it.
JUST SOUTH OF Town Lake, Vince sat on his back-porch steps in the darkness. Through the screen door, the 1958 Maria Callas recording of Bohème wafted. He almost hadn’t used his ticket tonight, yet he was glad he had. His problems hadn’t vanished, but the music had shifted his focus for a few hours.
Beside him, the old tomcat purred loudly, butting his head against the hands clasped between Vince’s knees. Vince stirred, then looked down at the furry form weaving a figure eight around his feet. “I thought I told you to leave.”
Another head butt.
“I’m not feeding you forever. I hate cats.”
Fur brushed the side of one hand. He shook his head and scratched the cat’s neck while he stared at the moon through the trees.
Chloe St. Claire unsettled him. He didn’t like it.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t help a grin at the memory of her shock tonight. He didn’t go often, but no law said cops couldn’t appreciate opera. Vince thought he liked having taken her off guard.
Then he recalled Barnes beside her and frowned. They looked like matching bookends: Ms. Cool and Elegant and Mr. GQ, Couple on the Rise. They’d have two golden children and a golden retriever to match. He’d drive a Lexus, and she a Mercedes. They’d live in Tarrytown, with a weekend place in the Hill Country, each one featured in Southern Living or maybe even Architectural Digest.
It was good to remind himself of who she really was. He
couldn’t believe he’d told her so much. He didn’t like how easily she invited confidences. He couldn’t afford to trust her; she worked for the same department that wanted to hang him. If he could get by with never seeing Chloe St. Claire again, he’d be better off.
He reached for the screen door. “Tomorrow, cat—you’re outta here.” Then he opened the door, stepping carefully as brown-and-white fur slipped between his feet.
CHAPTER FOUR
“CHLOE?” The raspy voice of her secretary rang out the next morning.
“Wanda, if you’d stop smoking, your allergies might improve.” She smiled at the thought of the frown no doubt decorating the diminutive redhead’s face.
“Don’t start with me, chère. It’s the end of the month.”
Monthly reports. Chloe hated them, too. Her voice softened. “Are you all right?”
“I will be when Lester gets the hell out of my apartment.”
“Want to come talk about it?”
Wanda’s breath hitched, and Chloe could almost see her struggle. Passion made people foolish. Wanda refused to see the whole man; she’d never have taken up with Lester otherwise, or the last two Lesters, for that matter.
“Detective Coronado is here for his appointment.”
Chloe tensed. “All right.” Good. At least her voice sounded even. “Send him in.” Then she stared at the doorway as he strode inside, still larger than life.
For one long span, neither moved.
“Doc.” He nodded, voice clipped, blue eyes shuttered.
“Hello, Detective.” Had she imagined the previous night? “Did you enjoy the opera?”
A cocky grin. “Surprised to see me there?”
“I shouldn’t say yes.”
“Not proper cop music?”
“Is there such a thing? I didn’t know they taught music at the academy.”
One dark eyebrow rose as he conceded the point. “Let me surprise you more. I even finished college. Night school while I worked patrol, but still… college. As a matter of fact, one of my professors introduced me to opera.”
The Good Daughter Page 4
