“Okay, man. Call me if you need me.”
“I will. You still owe me for that war-wound remark.”
Laughing, Mike waved goodbye over his shoulder.
STARING OUT into the darkness, heat still rising off ground baked to a crisp, Vince rolled the brown beer bottle across his forehead, beads of cool moisture transferring to his skin. Stripped to shorts and sandals, he’d cleaned the last paper off the kitchen walls, hoping that physical labor would help as it had in the past, letting his mind sift through details to come up with an answer.
But nothing was clearer. He’d spent hours chasing down snitches, searching through bits and pieces of garbage, trying to find one piece of solid information. Junkies and hookers were the most unreliable people on earth. He’d learned long ago that out of the information he gathered, he’d have to winnow through bushels of chaff to get to one useful grain.
Only chaff today. No one seemed to know what had happened to Gloria. She’d apparently vanished as though she’d never existed.
His gate creaked, and Vince tensed. His off-duty weapon was in the house. He peered through the darkness.
“Vince? Are you out here? I knocked on the front door, but I guess—” Sally announced herself before she rounded the porch. She knew better than to sneak up on a fellow cop, especially one who operated undercover.
He leaned back on the porch rail. “Yeah, I’m here. Come have a seat.” He could use some distraction from his thoughts.
Light from the kitchen window spilled across her form. She wore shorts and a tank top, her dark hair still braided. What he could see of her eyes looked pretty serious.
“Want a beer?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “But I can get it.” She moved past him, the screen door shutting softly behind her. One of these days he’d install central heat and air, but for now, window units bore the brunt of the duty. He’d left them off while working, not wanting to feel closed in by his house tonight.
Sally settled on the step just below him and to his right. He studied the long braid bisecting her back, remembering a cascading, dark waterfall, and mentally kicked himself for nearly ruining a friendship.
“Just get off duty?” He kept his voice light.
Sally nodded, then took a long swallow.
“Tough night?” The tension in her frame already said yes.
She shrugged. “It’s over.”
Fur brushed past his leg and slipped next to her. Sally jerked in surprise, then reached out to pet the animal. Her head swiveled, eyebrows lifted. “A cat, Vince?”
He took a sip. “He’s not staying.”
She felt the cat’s round belly, grinning. “You sure he knows that?”
“We’ve had discussions.”
Sally laughed, and Vince found himself suddenly glad for the company. A loner by nature, to his ex-wife’s dismay, he hadn’t realized until now just how much he’d miss the job.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face.
“Are you going crazy, being on leave?”
She’d opened the subject; now was the ideal time to ask for her help, yet Vince was reluctant to involve her. His gut told him he was in trouble this time, though, maybe more than he could escape on his own. “I’m working on the house.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t like sitting around, waiting for Newcombe to hand me my head on a platter.”
“I never assumed you were idle.” She turned toward him, and her eyes were warm and soft. “I told you I wanted to help, Vince. What can I do?”
Here was his chance, yet guilt over their past involvement kept him quiet. He could have screwed up her career back then with his poor judgment. The kid deserved better.
“Come on, hard case. I’ve already got my ears open, hoping to pick up something around headquarters.”
“Sal, I—” He stopped.
“Look, Vince, every day I use skills you taught me, ways you showed me to be the best, when other guys just sat around, hoping I’d wash out. I—” She placed one hand on his thigh and squeezed. “All you have to do is ask.” Her fingers spread across his skin. “Even if it’s just comfort for the night.”
If those fingers had been another set, slim, pale and elegant… Disturbed that he’d carried the thought of Chloe that far, he shoved it away ruthlessly.
He grasped her hand and removed it gently. “Sunshine, you deserve better than providing comfort to someone who—” Can’t love you, he started to say.
Her hand tightened around her beer bottle. He thought for a moment he saw a flash of anger. Good. She did deserve better, and if it took getting mad at him to drive her away, well, that was the price he paid. “You’re a hell of a woman and a damn fine cop. Don’t settle for someone like me.”
Staring out into the darkness, Sally didn’t answer.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, the cat’s purring twining with the sounds of the night. Vince wished to hell he knew what to do, what to say. He’d be lucky to have a woman of Sally’s goodness to love him, but he’d learned from one bad marriage that he wasn’t good husband material. Too solitary. It was better, anyway, in his line of work, not to be distracted by matters of the heart.
He told himself that, even as his mind filled with the image of Chloe’s anguished brown eyes. Vince hung his head, raking fingers through his hair.
“Tell me what I can do to help out.” Sally turned back toward him, all cop now. “Don’t be a dope, Vince. You can’t fight Newcombe alone.”
He wanted to say that he was grateful she understood it wouldn’t work between them, but her eyes dared him to bring the topic up. So he concentrated on peeling the label off his bottle. “I need to see my old case files, but I can’t get into the department computer right now.”
“I can do that for you.”
“You can’t access my files without using my password, and I don’t want alarms sounding when it appears.”
“Then I’ll go to storage and dig out the paper files. What am I checking for?”
“Sal, I can’t let you—”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Damn you, Vince, don’t shove me away on this, too.”
Guilt made him relent. “Okay, but don’t try to get into the report files yet. You can examine the evidence rosters without my password. Look through them and tell me what’s logged in from the bust.”
“What are you after?”
“I’m not sure yet. I just need to see what they found.”
Sally nodded. “I’ll go up there now.”
“No, do it on your normal schedule. You on duty tomorrow?” She nodded. “Combine it with something else. Don’t take chances on this, Sally. I’m not bringing you down with me.”
“You won’t go down, Vince. What Newcombe is saying is wrong. You’re not a rogue cop.”
Frustration rolled over him. “Krueger shot first, damn it. And the drugs should have been there.”
Her touch was light and quickly withdrawn this time. “I believe you.” She rose to her feet, handing him her empty bottle. “You can do the cleanup. I’m headed home.”
“Sally, I—”
She stiffened. “Don’t say it, Vince. You’re being shortsighted, but you’ll change your mind. I can be patient.”
He wanted to protest that he’d never change his mind. Even if Chloe St. Claire wasn’t taking up far too much of his attention, he wouldn’t be coming back to Sally.
He held his tongue. She was acting from hurt pride right now, but she’d get over it.
“I’ll let you know what I find out.” At the gate, she turned and saluted. Vince watched her leave. Then, empty bottles clinking together, he went inside, ignoring the fur that brushed past his feet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHLOE GLANCED at her watch for the third time in the last five minutes. Vince was due soon, and despite getting to bed on time, she’d spent a restless night. She still had no idea how to handle him in light of what had happened yesterday.
Her knowing he’d manipulated her didn’t seem to help. She’d never felt that kind of temptation to cross the boundaries of a proper therapist-client relationship. No, Vince hadn’t sought her out, as would be the case in private practice, but there should be a certain distance. Her decision to accompany him to that bar might have been sound if they’d stuck to talking; some people did open up better outside the office.
But the physical awareness that had gotten stronger every minute they were together had nearly boiled over last night. Chloe had never reacted to a man the way she did to Vince Coronado. If she couldn’t rein in that response, she’d have to remove herself from his case, and that would only set him back in his quest to return to work. Despite what had happened, she didn’t want to keep him from his job if, as she suspected, he’d done nothing wrong.
His sergeant had asked her to do an informal assessment because he thought Vince was taking too many chances lately. This morning Chloe had dug deeper into the files on Vince and had discovered what close friends he’d been with the murdered officer, Carlos Quintanilla. More than anything else she knew about Vince, this could explain what worried Sergeant Woods. Vince had a strong protective streak. Since Quintanilla’s case had never been solved and his reputation had been tainted, grief and guilt could be at the root of Vince’s behavior.
But she also recognized that Vince wouldn’t be a legend in the department if he wasn’t willing to take risks. All cops had that element to a certain degree—a disregard for personal safety in service to others was part of their makeup.
Vince was needed. The world was full of bad guys, and Austin couldn’t afford to have a good cop out of action. She believed that Don was wrong; Vince probably pushed the limits of the law from time to time, but it was in an effort to take down criminals, not from any sort of corruption. His zeal for justice was both a strength and a detriment if not restrained.
Her phone buzzed. “Yes?”
“Your mother’s on line one,” Wanda said with that tone of Mama Bear she took. “And Vince is here.”
“Tell my mother—no, on second thought, I’ll talk to her.” She’d dodged initiating a long discussion with her mother until she could get past her appointment for testing because she was a lousy liar, but what if something had happened to her father? “Ask Detective Coronado if he could give me a minute.” She heard Wanda’s voice and the low rumble of Vince’s answer.
“He’s okay with it.”
“Tell him thank-you.” She punched the button. “Mother, is everything all right?”
“Nothing has changed, Chloe.”
Chloe settled against the back of her chair. “I can’t help worrying. Mother, I wish—”
Her mother didn’t let her finish, probably just as well. “I called to invite you to dinner tonight. Your father would like to see you.” Beneath the flatness of her mother’s tone, Chloe heard tension.
“You’re sure he’s not worse?”
“I’m certain. Don’t—” Her mother sighed. “Please, darling, just come tonight.”
“All right.” Chloe frowned at the entreaty. “What time?”
“Seven, if that will work.”
“Perfect.”
“Good. Chloe—” A strained silence ensued.
“Mother, what’s wrong?”
“Never mind.” Brisk now. “I’ll see you tonight.” With that, her mother was gone.
Chloe held the receiver in her hand, wondering if she should call back and inquire more deeply. Something was going on that disturbed her mother.
But if she’d learned one thing in her life, it was that Dolores St. Claire could not be budged on what she believed was the proper way to do things. Chloe would pay close attention at dinner, but for now, calling back would only make things worse. She sighed and pushed the intercom button. “Ask Detective Coronado to come in, please, Wanda.” After replacing the receiver, she carefully folded her hands on the desktop to still the sudden attack of nerves as the door opened.
Then there he was. Looking far too good.
His gaze locked on hers. Blue eyes spoke volumes in a voice she couldn’t afford to hear…but reverberated deep inside her.
Chloe couldn’t tear her gaze away.
“Chloe—”
She stirred. Blinked. “Detective.” She nodded carefully.
For a second, something in him seemed almost…vulnerable. An answering softness rose in her; ruthlessly she quelled it.
He searched her face, and disappointment flickered. Then the hard cop took over. He seated himself in front of her desk.
Chloe tried to remember what she’d thought they could talk about. Opening the file in front of her, she grasped at a topic. “About your family—”
“Don’t—” His dark tone wounded her. “Just let me go, all right? Cut me loose.”
She gripped her fingers together until the knuckles went white. “My terms were clear. I have a job to do.”
He slapped both hands on his thighs, then rose to pace, jamming his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Jaw flexing, he faced her windows, his powerful frame tense.
Chloe waited, trying to give him room. She’d been kidding herself that this wouldn’t be hard.
Suddenly, Vince whirled, strode across the room and pulled her to her feet. Before she could react, his lips claimed hers.
Shock stilled her, then she tumbled in the onslaught of too many sensations—his body hard against hers, the tantalizing taste of his kiss. She grabbed his shirt for an anchor, wanting—
More.
When he felt her press closer, Vince groaned. “Chloe—” Against every instinct he possessed, he knew he had to pull back. Now.
But he only wanted to get closer.
With great effort, Vince disentangled his mouth from hers, placing a gentle kiss to the corner, then dragging himself away from the pulse point of her neck.
“Fire me,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“What?” Confusion swirled in her eyes.
“I can’t be your client. You’re driving me crazy.”
Chloe stared at him, mourning his distance even as returning reason told her it had to happen. Her fingers tingled with the texture of his shirt, of his warm, muscled torso. Her body hummed with the longings he elicited with little effort. She’d never felt like this, never even imagined it.
If she’d ever doubted it, she was certain now that Roger’s time was at an end, but there could be nothing between her and Vince until his troubles were over. If she cared about him at all, she had to help him, and that meant not letting anyone know that he was becoming important to her. If Roger found out, he’d crucify Vince out of damaged pride, if nothing else.
Sobered by the realization that she could do Vince great harm, she escaped toward her credenza and poured a glass of water for her suddenly parched throat. Drawing upon reserves she’d never realized she had, Chloe asked, in her mother’s best hostess tone, “Would you care for a glass of water?”
“No.” Jaw tight, stance rigid, he looked at the trees. “Thank you.”
She desperately wanted to talk about what had just happened; instead, Chloe retreated into a professional mode. “Tell me how you’re feeling about being on leave.”
“Damn you.” Immediately, she looked stricken, and Vince cursed himself. His undercover experience made him as much actor as cop; he could handle this. All he had to do was to forget about her as Chloe. Pretend she was a target. A means to an end.
All he had to do was not remember tendrils of hair curling on her neck. Forget her laughter, blank out her softness…
Hell. “You know this is our last session,” he said.
To his surprise, she didn’t immediately refuse.
“I have a responsibility to the department, as well as to you, to be sure you’re fit for duty.”
He stiffened. “Do you honestly doubt it?”
“At this moment, I doubt everything about my judgment.”
The uncertainty in her eyes damp
ened his building fury. “What would it take for you to trust yourself again?”
Her lips curved with wry amusement. “I have no idea.”
Vince dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Doc. I never meant for this to happen.” He looked up, grin crooked, dimple winking. “You’re not my type, you know.”
“Vince—”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, holding up a hand. “You don’t date mongrels.”
Honest surprise slid over her features. “You’re not a mongrel.”
“Get real. You’re a registered purebred, and I’m a mutt straight from the alleys.”
A flicker of humor united them for one brief instant.
Abruptly, Chloe sobered. “We can’t have this discussion right now. I have a report to turn in, and despite how I’ve botched things so far, I can’t live with myself if I release you before I’ve made my best effort at completing the requirements to render a sound opinion.”
“Do you believe them, is that it? Newcombe and Barnes?”
She appeared startled. “No.”
“Then what will it take for you to let me go?”
“Vince, a positive report from me isn’t going to cure the problem with that warrant.”
“I know, but it’s one barrier removed.”
Chloe rubbed at a spot between her eyebrows. Exhaling in a long, heartfelt sigh, she stared at the top of her desk. Finally, she looked at him again. “You’re already here. There are questions I must ask, and I need your honest answers. If you can quit playing games with me, maybe I can obtain the information to be able to issue my recommendation, but if you persist in dodging them, the only course available to me is to wait until Rick returns from vacation and turn you over to him.”
“Playing hardball, huh, Doc?”
Determination glittered, cheek by jowl with a plea. “I don’t want to, but I couldn’t bear it if I released you and something happened.”
Her honesty knocked the pins from beneath him. He tried to figure out any other solution, but he could see none that wouldn’t either delay him—
Or hurt her. With effort, he assumed the role. “Okay. You win.” He glanced toward the glass she’d proffered. “Yes, I could use a drink of water.” Then he grinned. “Maybe you could just pour the pitcher on my head.”
The Good Daughter Page 10
