by Radclyffe
“And from what we’ve heard,” Allen said, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice, “you should be just her type, Wayne.”
Carter stared at her. They hadn’t worked together all that long, but Allen had taken an obvious and immediate dislike to her and didn’t bother to hide it. Guess the FBI hasn’t heard the directive on détente.
“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing she saw you tonight,” Toome offered into the breach. “She might trust you more—you know, since only the upper-level players got invited.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Carter said as she pushed the door open and stepped out into the dark. There was no point in telling them that the one thing she had not seen in Ricarda Pareto’s eyes had been trust. For an instant she’d thought she’d detected appreciation, perhaps even a little bit of interest, but that had quickly been eclipsed by suspicion. And oddly, something that had resembled disappointment. It wasn’t at all what she had expected from the woman who stood to inherit one of the largest organized crime machines on the East Coast.
As Carter drove toward her apartment in Cambridge, she contemplated the goal of the joint state police, DEA, and FBI task force that she had been part of for almost a year—to shut down one of the major drug portals on the Northeastern Seaboard. With the amount of cocaine and heroin being run through the Port of Boston, the Justice Department estimated that millions of dollars were being laundered and carefully siphoned into the operations of the Pareto family annually. Dozens of agents from almost as many branches of law enforcement were working on the project—tracking cargo ship and truck manifests, money trails, and street-level drug distribution patterns. Her assignment was much more up close and personal. She was going to have to seduce Ricarda Pareto, or at least convince the crime boss’s daughter that that was her intention. Having met Rica, Carter didn’t think that feigning attraction to her would be too hard a task. What might be difficult was remembering that it was all strictly an act.
Chapter Two
April 2003
Provincetown, Massachusetts
A chime sounded in the rear office of Beaux Arts where Rica sat alone with an espresso and croissant, announcing that someone had come into the gallery. Setting aside the pile of invoices she’d been checking against the stock that had yet to be displayed, she rose to greet the visitors. She’d been in her new house in the west end of town only ten days, and the gallery had been open for business for just a week, but she already felt more comfortable than she ever had in the exclusive establishment she’d run in SoHo for the last three years. She ran it, but it never felt like hers. Not really. She chose the art, developed the client list, courted the agents for the wealthiest buyers from coast to coast, but her name wasn’t on the deed. The business had been a gift from her father when she’d finished graduate school, and as she’d learned over the years, every gift came with a price. There had been the occasional piece that she would not have carried had her father not requested it of her. A favor to an old friend. She never recognized the artists, but she knew better than to ask her father for information. At first, she’d been taken aback at how quickly the vase or statue or painting would sell—almost as if the buyer had been waiting for it to appear on her shelf. As the pattern recurred, she’d stopped being surprised.
“Hello?” a female voice called from the front of the shop.
Rica shook her head impatiently as she pushed the unsettling thoughts away, reminding herself that this place was hers. She’d left the gallery in SoHo under the capable direction of the assistant manager, a daughter of a friend of her father’s. Rica hadn’t thought she’d like Angela Camara when Angie had first come to work for her, expecting another pampered offspring of another rich and powerful man, but she’d been pleasantly surprised. Angie knew the market and was easy to work with, and she had become more than an associate. She was Rica’s best friend, and Rica already missed her.
“Sorry,” Rica said to the two women who stood in the main gallery surveying the paintings that had arrived just the day before. They looked like locals in casual jeans, boat shoes, and T-shirts. The older woman, a blonde with a year-round tan and piercing blue eyes, had liberal doses of paint splattered on her clothes. “I’m still getting organized.”
The blonde turned from the canvas she’d been studying and smiled. “I don’t envy you. I have a gallery about half this size, and I know how time-consuming it is. You paint, too?”
Rica shook her head. “I wish I did, but my talent seems to be in selling them, not creating them. I’m Rica Grechi.”
“I’m Kate,” the blonde said. “My place is just down the street. K&J Gallery.”
“I know, I’ve been in it. I admire your work.”
Kate looked pleased and drew her companion forward. “This is Caroline Clark, a good friend and a wonderful artist. I have several of her paintings in my gallery.”
“Hello,” Rica said, taking the young woman’s hand. Blond like Kate, she appeared to be in her early twenties, judging by the bit of smooth abdomen revealed in the space between her short T-shirt and skintight hip huggers and the row of piercings along the curve of one ear.
“Hi,” Caroline said. “Great place.”
“Thanks. I take it you live here in town?”
Caroline nodded. “I’ll be here all summer, and then I have one more year of school in Manhattan.”
“Caroline just returned from studying in Paris,” Kate said proudly.
“Really?” Rica said with interest. She looked from Kate to Caroline. “Are you two…related? Does painting run in the family?”
“No,” Kate said, sliding her arm affectionately around Caroline’s shoulders and giving her a hug. “Although I certainly wouldn’t mind if she were mine.”
“Oh yeah,” Caroline said, grinning. “Like anyone would trade Reese for me.”
“Who said anything about trading? My daughter, Reese Conlon,” Kate said by way of explanation, “is a sheriff here in town and—”
“Completely… awesome,” Caroline finished.
Rica laughed. Ordinarily, she didn’t find the thought of anyone in law enforcement particularly appealing, but Caroline’s obvious crush was endearing. She couldn’t remember ever having had an innocent crush on a woman, even when she’d been young. By the time she’d been old enough to recognize her interest in women, she’d already lost her naïve faith in love. “I’ll have to come down to the gallery and look at your works again.”
“Absolutely,” Kate said. “Actually, we stopped by because I wanted to let you know that there’s a meeting of the Provincetown Women’s Business Association tomorrow night. We’ll be talking about advertising, fund-raising events, that sort of thing. I thought since you’re new here you might not know about it.”
“Thanks,” Rica said, surprised by the absence of any overt competition from another gallery owner. That was certainly a refreshing change from what she was used to in New York. “I’ll be there. Where and when?”
“Seven at Town Hall.” Kate gave a little jump and looked down at the phone on her belt. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should get this.” With an apologetic shrug she stepped outside.
“So how was Paris?” Rica asked Caroline.
“It was amazing,” Caroline said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s so beautiful, and I learned so much.” She frowned. “I missed my girlfriend like crazy, though. That was the only thing I didn’t like about it.”
“Ah,” Rica said. “Is she an art student too?”
Caroline laughed. “Not hardly. She’s a cop here in Provincetown. She works with Reese.”
Mentally Rica shook her head. Perhaps getting out from under the watchful eye of law enforcement wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d thought. Thankfully, no one here knew her, and since she wasn’t using the family name, hopefully that would continue.
Kate stuck her head back in the door. “That was Reese. She’s got an emergency call and needs me to babysit.” She waved. “I’ll see you at the meeting, Rica.
”
“I should get going, too,” Caroline said. “See you soon.”
Rica waved as both women hurried away. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the bi-level gallery that took up most of the ground floor of the building she’d purchased on Commercial Street in the east end—the plain white walls, the counter with a computer and credit card machine tucked into one corner, the pedestals displaying sculptures and hand-blown glassware, and the paintings spotlighted by recessed track lights. The gallery was every bit as fashionable as the one in New York, but it lacked the chic veneer that kept everyone at a safe distance. She had to be careful not to forget that as simple as life here appeared, accessibility would never be an option for her. The distance she maintained was a matter of survival, and went far deeper than the surface.
*
“Okay, champ,” Reese Conlon muttered, tugging cotton play pants decorated with a menagerie of brightly colored animals over the chubby legs of the wriggling, squealing child in her lap. “Almost there. Just hold on for a sec—”
Regina Conlon King laughed joyfully and smacked her mother in the face.
“Ow,” Reese exclaimed and then grinned as she saw the nine-month-old studying her seriously, as if trying to determine if what had transpired was a good or bad thing. “Nice left hook.”
Seemingly reassured, Regina went back to wiggling. Reese glanced over her shoulder as the door from the side deck ajoining the driveway opened. When she saw Kate, she sighed in relief and stood. “Help is on the way, Reggie. Hi, Mom.”
“Here, let me have her,” Kate said, holding out her arms. “I thought you worked the night shift. Aren’t you supposed to be off today?”
“I am. Well, I was,” Reese said, rubbing her face in the hope that she’d wake up a little bit more. “I was going to sleep until Tory went in to the clinic at two, but she got called about some kid who swallowed her tooth about an hour ago. Then Nelson phoned just now and wants to see me in the office right away.”
Kate bounced her granddaughter on her hip as she adroitly tucked in the baby’s T-shirt and closed the snaps on her pants without looking. In the process, she regarded her own daughter intently. She couldn’t be certain whether Reese was half undressed after ending her shift or partially dressed and ready to return to work, since she wore the dark green T-shirt that went under her protective vest along with her uniform pants, and could be headed in either direction. The pressed khaki uniform shirt was draped over the back of a nearby couch. One thing she was sure of was that Reese was tired. Her short black hair was wet from a recent shower, but she was pale and shadows darkened the lids beneath her vibrant deep blue eyes. Now that she looked closely, Kate realized that while still muscular, Reese was thinner than she’d ever seen her. Kate handed Reggie a plastic baby bottle of apple juice and hiked her hip onto a stool in front of the breakfast bar that divided the large living room from the kitchen/dining area. “Is there something bothering you?”
Reese pulled on her shirt. “No, everything is fine. Just a little tired.”
“Is Tory feeling all right?” Kate could think of very few things that would distress her daughter enough to make her lose sleep. Any problem that involved Reese’s partner or their child was at the top of the list. Tory had had a very difficult pregnancy and emergency cesarean section when Reggie was born, and despite having returned to work in recent months, she was still not totally recovered. And Kate knew that Reese worried.
“Working too hard, as always,” Reese muttered, buttoning her shirt. “But she says she’s better and handling the patient load okay.”
Kate laughed. “You believe her?”
Reese grinned. “She might be exaggerating a little bit, but she’s keeping as regular hours as she can, and she’s already got someone lined up for the summer. A woman from Providence who wants to downsize her practice. Apparently she’s thinking of relocating permanently.”
“Good,” Kate said. “The clinic is too busy during the summer for Tory to handle it all by herself.”
“I expect KT would help out if things got rough,” Reese commented, although she suspected that Tory’s ex-lover KT O’Bannon, a trauma surgeon who worked in Boston and commuted to Provincetown whenever she was free, would want to spend whatever time she had with her new lover, Pia Torres. Although KT had spent a few months the previous fall working with Tory in the clinic, it wasn’t KT’s natural environment. According to everything Tory had told her, and what she had observed herself, Reese knew that KT thrived on the adrenaline rush of life-and-death emergency surgery.
“The baby seems great.” Kate caught the juice bottle as Reggie launched it into the air.
“She is. I think she’s ready to walk.” Reese opened the hall closet and took down the lockbox where she kept her gun. “And she’s got an amazing vocabulary already.”
Kate smiled indulgently as she listened to the baby babble. There might be a few words in there, but she knew better than to disavow her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Is it the war that has you losing sleep?”
Reese grew very still for a moment, then removed her service weapon, checked to see the chamber was empty, slid in the clip, and settled it into the holster at her hip. She returned the box to the top shelf and pinned her badge to her shirt pocket. Then she turned and met her mother’s eyes, eyes that were the same shade as her own. Despite the fact that she had inherited her black hair from her father, she and her mother looked very much alike. And even though she had spent her adolescence and young adulthood with no contact with her mother, having been raised by her father to be a career Marine and having spent much of her service time under his command, her mother knew her far better than her father ever had. Or perhaps in fairness to him, her mother knew what mattered to her heart far more then General Conlon did, even now.
“I think about it.”
“It’s escalating, isn’t it?” Kate said quietly.
“Seems to be.” Reese turned her collar up and threaded a black tie around her neck. She fashioned a small tight knot and settled it against her collar with quick, precise movements. “I don’t think anyone who knows anything about this kind of engagement ever thought it would be over in a few weeks. The Middle East isn’t all that much different than Southeast Asia.”
“Have you talked to your father?”
“Not since he was here last fall to tell me what a great opportunity it would be for me if we went to war,” Reese said bitterly. She had asked her father to attend her and Tory’s wedding, but he’d refused. Even though he conveniently ignored that she was a lesbian in terms of the potential effect on her career, he would not recognize her relationship to Tory or their child. Selective denial of what mattered most in her life. Reese shook her head to dispel the anger. It was dangerous for her to go to work with her mind anything less than clear, and she promised Tory every day when they said goodbye that she would be careful.
“I love you,” Kate said gently.
Reese’s expression softened. “I know. Thanks.”
“Not necessary.” Kate nuzzled Reggie’s neck. “You keep bringing wonderful things into my life.”
“Same here.” Reese bent down and kissed Reggie’s cheek, then her mother’s. “Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”
“I’ll take her home with me,” Kate said, “so either you or Tory can pick her up, depending on which one of you finishes first.”
“Thanks.”
“Be careful,” Kate called as Reese went out the door. She waited a few more minutes, listening to the sound of Reese’s Blazer revving in the driveway and then disappearing down the highway. She hadn’t asked the question that she really wanted answered, which was what Reese would do if the war dragged on and her Marine unit was activated. She didn’t ask not because she believed Reese didn’t have an answer, but because she wasn’t certain she was ready to hear it.
Chapter Three
When Reese drove into the small parking lot behind the single-story, sprawling wood building that hous
ed the sheriff’s department on Shank Painter Road, one squad car, a red Honda Civic, and Sheriff Nelson Parker’s GMC Jimmy were parked in a neat row. Otherwise it was empty. At one in the afternoon with still a few weeks to go before the tourist season got into full swing, there was unlikely to be much going on other than the daily fare of fender benders, minor thefts, drunk and disorderlies, and domestic disputes. They hadn’t yet signed on temporary seasonal help, and only a few officers were on duty each shift.
Reese parked next to Nelson’s GMC and let herself in to the main office area through the side door. Their dispatcher and secretary, Gladys, was ensconced behind the array of computers and radio equipment. The matronly, middle-aged woman in a neat cranberry sweater set and dark slacks glanced her way with a look of surprise.
“I thought you weren’t due back here until tomorrow.”
“The chief called.”
“Hmph.” Gladys looked over her shoulder at the closed door of Nelson’s office. “He’s been in there since I got back from lunch.”
Reese didn’t ask what was going on, because if Gladys knew, she would have told her. And her mild annoyance indicated that she didn’t know. Gladys had worked in the department for a lot of years and was an integral part of the team, so whatever the chief was doing behind closed doors had to be unusual. “You want to let him know I’m here?”
Gladys punched the intercom, waited a second, and then said, “Reese is here.”
Through the static, a deep male voice rumbled, “Send…in.”
Reese rapped on the door, then pushed it open and stepped into Nelson Parker’s office. The chief, in his fifties with a full head of dark hair laced with gray, a broad face ruddy from a lifetime in the wind and sun, and a waist starting to show the thickness of a few too many years at a desk, sat behind a plain wooden one now on the far side of the room. His eyes were intelligent and quick, and—at the moment—telegraphing a sense of wariness and caution. A visitor occupied one of the two folding metal chairs in front of Nelson’s desk, her body angled so that Reese could only see part of her face.
