Tough to Tame

by Diana Palmer

  “I don’t know,” Bentley said, his eyes roving.

  “Rourke, what do you think?” she asked her purse.

  But there was no reply. She looked around. She didn’t see Rourke or Chet. That was odd. They’d been visible every minute since she came to San Antonio.

  “Maybe it would be all right,” she said. “I just want to stretch my legs for a minute.”

  “All right,” Bentley said. “But you stay close to me.” He slid his big hand into her small one and closed it warmly. “I’ll take care of you.”

  She smiled wearily and laid her head against his shoulder for a minute. “Okay.”

  They walked out into the cold night air. The sidewalk was crowded. Traffic passed by. There was a policeman on the corner, leaning back against a storefront, talking into a cell phone. Nearby, two men in suits were talking, oblivious to passersby.

  All around them, neon signs and holiday lights brightened the darkness. “It’s almost Christmas,” she exclaimed. “With all that’s happened, I forgot.” She grimaced. “We won’t get to open presents under the tree this year. Kell will never be able to go home by Christmas Eve.”

  “Then we’ll put up a small tree in his room and transfer the presents up here from Jacobsville,” he promised her. “We’ll have Christmas here.”

  She looked up at him with soft, quiet eyes. “We?”

  His jaw tautened. “I’m not leaving you again. Not even for a day,” he said huskily.

  The words made tears brim in her eyes. The way he said it was so poignant, so passionate. He didn’t even need to say what he was feeling. She read it in his face.

  He pulled her into his arms and held her close, hugged her tight, buried his face in her long, soft hair. “Marry me.”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes. Yes!” she whispered.

  His chest rose and fell heavily. “Of all the places to get engaged,” he groaned. “With a thousand eyes watching.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.

  No, he thought. It didn’t.

  “Hold him! I’ll get her!”

  The voices came suddenly into what was the sweetest dream of Cappie’s life. She was so relaxed, so happy, that it took precious seconds for her to realize what was about to happen. She felt Bentley torn from her arms. Two men were pulling his arms behind him. A violent jerk brought her around as two bruising hands caught her shoulders and twisted them. Above her, Frank Bartlett’s angry, contorted features came into view, his narrow dark eyes promising retribution.

  “Got you at last, didn’t I?” he growled. “Now, you’re going to pay for what you did to me!”

  She cried out and tried to pull away from him, but his hands were too strong. He drew one back and slapped her as hard as he could, so hard that she staggered and would have fallen if he hadn’t jerked her back up brutally with the other hand.

  Her face stung like fire. There would be a bruise. But it only made her mad. She drew back her high-heeled foot and kicked him in the calf muscle as hard as she could. He yelled in pain and slapped her again. But before he could draw back another time, he suddenly went down under a vicious tackle.

  “That’s the way, brother!” came a cheering cry from the sidelines.

  “Go get him!” came another hearty voice.

  Bentley was knocking the stuffing out of Frank Bartlett, his big fists making the other man, a match for him pound for pound, cry out in pain.

  “Now isn’t he talented?” Rourke murmured as he drew a shaky Cappie back from the crowd. He looked at her bruised face and winced. “Sorry we didn’t rush right in, but we wanted to make sure we had plenty of witnesses and an excellent case for the prosecution.” He jerked his head toward Chet and the two men in suits. They had the two men with Frank subdued and handcuffed. The uniformed officer who’d been on the corner was standing with them.

  “We had you staked out,” Rourke told her. “I wouldn’t have done it this way, if there had been any other choice.”

  She reached up and patted his cheek. “You did good, Dead-Eye,” she said with a smile, and winced when it hurt. “I’m going to look like an accident victim for a few days, I’m afraid.”

  “No doubt about that. Your poor face!”

  She glanced back toward Frank. Bentley was still pounding him. “Shouldn’t you save Bentley?”

  “Bentley?” he exclaimed.

  “From a homicide charge, I mean,” she clarified.

  “Oh. Right. Probably should.”

  He moved forward and pulled Bentley off the other man. It took some doing. The veterinarian was obviously reluctant to give up his pastime.

  “Now, now,” Rourke calmed him, “we have to have enough left to prosecute. Besides, Cappie needs some TLC. She’s pretty bruised.”

  Bentley was catching his breath as he walked quickly back to Cappie. He winced at the sight of her face. “My poor baby,” he exclaimed, bending to kiss her bruised cheek with exquisite tenderness. “Let me just go back over there and hit him one more time…!”

  “No,” she protested, grabbing his suit coat. “Rourke’s right, we have to have enough of him left to prosecute. Bentley, you were magnificent!”

  “So were you, kicking him in the leg,” he chuckled.

  “I guess we make a pretty good team,” she mused.

  “You can say that again.”

  She put a hand to her cheek. “Boy, that stings.”

  “It looks like hell. You’ll have to see a doctor.”

  “Fortunately there are plenty of those right inside,” Rourke came back in time to reply. “See the letters? They spell out hospital.”

  She drew back a fist.

  Rourke held up both hands. “Now, now, I’m on your side.” He nodded toward one of the men in suits who had a long black ponytail. “Recognize him?”

  She frowned. “No…”

  “That’s Detective Sergeant Rick Marquez,” he told her. “He was just on his way to the opera when we phoned and said an assault with intent was going down in front of the hospital. He broke speed records getting here.”

  “How kind of him,” Cappie said.

  “Not really. He always goes to the opera alone. He can’t get women.”

  “But, why not?” she wondered. “He’s a dish.”

  “He carries a gun,” Rourke pointed out.

  “You carry a gun.”

  “I can’t get women, either.”

  “What a shame.”

  He moved closer. “I’m available.”

  She laughed as Bentley stepped in front of her, glowering.

  “Wait, scratch that, I just remembered, I’m not available,” Rourke said quickly.

  “Even if you were, she’s not,” Bentley said.

  “There you are, again, starting trouble,” Rick Marquez chuckled, joining them. He looked at Cappie’s face and grimaced. “Damn, I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” he apologized. “I couldn’t get a cab and I had to run all the way.”

  “Fortunately you’re in great shape,” Rourke said.

  “Fortunately I am,” Marquez agreed. “What are you and Billings doing here?”

  “Trading favors with Eb Scott.” Rourke grinned. “We’re bodyguards. Well, not anymore. Not now that you have those three jackals in custody.”

  Marquez moved a step closer to him. “How about telling Chet that he’s not allowed to smoke here?”

  “Why don’t you tell him?” Rourke asked, surprised.

  “Too many windows overlook my apartment,” came the amused reply. “He might not be able to resist the temptation to get even.”

  “Good point. I’ll just pass that along. About the smoking!” Rourke added quickly. “Anyway, he wouldn’t shoot you. He’s not sanctioned.”

  “Yet,” Marquez enunciated.

  Rourke shrugged, grinned and went to find his partner.

  “They really were great,” Cappie told the detective. “I’ve never felt safer. Well, until tonight.”

  “We let you walk i
nto the trap,” Marquez replied quietly. “It was the only way we could guarantee a case against Bartlett that he couldn’t escape. His sort doesn’t give up.”

  “Yes, but he could get out again…”

  “He won’t,” Marquez said curtly. “I promise you that. See that guy I was standing with? He’s the assistant D.A. who put Frank away in the first place.”

  “I thought he looked familiar,” Cappie returned.

  “He cursed a blue streak because the judge gave him such an easy sentence. He’s been working behind the scenes to get depositions in case Frank slipped.” He grinned. “And did Frank ever slip! In front of all these witnesses, too.” He indicated the uniformed officer, and two others who’d joined him, who were questioning bystanders. “Frank is going back in jail for a long time.”

  “What about his friends?” Cappie asked.

  “I know what they helped him do to your brother. We couldn’t have proved it, before, but I’m betting one of them will be happy to turn state’s evidence in return for a reduced sentence.”

  “Meanwhile,” Bentley said, sliding an affectionate arm around Cappie, “we’re going to have a nice Christmas celebration with Kell in the hospital and then plan a wedding.”

  “A wedding?” Marquez sighed. “I used to think I’d find a nice woman someday who liked cops and opera, who’d love to marry me. But, I’m really happy to be single. I mean, I have all sorts of free time, and I get to watch whatever television programs I like, and TV dinners are just wonderful. In fact, I think I might like to do commercials for them.” He smiled.

  “They have psychiatrists in there, don’t they?” Bentley asked, nodding toward the hospital.

  Marquez glared at him. “I’m happy, I said! I love living alone! I never want my private life messed up by some sweet, loving woman who can cook!”

  “Anybody got a straitjacket?” Bentley asked.

  Marquez threw up his hands and walked away.

  Cappie felt her face begin to throb. Tears stung her eyes. “Could we go back inside and find the emergency room, you think?” she asked Bentley.

  “Right this minute,” he said with obvious concern.

  Marquez followed them inside. “I’ve got my digital camera with me,” he said, suddenly all business. “We want to get photos, to make sure a jury sees what Frank did to you.”

  “Be my guest,” Cappie replied. “But then I want aspirin and an ice pack!”

  “You can come down to my office in the morning to give me a statement. For now, we’ll get the photos and have a doctor look at your face. After that, you can even have a beer if you like, and I’ll buy,” Marquez promised.

  She made a face. “Sorry, but I’d rather have the ice pack.”

  Bentley’s arm contracted. “Then we have to find some way to keep Kell from seeing your poor face, until he’s through the worst of his own ordeal.”

  “Yes, we do,” she said. “That isn’t going to be easy.”

  Marquez, seeing the bruising increase by the second, had to agree. And she didn’t know yet how it was going to look a day later. But he did.

  They did take X-rays of Cappie’s face. Marquez got his photos and left. The doctor treating her came back into the cubicle where she and Bentley were waiting in the busy emergency room.

  “There are two small broken bones,” he said. “I want you to take these X-rays to your primary physician and let him refer you to a good plastic surgeon. Meanwhile, I’m going to write you something for pain. Keep ice on the swelling. Nothing is going to disguise the bruises, I’m afraid.” He glanced curiously at Bentley.

  “I didn’t do it,” Bentley said easily. “The man who did was taken away in a squad car, with his accomplices, and he’s going to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Those X-rays we asked for a copy of are going to help put him away.”

  The young resident nodded somberly. “I see far too many injuries like this. A boyfriend?” he queried.

  “No,” Cappie said heavily. “An ex-boyfriend who spent six months in jail for breaking my arm,” she added. “He got out and came looking for me. This time, I hope he’ll stay as a guest of the state for much longer.”

  “I’ll be happy to testify,” the resident said. He pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to her. “That happens too often, you know, a brutal man seeking revenge. We had a young woman killed a few weeks ago for the same thing.”

  Cappie felt sick to her stomach.

  Bentley put his arm around her. “Nobody’s killing you,” he said.

  She leaned her head against him. “Thanks.”

  They took the extra X-ray in its envelope, paid the bill and left the emergency room, hand-in-hand.

  “Do you want to go and see Kell tonight?” Bentley asked.

  She shook her head, wincing, because it hurt. “I’m too sick. I just want to lie down.” She looked up. “Will you go with me to Marquez’s office in the morning?”

  “You’d better believe I will.”

  “Thanks.”

  His arm contracted around her. “Not necessary. Let’s get you back to your room. It’s been a long day.”

  “Tell me about it,” she mused. At least, she thought, her ordeal was over for the moment. Tomorrow she could worry about the details, including telling poor Kell what had happened.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CAPPIE GROANED at her own reflection in the hotel mirror when she climbed out of bed the next morning. One whole side of her face was a brilliant purple, and swollen to boot.

  “You okay in there?”

  She smiled. Bentley had insisted on sleeping on the sofa in the suite, just in case. Rourke and Chet were already up and packing their things for the trip back to Jacobsville. Cappie and Bentley were staying for another day or two, while she gave statements to the police and looked after Kell.

  “I think so,” she said. “I just can’t bear to look at myself.”

  “I’ll bet Chet knows exactly how that feels!” Rourke called from the doorway of the room he and Chet had shared.

  “Will you shut up?” Chet muttered.

  “Now, that’s a good example of how much work your diplomatic skills need,” Rourke admonished.

  “I’m through trying to be diplomatic,” Chet said curtly. “I’m going back to the company and let them send me off on lone assignments, all by myself. Anywhere I don’t have to try to be nice to people!”

  “Yes, and you can take those smokes with you,” Rourke added. “Having to share a room with you is punishment enough for any lawbreaker! Man, you reek!”

  “Cigarette smoke is beneficial,” Chet told him.

  “It is not!”

  “If your quarry smokes, you can smell him from five hundred meters,” Chet returned, and he actually smiled.

  Rourke’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen the other man smile.

  Chet gave him a haughty, arrogant stare, picked up his bag and walked out. “Hope things go well for you, Miss Drake,” he said as she came out of her room wrapped in a thick robe. He winced. “It will look much better in a week or so,” he assured her.

  She tried to smile, but it hurt too much. “Thanks for helping keep me alive, Chet.”

  “My pleasure. See you back at Scott’s place, Rourke.”

  “You wait for me—I’m not paying cab fare back to Jacobsville all alone,” Rourke said. He picked up his own bag, shook hands with Bentley and bent to kiss Cappie’s undamaged cheek. “If he ever walks out on you, just get word to me, and I’ll bring him back to you in a net,” he said in a stage whisper.

  “Thanks, Rourke. But I don’t think that will ever happen.”

  Bentley smiled. “I can guarantee it won’t.”

  “Cheers, then. See you.”

  They waved the two men off. Bentley studied her poor, damaged face warily. “I wish there had been some way to prevent that.”

  “Me, too. But it’s insurance. Let’s get breakfast. Then we can go down to Detective Marquez’s office and start giving statements.
Later,” she added reluctantly, “we can go see Kell and try not to upset him too much when we tell him what happened.”

  “Suits me.”

  Detective Marquez had a small office in a big department. It was noisy and people seemed to come and go constantly. The phones rang off the hook.

  “This looks like those crime shows on television,” Cappie remarked.

  Marquez chuckled. “It’s much worse. You can’t get five minutes’ peace to type up a report.” He got up to retrieve the report he’d typed at the computer as he questioned her. He took it out of the printer tray and handed it to her. “Check over that, if you will, and see if I’ve got it right.” He pulled out another one. “This one’s for you, Dr. Rydel.” He handed the vet another sheet of paper.

  They went over their statements, made a couple of corrections. Marquez inserted the corrections and printed the statements out again. They signed them.

  “I’ll bet Frank’s foaming at the mouth,” Cappie mused.

  “He really is, but this time he’s not going to fool any jury into thinking he’s the injured party,” Marquez assured her.

  “I’ll bet that judge is feeling bad about now,” Bentley muttered.

  “The judge did feel bad,” Marquez agreed. “So did the district attorney, especially after Frank and his cohorts beat up your brother. The whole justice system here in San Antonio went into overdrive to catch the perp.”

  “Really?” Cappie asked, surprised.

  “Really. The assistant district attorney who prosecuted your case was in the vanguard.”

  “Somebody needs to take him out for a big steak dinner,” Cappie commented.

  “I’m taking him out for one, at my mother’s café in Jacobsville,” he chuckled. “Of course, he’s eligible and so is my mother.”

  “I see wheels turning in your head,” Cappie said.

  He grinned. “Always,” Marquez said easily. “He and I have worked several cases together. I like him.”

  “Me, too,” Cappie said. She hesitated. “Frank won’t get out until the trial, will he?”

  Marquez shook his head. “The assistant D.A. is having the bond set in the six-figure range. I don’t think Frank knows a bail bondsman who’ll take a chance on him for that amount of money.”