Internal Affair (12 page)

“My best area,” Andrew assured him. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Unless something comes up, you don’t have to be in to work. Always a place for you at the table. Breakfast is eight-thirty. Try to make it.”

“I’ll try.”

Patrick made himself a promise to do more than just try as he hung up. If his job kept him grounded, being around his uncle and cousins reminded him why he was still doing what he did, that there were times when the good guys actually did outnumber the bad.

With a sigh, he reached for the stack of mail.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Matthew McKenna moved back out of the way as he opened his front door farther. “Why didn’t you use your key? You don’t have to knock. This is still your house.”

“I know and I appreciate that, Dad, but I didn’t want to barge in.” She winked. “You might have been entertaining a lady.”

He shut the door, following her into the living room. “The only lady I want to entertain keeps making herself scarce.” He looked at her pointedly.

She took off her jacket and tossed it on the side of the sofa. “Oh, Dad, don’t act like I never come by.”

His smile was fond. “Not nearly enough, Mag-pie, not nearly enough.”

Maggi knew he wasn’t trying to make her feel guilty, but she felt it just the same. Juggling family and work wasn’t easy. “You and Mom should have had more kids.”

He looked over toward the array of framed photographs on the wall along the stairway. They chronicled his life together with the two women who’d meant the most to him, his wife and his daughter. “Yes, we should have, but I’m afraid the good Lord didn’t see it that way.” He smiled at her. “He gave us all of heaven wrapped up in one little girl.”

She gave him a warning look. “Dad, you keep that up and I’m leaving.”

He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll behave. Is this one of your whirlwind visits, or can you stay for dinner?”

Her father’s idea of dinner was taking something out of the freezer and introducing it to the microwave. “Already ate.”

He was on his way to the kitchen to get her one of the diet soft drinks he kept on hand for her. “Alone?”

As she talked, she began to gather up the newspapers he’d left where he’d read them. The man needed a maid, she thought. “There were people in the restaurant.”

“You went to a restaurant by yourself?” Returning, he handed her a can. “Why didn’t you give me a call? I could have met you—”

He was fishing and she knew it. She tossed him a tidbit. “I wasn’t by myself.”

He beamed at her with satisfaction. “So, you did go with someone.”

After placing the newspapers in the recycle bin, she turned around and looked at him. Amusement played along her lips.

“Were you this heavy-handed when you were investigating a crime?”

He shrugged carelessly, making himself comfortable on the sofa. “It’s the father thing, brings out the clumsiness. I just want to see you happy.”

“I
am
happy.” Picking up the can again, she sat down opposite him. “I’m also curious.”

“Oh, so this isn’t just a casual visit. You’ve got questions. About?”

She looked at his left hip, remembering what had gone through her mind when she’d stood over him in the hospital, not sure if he was going to make it despite what the doctor had assured her. Her father had been shot in the shoulder and the hip and his chances were not the best. Twenty-nine or not, she wasn’t ready to be an orphan yet.

“Are you sure that was an accident?”

His brows drew together. “You mean did I see the guy who shot me? No. There was a lot going down that day, Mag-pie. Shots were flying everywhere. One second, we were making a good bust, the next minute, all hell broke loose. The guy we were coming for had reinforcements. There were shooters everywhere. They matched the bullet I caught in my chest to the gun some dead punk was holding in his hand. Why?”

“Just trying to get a few things straight in my head. You said it was a policeman’s service revolver,” she reminded him.

“If you’re asking me how the scum got a hold of it, I can’t help you.” He told her what she knew was in the report. “The guy it belonged to caught a bullet in the head.”

This information had bothered her then and it bothered her now. “Why take his gun when there were obviously so many others on the scene?”

He lifted his right shoulder, letting it fall again. “A sick sense of humor, maybe. Or he lost his own weapon. Who knows? All I know is that every day I thank your mother for watching over me.” He nodded upward. “Another inch over and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” And then he looked at her more closely. “Why
are
we having this conversation?”

Talking to Cavanaugh had made her start to compare the two incidents. Both had been deemed as tragic mistakes. Both men had been shot with service revolvers, but that was where the similarities ended. Or did they? She couldn’t get past the feeling that maybe there was a connection of some kind.

“I can’t really put it into words, Dad. It’s just a feeling I have.”

“About?” he prodded gently.

“That maybe this is part of something else.”

“Like what?”

She couldn’t tell him about Ramirez, or her assignment, but she could talk to him about what had happened to him. “Like maybe someone tried to get you out of the way—you said the bullet almost cost you your life. Or if not out of the way, then at least off the force.” She could feel an excitement building in her, but it had no outlet yet. “Is there anything you might know that could be a danger to someone?”

He laughed and shook his head. “You’ve been watching that TV show about the CIA again, haven’t you?”

Maggi bit her tongue. Her father had no idea that she worked undercover for Internal Affairs and she meant to keep it that way. She wasn’t sure exactly how he would take it, even if her motives were pure.

“Yeah, maybe I have. But if you think of anything, give me a call.”

“You’ll be the first to know.” He dug himself out of the sofa and rose to his feet. “Now come in the kitchen and keep me company while I have my dinner. You can have some if you want.”

She really hadn’t eaten all that much at dinner. “What are you having?”

“Stroganoff. The brand you like,” he added.

“Got an extra one in the freezer?”

He grinned. “Don’t I always?”

She’d lost her taste for frozen dinners since she’d grown up, but here there was a bit of nostalgia attached to it. She felt like being nostalgic tonight, felt like remembering a time when dirty meant something that needed a little soap and water to come clean. “Okay, you twisted my arm.”

He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “I thought I might.”

Chapter 12

H
e’d had better ideas in his time.

Patrick frowned as he turned down a street. One side looked out onto a golf course, dormant now in deference to the inclement weather. The other, to his left, was lined with houses peering over a gray cinder-block wall. He was on his way to McKenna’s apartment. She’d gotten to him at a weak point, when he’d been fresh from a visit to his uncle’s.

Early this morning he’d swung by Patience’s place. He’d picked her up and the two of them had breakfast with the others. Best medicine in the world. Going there helped ward off the darkness that threatened to seep into his soul. Not only did he get to see Shaw, Callie, the twins and Rayne, but two of his other cousins, as well, although Uncle Brian was a no-show.

Patrick hadn’t done much talking, but he’d listened. And basked in the normalcy of the gathering. He’d lowered his guard just enough so that when McKenna called to ask him if he wanted to go ahead and start digging into Ramirez’s records, he’d said the first thing that had come to his mind—yes.

The next thing he knew, he was listening to directions on how to get to her apartment. The radar that ordinarily saw him through dangerous, dicey moments kicked in immediately.

Dangerous and dicey. He figured she could be placed under that heading, although he was starting to think she belonged in a subcategory all her own.

“Why your apartment?”

“Do you have a computer?”

“No.” He saw absolutely no use for one. Gadgets annoyed him. They required patience and reading, not to mention babying. If something was to work, it should do so at the flip of a switch, like a lightbulb or a television set, not because you were armed with an instructions manual big enough to choke a Clydesdale.

“I didn’t think so,” she said. He didn’t particularly care for her smug tone. “The main thing you need if you’re trying to get access to computer files is a computer.”

He saw the woman five long days a week. Why was he even contemplating giving up his weekend to subject himself to more of the same? “Don’t get smart with me, Mary Margaret.”

He heard her laugh and instantly saw her in his mind’s eye, her eyes bright, her mouth wide. Patrick wondered what the hell was happening to his control.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He asked for a rain check. She talked him out of it. He placed several obstacles in the path; she knocked them down. The end result was that he found himself here, entering her apartment complex, searching for a parking place.

He told himself if he didn’t find one in five minutes, he would just turn around and go back. But then a spot opened up. Grudgingly he took it.

Her ground-floor apartment faced the back of the complex. He had no trouble finding it. Apart from the identifying number on the door, his attention would have still been drawn to it. McKenna’s door was completely gift wrapped in gold foil with a wreath topping it off.

The woman obviously had never found the word
restraint
in the dictionary.

Feeling surlier than usual, Patrick rang the doorbell. Christmas carols echoed in response. It figured.

Maggi unlocked the door even before his thumb was off the bell. “Hi, you showed up.”

He tried not to notice that she was barefoot and her jeans fit her as if she’d just this moment painted them on. The powder-blue pullover she had on needed at least three inches to meet the top of her jeans. Her flat belly peeked out flirtatiously and made his palms itch.

“Told you I’d be here,” he growled in response.

She opened the door wider. “I figured you’d come up with a last-minute excuse.”

He gave her a look and remained where he was, on the opposite side of the threshold. “I could go.”

Maggi stepped out of the way, her invitation clear. “Staying is easier.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” he muttered under his breath. He still thought coming here was a mistake, but he’d never been one to back away from something that made him uneasy.

Following her into the two-bedroom apartment, he made it past the small kitchen before stopping dead. The whole apartment was saturated with toys of all shapes and sizes, wrapping paper and ribbons everywhere he looked.

And smack in the middle of the living room was a floor-to-ceiling Scotch pine jammed into a tree holder, its head slightly bent under the weight of the star affixed to it. There were decorations, multicolored lights and tinsel reflecting back at the viewer from every angle.

If there was a Santa Claus, he would have had less going on in his workshop than was happening here, Patrick thought.

“Someone die and leave you a toy shop?” He turned to look at her. “What are you doing with so many toys? You actually know this many kids?”

She led him to the rear of the room. There was a small desk against the wall. It hosted a computer and flat panel, leaving just enough room for a notepad. The printer sat on the floor to the right of the desk.

“No, not personally,” she told him.

He looked around again. Action figures, dolls, stuffed animals. Did she have some kind of toy hang-up? He didn’t think he’d ever seen this many toys outside of FAO Schwartz toy store.

Patrick found himself wondering more and more about his new partner and liking it less and less. “Don’t tell me Santa Claus is really a woman.”

“These are for the kids at St. Agnes Shelter. That’s the shelter for abused women and children,” she explained. “I’m collecting for them.” Innocence personified, Maggi turned her face up to his. “Care to make a donation?”

“I know what St. Agnes Shelter is.”

She’d struck a chord, one he would have preferred not having struck. He was intimately familiar with the shelter she’d named. It had been around for twenty years. Long enough for him and his mother and sister to visit once. Flee to, actually. They’d been forced to go that time his father had completely lost control. Patrick remembered because it was shortly after his aunt Rose, uncle Andrew’s wife, had disappeared.

His father’s drinking binges had gone from bad to worse. When his mother tried to get him to stop, one thing had led to another until he was threatening to kill all of them. Despite that, Patrick knew his mother would have remained with his father, but Patrick had pleaded with her to think of herself and Patience. And told her that he would kill his father if anything happened to either one of them. In the end, more afraid of that than harm to herself, she’d gone, but only after he’d promised to come with her.

So he’d gone to the shelter with his mother and sister and had seen firsthand the sadness that existed in places like that. Everyone tried to cheer one another up, but the sadness had hung on like a steely specter, waiting for them, never letting go.

They’d gone home again, amid his father’s promises to his mother that things would change. They had, but not of his choosing. His father was killed in the line of duty less than six months later.

Maggi looked at the dark, brooding man in her living room. Something was going on here, Maggi thought. More than just his cynicism. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine.” He waved a dismissive hand at her question. “I was just thinking that maybe I will make a donation.”

He shrugged, drawing his eyes away from her face before he did something stupid he’d regret. And then, because he’d been on the inside, because he’d seen the vacant eyes and the despair up close in children who were old before their time, he added, “That’s a good thing you’re doing.”

An odd note stirred in his voice. She couldn’t begin to interpret it. There was a lot of that going on when it came it Cavanaugh, she thought. Somehow, she was going to have to find a way to get closer to the man. So far, she hadn’t a clue as to how.

“Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

His eyes narrowed as he maneuvered his way around the living room, his path impeded by piles of toys. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you don’t exactly act as if you approve of me.”

“You’re all right. I mean, as far as cops go.” Impatience began to break out of its bonds. “Can we get on with this?”

“Sure.” She edged over to her computer, which was on, her cable connection already opened. “Where would you like to start?”

He looked around, at a loss. “How about finding a place to sit?”

“Sorry.” Since the sofa was close to the desk, she cleared a place off for him, moving the brigade of stuffed animals closer together and over to one side. She grinned, gesturing toward the spot. “I’m sure that Big Bear and the others won’t mind sharing their seat with you.”

“Big Bear?” He stared at the large white polar bear with its silly grin and drooping head. “You named the stuffed animals?”

“Not me. The toy manufacturer beat me to it.” The bear looked as if it was going fall forward so she tucked it in beside the stuffed fox. “But I used to whenever my father gave me one.” A fond look curved her mouth. “I was an only child—he liked to spoil me.”

“Yeah, it shows.”

If his words were any more weighed down with sarcasm, they would have made a hole in the floor. “Oh?”

“You like getting your own way.”

Maggi tried not to take offense, but it wasn’t easy. “That’s called a forceful personality.”

“That’s called being a pain in the—” He sighed. If they were going to do anything productive, although he still wasn’t sure what, then this was the wrong way to go. “Sorry, let’s start over.”

Maggi sat down at the computer, her back to him. “Fine by me.”

He paused, unable to wrap his mind around his late partner and the possibility of wrongdoing, especially when his mind kept traveling the short path to the woman sitting at the computer.

The question came of its own accord, as if he had no say over the matter. “You’ve mentioned your father several times.”

“Sorry, does that bother you?”

There was a touch of frost in her reply. He ignored it. “It’s just that you never talk about your mother.”

Maggi glanced toward the framed photo on the side table. It was of the three of them. The last one she had of her mother. “My mother died when I was nine. Car crash.”

He’d heard her tell Alicia about her mother, he just hadn’t realized she’d been that young when her mother died. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…” Uncomfortable, Patrick let his voice trail off.

“Didn’t mean to what, ask me a personal question? No problem. Just means we’re getting closer together.”

The look on his face was one of annoyed disgust. She would have been a little disappointed if he hadn’t reacted at all.

“You’re not going to be happy until we’re joined at the hip, are you?” he asked.

“If I’m going to be your partner, I need to know how you think,” she told him simply.
And if I’m going to get any answers for IA, that won’t hurt, either.

“Why?”

“So I can anticipate your next move. So I can be there to cover your back.”

He’d wandered over to the side table and picked up the family photograph. They were all smiling. The smiles looked genuine. In the single shot he had of his immediate family, the only smile in the photograph belonged to Patience, who would have smiled standing next to the devil himself. His sister would probably like McKenna, he thought.

“You keep pushing me out in front and covering my back,” he said.

“Sorry, does that bother you?” She turned around to glance at him and was surprised to discover that he was right behind her. “I’d take the lead but I get these Neanderthal vibes from you that tell me you wouldn’t let a woman walk in front of you. It’s a macho thing, am I right?”

Why the hell were her eyes getting to him when her wagging tongue was rubbing the very flesh off his body? Annoyed, he took a step back. “Which is why a man shouldn’t be partnered with a woman.”

Maggi sighed, her eyes fluttering shut for a second as she sought strength. “That is so wrong I don’t even know where to begin.”

He laughed shortly. As if she was going to ever be quiet. “But you’ll find a way, won’t you?” He made a decision. “Look, this was a mistake.” He began to back away. “I can—”

He was going to say that he could get the information he needed by himself. “Not easily,” she interjected.

Ordinarily, what people thought had less than no effect on him, but for some reason, when it came to her, Patrick didn’t like being cast in the role of an idiot. “Are you saying I can’t get the information I need without you?”

“No,” she contradicted. “What I’m saying is that it’ll take you longer than if you let me help.” She raised her eyes to his. “And I’m betting that you’re smart enough to put whatever differences we still have aside to tackle this.”

“Whatever differences we
still
have?” Patrick hooted incredulously. “Mary Margaret, there are nothing
but
differences between us.”

Maggi tossed her head, sending her hair over her shoulder. She looked at him pointedly. “Oh, I think we found some common ground and it seems to be widening all the time.” Before he could comment, she moved her swivel chair back to face the computer. “Okay, let’s start out with the basics.”

As he stood watching over her shoulder, Maggi called up Eduardo Ramirez’s vital statistics via an internal program that had been installed by the Aurora police department some years earlier. The safeguards on it were brand-new. In an instant, they had Ramirez’s social security number, his driver’s license as well as a thumbnail sketch of his background and education. In the area designated for any incidents reports, there was nothing. His record was surprisingly spotless, given their suspicions.

“You have access to that?”

She heard the doubt in his voice. Maggi indicated the screen. “You see it, don’t you?”

Patrick was beginning to figure out how her mind worked. Sideways, like a sidewinder. “You’re not answering my question,” he persisted.

Maggi smiled to herself as she took in the information she’d pulled up. “Let’s just say that if there’s a paper trail of some sort, I can get access to almost anything we might need to clear this up.”

She had already gotten into Patrick’s banking records the night she’d received her assignment. But if Patrick was trafficking in something illegal and getting paid for it, he wasn’t putting the money into anything that showed up on her radar. That fact didn’t clear him, just made him harder to pin down. But then, if this mission had been easy, she wouldn’t have been here.