Cavanaugh on Duty (22 page)

“A week ago. I saw him a week ago. He brought my stuff over and dumped it on the doorstep. The spineless jerk thought I wasn’t home, but I saw him slinking off. Why?” she wanted to know, her eyes narrowing as she honed in on Kari. “Did he say I took something?” She instantly became defensive. “That watch was mine—it belonged to my father. I gave it to Philip as a token of my love, but I don’t love him anymore so I took it back. If he—”

Kari cut the other woman off before she could get carried away, telling her curtly, “This isn’t about a watch.”

“Then what’s with all these questions?” Ria demanded, fisting one hand on her almost nonexistent hip. “What’s going on?”

“Ms. Long, where were you between the hours of twelve and three?” Kari asked, citing the approximate time of death the medical examiner had provided.

The woman looked from Kari to Esteban and then back again. It was obvious that her indignation hadn’t allowed her to connect the dots yet. “In bed. With my new boyfriend.”

“This new boyfriend have a name?” Esteban queried.

Ria gave up flirting and rolled her eyes. “Of course he has a name. Donald Barry. Now, why are you giving me the third degree?” she wanted to know. And then it finally hit her. Her eyes darted suspiciously back and forth between the two detectives. “Did something happen to Philip? Is that why you want to know where I was? Did he tell you I
did
something to him?”

Kari wrote down the other man’s name. They were going to have to speak to him in order to verify the alibi they’d just been given.

“I’m afraid he’s not saying anything anymore.” Kari faced the A.D.A.’s ex-girlfriend, hating the words she was about to say even though she’d taken an instant dislike to the woman she was talking to. The words were never easy to utter, because, in most cases, they confirmed the worst fears of the person on the receiving end of them. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Ms. Long, but Philip Watson was murdered sometime between midnight and three a.m. this morning.”

Ria’s dark eyes widened in shock and disbelief. “No. You’re lying. This is some sick joke of Phil’s to get me to stay away. He’s not dead,” the woman shouted at them, tears of fear springing to her eyes even in the heat of her anger. “He
can’t
be dead. He can’t be!” Dissolving into despair, she crumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. “He can’t be,” she repeated hoarsely, saying the words to herself rather than to them.

* * *

“Either she is one hell of an actress or that was on the level,” Kari said nearly an hour later as she and Esteban drove back to the precinct. Getting her second wind, she was behind the wheel again and, at the moment, annoyed with herself for feeling sorry for the woman they had just left in the arms of her current boyfriend. The latter, it turned out, had been in her bedroom the entire time they had conducted their interview with Ria on her front doorstep.

“Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing,” Esteban told her. “For what it’s worth, I think she’s innocent. This was definitely our slasher striking again.”

Kari nodded, slanting him a surprised glance as she came to a stop at a red light. “Wow, we agree on two points. This is almost scary.”

Whatever he was going to say in response was put on hold because his cell phone was ringing. Shifting slightly, he took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

Still waiting for the light to change to green, Kari saw that he was staring at the small screen. It looked to her as if he was debating letting the call go to voice mail.

“You want to take that?” she asked, guessing the problem. “I promise not to listen.”

He startled her by laughing at her offer. “Like you could help listening.”

“I’ll hum,” she told him, then gave him a short demonstration as the light turned green.

Esteban held up his hand as he pressed the green bar on the lower part of the screen, allowing the call to come through.

“Please,” he requested, “don’t bother.” And then he was completely focused on his caller. “Hello, everything all right?”

He sounded concerned, Kari thought. Questions popped up in her head, all sorts of questions regarding not just the identity of the caller but who this person was to Esteban. Was there a lasting bond between the caller and him? Was this an old girlfriend, someone he’d met in his undercover days, or was this someone from his other past...the one he had before he went into deep cover?

Oh, God, was that
jealousy
that was pricking at her? she wondered in dismay. Seriously? In the middle of the biggest case she’d ever handled, after just one torrid night, she was actually being possessive? What the hell was going on here? she silently demanded. This wasn’t like her.

Get a grip, Kari,
she ordered herself as she struggled
not
to listen to one half of the conversation going on right beside her.

It wasn’t easy, despite the fact that Esteban had lowered his voice and the vehicle she was driving did not offer a smooth, quiet ride. It was as if her ears had automatically gone on high alert, even in the face of her initial good intentions.

Esteban was still talking to whoever had called him when they pulled up in the precinct’s parking lot. Bringing the vehicle to a stop in the parking space set aside for the car, Kari finally heard her partner saying goodbye.

“Everything okay?” she asked mildly, doing her best to sound disinterested but polite. Given her inherent curiosity, it took a lot of effort to pretend to distance herself this way.

Esteban didn’t answer her immediately, as if he was first weighing each word before putting them to use.

“Yeah, he just likes to check up on me every now and then. His good behavior earns him extra phone time,” he told her.

She realized that a sense of relief had washed over her at the use of the pronoun “he.” It wasn’t another woman.

“Good behavior?” Kari echoed as a second question occurred to her. Good behavior made it sound like Esteban was either talking to a young child who had to earn his privileges or someone calling from prison.

The latter possibility reminded her of something that the Chief had revealed when he’d filled her in on Esteban’s family history.

Something she wasn’t supposed to know about yet.

Her mind scrambling, she worded her question as best she could. “You know someone on a short leash?” she asked him quietly.

He surprised her with his straightforward answer. “I know someone in prison. My stepfather.”

Ordinarily, Esteban wasn’t given to sharing. Now that he had, he waited to see if the woman was going to be judgmental of the man who made up the only family he had left. But the look on her face didn’t show any sign of censure.

“Why is he in prison?” Kari asked, giving her partner an opportunity to open this door he’d just cracked a little further.

Giving him the opportunity to trust her.

He hadn’t talked about it in years. Hated talking about it, even though he understood the deed, because talking about it brought all the memories back so vividly. Reminding him that there were things he was powerless to fix.

Finally, he said, “He killed his son’s supplier. My half brother, Julio, died of a heroin overdose,” he told her bluntly. “Miguel was grief-stricken. He went to the police, tried to get the dealer arrested for killing Julio. But there was no proof, so they couldn’t do anything. That was when Miguel decided he would.

“He bought a gun, found out where the guy was dealing, walked up to him and blew his brains out.” He said the words, as devoid of emotion as his stepfather had been when he had killed the dealer. “Then he went back down to the police station and turned himself in,” he told Kari grimly.

Listening, Kari watched his face as he spoke. It was hard and unyielding, lacking any sentiment. But she saw his jaw tightening as he relived what he was telling her.

“He didn’t even
try
to get away. He told the police that he did it for Julio—for all the Julios who would have gone on to die if this dealer had gone on selling heroin.” Esteban let out a long breath before continuing. It was the only sign that talking about this was taking a toll on him.

“The jury convicted him, but they asked the judge for clemency.” It was at that point she saw a trace of bitterness mark his features. “The judge was hard-assed, though. Said Miguel’s reasons didn’t matter. He did the crime, he had to do the time. Made me want to go after him myself,” he confessed. “Instead, I volunteered for an undercover detail being put together. I wanted to try to even the odds up a little myself. For Julio and for Miguel.”

The story had moved her emotionally, making her feel for Esteban and helping her understand him a little better. Her heart truly ached for the man, who had endured so much pain and suffering, and it was clear to her now how his past had shaped him into the person he was today. But his harrowing account had done more than just fill her with empathy. It had made her think of something.

“That’s it,” she cried, her eyes shimmering with intensity. “That’s got to be the common thread.”

Esteban looked at her. He had no idea what she was referring to. “Going undercover?” he questioned.

“No, a trial. A trial’s the common thread.
Think
about it,” she stressed. “Who are our victims? A retired judge, an A.D.A. and, according to his friend, one of the victims was bent out of shape because he had to serve on a jury sometime in the past.”

They already knew all that. “So?” Esteban questioned.

“So maybe they were all involved in the
same
trial. I bet if we dig deep enough, we’ll find that victims one and two either served on the same jury, or were witnesses in the trial, or had
something
to do with it. That’s got to be it—a trial that they all had in common,” she concluded excitedly.

It was more than possible, Esteban thought.
If
they could find a common trial. “You think someone they each had a hand in sending to prison is exacting revenge now that he’s out?”

That would be the most logical guess, but she wasn’t putting all her eggs in that one basket just yet—and she wasn’t about to go to the lieutenant with her theory until they’d researched the possibility first.

“Maybe,” she allowed, doing her best to keep her voice level and contained. “But first let’s see if we can connect these people to a single trial,” she told him. And then, unable to be cool and restrained about it any longer, she allowed her excitement to burst out again. “We’re right,” she cried. “I can feel it in my bones. We’re right.”

“
You’re
right,” Esteban pointed out. He’d never been one to take or share credit unless it actually belonged to him. “This was your idea.”

Kari was in a very generous, magnanimous mood. She had a
really
good feeling about this. “Which I wouldn’t have had if you hadn’t just shared your story with me,” she told him. Pausing, she sobered a little. “Thank you for trusting me enough to let me in,” she said softly. She pressed her lips together, and then smiled at him. Her eyes were bright. “We really are a team, aren’t we?”

He smiled at her, brushing back the hair from her face, feeling the same stirrings taking hold that he’d experienced the night before. He wanted her. God help him, he wanted to take her here and now. In broad daylight. Out in the police parking lot.

“I’d like to think so,” he said huskily.

Just like that, Kari could feel longings spring up within her, demanding attention, seeking fulfillment. Her throat grew dry. “If this winds up panning out, I’m baking your stepfather a cake with a file in it.”

She heard Esteban laugh, really laugh, at her spontaneous comment. It was a very rich, seductive sound. “You’re a Cavanaugh—you’re not supposed to talk that way.”

“I’m a Hyphen,” Kari reminded him, falling back on the nickname she was growing accustomed to. “That gives me leeway,” she told him. She saw that he was looking around, first to the right, then to the left. “What are you doing?”

“Checking the parking lot for witnesses,” he told her.

“You’re afraid someone’ll overhear and turn me in?” she asked, amused. That wasn’t like him, she thought. But she liked the idea that he was being protective—even if she could take care of herself.

“No, I just don’t want anyone to see.”

She didn’t understand. What was he talking about? “See what?” she asked.

Satisfied that the parking lot was empty, he turned back to her. Despite the way he felt, Esteban didn’t want to risk compromising her reputation in any manner. She was the one who mattered in this.

The only one who mattered.

“See me do this,” he answered.

Then, before she could ask just what “this” was, Esteban surprised her by leaning in and kissing her.

With very little effort, the kiss could have blossomed and led to a great deal more, but for now it had to hold him, to satisfy him with the knowledge that there would be more later.

“You, Fernandez,” she rasped as he drew back, leaving a space of less than six inches between them, “are really just full of surprises.”

He smiled then and she could feel the effects go straight into her bones. “Good. Nothing worse than being predictable and dull.”

“No chance of that,” she assured him, doing her best not to sound as breathless as she was.

As it was, it took her a moment before she felt that her knees were strong enough to hold her up. Only then did she get out of the car.

Even so, it was only by concentrating on the breakthrough she felt they had made on the case that she was able to put one foot in front of the other and
walk
up the back steps to the precinct’s rear entrance rather than float up.

She had, she told herself, a good feeling about this.
All
of this.

Chapter 17

“Y
ou’re back,” Brenda Cavanaugh said when she looked up from her work the following morning and saw Kari and her partner walking into the tech lab. “And you brought a friend,” she noted as they headed straight for her. “Esteban, right?” she recalled with a smile. “Not sure if you recognize me, since you were introduced to a lot of Cavanaughs on Saturday, but we met at the wedding.”