Crossfire (7 page)

The Somersett police headquarters was housed in the courthouse, a Greek Revival building that would have looked right at home on MGM’s backlot. There were times when Cait thought that the town where her family had finally settled was a Southern cliché. But that was partly what she loved about Somersett.

Although she was a realist through and through, sometimes, she considered as fireworks exploded over the harbor in a display of brilliant red, white, and blue, a little fantasy wasn’t such a bad thing.

It was bedlam inside the stately building. Desks were crammed close enough to give a fire marshal apoplexy, phones were ringing off the hook, people were shouting back and forth across the room.

Ancient paddle-bladed fans creaked slowly overhead, struggling to churn moist air that smelled of mold, sweat, scorched coffee, chicken noodle Cup-a-Soup, and microwave popcorn.

Cait grinned at Manning, who had, as promised, waited for her. ‘‘God, I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed this.’’

‘‘So, I guess it’s not so colorful down at the FBI?’’ he asked, as they left the chaos and strode down the hallway to the relatively more quiet homicide bullpen.

‘‘Hardly. We don’t tend to get many transvestite hooker terrorists wearing fishnet stockings and five-inchLucite heels with goldfish swimming around in them.’’

Although she would never claim to be an expert on style, even Cait could tell that the six-foot-tall prostitute with the prominent Adam’s apple who was waiting to be booked could use a visit from the Fab Five; that silver-and-red lamé dress was totally wrong with the auburn wig.

‘‘Your loss,’’ Manning said.

Cait had begun thinking the same thing.

‘‘Where’s Briggs?’’ Cait asked as she looked in at the all-too-familiar man sitting alone in the interrogation room.

‘‘He had a hot date.’’

‘‘Guess he didn’t notice that ‘date’ is out there in holding.’’

They both shared a laugh at that.

‘‘So, where’s McKade?’’

‘‘I assume he’s at home.’’ Though Cait hadn’t asked Quinn’s plans when he’d dropped her at the station, she’d refused to let him wait for her, figuring she could hitch a ride home in a cruiser.

She looked in at Captain Ryan Hawthorne.

‘‘Well, I guess we’d better get to work,’’ she said, her matter-of-fact tone meant to conceal her reluctance.

‘‘Cait?’’ Ryan Hawthorne leaped up from the wooden chair as they entered the small room.

Despite his agitated demeanor, he still possessed the athletic golden-boy looks that had begun gracing the sports pages while he was still playing Pop Warner ball. Not only had he been the star quarterback of the high school football team, he’d also been president of the computer club and was voted class president two years in a row.

He’d also been prom king. Cait remembered that all too well, because, as embarrassing as she still found it, she’d been queen. Not that such rah-rah girlie stuff had been typical for her; she’d only run to please her mother, who’d been fighting non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma at the time and had cared dearly about such things.

Not only had she been stunned to win—which she suspected had a great deal to do with her date being king—it was nothing she would ever want showing up on an FBI résumé.

‘‘Thank God!’’ this blast from her past said. ‘‘Cait, you’ve no idea how glad I am to see you!’’

Which was definitely a change. Cops didn’t tend to be civilians’ favorite people. During her three years in the Bureau, Cait had discovered that federal agents ranked even lower than local police in most people’s personal hierarchy.

‘‘Cait?’’ Manning shot her a look.

Cait shrugged. ‘‘We went to school together.’’ ‘‘Well, isn’t that convenient?’’ He didn’t bother keeping the sarcasm from his voice. ‘‘Makes this sorta like homecoming.’’

‘‘It was a long time ago.’’

‘‘I don’t understand,’’ Ryan Hawthorne said. ‘‘What’s going on? Has something happened to Melanie? Is my wife all right?’’

‘‘She’s fine,’’ Cait assured him. ‘‘As for what’s going on, that’s what we’re trying to find out, Ryan.’’

‘‘Would you mind telling me where you were around five thirty, six p.m. today?’’ Manning asked.

‘‘On the way back from Savannah. I was on a recruiting trip. There’s this kid— But you probably don’t need to know about that.’’

‘‘You never know what might be relevant in an investigation,’’ Manning said. ‘‘So, this kid’s family, they can vouch for you?’’

‘‘Of course.’’

Since he hadn’t been told about the general yet, he looked understandably confused. Cait hoped he hadn’t become an expert liar in their years apart. As bad as having to interrogate an old boyfriend might be, puttinghim away for homicide would be a whole lot worse.

‘‘We finished up around five. Right after he signed a letter of intent.’’

‘‘Feather in your cap,’’ Manning said.

‘‘I feel good about it,’’ he allowed. ‘‘The Citadel and VMI were both really pushing for him to sign with them. The general—that’d be my immediate superior, General John Jacob—assigned me to make sure they didn’t get him.’’ His stress seemed to ease slightly. ‘‘I think he’ll be real pleased.’’

Cait and Manning exchanged a look, neither one missing his use of the present tense.

‘‘Do you and the general have a relationship outside the academy?’’ Manning moved on.

‘‘A relationship?’’ Confused blue eyes went to Cait, whose expression gave nothing away. ‘‘I don’t understand. Are you asking if I’m gay?’’

‘‘No.’’ Manning paused. Then asked, ‘‘Are you?’’

‘‘Of course not!’’ He dragged a hand over his close-cropped blond hair. ‘‘I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with being gay,’’ he said, addressing his words to Cait. ‘‘It’s just that ASMA sends a lot of students to the military, so the administration tries to screen potential problems out in the recruitment process.’’

‘‘Don’t ask, don’t tell,’’ Manning said.

‘‘That’s pretty much it. But, like I said, I’m not gay. And while I know you can’t be absolutely positive about anyone’s sexual orientation, I’d bet the general isn’t either.’’

Cait and Manning exchanged another look. She knew they were thinking the same thing. That if that red robe Melanie Hawthorne had been wearing was any indication, the general’s orientation compass had definitely pointed in a hetero direction.

‘‘Actually, I was asking if you were personal friends,’’ Manning said. ‘‘You know, maybe you and your wife had the general and Mrs. Jacob over to dinner. Or you and he’d go out and get a beer sometimes after work, shoot some pool. That sort of thing?’’

‘‘No.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Mel and I have attended the annual department cocktail party that he and his wife host every year at the beginning of the school year. And we’ve run into each other at academy social functions. That sort of thing. But the general isn’t one to make personal friends with junior officers.’’

‘‘Yeah. I remember that separation from my days in the military,’’ Manning said. ‘‘I was a sergeant. Armor.’’

‘‘I always thought it’d be way cool to drive a tank.’’

‘‘It was.’’

Despite the seriousness of the subject, Manning grinned.

Male bonding at work yet again. Cait understood it, on an intellectual level, but she also knew that, as good as she was at working in male environs, due to the lack of a penis she would never be quite as much a part of that macho world as these two former military guys.

Then again, she doubted that either Manning or Ryan could understand the pure hedonistic pleasure of indulging in a box of chocolate truffles while lounging in a scented bubble bath.

‘‘So,’’ Manning continued, getting back to work, ‘‘it wasn’t usual behavior for the general to visit your house?’’

‘‘No. I can’t remember him ever visiting.’’ Intelligent eyes narrowed. Ryan Hawthorne might not be a cop, but he had been salutatorian of their high school graduating class. ‘‘Why?’’

‘‘Because General Jacob was killed this afternoon,’’ Manning said.

‘‘What?’’ His disbelieving gaze shot to Cait. ‘‘That can’t be true.’’

‘‘I’m afraid it is,’’ Cait said. She glanced over at Manning, who nodded, giving her the go-ahead to revealthe details. ‘‘He was fatally shot once in the forehead by someone who appears to know what he was doing.’’

‘‘Oh, my God.’’

His shock appeared genuine. Cait desperately hoped it was.

‘‘There’s more.’’ She’d been standing against the door while Manning had sat opposite Hawthorne, conducting the interview. Now she crossed the small room and took the third chair. ‘‘He was shot in your driveway.’’

Beneath his athlete’s tan Hawthorne went nearly as pale as his wife had. But then his eyes hardened and his jaw firmed as he morphed from a confused, stressed-out murder interrogation subject to the military man he’d once been.

‘‘Cait?’’ His voice was steady. He was now a man in control. If not of the situation, of himself. ‘‘Will I be needing an attorney?’’

‘‘Well,’’ Manning said as he and Cait watched Ryan Hawthorne leave the bullpen. ‘‘What do you think?’’

‘‘I think his wife’s going to have to do some fast talking to explain that robe. But I also think he was telling the truth.’’

‘‘Are you speaking as a former homicide detective turned FBI special agent? Or as the guy’s high school squeeze?’’

‘‘I said we knew each other. I didn’t say he was my boyfriend.’’

‘‘You didn’t have to. The way the guy was eating you up with his eyes when you came into the box, if you’d been a Big Mac and fries, you’d have been a goner.’’

‘‘You know, Derek, I’ve always admired your way with words.’’

‘‘What can I say?’’ He shrugged. ‘‘It’s a gift.’’

‘‘Look, I honestly don’t think he had anything to do with the shootings.’’

‘‘Neither do I. He may be on staff at the academy, but until that moment when he nearly lawyered up, I can’t remember grilling a guy less likely to even own a gun, let alone know what to do with it.’’

‘‘He worked the computers on the ship in the navy,’’ she said. ‘‘I believed him when he said just about the only time he’d ever shot a gun was during basic training.’’

‘‘Like I said, he doesn’t fit.’’

‘‘No.’’ Cait rubbed her temple, where the headache that had been threatening earlier had hit with a vengeance. ‘‘Look, this probably doesn’t have anything to do with anything—’’

‘‘But?’’

‘‘But when we ran into each other a couple weeks ago, he asked me out for a drink.’’

He rubbed his jaw. Narrowed his eyes as he considered that. ‘‘Could’ve just been one old friend catching up with another.’’

‘‘Exactly.’’ She was relieved he’d seen it her way.

‘‘Or, he could’ve known his wife was getting it on with General Halftrack and since he doesn’t have the cojones to blow the guy away, or even confront the guy, he decided to get himself a revenge fuck.’’

‘‘Definitely a silver tongue,’’ she muttered, echoing her earlier comment about his way with words.

‘‘Or maybe she was the one getting back at him,’’ Manning suggested. ‘‘Maybe the guy’s a player. He was, after all, a sailor. And you know what they say about a girl in every port.’’

‘‘He wasn’t anything like that back in school.’’

‘‘Yeah. Well, things—and people—change.’’

‘‘True. But adultery doesn’t necessarily lead to murder.’’

‘‘Sometimes it does. Sometimes not.’’ He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at her.

‘‘What?’’ she demanded as he dragged the silent study out.

‘‘I don’t make him for the shootings,’’ he said finally.

‘‘Neither do I,’’ she said again.

‘‘But no way am I giving him a get-out-of-jail-free card just because he’s the guy who popped your cherry.’’

She kept her expression mild while inside she was screaming. ‘‘I don’t remember mentioning anything about that.’’

‘‘You didn’t have to. Like I said—’’

‘‘Yeah. I know. French fries and all that.’’ The maniac inside her head had moved on to pounding the back of her eyes with a sledgehammer. ‘‘And, although it’s none of your business, he never got past second base.’’

‘‘That’s still personal,’’ he countered. ‘‘So, this gonna be a problem for you? If he does end up high on the suspect list?’’

‘‘Not at all,’’ Cait said quickly. Too quickly. ‘‘Okay,’’ she allowed on an exhaled breath when he arched a brow. ‘‘Granted, it wouldn’t be easy. I may have gone over to the dark side’’—it was what he’d accused her of when she’d left SPD for the Bureau— ‘‘but I’m still a cop. I would never let any relationship I might have had with Hawthorne get in the way of doing my job.’’

He grinned. Ruffled her hair, patting her on the head like he might his favorite golden retriever. ‘‘I know that. Same way you never let the fact that you and I had that thing get in the way of us working together.’’

The thing in question had been a one-night stand during a time when she’d become unraveled after her divorce. A few weeks later, mired even more deeply in the pity party that had been her life back then, she’d gotten drunk and slept with Quinn McKade.

Cait had always been a control freak, and those had been the only two occasions in her life when she had gone slumming in ‘‘if-it-feels-good-do-it-ville.’’ Both times, in the clear light of the following day, she’d felt anything but good. The difference was that she’d been able to brush off her night with Manning. While alcohol-blurred memories of Quinn had stuck like Krazy Glue.

Hell.

What were the chances of landing a case that forced her back into close proximity with not just a high school boyfriend but also the two coconspirators in her period of emotional insanity?

Suddenly patrolling the waterfront seemed vastly appealing.