Fractured (9 page)

“Weren't you listening to the doctor?” He shook his head. “There's a crack near your elbow which probably happened when you fell.”

“Or was pushed.” She wanted to fold her arms across her chest, but it hurt too much.

“Right. The only reason you don't have a cast is because they don't cast broken elbows.”

“Whatever.” She walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, chasing it down with a couple of painkillers. “How did you find out about me, anyway?”

“It came over the scanner. As soon as I heard Lower Wacker and an officer down, I knew it was you.”

“How'd you figure?”

“Because nothing much happens down there,” he gave her a look, “unless you're around, that is.”

“Very funny. Ha ha.” She headed toward the bed. “Now if you don't mind, I'm going to sleep.” She stopped and walked back towards him. “I'm sorry I'm such a bitch. It must be the concussion.” That and all these unwanted memories that kept surfacing.

“What's your excuse the rest of the time?” He gave her a lopsided grin.

“I'm dying here and you're a comedian.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Just so you know, I really am grateful for everything you've done.” Without giving him room to say anything in response, she walked towards the bed and flopped down. “Ow.”

“Do you need my help undressing?”

“In your dreams,” she said before falling asleep on top of the covers, fully dressed.

* * *

Not surprisingly, the scene from last night recurred in her dreams, except her father was there in the middle of things. First he was the punk giving her attitude, but then he came in to save her at the end, scaring off the man who'd attacked her and holding her hand until the ambulance came. A sense of contentment filled her as he gave her a hug, the scent of his cinnamon gum lingering in her mind. For once she didn't try to push the sensation away.

On the edge of wakefulness, she tried to resurrect the real memory of the last few moments before she went down. She vaguely recalled hearing somebody ask if she was okay. Then somebody felt for her pulse. While she knew it obviously wasn't her father, it could have been the paramedics who brought her to the hospital.

Most criminals didn't check for a pulse on their victims. But unless she missed her guess, her attacker or somebody else did last night. He knew exactly where to check and he relayed the information to somebody else.

But who? And why?

She snuggled deeper under the covers and tried to fall back to sleep hoping that maybe she could remember something more. After about ten minutes, she gave up. Besides, she had to go to the bathroom, and her headache had returned with a vengeance.

Forgetting about Landry sleeping in the bed next to her, she yanked off the covers and padded to the bathroom. On her way back she took two more painkillers, chasing them down with water and a couple of crackers for sustenance.

Landry was sitting up in bed when she came back. Even though she'd never admit it to him, he looked sexy with his morning beard and ruffled appearance. With considerable effort, she tamped down feelings she didn't want to surface.

He was being a good friend when she needed him. That's it. Sure there was that chemistry between them, but that kind of thing was short-lived, wasn't it? And, even if it lasted three years so far, it was bound to wane sooner or later.

“You feeling okay?” His gravelly voice turned up the sexy factor even more, which didn't make her happy.

“Just dandy. Now go on back to sleep.”

When she walked past, he brushed her leg with his fingertip which is when she recognized she had on a lot less clothes than she had last evening when she'd hit the bed. Her bra and panties were on, but nothing else.

“Did you undress me?” She tried to sound mad, but couldn't quite manage to pull it off especially when the idea that he'd touched her intimately revved up her hormones.

He nodded sheepishly. “You were tossing and turning and didn't look at all comfortable.”

“Convenient.”

He held his hand to his chest but smiled. “Me? I'd never take advantage.”

She shrugged. “When I feel better I'm going to kick your butt for that.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Pervert.” She went back to the bed. It couldn't have taken longer than ten seconds before she was fast asleep once again.

* * *

By the time she awoke for the second time, she heard the shower and glanced at the clock. It was close to two. She'd slept the day away. If she ever hoped to get to the bottom of this, she couldn't be wasting time like this.

Even if her head still pounded, she had to get on with this investigation. With or without Landry, she was sneaking into her house tonight, if for no other reason than the principle of it. Malone had no viable reason to keep her from her home for all this time except because he could. Thinking about him made her angry which was good because right now she felt like she needed a good kick to get moving.

She put on her clothes and re-wrapped the bandage on her arm. Next she needed to find her shoes. For some reason she couldn't quite explain, she wanted to be fully dressed when Landry emerged.

She found one shoe by the side of the bed but couldn't find the other. Despite the cautionary voice in her head, she bent down to peer under the bed. Landry wasn't the best housekeeper. God only knew what she'd find down there.

“There.” She spotted it lying on its side next to a sliver of pink. “That's weird.” Maneuvering with her bum arm took her a few additional seconds, but she finally grabbed her shoe and slipped it on. Somehow she couldn't help but be curious about that thing-that-would-be-pink.

She bent back down to peer under the bed. Amidst the dust motes, she spotted the pink object and secured it in her fingertips. Then gasped.

Some other woman's underwear.

A thong, yet.

Something that felt like jealousy shot through her. But that couldn't be. She didn't have a jealous bone in her body. But after yesterday, she felt raw and sore and more vulnerable than she had in a very long time. That had to be it.

Besides, she was on heavy-duty pain medication. That could be another explanation for these disturbing feelings sliding up and down her spine.

As if that weren't bad enough, suddenly tears dotted her lashes. Isabella Sanchez did not cry, especially over some underwear that wasn't hers.

While she was trying to make sense of these unwanted feelings, the shower shut off. She needed to get her act together. Straightening her back, she wiped the telltale residue from her cheeks and sucked in a deep breath.

She forced the sensation of betrayal to the back of her mind. She and Landry weren't married, engaged, or even a couple. That rationale lasted only seconds. When he came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and a smile on his face, she was seething.

“Don't tell me you've taken up cross-dressing.” As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. Instead of sounding flirty and funny as she'd intended, she sounded angry and bitter.

His gaze traveled from her face to her fingertips before his expression changed. “Hey, you and I weren't together for six months. What did you expect me to do adopt a celibacy vow?”

Foreign emotions bubbled inside her. She didn't do jealousy. But this stabbing sensation in her chest made her suspect that's what it was. What was the matter with her?

Frustrated, she threw the offending panties into the corner. Once again she tried unsuccessfully to fold her arms in front of her chest only to remember her injury.

“I expected you
not
to take up with somebody who wears a pink thong bikini from Victoria's Secret. How cliché is that?” Even though it sounded silly and childish, she felt better.

“You're jealous.” He snorted. “I never thought I'd see the day.”

“I am
so
not jealous.” She couldn't be. If she were, that would mean there was an emotional connection between her and Landry; that was clearly a figment of his imagination, not hers.

“You sure are. And for the record, you broke up with me. What was I supposed to do, sit around and mope, hoping you'd come to your senses?”

She shook her head. “That isn't how I remember it. The break-up was mutual. I did
not
do the breaking.”

“Oh, yes you did.” He folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels in the eternal male gesture of superiority.

As much as she wanted to push at his chest, she feared what might happen if she touched him. Nothing good could happen from getting physical with Landry Taylor.

“Only after you backed me into a corner.” Why could she stand toe-to-toe with the degenerates of Chicago, but Landry could get her talking in circles and whining like a five-year-old within seconds?

“Semantics. Admit it. You ran away like a scared little girl. Then you avoided me like the plague.”

“I did
not
avoid you.” Well, at least not much. Only when she thought she might be too weak and give in. “I was busy.” She planted her good hand on her hip. He was standing in front of her nearly naked. She could not let him intimidate her. “And don't make this about me.”

“But it is. I was perfectly happy with our relationship as it was, then you had to go and freak out.” He remained calm, cool and collected.

Whereas she was losing it big time if the whininess to her tone was any indication. “You're the one who had to mention the ‘L' word.”

“I know. Crazy, aren't I?” He shrugged, slipped off his towel and began to dress. “Far be it from me to express my feelings when yours are bottled up so tight they might explode any minute.”

“How dare you try to psychoanalyze me?” Her heart pounded like a bass drum inside her chest. It hurt even to breathe.

“Wait a minute, aren't you the one who went out with that loser, Chad from homicide first?”

“For the record, Chad and I only went out for drinks, nothing more. I didn't sleep with him. Not that it's any of your business.” Even though sleeping with Chad was her original intent. At the time she'd hoped to erase all traces of Landry from her skin. But that hadn't worked like she'd planned. While at the office Chad was funny and intelligent, on a date he morphed into a total braggart. He was obnoxious and boring to boot. “You've got nerve bringing Chad up considering the evidence.” She pointed to the offending pink object, hoping to further her point. “There's a difference. I have scruples. I didn't yank some guy off the street to get laid.”

“Why are you assuming it was somebody I met at a bar, or picked up off the street? Maybe the thong belongs to somebody you know.” He smirked.

This was exactly what she'd feared all along. She wanted it to be some random stranger he'd plucked off the street because of the woman's long legs or easy smile—neither being characteristics Isabella possessed. Now she had to rationalize her overwhelming compulsion to find out the name of the mystery woman. Even though deep inside she knew it was more than idle curiosity.

“Don't even tell me it was Eve? That slut has slept with half the department.” What had gotten into her? She never had a nonsensical tirade like this with any man.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

He shook his head. “It wasn't Eve.”

“Darla? Tanya? Gretchen?” She was on a weird kind of mission, one that made her sad and insanely—okay, she'd admit it to herself but never to him—jealous at the same time.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Nope.”

She sucked in a breath. “You're not going to tell me, are you?” She realized that no matter what, he'd never give up a name. Which was probably just as well. She'd never be able to look at whoever the mystery woman was without thinking about the pink thong panties and seething.

Maddeningly, he chuckled. “I can't believe you're this jealous.”

“For the record, I'm not jealous. I'm…hmm…curious.”

“Yeah, right.” He nodded and headed for the kitchen. For him it seemed that the discussion was over.

For her, it burned like a red-hot poker to her chest, sending searing pain throughout her body.

“What do you want for lunch? We have leftover pizza, but I'll warn you it might be past its prime by now. There's also some kind of frozen lasagna thing, or frozen sirloin beef tips that don't taste much like beef at all, or—” he turned to look in her direction.

After the blast of anger, she felt like a balloon somebody had popped with a pin, slowly deflating until there was nothing left but a wilted blob. “I'm not really hungry right now.”

“You should eat.”

“Don't mother me.”

“If you want to feel better, you need to fuel your body, simple nutrition.” He grabbed his keys from the counter. “How about I get you the Cantonese shrimp that you like so much from the place around the corner?”

Despite stubbornness, her stomach grumbled. She knew he heard the noise when he smiled. “I guess I could manage a half order.”

“No problem. I'll be back in a few.”

Even though she didn't like it, for the time being, she'd be at Landry's mercy. But after that, she'd make her break and be more independent.

And alone.

Just how she liked it.

Right?

Landry tried not to smile as he walked inside the apartment. Never in a million years would he have believed Isabella would go off like that about another woman. Knowing her like he did, he figured she'd managed to retreat into her unemotional shell during his short absence. That's where she was most comfortable.

“Food's here.”

She avoided looking at him as she walked into the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of water and sat down at the table. “I'm hungrier than I thought.” She glanced at the writing on the top of the cartons before sliding one in front of her and opening it up. Reaching inside with a set of chopsticks, she secured a piece of shrimp and popped it into her mouth. “Hmmm. This is better than I remembered. It's been a long time.”

He reserved comment, instead digging into his own food. “Did I tell you I found Leo?” Landry asked as he picked through his moo shu pork.

She finally looked at him. “Ah, no. Kind of a big thing to forget to mention.”

“You were too busy going off on your jealous rampage. I forgot.” He smirked before taking a sip of water. “I got the call while you were sleeping. He got arrested last night for vagrancy.”

“Nobody gets arrested for vagrancy unless they're taking a wiz on the mayor's lawn or something.”

“I guess he must have jacked with the wrong cop because they hauled him in last night.” It seemed like an odd coincidence to Landry as well, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was feed into her paranoia.

“Is he still in custody?”

Landry shook his head. “He was released this morning.”

“If I go back to Wells and North he should be there.” She spouted out the information as if thinking out loud rather than to him.

“Doubt it. From what I hear they told him to lay low for a couple of days or he'd get pulled back in.”

* * *

Jonas was driving, so Landry kept watch on their surroundings. They worked one of the roughest areas in the city. Letting your guard down here could literally mean life and death.

He never knew from one moment to the next what he'd be doing. He could be writing a speeding ticket or being first on the scene of a drive-by shooting. For his rookie year and the first couple of years thereafter, he'd been able to push back the discontent with the occasional adrenaline rush. But even family tradition and loyalty had its limits.

While he'd never regretted joining CPD, he knew all along it wasn't enough which is why he never followed through with the promotion to detective. He knew his time there was limited. Change was hard, especially when the road was paved with uncertainty. But still in many ways he felt like he was living a lie.

Telling his family of his decision would be hard. It was ironic how both he and Isabella had difficulties with their families, but for opposing reasons. She had a disconnect with hers, while he had too much of a connection.

Isabella. While he urged her to trust him and encouraged her to let him in emotionally, he'd held back as well.

“Will you look at that?” Jonas interrupted his thoughts and pointed out the window.

Instinctively, Landry glanced in that direction. “Why do you suppose those two are getting so friendly?” The Kings and Aces were rival street gangs, but they stood together talking without the usual macho posturing, and not a weapon in sight.

“Maybe they need a little police protection to make sure they stay friendly.” Jonas pulled to the curb, doing a short whoop of the siren as he did so.

The group glanced in their direction but kept talking. Landry exited the passenger side and walked toward them. “Good to see you guys can play nice when you need to.” He placed his hands on his hips and examined their faces. A nervous kind of energy seemed to emanate from all of them. Something was up. Something big. “What's going on?”

“Nothing much. Like you said, we're playing nice.”

“Yeah, right.” Jonas gave them the fierce stare he'd perfected over his years on the force.

When they did the good cop, bad cop routine, Jonas always played the bad cop despite the fact he was about four inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter. He was older, and more of the father figure most of these kids never had. But with hardcore types, who'd been indoctrinated into the lifestyle, anything they tried had little effect. Their life, their loyalty belonged to the gang.

“Hey Paco, you seen Ramirez lately?” Landry thought he might float the idea out there. Ramirez had been MIA since he'd gotten out of jail a couple of weeks ago. Not knowing what the guy was up to was starting to make him nervous.

Paco shook his head a little too vehemently. “Nope. I think that bitch cop scared him and he left town.” His comment caused a chorus of guffaws from the other boys at the corner.

Despite the fact Landry wanted to grab the kid and knock some sense into him, he bit back the anger. “That's right. I think you mentioned Ramirez was a bit of a sissy boy last time I brought you in.”

Paco glanced from one guy to the other. “Hey, I never said that.”

“Hmm, maybe it was you, Carlos. Or was it Jerome?” He let them all question each other for a few moments before he shrugged. “What does it matter, he's not around, right? I guess that means somebody new is taking over.” He glanced at Jonas. “Who do you figure that will be?”

Jonas shrugged. “They're all a bunch of knuckleheads if you ask me.” He started to laugh and turned back toward the squad car.

“You guys let us know when you come up with somebody.” Landry walked back and got into the passenger side door. As soon as he settled in, he glanced at Jonas. “What's that all about?”

“I don't know, but somehow I don't think we're going to like it.”

Seconds later, his cell phone rang. “Taylor.”

“Your girlfriend is putting a lot of pressure on the powers that be about moving back into her place,” Malone said.

“I'm not surprised.” Landry knew there'd be repercussions from the thong incident. After her jealous display, no doubt she'd want to put some distance between them once again.

“I'm going to give the okay to let her back in. Do you think you can coerce her into letting you stay at her place?” He didn't let Landry answer before he continued. “I wish she'd stay by you. It's much more secure. Anybody I put on her, she's probably going to make quickly. And with the alley behind her, that makes her twice as vulnerable.”

“I'll do what I can on my end, but chances are your guys are going to have to take over at least for a couple of days.” Landry suppressed the shudder. “And this time don't screw it up.”

He hung up the phone and stared absently out the window. There wasn't a chance Isabella would ask him to stay with her. Even when they were hot and heavy, she had a two-day sleepover limit. No doubt she'd be hyper-vigilant about maintaining her space now.

“Who was that on the phone?” Jonas's question brought back his focus.

“My cousins are doing some work for my parents and last time they messed it up.”

Why wasn't he honest with Jonas? He'd known him forever and trusted him. But still he didn't want to divulge what he'd been doing behind Isabella's back. Had this job screwed him up so much he couldn't even trust his own partner, or did he just not want to admit what he'd been up to?

* * *

“Ms. Sanchez, I'm calling for Special Agent Malone. Your apartment has been processed by the crime scene unit and we've sent a crew in to clean things up. You are free to move back in if you'd like.”

Isabella wasn't surprised Malone would have somebody else do the grunt work. “Tell Special Agent Malone it's about time.” She didn't try to hide her annoyance as she closed the phone.

Didn't matter, she was going to be able to move back into her place. A part of her was happy to be free to do what she wanted, but another part wasn't altogether comfortable with the idea, even though she'd been pushing hard for it to happen. Staying with Landry hadn't been that bad. In fact, she'd kind of enjoyed it, even if she'd never admit that to him. Having somebody to talk to had been a good diversion.

Then again, he was bossy and over-the-top controlling, especially now that she was kind of a gimp. But he was cute and fun to be around.

She shouldn't think like that. Victory was hers. She could do what she wanted when she wanted without having to answer a million questions first.

She pulled to the curb in front of her apartment and got out. Part of her wanted to call Landry and let him know. The other part knew he'd try to talk her out of staying there. Judging by the shakiness in her fingertips, she might cave too easily.

She removed the crime scene tape from the front door, but didn't feel the sense of victory she'd anticipated. Tentatively, she inserted the key and turned the knob. The door squeaked open and she slipped inside, walking up the steps to the second floor. Remembering the last time she'd come up this way was the hard part.

As promised, Landry's cousins or uncles or some relative had replaced the door leading to her apartment. It had been freshly painted and varnished. She drew in a deep breath and tried to steady the well of emotion that crawled up her skin. Instead, she focused on unlocking the door and going inside.

The smell hit her first. Gone was any trace of her lemon-scented furniture polish, or even the oranges that she kept in a basket on the table. Instead, it smelled as if the Fed clean-up crew had used a strong antiseptic to obliterate the blood stains and bodily evidence.

Revulsion shot through her as she tried to make peace with the violation. She made tentative steps down the hall from the kitchen into the spare bedroom in back. Nothing appeared disturbed, but she glanced around in case Malone had gotten nosy.

Next she went into the living room, choosing to skip over her bedroom for the time being. The antiseptic smell permeated the living room as well. Normally the fragrance didn't bother her, but today the odor seemed especially pungent.

She glanced around the sparsely furnished room, noting the slight changes the cleaners had made. It was nothing vital: her red leather chair had been moved over to the left a few inches, the couch had been put back too close to the wall. She moved them back to their rightful positions before continuing on.

Exhaustion seemed to overpower her as she retraced her steps to the bedroom. As much as she fought the idea of re-visiting the scene that had burned itself into her brain forever, she needed to do this.

Funny how she could stomach a messy crime scene without losing her lunch but the stench of the cleaning solution—some kind of concoction of bleach and other disinfectants—made her fight hard to keep the food in her stomach. For the first time she reconsidered her foolhardy decision to do this alone, even though she still rebelled at the idea she needed anyone's help.

Reaching inside her pocket, she touched at the handkerchief. Her grandfather had done nothing but offer her support, guidance and love. That's where her allegiance had always been.

But still questions about her father's life and death lingered. She felt like she was trying to fight her way out of a paper bag, not knowing how to accomplish the task, or even if she wanted to. There had to be a reason why he re-entered her life, but did she want to know what it was? Why did she keep having these recurring dreams about him? She didn't believe in ghosts but she had a niggling sensation he was trying to tell her something, or at least help her to remember.

As much as she detested the idea of getting close to the actual place where her father's body had landed, she went to the window and cracked it open. Something had to break through this traitorous feeling setting root in her gut.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath enjoying the cool fall air as it filtered inside. The plain white sheer curtains fluttered in the breeze as the room's atmosphere went from stifling to tolerable.

With a new focus in mind, she turned to examine the room's contents. The sheets on the bed had been stripped but otherwise looked undisturbed. The rug that had been over the hardwood floors had been removed. Tentatively, she glanced toward the desk. Despite logic to the contrary, the indelible image of her father's body lying crumpled on the floor had burned itself into her mind. She closed her eyes and willed away the image.

She brushed aside the overwhelming feelings and went back into the hall. For the first time in a few minutes she was able to breathe and she sucked in a deep cleansing breath.

Exhausted, she went into the spare room and plunked down on the bed. Thoughts tumbled through her mind while tears formed in her eyes. Her life seemed to be falling apart one bit at a time and she felt powerless to stop it. She lay back in the bed and closed her eyes, hoping the key to getting her life back on track would come to her if she concentrated long enough.

Instead, the opposite happened. Taking those painkillers was probably a mistake. But at the time, her arm was throbbing. Now she felt exhausted from the ordeal, which didn't amount to much beyond what she normally did on a day-to-day basis. But she guessed being the victim gave her a whole different perspective.

After all that time of not knowing her father, he'd re-entered her life along with a whole host of problems she hadn't counted on. But there had to be a reason for him to do that. Why did he take the risk, assuming he'd left the protection of the Feds to do so?

Sure his cellmate told her he'd kept tabs on her over the years, but to actually come here upped curiosity to a whole other level. She tried to think of it like she would any other case.

Solving crimes was her forte. Other detectives would run their cases by her for advice all the time. But somehow it was like she had a block preventing her from seeing the truth of what happened in her own situation.

As much as she wanted to get up, the lure to stay right there was strong. A swell of emotion curled inside bringing tears to her eyes once again. She didn't know how or why her life had gone so off-course, but she vowed at that moment to get herself and everything else on track.