Playing With Fire (19 page)

“If you are concerned about the direction this case is taking,
Erin, you could start by answering the question I asked you yesterday before
your lapdog advised you not to. It was a simple question, Erin, and it deserved
a straight answer.”

They were turning onto the trash littered street in front of
her house.

“Deserved a straight answer, Detective?”

She scoffed, “So you could twist it and turn and chop it up
in your little truth grinder until it fit your pre-conceived conclusions? Now,
why, Nate would I want to do that?”

Nate forced himself not to react.

“This smart-assed attitude of yours won’t help you in the
long run, Erin.”

She hopped out of the car and glared at him over the roof.

“What would help, Nate? I know. How about a lead detective
that hasn’t already made up his mind that I’m guilty of a double homicide. Oh
wait, let’s not forget Simon? Make that a triple homicide. An unbiased
detective? Yeah, Nate, that might help.”

He waited until she got inside and he was sure she’d locked
the door before he pulled away. He chastised himself. He’d made a mistake picking
her up in the squad. It was bad enough that damnable tantalizing smell of hers
was all over his Z. Now it was in his cruiser as well. Oh hell, he may as well
admit it. He could conjure up her smell just thinking about her.

“Didn’t your cop friends ever tell you it’s a bad idea to
drink alone, Nate?”

Nate looked up from the third beer he was nursing and shook
his head.

“Sometimes, Connor, it is the only way to drink. That is if
you can find a bar far enough off from your usual hangouts to avoid your pesky
relatives.”

Connor chuckled.

“Yeah, you weren’t easy to find, Cuz. This is the fifth bar
I tried. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

Nate snorted.

“Now why would I want to do that?”

“Maybe because I was way out of line today, and you didn’t
want to see me groveling at your feet. Or maybe because you didn’t want to hear
what else I had to say.”

“Oh Christ, Connor, you’re not done yet?”

“Sorry, Cuz. But first the groveling. I’m sorry for some of
the things I said yesterday and today. Mostly because I said them in front of
other people. Unfortunately I inherited Mama D’s temper and once I get started,
I can’t seem to stop.”

“Forget it. Most of it was warranted. The rest I’ll hit you
with repeatedly over the years.”

Connor waved to the bartender and pointed at Nate’s beer.

“One for me but hold any more for him until I’m done talking
to him.”

He grinned at the good-natured bartender, who returned his
grin.

“Somehow I’ve avoided having him kick my face out my ass
these last two days, and I wanna have a fighting chance of maintaining that
record.”

The bartender quirked a brow.

“Name’s George. And I gotta tell you, in all the years I’ve
known Nate, I’ve never seen him hit someone in anger. Fury, maybe. Rage? Hell,
yeah. But never if the guy didn’t deserve it, or worse.”

Connor laughed.

“Seems like you know my cousin well. Good to meet you,
George. Hey, I’m gonna drag this big he-man over to that booth for a little
cousin-to-cousin bonding. Can you make sure we have some privacy?”

Nate heaved himself to his feet with a heavy sigh.

“Fuck. And I didn’t think this day could get any worse.”

Connor chortled. “Pretend it’s a root canal without
Novocain. Hurts at the time but at least you’re not numb for hours afterwards.”

Nate slid into the booth and eyed his cousin. Christ, Connor
was so earnest sometimes it hurt.

“Okay, buddy. Lay it on me. Let’s hear all the other
disgraceful legal and illegal things I’ve done to Saint Erin.”

“Sorry, Nate. This isn’t about Erin, except indirectly. I
want to talk to you about Laura and your mother.”

Nate choked, spitting a mouthful of beer across the table.
After he’d stopped coughing with some helpful smacks on the back from Connor,
he sat back against the booth — his coal-black eyes swirling with anger.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Connor, who the hell do you think
you are? It’s not enough to insinuate that I’m a dirty cop in front of my
partner and your boss? You call me out for police procedure in the lobby of the
fucking police station? You tell me that my interrogation techniques are
abusive? And oh yeah, that I don’t care if the woman I lo… I’ve met was abused
by some guy richer than God? No, that’s not enough for my cousin Connor the
White Knight? Now you want to hit me up at the end of two very long days, and
talk to me about my tramp of a former wife, and my drugged-out mother?”

Nate rose to his feet, looming over the booth.

“You know, Connor, I never thought I would say this — but
then I never thought you would do this. I sure as hell can’t choose my family.
But I can choose my friends—”

“Stop, Nate. Stop before you say things that you can’t take
back.”

“You’ve already passed that point.”

Connor’s face was rigid with sincerity.

“No, Nate, I haven’t. And, buddy, I’ve already apologized
for some of the things I said over the last two days. And you’re just going to
have to find it in your heart to accept the things that had a ring of truth and
forgive the rest.”

Nate threw a $20 bill on the table.

“Good night, Connor.”

“No, Nate, sit down, man. This is not about Erin and it’s
not about Laura and it’s not about Ruth. It’s about you and what you’ve let
women do to you.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Let’s start with Laura.”

“Let’s not.”

“Nate, Laura was and is a tramp. A beautiful tramp who
screwed her way through the police academy, then took on every cop in town…
hell, in the state. Next she set her cap for the big dog. No one can blame you
for falling and falling hard, Nate. Except for maybe Erin and Kaitlin, I’ve
never seen a more beautiful woman than Laura. I never told you, Nate, but she
even came onto me. Waved her gorgeous tits and curvy ass in my face, and
couldn’t believe I said no.

“And, Nate, you weren’t in Iraq for six weeks before she
decided she didn’t like big bad dogs in uniform. Nope, she decided that she was
more interested in the size of the poor saps’ wallets, than their dicks. Hell,
she even propositioned my dad when she found out how much he was worth. Ever
wonder why Mama D hated your former wife?”

Nate sunk down in the booth, the weight of the last two days
coupled with some very bad memories made it hard to stand.

“Old history, Connor, and if you are done throwing it in my
face—”

“That’s not what I’m doing and you know it. Besides I
haven’t even begun on my Aunt Ruth.”

“Jesus, Connor, you can’t mean this.”

Nate wanted to get up, leave this bar, and never think about
this conversation again. Someday he’d even forgive Connor. But, he didn’t have
the energy to rise. Besides, no one had mentioned his mother’s name — at least
to his face — in twenty-five years. Maybe he should stick around. He might
learn something that the Army shrinks hadn’t been able to unearth.

“I never got to meet her, Nate. I only know that she was as
beautiful, or more so, than Laura. Except when they found her, she looked like
every 20-year crack addict looks. They found her kid by her body where he’d
been for a couple of days. Although you were six years old, my mom said you
were the size of a four-year-old. Like one of those gaunt refugee kids. The
kinds you looked after in Iraq.”

Nate snorted. “Well at least the guy who donated his sperm
had tall genes. Guess I should thank him for that.”

Then Nate sighed and slid toward the edge of the booth.

“Done yet, Connor? About finished with the sordid history of
the one and only Nathan Stryker?”

“Nope. Now I want to talk about Erin.”

Nate put up his hands and stood, ready to leave.

But Connor was firm. “Uh uh, down Nate, five minutes,
please. That’s all I ask.”

Connor waited until Nate sat down. Nate leaned his head
against the booth and closed his eyes, weariness settling over him.

“Yeah, Nate, after doing every woman in town, and one or two
of the lucky ones twice, along comes Erin. If there was ever a ‘made for Nate
woman,’ it’s Erin. Beautiful, gentle, and she needs you. You picked up on all
of that didn’t you, Nate? I’m telling you, man. I’ve never seen you like this
with a woman. They’re still talking about that night at the pub. Nate Stryker
chasing a babe instead of the other way around. If I had to bet, you haven’t
even fucked her. Not for lack of trying, I’m sure.

“And then — SLAM — there it comes. The shot between the
eyes. The kill shot. She turns out to be like all the rest, only worse. What
did the Monterey police chief call her beside a gold digger and likely murderer?
The Catholic School girl in a whore’s body.”

Nate felt the skin on his jaw tighten. If anybody but Connor
had said it, he would have shoved his fist down his throat.

“She’s a liar, Connor.”

“She sure is, Nate. She lied to you, to me, to the Chief,
everybody here. And she lied and schemed and paid money to bad people and
hitchhiked and slept under bridges and stripped when she was sixteen years old.
And fought off horseshit men for twelve of her twenty-three years. But she
never
once
whored her body or gave away her soul. She’s a survivor,
Nate. And she’s a giver. Everyone at the firehouse loves her. My mom and dad
are killing me, because she hasn’t come back for dinner. So maybe she’s not
right for you. Unlike Laura or Ruth or any other of those skaggy women who
chase you, Erin doesn’t use people. And she needs you, Nate, for all the things
you are best at. But if you don’t want her, she’ll survive. She’s the strongest
woman I know.”

Connor stood and prepared to go.

“One more thing, Cuz. I don’t know if you realize but you
almost said the ‘L’ word back there.”

Nate flushed.

“I’ve been hanging around you too long, Connor. It’s making
me soft. A choir boy, I ain’t.”

“I know, Nate, you’ve told me more times than I care to
hear. ‘You fuck ’em, you don’t love ’em.’ Then along comes Erin McFadden….”

“Don’t you mean Sa—”

“Don’t say it, Nate. Give her the privilege of having a name
that isn’t dirty. A name that she chose. One that’s her very own, and speaks to
the woman she’s fighting to become.”

Nate scrubbed his chin and glared at his cousin.

“Jesus, Connor. Where did all this come from? Why the hell
didn’t you warn me that your real name is ConnorfuckingFreud! Love? You want me
to fall in love?”

“Yeah, I do. I want you to get married and have kids that
can play with Kait’s and my kids. And Luke’s when he has them. I want you to
have a woman who can make you believe that you deserve so much more than the
Ruths or the Lauras. I know that Kaitlin is one of a kind — but there are other
Kaitlins out there, and right now one of them may just be sitting in a death
trap in Charlotte Prairie.”

Connor stood up.

“I’ll let you pay for my beer. Freud would charge you the
cost of your Z.”

He got almost to the bar then came back.

“One more thing about love.”

Nate leaned back and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Christ.”

Connor grinned but the moisture in his eyes betrayed his
feelings.

“I love you, man. You are my hero. You and Luke. Night,
buddy.”

After an hour staring off into space, Nate dragged out his
phone and thumbed on her number. For the tenth time, he hit “end” before it
connected. He reminded himself that she’d been specific. She never wanted to
see or talk to him again.

Startled, he realized it was his phone that was buzzing. The
caller ID noted a CA number.

“Whatcha got, Eric?

“Yeah, okay. Hit me with it.”

“For real?”

“Solid?”

“Is she willing to talk?”

“Does she know I’m a cop?”

“No. Tell her. And tell her I got more on her fucking Chief
than she has. I just need proof.”

“I’ll take an early flight. Nah, don’t bother. I’ll rent a
car. You just arrange the rendezvous and tell her every godammed thing she says
is gonna be taped. Tell her if that doesn’t work for her then screw it.”

“You too, man. And, hey, Eric? Thanks. I was beginning to
think we never were going to get a break.”

“Why the hell would I care if you wake me up in the middle
of the night to tell me you’re coming over?

“What time is it anyway, Stryker?”

“Ah, c’mon, Chief. It’s a little after midnight. You haven’t
even started on your third brandy.”

“Like it would do any good to refuse you. Be here in ten
minutes.”

“Make that one minute. I’m at your door.”

Nate followed John Roberts across the formal foyer to the
paneled office. The imposing three-story brick house was two blocks away from
Marcus’s and Mama D’s — in the older wealthier section of Chicadia Falls. Where
all the lumber barons lived, Nate thought with a grimace.

Nate had been coming to the Chief’s house since he was a
fourteen-year-old kid, and the Chief had been a homicide detective, like Nate
was now. Nate’d gotten in his fourth scrape with the law over some minor issue,
and been expelled from school for three days. Roberts came up on him at the
park where he was shooting baskets. Before Nate knew it, they were in the
middle of a hard fought game of twenty-one. To this day he never understood how
the Chief beat him but he did. Years later the Chief told him that he
purposefully sought Nate out that day. When Nate asked him why, the Chief
shrugged and said, “I saw a good kid on the edge of going bad. I wanted to pull
him back before he went over.”

That was the beginning of a seventeen-year relationship that
was as strong as the one he carved with Marcus and Mama D. In a way, stronger.
The Langs were family. They had to take him in. Chief Roberts chose him as the
son he never had, and Nate chose him back. The Chief taught him more about
basketball, and life, than anyone else could have.