Tough Customer (42 page)

"I promise to
think
about it. But I don't want to talk about it anymore."

So they didn't talk.

Not until after, when she was curled up against him like a kitten, making mewling sounds in admiration of the hair on his chest, which was damp with their combined sweat.

Only when she was drowsy and mellow from sex would she be led into further conversation about Franklin. Then she spoke freely. Because if a woman will trust you enough to share
that,
she'll trust you with her deepest, darkest secrets. That had been Dodge's experience, anyway. That tenet was what his reputation in the department was founded on.

Crystal spilled all she knew. It was terrific insider information gleaned from overheard conversations between Franklin and his cousin in Mexico that included buzzwords like "getaway car" and "semiautomatic" and "popping anybody who gets in the way" and "the twenty-fifth," a date that was only two days away.

Eventually she fell asleep.

Dodge stretched the motel room phone cord as far as it would go, taking it into the bathroom and closing the door. He called his captain at home, woke him up, and reported what Crystal had told him.

To his surprise and irritation, the captain was skeptical. "How reliable is she? Maybe she's onto you, feeding you bullshit to throw you off. Saying stuff just to get you to sleep with her."

Dodge opened the door a crack and peeked through. Crystal was sleeping the peaceful slumber of the unburdened. "I don't think so, sir. She's scared of Albright. I'm certain of that. She also said she was afraid she would be considered an accomplice because she's been living with him while he plotted the crime. Besides, she didn't tell me anything of substance until ... later."

When his superior said nothing, Dodge plowed on. "She's not tooling me around. She's using lingo she wouldn't know unless she'd heard it from somebody like Albright. I know I'm right."

After a thoughtful pause, the captain sighed. "Okay. I have to trust your instincts, Hanley. As well as your experience," he added drolly. "You've had your last day at the tire plant. Report to task force headquarters first thing in the morning. The twenty-fifth is only two days away, which doesn't give us much time to plan the sting."

Dodge thanked him for the confidence he'd placed in him, then, as quietly as possible, he washed up and put on his clothes. He left a note on the bureau for Crystal, telling her not to report to work again until she'd heard directly from him. He told her that he would take care of everything. All she had to do was trust him and stay where she was until he got back to her.

He drove through the empty, predawn streets, wondering how he was going to explain to Caroline why he'd stayed out all night without calling. Even when the task force briefings had kept him late--and never till five o'clock in the morning--he had called to let her know so she wouldn't worry.

He'd just have to say, truthfully in fact, that something urgent had come up, they'd got an unexpected break in the case, and he hadn't had an opportunity to call until it was too late for him to do so without disturbing her sleep.

He had it all sorted out in his mind, which went into a tailspin when he reached their house and saw that her car wasn't in the garage.

"Oh, Jesus."

He didn't even take the time to turn off his car's engine. He shoved it into Park and left it idling as he bolted for the back door, where he fumbled his key, then, when he managed to get the door unlocked, practically fell across the threshold.

He ran through the house, crashing into walls, stumbling on the rug in the hallway, barreling through the door of their bedroom, then drawing up short when he saw the blood-tinged stain on the bedsheet. It was still damp.

He was breathing so hard, his lungs actually hurt. His heart was pounding. He went to the closet and flung open the door. Her suitcase, the one they'd packed together a few weeks ago so it would be ready when needed, was gone.

He retraced his path through the house, moving even more recklessly than before. He plopped the cherry on the roof of his car, uncaring of his undercover status. With the red light flashing, he sped to the hospital.

He left his car in a loading zone and raced inside. He pounded the call button for the elevator with his fist until it finally arrived. When he reached the nurses' station on the maternity floor, there was no one there.

"Where the hell is everybody?" His shout echoed off the sterile surfaces of the deserted corridor as he ran down it.

Each door was decorated with either a blue or a pink wreath and a complimentary stuffed bear. Finally, a nurse came out of one of the rooms. He almost collided with her. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Caroline King?"

"You are?"

"The ... the father."

She smiled. "Congratulations. You have an awfully sweet baby."

He felt like he'd been turned upside down and slam-dunked into the tile floor. "It's here?"

"
She's
here," the nurse said, laughing. "Would you like to see her?"

Dumbly, he nodded and followed her along the hallway to a window blocked with drawn blinds. "Wait here and I'll bring her over." She was about to enter the nursery when he said, "Wait. Where's Caroline?"

"Room four eighteen."

"Is she okay?"

"She had a short labor and easy delivery. I'm sorry you didn't make it in time."

He'd been tupping Crystal when Caroline's water broke, when she went into labor, when she had to carry her carefully packed suitcase to the car and drive herself to the hospital, when she'd given birth to their daughter.

His breath hitched until he was actually gasping. He couldn't imagine self-loathing more wretched than what he felt for himself. He stood staring at the slats in the blinds until they were opened, and there stood the nurse on the other side of the window, holding up the tiniest human being he'd ever seen.

Her face was red, her nose was flat, her eyes puffy. She was wrapped up like a papoose. A pink knit cap was on her head. The nurse removed it so he could see the red peach fuzz covering her scalp. Her pulse was beating in the soft spot on the top of her head.

Tears came to his eyes, and, if he'd found it difficult to breathe before, it was impossible to do so now.

He gave the nurse a thumbs-up and mouthed
Thank you
through the glass, then he turned away and went in search of room 418. When he reached it, he smoothed back his hair and dragged both hands down his face. He took a deep breath.

The door was heavy. He opened it only partially before slipping into the room. The light above the bed was on, a mere glow, but enough to see by. Caroline was lying on her back, her face turned away from the door. Her tummy was flat, and that looked strange now. When she heard the soft swish of the door, she turned her head toward it.

She looked at him with full knowledge of his transgression.

He made the long walk to her bedside. He, always the smooth talker, didn't know what to say. Words failed him completely.

She was the first to speak. "When you didn't come home, and I didn't hear from you, I called the police department. I told the man I spoke to that it was an emergency, that I needed to reach you right away. Since you're on a special task force, working undercover, he told me he would try to get word to you to call me.

"But you didn't. So I called a second time, more frantic than when I'd called before. The man said he'd been unable to reach you but told me that, if it was any comfort, you hadn't been reported killed or wounded in the line of duty."

Both her voice and her eyes were expressionless. "You slept with her, didn't you? To catch your crook, you had sex with his girlfriend."

He would have preferred screamed invectives and tears. He wished she would reach up and slap him. That kind of fury he was prepared to handle. This controlled rage terrified him.

He opened his mouth to speak but still couldn't think of anything to say. He didn't even consider denying it. He wouldn't heap lying onto his betrayal, adding insult to her wound, and, in any case, it would be futile.

"I want you out of the house before I bring the baby home."

Panic shot through him. "Caroline--"

"I mean it. I want you gone. Out of our lives. Hers, mine. You're to have nothing to do with either of us. Ever again, Dodge."

"You can't--"

"Yes I can. I
am.
"

"I--"

"You ruined it."

"I did something stupid."

"Label it any way you like. You abused me worse than Roger Campton ever did."

Those words were like a lance straight through his heart. "How can you say that?"

"How could you
do
it?" Her voice cracked, and that was telling. "How could you do it?" she asked again, emphasizing each word.

He was asking himself the same thing. He could offer her no excuse, because there was none.

She turned her face toward the ceiling. "You've seen me for the last time, Dodge. I want nothing to do with you. Our daughter will never know you, or you her. Enjoy being a detective. Have a good life. Now get away from me."

He stood there beside the bed for a full two minutes, but she didn't look at him again. He left the room, and then the hospital, because he really would be a brute to stay and hassle a woman who'd just given birth. He didn't want to cause a scene and further humiliate Caroline in front of hospital personnel and other new mothers whose partners had been with them when their babies came into the world.

He went out to retrieve his car and practically came to blows with the hospital parking Nazi who accused him of impersonating a police officer. Because he couldn't carry ID around Crystal and Albright, Dodge couldn't prove the guy wrong. So he shoved him out of his way, gave him the finger, said "Sue me," then sped away with the guy threatening legal repercussions.

In the house he'd been ordered out of, he stripped the soiled sheets off the bed and replaced them with fresh. He vacuumed the living room rug. He emptied all the trash cans and scrubbed the bathroom fixtures till they were sparkling. While carrying out these chores, he planned what else he could do to win back Caroline's favor.

On the day she was due to come home, he would put flowers in the bedroom. In the baby's room, too. Pink ones. He'd stock the fridge and pantry with Caroline's favorite foods. He'd leave chocolates on her pillow every night. He'd get up with her each time she had to nurse the baby. He would fetch and carry. He'd give her back rubs. He'd buy the baby stuffed toys and lacy outfits that Caroline would call extravagant but would secretly adore. He'd do anything and everything, whatever it took to change her mind.

He had to have her in his life, or his life wouldn't be worth shit. It was as simple as that. He must convince her to take him back. But first, he must prove himself worthy.

When the house was as perfect as he could make it, he showered, shaved, dressed, and drove to the task force office. There was only one guy in the large room, and he was on the phone. Seeing Dodge, he hung up. "Where have you been? Why didn't you answer your page?"

"I--"

"Doesn't matter. He hit a bank at eight oh seven this morning. Right after it opened."

"Jesus! You're kidding. Crystal told me the twenty-fifth. Albright must've--"

"Albright? Forget Albright. Our guy's some dickweed executive for a pharmaceutical company. No priors. We never would have looked at him. Not in a million years. Can you believe it?"

DODGE CAME TO THE END OF HIS LONG STORY.

"This pharmaceutical executive thought he was smarter than everybody else. He robbed the first bank as a lark, just to see if he could get away with it. When he did, he tried it again. And again. He said it got addictive.

"I guess that young guard he killed gave him an extra-special rush. I wonder how much fun he had on death row. I'm sure he's been executed by now, unless he received a pardon. When I moved to Atlanta, I lost track." He shifted on the faux leather bench and, in a lower tone, added, "But for you, that's probably the least interesting part of the story."

Berry had been listening for almost an hour without speaking a word. She cleared her throat and took a sip from the water glass that Grace had refilled without her even noticing. "What happened to Franklin Albright?"

"ATF caught him and his so-called cousin conducting a lucrative business in automatic weapons. They were selling them to drug cartels across the border."

"Crystal?"

Dodge sighed and shook his head ruefully. "I guess she finally figured out that Marvin wasn't coming back to rescue her from the motel. I lost track of her, too."

"You never saw her again?"

"No. Marvin vanished from her life."

Berry hesitated, then asked in a quieter voice, "And Mother?"

"I'd failed to uphold every promise I'd made her. So I did as she ordered and was out of the house by the time she brought you home. I didn't see her again until last Saturday. Or you, either." He gave her an appraising look. "Your hair's still red, but your nose is no longer flat."

She returned his wistful smile. Her moods had shifted a dozen times while he'd been telling his story. She'd gone from curiosity to anger to heartache. She wasn't sure which emotion she should land on, so she let them ebb and flow as they would without making a conscious effort to claim one.

She said, "The task force was disbanded."

"Yep."

"And you made detective."

"No. My reputation with HPD fluctuated somewhere between a laughingstock and a fuckup. I was assigned to another beat, another partner. Actually, I had a series of partners because I was a shit-heel to all of them, and nobody wanted to ride with me.

"I got sloppy on the job. Bad attitude. Surly to my supervisors." He tapped his shirt pocket. "Started smoking because I was searching for something, anything, to occupy my thoughts and dull the pain of losing Caroline and you, and nicotine wasn't as risky as cocaine or booze.