Kylie Brant - An Irresistible Man

Cruz shrugged, looking at Madeline. “Do we?”

“Who knows? None of the shooters have been identified yet. But if Stover thinks we’re going to try to hang him for some other crimes as well, he might be more likely to talk.”

That didn’t turn out to be the case. When they reentered the room Powell brusquely informed them, “My client has no knowledge of the shootings you mentioned. And he isn’t going to answer any more of your questions. If you manage to work something out with the D.A., he might have some information of interest to you regarding the person who sold him the gun.”

Officer Lee escorted Stover back to his cell, and Madeline and Cruz walked out.

“How much pull do you have with Brad Jacobs, the D.A.?” she asked.

Cruz shook his head as he guessed her reason for asking. “None, and even if I had some, it wouldn’t be enough to convince Jacobs to give up a high-profile, sure conviction just to help our investigation.”

“Maybe he would,” Madeline argued. “After all, if Stover could help us nail the supplier, that would be an even bigger fish for Jacobs to prosecute.”

“The operative word here is ‘if.’ But if you want to give it a shot, I’ll talk to Ritter about suggesting it to him.”

They were moving through the station house now, and both were intent on their discussion. Madeline didn’t even notice a man standing nearby until she heard him call out, “Hey, Romeo.” Cruz didn’t miss a stride, although she turned her head to look at the man curiously.

“Martinez! I’m talking to you.” The man stepped in front of them, halting their progress.

“What do you want?” Cruz’s voice was emotionless.

The man Cruz addressed smirked. He was almost as tall as Cruz, and his thin brown hair was slicked back. “You weren’t going to leave here without saying hi to your old buddy, were you, Detective?”

Madeline’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two men, mystified. Something was going on here; the undercurrents of animosity were evident.

Cruz said sardonically, “Yeah, sure, buddy , how you doing? Shoot anybody lately?”

The other man’s smile slipped a notch. “Nobody who didn’t deserve it. But then, I never did shoot anyone who didn’t deserve it, did I?”

Cruz struck so quickly that Madeline didn’t even see him move. One minute he was standing motionless beside her, the next he had the man by the shirt, pushed up against a nearby wall. “Stay out of my face, Baker,” he said in a soft but deadly tone, “or I’ll rearrange yours.”

A long second crawled by. Baker must have sensed the same danger that Madeline could feel emanating from Cruz, because he kept his mouth shut. Slowly Cruz loosened his grip and moved away.

When they were a safe distance from him, Baker called after them loudly, “Better watch that temper of yours, Pretty Boy. It wouldn’t look good for you to get hauled in on assault charges so soon after your promotion. People might get the wrong idea. Or should I say, the right idea?”

Madeline started to turn once more to look at the man, but Cruz grasped her elbow, guiding her inexorably through the maze of desks and out the front door. Once outside she pulled free. He walked quickly down the steps toward the car. She followed more slowly, trying to assimilate this new facet of his personality. She knew as well as anyone that a person couldn’t be judged by surface charm. Duress always brought out well-hidden, sometimes darker sides of their personalities. But even knowing that, she couldn’t help but be stunned by the suddenness of his fury. There was much, much more to this man than his easy manner and glib charm would suggest.

She got into the car and adjusted her seat belt. Cruz threw one arm across the back of the seat and turned his head to back out of the parking place. His gaze met hers.

“Friend of yours?” she asked blandly.

His face was expressionless. “Yeah, we’re real close.”

“Who is he?”

She didn’t think he was going to answer, he was silent so long. Finally he replied, “Detective Gerald Baker.”

Madeline realized she’d just witnessed firsthand the reason for his initial reluctance to interrogate Stover. He must have known Baker was stationed here, and wanted to avoid the possibility of encountering him. The preliminary file she’d read on Martinez had included the reason for his animosity toward the man. But he would expect her to wonder about the scene she’d witnessed, so she asked, “How do you explain Baker’s devotion to you? Did you donate a kidney for him or something?”

One side of his mouth quirked. “Or something,” Cruz agreed as he navigated the car through the congested downtown traffic. “He shot me.”

Her stomach clenched at the terse words, despite her prior knowledge of the incident.

Cruz explained, “I was working undercover at the time. Baker was with the transit police then. I’d busted a white-collar drug ring operating out of a train terminal, but one of the perps took off. I chased him through the building and I saw Detective Wondercop. I identified myself as a police officer, but he ordered me to stop. When I continued the chase, he shot me. The perp,” he added wryly, “got away.”

“So… he thought you were a crook?” Madeline had no doubt that, undercover, Cruz Martinez could look like a very dangerous customer indeed.

His mouth twisted. “So he claimed. And Internal Affairs cleared him of any wrongdoing. They called it a ‘clean shoot.’” He laughed without amusement. “A clean shoot. Imagine hearing that after you’ve had two surgeries to repair the damage he did.”

“They must have believed him.” She defended the bureau’s decision automatically.

“Oh, I’m sure they did.” His tone was mocking. “He was damn convincing. You can be certain they never saw the side of him we just had the privilege of observing. I.A. didn’t want to consider the truth of the matter, though-that the reason Baker shot me was because a Hispanic was chasing after a well-dressed Caucasian. I mean, what could look more suspicious, right?”

She was uncomfortable in the face of his charge of prejudice. “Well, I’m sure it seems that way to you, but it is the department’s job to remain objective…”

He gave a snort. “Objective? Let me tell you something, Detective Casey. There’s nothing objective about having two bullets removed from your leg. Or having one crease the side of your skull. I suppose I should be grateful that Baker is a damn poor shot, as well as a bigot, or I’d be taking a dirt nap right now.”

Her stomach, normally not the least bit queasy, turned over at his words. “Is that why you quit undercover work?”

“That was a big part of it,” he affirmed. Undercover he’d often worked alone, and he’d accepted the risk he took in his work. It had seemed a fair exchange for being able to get some of the garbage off the street. But after the shooting he’d had to face the fact that cops like Baker were at least as dangerous to him as the dirt bags he’d been investigating. He couldn’t do his job constantly looking over his shoulder, and what he despised Baker for the most was taking away any real choice Cruz should have had about his career.

They rode silently for a time, engrossed in their own thoughts. Madeline looked up after several minutes and said, “The turn you want is right ahead.”

“Naw, it’s the next one.”

“I’m telling you, Martinez, this corner is where you should… have turned,” she ended as they passed the corner in question.

“Don’t worry,” he said patiently. “I did the driving on the way over, remember? I know which way we came, and this next corner is the one we take.”

Madeline threw him an impatient glance but sat back to wait. Cruz took several more turns, and they ended up in a dilapidated neighborhood she didn’t recognize. He stopped the car, pulled a map of the city out from under the seat and studied it.