Diana Palmer - True Blue & Carrera's Bride - True Blue / Carrera's Bride

“An opportunity.” Ramirez chuckled.

“Apparently, a timely one. I’ll ask him if he’d have the general call Gracie. Now, how do you get Gracie to do that dirty work for you?”

“I’ll have my wife bribe her with flowers and chocolate and Christmas decorations.”

“Excuse me?” Rick asked.

“Gracie loves to decorate for Christmas. My wife has access to a catalog of rare antique decorations. Gracie can be bribed, if you know how,” he added.

Rick smiled. “An assistant district attorney working a bribe. What if somebody tells her boss?”

“He’ll laugh,” Ramirez assured him. “It’s for a just cause, after all.”

Rick started down to the jail in time to waylay the departing felon. He spoke to the probation officer on the way and arranged the conversation.

The man was willing to take a message to the general, for a price. That put them on the hot seat, because neither man could be seen offering illegal payment to a felon.

Then Rick had a brainstorm. “Wait a second.” He’d spotted the janitor emptying trash baskets nearby. He took the man to one side, handed him two fifties and told him what to do.

The janitor, confused but willing to help, walked over to the prisoner and handed him the money. It was from him, he added, since the prisoner had been pleasant to him during his occupation in the jail. He wanted to help him get started again on the outside.

The prisoner, smiling, understood immediately what was going on. He took the money graciously, with a bow, and proceeded to sing the janitor’s praises for his act of generosity. So the message was sent.

Gwen Cassaway was sitting at Rick’s desk when he went back to his office, in the chair reserved for visitors. He hated the way his heart jumped at the sight of her. He fought down that unwanted feeling.

“Do they have to issue us these chairs?” she complained when he came in, closing the door behind him. “Honestly, only hospital waiting rooms have chairs that are more uncomfortable.”

“The idea is to make you want to leave,” he assured her. “What’s up?” he added absently as he removed his holstered pistol from his belt and slid it into a desk drawer, then locked the drawer before he sat down. “Something about the case I assigned you to?”

She hesitated. This was going to be difficult. “Something else. Something personal.”

He stared at her coolly. “I don’t discuss personal issues with colleagues. We have a staff psychologist if you need counseling.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, do you have a steel rod glued to your spine?” she burst out. Then she realized what she’d said, clapped her hand over her mouth and looked horrified at the slip.

He didn’t react. He just stared.

“I’m sorry!” she said, flustered. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that…!”

“Cassaway,” he began.

“It’s about the general,” she blurted out.

His dark eyes narrowed. “Lately, everything is. Don’t tell me. You’re having an affair with him and you have to confess for the sake of your job.”

She drew in a long breath. “Actually, the general is my job.” She got up, opened her wallet and handed it to Rick.

He did an almost comical double take. He looked at her as if she’d grown leaves. “You’re a fed?”

She nodded and grimaced. She took back the wallet after he’d looked at it again, just to make sure it didn’t come from the toy department in some big store.

She put it back in her fanny pack. “Sorry I couldn’t say something before, but they wouldn’t let me,” she said heavily as she sat down again, with her hands folded on her jeans.

“What the hell are you doing pretending to be a detective?” he asked with some exasperation.

“It was my boss’s idea. I did start out with Atlanta P.D., but I’ve worked in counterterrorism for the agency for about four years now,” she confessed. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “This wasn’t my idea. They wanted me to find out how much you knew about your family history before they accidentally said or did something that would upset you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve just been presented with a father who’s an exiled South American dictator, whose existence I was unaware of. They didn’t think that would upset me?”

“I asked Cash Grier to talk to your mother,” she said. “You can’t tell anybody. I was ordered not to talk to you about it. But they didn’t say I couldn’t ask somebody else to do it.”

He was touched by her concern. Not that he liked her any better. “I wondered about your shooting skills,” he said after a minute. “Not exactly something I expect in a run-of-the-mill detective.”

She smiled. “I spend a lot of time on the gun range,” she replied. “I’ve been champion of my unit for two years running.”

“Our lieutenant was certainly surprised when he found himself outdone,” he remarked.

“He’s very nice.”

He glared at her.

She wondered what he had against his superior officer, but she didn’t comment. “I was told that a DEA officer is going to try to get someone to speak to General Machado about you.”

“Yes. Gracie Pendleton will talk with him. Machado likes her.”

“He kidnapped her!” she exclaimed. “And the man she’s now married to!”

He nodded. “I know. He also saved her from being assaulted by one of Fuentes’s men,” he added.

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“She’s fond of him, too,” he replied. “Apparently, he makes friends even of his enemies. A couple of feds I know think he’s one of the better insurgents,” he added dryly.

“He did install democratic government in Barrera,” she pointed out. “He instituted reforms that did away with unlawful detention and surveillance, he invited the foreign media in to oversee elections and he ousted half a dozen petty politicians who were robbing the poor and making themselves into feudal lords. From what we understand, one of those petty politicians helped Machado’s second-in-command plan the coup that ousted him.”

“While he was out of the country negotiating trade agreements,” Rick agreed. “Stabbed in the back.”

“Exactly. We’d love to have him back in power, but we can’t actually do anything about it,” she said quietly. “That’s where you come in.”

“The general doesn’t even know me, let alone that I’m his biological son,” he repeated. “Even if he did, I don’t think he’s going to jump up and invite me to baseball games.”

“Soccer,” she corrected. “He hates baseball.”

His eyebrows lifted. “How do you know that?”

“I have a file on him,” she said. “He likes strawberry ice cream, his favorite musical star is Marco Antonio Solís, he wears size 12 shoes and he plays classical guitar. Oh, he was an entertainer on a cruise ship in his youth.”

“I did know about that. Not his shoe size,” he added with twinkling dark eyes.

“He’s never been romantically linked with any particular woman,” she continued. “Although he was good friends with an American anthropologist who went to live in his country. She’d found an ancient site that was revolutionary and she was involved in a dig there. Apparently, there are some interesting ruins in Barrera.”

“What happened to her?”

“Nobody knows. We couldn’t even ascertain her name. What I was able to ferret out was only gossip.”

He folded his hands on his desk. “So, you’re a fed, I’m one detective short and you’re supposed to be heading a murder investigation for me,” he said curtly. “What do I do about that?”

“I’ve been working on it,” she protested. “I’m making progress, too. As soon as we get the DNA profile back, I may be able to make an arrest in the college freshman’s murder, and solve a cold case involving another dead coed. I have lots of information to go on, now, including eyewitness testimony that can place the suspect at the murdered woman’s apartment just before she was killed.”