Marrying Mike...Again (16 page)

Nothing had happened to Mike. Dear God, why had she never realized before what it would do to her if something had happened to Mike?

He finally dragged his head up. They both gasped for air. Then she was the one who found his lips in another bruising kiss. He was warm and hard and solid. He was strong and real and fierce. She wished they weren’t in a police car anymore. She wished they were at home in her bed, where she could strip his clothes off and he could drive into her body before the adrenaline wore off and they both had time to think. Time to come to their senses. Time to realize they were no longer lovers, no longer spouses, and nothing ever got resolved in bed.

Mike finally drew back. In a gesture that made Sandra’s eyes burn more, he tucked her head beneath his chin and rocked her against his chest.

“You scared the living daylights outta me,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I think we scared Vee even worse.”

“What if he’d opened fire, Sandra? What if he’d shot at you?
Mon Dieu!
”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think of that.”

“You’re developing a soft spot for the boy,” Mike said seriously. “You’re bonding and it could get you killed.”

Sandra didn’t say anything. She thought of Vee’s eyes again, his round, frightened stare, then his overly stoic gaze. She thought of this park with its needle-ridden pavement and broken children’s toys. She thought of Mac-Two and Keisha and baby Bobby, who would now grow up in these bullet-torn streets.

“Hold me,” she murmured to Mike. And he did.

Twenty minutes later, they were back in the station house, buffeted by questions as news of the encounter spread. Vee’s gun was bagged and tagged, then sent down to forensics for testing. They would dust the weapon for prints, then try to match the gun with shells retrieved from Monday night’s shooting. Mike had already told Sandra that the 9 mm would most likely prove untraceable; the serial number had been erased from the barrel with acid. Forensics had a number of tricks up their sleeves, however, and might be able to come up with something.

In the meantime, Sandra worked with a sketch artist to create a composite of Vee’s face, while Mike blew up a map of the east side and pinpointed the various sites where the boy had been spotted. This was a common technique for trying to locate the home or hideout of a suspect. Hopefully, as more information became available, they could narrow in on Vee’s location.

Police officers came and went in droves. Had they really seen the thirteen-year-old? What kind of firepower had he been carrying? What had he said? What had he done? Had Sandra really given pursuit? What? She let him get away…

Mike’s head wound received a great deal of attention, as well. He received a bandage, a cold compress, and then a good deal of ribbing. Two enterprising detectives drew up a manila case file for a Mr. Dead Wood, suspected in the April 20 assault of a homicide detective. Known associates: Mr. and Mrs. Brick. Known hideouts: Deserted buildings. Fingerprints: Ten carefully inked-up wood slivers. Considered heavy and abrasive. Do not approach with eyes closed or head held high.

They hung the case file on the police bulletin board for Mike’s immediate attention, offering a two-beer award for the first person to capture Mr. Wood. Mike got to say, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He laughed, he claimed good-naturedly they ought to see the other guy, and he hoped no one noticed that his hands were still shaking.

He simply couldn’t shake the image of Sandy staring down a thirteen-year-old hood. He shouldn’t have brought her into the east side. He shouldn’t have left her alone. When Vee’s arms had come back around like that…

Mike had aged ten years. And while Sandra still seemed convinced that Vee didn’t mean any harm, Mike wasn’t so certain. He thought he’d read something else on the boy’s face. Growing desperation. The need to take a stand.

A little after four, Sandra finished with the sketch artist. The composite wasn’t much. Both she and Mike had spent too much time staring at the back of the boy’s head to notice any distinguishing characteristics. In the end, they had described a fairly typical thirteen-year-old. Rounded cheeks, flat nose, thickly lashed eyes, broad forehead and short black hair beneath a backward baseball cap.

“Congratulations,” Lieutenant Hopkins observed.

“You just narrowed our search to one thousand juvenile delinquents.”

Sandra sent the drawing over to the
Citizen’s Post
anyway, where it would run on the front page of the morning paper. They still had not received any replies to her letter. Then again, Vee had had a busy afternoon.

“Why do you think he was at the park?” she asked Mike when things finally quieted down. The night patrols headed out, officers still wearing vests and traveling in pairs.

“I don’t know. Maybe he lives by there.” Mike was standing in front of the blown-up map. He pointed to a series of blocks running by the park. “Any of these neighborhoods would fit the demographics.”

“We just stumbled onto his home turf.”

“Possibly. We were looking for him.”

“So why didn’t he take more aggressive action? It would seem that he spotted us long before we were aware of him. He could’ve opened fire at any time.”

Mike shrugged. “We were also standing in the middle of four kids and, for a while, you were holding a baby. That doesn’t make for a clean shot.”

Sandra hesitated. “So if I hadn’t picked up Bobby…”

“I don’t know, Sandra. I honestly don’t know.”

She nodded, and Mike could tell that her mood was still subdued. Unconsciously, he moved closer to her, his arm sliding around to offer comfort. At the last minute, however, he remembered where they were. His arm dropped to his side. He moved pointedly back. He saw that she followed his withdrawal and seemed to nod slightly.

In a police department, the walls had ears, and she knew it, too.

“Well,” she said briskly. “I need to catch up on some paperwork.”

“I need to find Koontz.”

“Hopefully, he learned something going through the case file.”

“Maybe.” Mike kept his tone neutral. “Gonna work late?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm, maybe we should debrief later? I may have some developments that need your attention.”

“I don’t know. It’s been a very busy day for the case. Maybe we should take a break.” She hesitated, looking slightly vulnerable. “Maybe we should make sure we haven’t lost our objectivity.”

“Instinct is a powerful investigative tool, Chief Aikens.”

“It doesn’t hold up in court.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Sometimes, it’s thinking too much that gets you into trouble.”

“True,” she acknowledged softly, “thinking too much can be a problem.”

“I think this afternoon we were on to something. I think we should follow that lead.”

“It was a…nice lead.”

“Eight o’clock?”

“All…all right.”

His voice dropped. “Your place?”

Her breath picked up slightly. “Yes.”

He made the mistake of looking at her then. Her blue eyes were wide and luminescent, her lips pearly pink and half-parted. Damn, he wished they weren’t surrounded by homicide detectives and patrol officers. He wanted to kiss her. Kiss her hard. Feel her body shivering against his the way it had just a few hours before. Except this time he would deepen the kiss, bury his hands in her wild, curly hair. This time he would take the moment all the way through until her body was hot and writhing beneath his and finally… Finally…

“Eight o’clock,” he said hoarsely.

“Mike. Don’t be late.”

Mike never did find Koontz. In the end, Rusty found him.

Mike was in the police locker room. He’d showered after the long day. He’d changed into a pair of fresh khakis with a dark green shirt, slapping on the aftershave and starting to look forward to his evening. Then he looked up and Koontz was standing there, a strange expression on his face.

“Partner,” Koontz drawled.

“Rusty,” Mike acknowledged. He glanced at the locker room. Four other guys were around. They were all staring at him and Rusty intently. Something was up.

“Heard about your encounter in the east side,” Koontz said after a moment. He moved over to an empty bench, propped up his foot. He was wearing fancy brown leather shoes with today’s navy-blue silk suit. Mike found himself studying the tooling pattern formed on the leather.

“We came close to catching the kid,” Mike said.

“You and Sandy.”

Mike looked his partner in the eye. “Me and Sandy,” he agreed.

Koontz slammed his foot back down on the floor. He suddenly whirled on the other officers. “Get out!” he yelled. “Can’t you see we’re trying to have a conversation here? Scram, dammit! Scram!”

The other men jumped belatedly to their feet and scrambled. Seconds later, Mike and Rusty were alone in the locker room and Mike knew it was going to get ugly.

“So that’s the way this goes down,” Rusty stated. “I leave you alone for one afternoon ’cause I got other work to do, and
bam!
you replace me.”

“Sandra asked to accompany me for her own information,” Mike said.

“Oh, come off it! You’ve been waiting for this all along. You and Sandy, back together again.”

“I was conducting interviews. I needed a second and you weren’t available.”

“So you took the least experienced person you could find? Give me a break. You ended up in a confrontation and she let the kid get away! She’s not a cop. She doesn’t know jack about this job and she’s screwing this case pretending otherwise.”

“Screwing this case?” Mike’s own voice picked up incredulously. “Because she tries? Because she’s asking questions and getting involved? Hell, Koontz, you were the one who challenged her. You were the one who said she didn’t know anything about these streets—”

“And she doesn’t!”

“So she found an expert! She went out on a limb trying to start a dialogue with this boy. Then she put herself on the line today trying to catch this kid—”

“And let him get away! She’s a bureaucrat, Rawlins. A spoiled little rich kid trying to play cop so she can impress her ex-husband. She’s got no place in this department and the fact you can’t see that just means you’re once more under her spell.”

“Hey, Sandra is turning into one helluva good cop and she has every right to be in this department. And you want to know why, Koontz? Because she cares. Maybe she isn’t experienced, maybe she’s naive, but at least she’s taking an interest in this community. When was the last time you really cared about that, huh, Koontz? When was the last time any of us around here really
believed
in this job?”

“My God, you’ve gone over to the dark side.”

“No, Koontz. I’m just coming to my senses and realizing it’s not supposed to be us against them. Do you really want to end up shooting at thirteen-year-olds? I don’t.”

Koontz said flatly, “You told her, didn’t you?
Tell me the truth!
You told her everything!”

Mike stepped up to his partner. “I told her nothing.”

“I don’t believe you—”

“Then that’s your problem! You are my
partner,
Koontz. I don’t like your attitude. You want to hear it all? I think you do have issues. I spent this morning thinking about it long and hard and you know, you never are around for interviewing black suspects. And then there are the jokes and quips you’re always making. Truth is, you’re afraid of African-Americans, aren’t you, Koontz? They make you uncomfortable. They make you nervous. Truth is, you
are
a racist. And it interferes with your ability to do the job.”

Koontz’s nostrils flared. “I am a damn fine cop. Look at my arrest record.”

“Where were you this afternoon?”

“Perusing old leads—”

“Scud work.”

“It’s gotta be done—”

“It’s scud work!”

“Dammit, don’t you tell me how to do my job! I know how to do my job!”

Mike yelled back,
“No, you don’t!
And that’s why you’re here now and that’s why you’re angry. Not because I took Sandy to the east side. Not because you think I told her anything—you know me better than that. You’re angry, because deep in your heart, you are a decent cop and you
know
Vee shouldn’t have gotten away today. It wasn’t Sandy’s job to stop him. It was yours. And you blew it.”

Koontz recoiled. It was the first time Mike had ever seen him hurt.

Rusty walked back a few steps, putting plenty of distance between him and Mike.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Koontz muttered after a moment.

Mike didn’t say anything.

“This is her talking through you. She poisons you, man. She gets under your skin and turns you against your friends.”

Mike remained silent.

“Dammit, I’ve been on the force fifteen years! I am a
good
cop and I know how to get the job done. You’re the one who’s jeopardizing the case.
You’re
the one whose using poor judgment. I never thought I’d see the day, but you’re turning against your own kind, Rawlins. You’re siding with the bureaucrats. You’re hanging your partner out to dry. Man, we’re under attack from all sides these days. And just when you oughta know it’s time to be lookin’ out for one another, time to be watching each other’s backs, you go and pull this.”

“If that’s how you feel, maybe we shouldn’t be partners anymore.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“At the end of this case, you can request a new assignment.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” Koontz scowled again, then shook out his arms the way he always did when he was uncomfortable. He adjusted his silk suit jacket, playing with the single button, then squared his shoulders as if he was all together now. Nothing could faze him.

The familiar routine suddenly tightened Mike’s chest, made him look away. They had been partners for eight years. That was a lot of miles, a lot of cases. A lot of beers at the Code Blue.

The silence went on, long now. The locker room became too cold, too empty.

“I gotta go,” Mike said at last. He picked up his bag. He brushed by where Koontz was standing. His partner didn’t say a word.