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They paused long enough to look up at her then they resumed their drunken, ineffectual swings, missing their mark more often than not. Bending over with a curse, Risa jerked the nearest one to his feet and twisted his arm behind him. That’s when she realized the one on the floor was the second guy from the car. They’d come together to the club and now they were fighting. She rolled her eyes, then kicked at the boot of the one who was still down. “I’m Officer Taylor, HPD. Get up,” she commanded. “We’re taking this outside.”
To her surprise—and relief—he staggered upright. Yelling at the crowd to disperse, she pushed both men ahead of her. When they reached the door and tumbled outside, Risa wasn’t sure which was sweeter—the comparative silence of the nearby traffic or the muggy air she’d cussed before. After the bar, both offered a cleansing change.
Immediately the men went at each other again, wrestling and rolling around the steaming pavement like a couple of schoolboys, finally disappearing behind a nearby parked car. Risa considered leaving them to beat each other silly, then she changed her mind. She’d make Luke handle them. She yanked out her phone and dialed again. “Get over here, Luke!” she said angrily. “I need some help, dammit!”
He muttered something that sounded like assent and she hung up the phone, turning back to the two drunks.
One of them was gone.
The other one, now standing, held a gun.
Pointed straight at her.
Risa’s breath caught in her chest and she froze, her mind spinning. A thousand thoughts came and went in the space of a single second, but only one stood out: she held the highest rating the shooting range awarded but there was no way she would get to her .44 before he could fire. For the moment, she was stuck. She licked her lips and held up her hands, palms out.
“Look, buddy, this isn’t the time to do something stupid, okay? Drop the weapon and kick it away. My partner’s on his way.” Just to be sure, she repeated herself in Spanish. Her accent wasn’t perfect, but the message was clear.
He said something she didn’t catch, this time in English, then from the corner of her eye, Risa saw the other man rise from the pavement and start forward. She cursed under her breath—she thought he’d run off. Edging to her left, she stepped closer to the nearest car and away from the club’s door. She didn’t need any civilians getting popped, too. The one with the gun kept her in his sight, moving with her and spewing another rapid-fire burst of Spanish. She caught only bits and pieces, but it was enough to make her realize he wasn’t drunk. He was stone-cold sober and his hand was steady.
“Put the gun down,” she said evenly. “We don’t have to make this any harder that it already is.”
His face was slick in the neon light of the bar’s sign. He said nothing.
“I’ve called for backup,” she warned. “There’s going to be a hundred cops here any second and they’re not as patient as I am. They’re men. They like to shoot.”
His eyes widened, but he still didn’t answer. By this time, they’d almost traded places. She wondered for a second why he’d let her manipulate him, then she realized he’d wanted to get where he was—the car she’d been standing by was the low-rider.
Later that night, and for weeks afterward, Risa replayed the scene over and over inside her head. There had to have been something else she could have done, she agonized, some other path to take, but at the time her choice seemed like the only one.
Speaking in Spanish once more, the driver jerked his head at his friend, who suddenly appeared by his elbow. He now had a weapon, as well, Risa realized with growing panic.
As she debated her chances of trying to fire regardless, the men exchanged a glance, and that split second was all she needed. Ripping her weapon from the holster beneath her arm, she aimed and screamed. “Drop your guns! Drop them now!”
A second later, Luke rounded the corner.
The men hesitated, then they pivoted in unison toward Luke, shooting blindly as they turned.
CHAPTER TWO
RISA SHOT BACK.
When she stopped, three men lay on the sidewalk.
Down the street, sirens filled the silence, their wails growing louder as the police cars neared. With the part of her brain that wasn’t operating on automatic, Risa realized Luke had to have called for backup before he’d gotten out of the car.
The door of the club flew open and she swung her weapon toward it. Whoever was behind the door thought better of their actions and it instantly shut again, slamming against the frame so hard a piece of wood popped off.
The taste of fear filling her mouth, Risa approached the men with her gun extended. They weren’t moving, but Risa was a woman who didn’t take chances. She kicked their weapons under a nearby car, then bent down to the first man. He was slumped against the edge of the building and he sat in a spreading pool of blood.
He was dead.
The second one had a pulse but it was thready.
She reached Luke’s side, her pistol still pointed at the other two as she dropped to her knees on the dirty pavement. Pressing a finger against his neck, she searched for a rhythm. Her own heart was beating so fast all she could feel was the rush of blood inside her veins. She took a deep breath then held it, pushing her finger deeper into the side of his throat.
His eyelids fluttered open and she nearly passed out with relief.
“Hang on,” she said breathlessly. “Help’s coming, Luke. Hang on, okay?”
He smiled sweetly and said, “Okay.” Then his eyes rolled back and he went completely still.
GRADY WILSON HATED when the phone woke him up at four in the morning. The news was never good, he thought, fumbling for his glasses with one hand and for the lamp with his other. No one called that early in the morning to tell you you’d won a trip to Tahiti or that something had come up and your in-laws were not going to visit after all. Life didn’t work that way.
He picked up the receiver and answered. “Wilson here.”
“We’ve got trouble.” Stan Richards, Grady’s boss, sounded somewhat more awake than Grady but just barely.
“Imagine that.” Grady tested his theory. “I thought you might be calling to give me a raise.”
“You don’t need a raise,” Stan said sourly. “You’ve already got more money than God and you’re probably going to quit next week anyway.”
Grady ignored the money comment—he taught two night courses at the University of Houston on the side, so everyone thought he was rich. They had no idea college professors were as badly paid as cops. “You might be right about the quitting part,” he said instead. “I’ll decide after I hear about this trouble.”
Richards’s voice became serious. “It’s bad. In fact, it doesn’t get much worse. We’ve got an officer down over on the Strip.”
“Dead?”
“Not yet, but it doesn’t look good.”
“Damn.” Grady swung his legs to the side of the bed. “Who was it? Anyone we know?”
“Guy by the name of Luke Rowling. SCD.”
“Sex Crimes? What’d he do? Wander into a bust or something?”
“We don’t know right now. Chief Tanner got called so I got called so you got called. Go find out. I’m supposed to report directly to her personal assistant.”
“Directly?”
“Did I stutter?”
“Well, no, but—”
“The guy’s partner is Risa Taylor. You do know her, don’t you?”
“‘The Body’ Taylor?”
“The one and only. You’re a lucky man.”
Grady moaned. “I’m too damn old for this, Stan. Call someone else—”
“Can’t do that. It’s certainly not official but rumor has it, you were requested for the case. Taylor’s family is true blue and she’s tight with the chief. I suspect the Iron Lady wants this done right with no questions left.”
“So? What’s that got to do with me?”
“I don’t approve of your techniques, but you are the best. When you’re finished with it, everyone will know the case is tighter than a gnat’s ass and they’ll be satisfied.” Grady heard papers shuffling, then Stan spoke again. “They’re still on scene, Fifty-six eighty-nine Richmond, Tequila Jack’s. Samuel Andrews is the homicide lieutenant.”
As Stan hung up on him, Grady realized what was going on. Chief Tanner might have requested Richards to report directly to her assistant, but she wouldn’t have asked for Grady. Stan had put him on the case because he didn’t like Grady and had probably wanted to call him out at this ungodly hour.
A former instructor at the Police Academy, Catherine Tanner had been the HPD commander for some time, but Grady’s direct interactions with the woman had been too limited for her to ask for him, even if she were inclined to do so. Despite the gossip he’d heard about her, she was supposed to be fair and levelheaded, but a few people thought she’d gotten her job through connections rather than talent, and rumors continued to circulate about some type of vague corruption going on at the higher levels. Fair or biased, crooked or straight, it didn’t matter to Grady. He only delivered the truth.
Fifteen minutes later he was dressed and in his car. Fifteen minutes after that he pulled into the parking lot of the bar. Grady had the feeling he could have found the place without the yellow-and-purple neon sign of a fat man wearing a huge hat and holding a margarita glass. Dozens of cop cars with flashing red lights were parked haphazardly on the sidewalk and in the street. Nearly that many television vans lined the street on the opposite side.
Pushing through the reporters and hangers-on, Grady spotted Samuel Andrews. Simultaneously yelling into a cell phone, talking to two other cops and answering a reporter’s questions, the African-American lieutenant saw Grady and motioned him forward.
Grady nodded but took his time, looking around first. A blue plastic sheet covered a body, but it was the only one. Scanning the scene, he searched for Risa Taylor. He’d popped off about her nickname, but in truth, he wasn’t sure he’d even recognize the woman. She was supposed to be a looker and very, very smart…so naturally most of the male cops hated her and/or lusted after her. Grady couldn’t think of a more volatile mix inside a police department—resentment and sexual tension. Yipperdoodle, he thought dryly. This was going to be a real fun case.
He came to Andrews’s side and waited for his turn. Andrews handled everyone else smoothly and quickly then he faced Grady, his expression wary, his demeanor less friendly. Grady barely noticed. He was accustomed to the low-level hostility that followed him wherever he went. Everyone hated Internal Affairs.
They shook hands. “Bad night,” Grady said. “Any news on the officer who was shot?”
“I wouldn’t be counting on him for the next shift. They took him to Ben Taub but he looked like he was already gone.”
Grady held back a flinch. Most of the patients who were sent to the trauma hospital were so bad the docs swore they brought the dead back to life more often than they healed the sick.
“Where’s the partner?”
“EMS guys took her, too.”
“She was hurt?” Grady’s voice held surprise. Stan had said nothing about this.
Andrews lifted his hand and drew a line down his cheek. “Just a graze. Didn’t look too bad but you know the medics. She tried to stay then finally gave in.” He tilted his head toward the blue-covered mound behind them. “That’s Juan Doe, número uno over there. Número dos went to Taub with the rest of the party, but I think he’s had his last enchilada.”
Andrews continued his explanation and Grady listened, his eyes going to the other side of the parking lot, where support guys had begun to crawl between the cars and underneath the bushes. Every once in a while, they’d stop, open a baggie and drop something inside.
“Any questions?” Andrews finished.
“Not for now.” Grady always let the lieutenants talk, but he got his real information from the officers and the scene itself. “I’ll be in touch, though.”
Andrews nodded with a dour expression. “I’m sure you will.”
Grady wandered for another half hour, talking to the uniforms and letting the details register. He was just about to leave for the hospital when he overheard two of the techs. They’d been crisscrossing the parking lot, looking at the cars and trees.
“Even I coulda hit something,” one of them said, shaking his head. “That many shots fired? These guys musta been blind.”
Grady stopped. He knew a lot of the crime-scene technicians, and for the most part, they were friendlier to him than the officers. “What’s up?”
They looked up and greeted him. “No slugs,” the nearest one explained. “I don’t know what these guys were smoking, but they musta been shooting into the sky.” He held up his baggies. “Plenty of shells, but no slugs yet.”
“Keep looking, gentlemen. I’m sure you’ll do your best for the glory of HPD.”
They grinned and returned to their search as Grady headed for his car. The techs always said they couldn’t find the slugs, but sooner or later they located them. Lodged in telephone poles or buildings, tires or pavement, the spent bullets hid themselves well. Once, the day after a shooting, they’d had a guy bring a motorcycle into the station. Without even realizing it, he’d driven by a holdup in progress and caught a slug in his tire. When he’d heard the news that night, he figured out why he’d gotten a flat.
Back on the Southwest Freeway, Grady headed for the medical center.
AGAINST THE WISHES of her father and her three brothers, who followed him in everything, Risa had attended the Houston Police Academy at twenty-one, the first year she’d become eligible. The rivalry, or maybe it was animosity, between her and her siblings was nothing new—they would have disapproved of anything she did short of becoming a nun—but her father’s reaction had stung. Somehow, deep down, Risa had always thought that if she followed in his footsteps he might finally give her the same kind of attention he’d lavished on her brothers.
She’d been wrong.
When she’d told him she’d been accepted, Ed Taylor had frowned and muttered something about regret, then he’d disappeared into the garage of his aging home in Meyerland where Risa had grown up. She’d started after him, then she’d spit out, “What the hell,” and had left, understanding, better than ever, how her mother must have felt when she left him. If you didn’t see the world the same way Ed Taylor saw it, you were worthless to him. No wonder her mother had hit the road and never looked back. Risa got a Christmas card from her yearly and that was it. The lack of communication had hurt until she’d finally understood.
After she began her classes, the ache eased even more. Time had something to do with it, but more significantly, she made friends. She’d never been very good at that—and she still wasn’t—but the five women she’d met during the six-month course were different from any she’d ever known.
Except for one, they surrounded her now, their faces etched with concern as she sat on the table in the emergency-room cubicle. Hearing the officer-down call and recognizing Risa’s partner’s name, they’d come in from every side of town. Risa was incredibly grateful for their company and support. If she’d been the kind of woman who let herself say so, she would have broken down and told them what they meant to her.
Abby Carlton stood the closest, her hand warm on Risa’s back as she patted her shoulder in a comforting way. At twenty-nine, she was nearest in age to Risa’s twenty-seven, but she was the “mother” of the group. In a heartrending decision, she’d dropped out of the Academy to follow the love of her life, but things hadn’t worked out. She’d returned to Houston a year later to complete her classes, ending up in patrol and doing extra duty on the Crisis Intervention Team. Her warm eyes were filled with sympathy and pain, not just for Risa’s injury, which was minor, but for everything that had happened in the past few hours.
Crista Santiago stood on the other side, fiercely gripping Risa’s left hand. A Latina from the east side, Crista was thirty-three. She’d had a difficult time growing up in Houston’s barrios, but she’d risen above her former life and come out a survivor. A detective, she was tough…and gorgeous. She swung her dark hair away from her face as she leaned closer.
“Everything will be okay, chica.” As if her words could make it so, Crista spoke with confidence. The only hint she was upset was the Spanish that slipped out apparently before she could stop it. “Thank God, you got the sorry cabrones who did this…”
Risa squeezed Crista’s hand in acknowledgment then dropped it as Lucy Montalvo spoke from the foot of the gurney. “You got them both?”
Lucy was in the Missing Persons Unit of the Investigations Command. She was single-minded and ambitious and she’d made her way up the department just like Risa had—by working hard and being determined. Neither of them had a lot of free time to do things together, but out of all the women, Risa felt closest to Lucy. For good or for bad, they each valued their careers more than anything else in their lives.
Risa nodded.
“That’s some kind of shootin’. Those hours at the range finally paid off.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she answered quietly. “When Luke came around the corner, they opened up.”
“You did what you had to, Risa.” Mei Lu Ling spoke from the other side of the room. Leaning against the wall, her thin form dressed in black, she looked every inch the successful businesswoman she’d once been. She was a valuable member of the White-collar Crimes Unit, putting that experience to good use. She’d be a lieutenant by this time next year, Risa guessed. Even-tempered and measured in her ways, Mei Lu offered sound advice now. “Don’t look back. You did what you had to.”
“I know,” Risa lied. “But it all happened so fast and then boom! It was over, just like that. Luke was bleeding and I told him to hang on and he said he would, then…” She looked down at her hands. They should have been shaking, because she was on the inside, but they lay in her lap, perfectly still with streaks of dried blood on them. She raised her eyes. “Then he died anyway. He was gone before the ambulance even got here.”
Silence filled the cubicle as Risa’s words seemed to hang in the air.
“Have you heard from Catherine?” Crista asked after a moment.
Risa shook her head. Catherine Tanner’s presence would have made the group complete, but she would be swamped right now with other duties. She’d been one of their instructors at the Academy and now at forty-five she was the oldest and most experienced of them. She was also the chief of police. Only one other woman in Houston’s history had served in that position and she’d been appointed by a female mayor. To the majority of the force that had meant she didn’t count.
“She won’t come,” Lucy said, echoing Risa’s thoughts. “She can’t appear to be too close to Risa right now or people might read it wrong. Plus she’s got to deal with the media and IA and everything else—”
“Including Luke’s family.” Abby turned to Risa, her expression anxious. “He was married, wasn’t he, Risa? Did he have any children?”
Risa nodded slowly, instantly deciding the details of Luke’s disintegrating home situation would be a secret she would keep. “His wife’s name is Melinda, and yes, they have a little boy,” she answered. “I think he’s three, maybe four…” Her sentence petered out as her chest tightened. She hoped the poor kid would get a better deal than she had, but any way you sliced it, growing up in a one-parent household was not for sissies.
The curtains surrounding the cubicle parted and the doctor who’d stitched Risa’s cheek stepped in, a male nurse by his side. Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, the physician handed it to Risa while the other man began to clean up the remnants of bandages and tape scattered over the counter.
