A Fine Specimen

  His body was closed to her. They could have been a prostitute and her john in a hotel room, for all his reaction.

  Her stomach clenched once again and she barely had time to pull the door closed, turn on the faucets full blast to hide any sounds and bend over the toilet. A jet of green bile splashed against the white porcelain, then another.

  Her knees shook and she had to stiffen them not to fall in a heap over the toilet bowl. Though her stomach kept convulsing, there was nothing else to bring up.

  Finally, Caitlin rested, head bowed, one hand holding on to the wall, until she felt steady enough to move away.

  The reflection in the mirror over the basin made her wince. Snow had more color than her skin, and the sleepless night showed in the purple bruises under her eyes. She looked like the survivor of a bad accident.

  Well, that was okay because in a very real sense, she was.

  Switching on the hot water in the shower, Caitlin stepped under the fancy modern showerhead, lifting her face into the steamy stream, letting her tears meld into the water.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Well, fuck a duck,” Ben said, eyes wide, jaw dropping. “Woudja take a look at that?”

  One of the female officers gave a loud wolf whistle as Alex walked through the squad room on Sunday afternoon. Fuck this. He didn’t have time for this shit. He threw her a dirty look but she only grinned, just one more sign that he’d been way too lax lately. Another officer took up the whistle and the other officers stood up, cheering and clapping.

  A grinning Ben got up from his desk to follow Alex into his office. Alex turned at the threshold and looked out at his officers, unleashing his Death Glare, waiting until the commotion died down. “Settle down out here. I mean it. Back to work or I swear to God I’ll have you all reassigned to Stolen Vehicles.”

  If they thought he was going soft because, well, he’d been in a good mood these past few days—okay yeah, he’d admit it, he’d done a lot of smiling lately—then they were in a shitload of trouble, because Hard-ass was back. Big time.

  His officers were nothing if not smart. A dozen heads suddenly bent over forms and keyboards. Alex waited a minute then nodded grimly. He’d been getting this goddamn reputation as a wimpy good guy. Candyass was gone, history. Starting now.

  Alex walked into his office and sat down behind his desk. Ben stood in front of him, a wide, sloppy grin on his face. Alex stared at him through narrowed eyes. “That goes for you too, Ben. Don’t you have some work to do? Or are you dying to explore the finer points of chop shops?”

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Kathy stuck her head through Alex’s door and her eyes widened. “Yowzer.”

  She walked in, holding a sheaf of papers. After staring at him for a moment across his desk, she walked around to look Alex up and down and shook her head. She hitched a hip on a corner of his desk. “Does Armani know about this?”

  “Not you too,” Alex said, transferring his fierce, forbidding gaze to Kathy. He liked her, she was a good cop, but right now he hated her.

  Her eyebrows lifted, face bland. “I can’t believe this. Blue blazer, gray slacks, dark gray shoes. Alex’s wearing colors. What happened?” She turned to Ben. “I don’t think a living soul has ever seen him in anything but black and white. It’s like a cult with him.” She frowned. “Do you think he’s an imposter? Some alien Alex Cruz lookalike?”

  Ben fondled his own brightly colored tie and straightened his lime-green jacket. “Nah. He’s just finally developed a fashion sense, probably from hanging out with me.”

  “My fashion sense is just fine, thank you very much,” Alex said with a frown. “As a matter of fact, my fashion sense is so keen I think you should turn down the batteries in that tie of yours.”

  “Aw, you’re just jealous,” Ben replied, shaking his head sorrowfully. “It’s ’cause you’d like to have my tie on.”

  “On what?” Alex asked acidly. “Fire?”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Ben wagged his finger at Alex, still grinning widely. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “Cut it out, you two,” Kathy said. She leaned closer and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Alex,” she said earnestly, looking him in the eyes. “I want you to know that I think this is great. Just great. I think it’s the best thing that ever happened to you. And I’m really, really happy for you.”

  Alex didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about, and anyway, whatever she was talking about, it was over. He tried to hide the spurt of panic that jolted him at the thought.

  She had walked. Caitlin had turned her back on a perfectly nice situation, completely of her own accord. They’d been having a really good time and then pow! It was over and she’d signed the lease on a new apartment without even asking him for advice.

  Well, she was a big girl. She wanted to walk, she’d walk. What the fuck did he care? And if the thought of going back to his empty house tonight gave him a slippery, sliding spurt of panic, well what the hell. He’d get over it. It’s not like they were married or anything.

  “Thanks for sharing, Kathy,” Alex growled. “Now go away.” Kathy squeezed his shoulder, looked meaningfully at him then turned and walked out.

  Ben was watching him carefully, smile gone. Alex slanted him a glance. “What?”

  “You fucked it up,” Ben said quietly. He rarely turned serious but when he did, his entire face changed. “God dammit, Alex, you had the best thing in the world going for you and you fucked it up!”

  Alex’s jaws clenched—hard. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and anyway, it wasn’t me, it was her.” He hated how childish that sounded.

  Ben didn’t move, just stared, grim-faced and somber. “You dumb asshole,” he said slowly and shook his head. “You might as well shoot yourself in the head right now because—”

  One swift knock and young Roscoe, their newest recruit, stuck his head in the door. Usually Alex steered clear of excitable rookies, but this was a welcome distraction. He knew Ben and he knew he was about to ream him a new one. “What?”

  Roscoe’s cheeks were red with excitement. “Lieutenant, Sergeant! Great news! Sorensen and DeWitt have apprehended Ratso Colby! He’s on his way. They’re bringing him in now!”

  * * * * *

  Staring at the backs of two cops as big as sides of beef, Ratso Colby sat sweating in the backseat of a black and white. Shit! Ratso thought as the police car took a tight turn. He hated cops, hated everything about them. Cops had sent him to jail years back and he’d nearly died there. He still had the scars. Now they were trying to send him back. No fucking way. Ratso was not going back to County. Whatever it took to stay out, he’d do it.

  Except he knew what it would take—staying out meant he had to rat on Lopez and go into Witness Protection. Lopez made him shit-scared. Ratso knew what Lopez would be willing to do to find out where he was hiding. Lopez wouldn’t rest until he got him. Word on the street was, Lopez took traitors out to an abandoned warehouse he owned and watched as it took days for the poor fucks to die. Ratso’s heart trip-hammered at the thought. They were still finding pieces of the last guy who’d turned on Lopez.

  But on the other hand, to be back in a prison system that was home to an entire branch of the Aryan Nation… A fresh torrent of sweat broke out. One of the cops sniffed suspiciously then looked back at him with a sneer.

  The badges had caught him. It was his fault. He’d been making some bad decisions lately, starting with the decision to work for Lopez. He shouldn’t have accepted Lopez’s offer but shit, Lopez was offering almost three-hundred large. He thought he’d be able to keep it a secret but one of Lopez’s men had dropped a dime on him. With the cops on his tail, he’d had to run.

  He should have just hopped on a bus to Mexico and taken a flight out to Rio from there. A man he’d met in stir could have gotten him a new passport that would definitely have been good enough to get out of the country and fly from a foreign city. First to Aruba, where he had money he’d salte
d away over the years, then from there to Rio, where no one could ever force him back. But spending the rest of his life in a foreign country required more money than he had, so he’d waited until he could cash in the extra couple hundred thou he was owed here and there, not to mention cashing in on his stocks. Even in the bear market, he’d been making money.

  He’d been on his way to meet his broker when the cops nabbed him.

  He should have skipped town two weeks ago.

  He was so fucked. Massively fucked. Ratso hadn’t had much education, but he had always been good at odds and numbers. And right now, the odds were against him and his number was up.

  Christ, another day and he’d have been home free, with a new passport, new identity, sipping caipirinhas on Copacabana.

  No more dirty work. No more collecting blood money for Angelo Lopez, no more scurrying along with thick-necked goons to terrorize a shopkeeper or entering protection money into a Palm Pilot to stash away in Switzerland for Lopez.

  Another day! All it would have taken was one more day. Now there was no way he could convince Lopez he hadn’t talked. Ratso was sure Angelo would get him one way or another. And if he didn’t talk, the cops would put him in stir.

  Talk about your lose-lose situation.

  Ratso’s brain worked feverishly as the black and white pulled up in front of the station house. He had to get away. He had to. He had to.

  Because otherwise, whether in prison or in Lopez’s warehouse, his life was over.

  * * * * *

  “We’re really sorry to see you go,” Kathy said. “We’re all going to miss you.”

  Caitlin nodded as she put her papers away, looking around the squad room where she’d spent so many intense hours.

  She had to clear her throat to get it to work. It felt tight, hot, incapable of uttering a sound. She studiously avoided looking at Alex’s closed door but it was next to impossible, there every time she turned around. He was behind it and staying there. If there was even a tiny hope left in her that there might still be something between them after this morning, there was her answer.

  It was definitely over, whatever “it” had been, and Alex was going to ignore her until she left. But professional and personal pride wouldn’t allow her to let Kathy see how upset she was. She turned, pasting a big smile on her face. “I’ll miss you guys too.”

  “Give me a call when you get settled into your new job,” Kathy said, picking up a few stray papers which had fallen to the floor and handing them to Caitlin. “We’ll get together for some coffee that doesn’t belong in Dr. Kevorkian’s IV line.”

  Well, that was something. Life would go on. She knew that, intellectually. She’d go to work at the Frederiksson, maybe write a book, decorate her new apartment. Have dinner with Kathy occasionally. Maybe Kathy would keep her up to date on what was going on with Alex—

  Whoa. Caitlin nipped that thought in the bud. It was too pathetic. There had to be a clean break. She couldn’t pine forever. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

  “Count me in,” another officer, Sally Devoe, chimed in. Sally had been a fun interview. She’d been delighted when Caitlin had told her that in the wild, lionesses did all the hunting in the pride. Sally now gave her male colleagues a mock roar every time she walked by.

  Caitlin had interviewed her extensively and found her to be smart and funny, just like Kathy. That was two possible new friends.

  “Me too.” Tom Roscoe, a new recruit from the academy, picked up a book Caitlin had left on a chair. “You can’t make it a chicks-only gathering,” he said, grinning as he handed her the book. “That would be discrimination.”

  “Here.” Kathy walked over to the soda pop dispenser and put in some change. When nothing came out, she kicked it in the side and two cans of Diet Coke popped out. She walked back smiling and thrust a can into Caitlin’s hands. “There you are, it just needed a little percussive maintenance. So, Caitlin, before you go, I propose a toast.”

  She raised her can high and her voice took on the solemn tones of a toastmaster. “To Caitlin Summers, the woman who did the impossible—she singlehandedly turned Lieutenant Alex Cruz into a human being.” She opened her can with a flourish.

  “I second the motion.” Sally put change in the machine, kicked it viciously and brought back a can. “Alex actually smiled the other day. I’ve been here ten years and I can’t recall him ever smiling. And damned if he didn’t! Twice, if I’m not mistaken.” Her brow furrowed. “Trés weird.”

  “And a few days ago I caught him humming,” Tom added. “‘Memory’.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine? In the academy, the older officers used to joke about him being immortal. To kill him you’d have to put a wooden stake through his heart.”

  “And we owe it all to you,” Kathy said, slapping Caitlin on the back. Caitlin staggered and coughed. Officers were drifting over, sensing the opportunity to rag one of their own. Kathy raised her can again and looked around at her colleagues. “Another toast. To Belle! Who tamed the Beast!”

  “We talking about Alex?” someone asked.

  “Who else?” someone else called out.

  “No, really,” Caitlin said, looking around at the grinning faces. This was too horrible. No way could she announce that their relationship—or whatever it was—was over. Not here, not now. Later, maybe, she’d confide in Kathy. Much later, when she could talk about it. In the meantime, though the dog didn’t deserve it, she felt Alex needed a little defending. “I didn’t do anything. And come on now. Alex couldn’t have been all that bad-tempered.”

  There was a polite silence.

  Caitlin remembered what Alex had been like on that first day.

  Okay. She’d done the adult thing and now she’d shut up.

  “So,” Kathy said, slinging a friendly arm around Caitlin’s shoulders, “we can now rest easy in the Baylorville PD and come to work with a smile on our lips. We really owe you a lot.”

  “Who owes who a lot?” The desk sergeant walked by and Kathy put a can of pop in his hands. “We do,” she said and pointed her own can at Caitlin. “Her. We owe Caitlin. For taming Alex.”

  * * * * *

  With every step he took, Ratso’s terror grew until he was shaking and trembling. He was sweating so badly the booking officer had to throw away the first set of prints in disgust and take another set.

  Coming into the station house, Ratso had seen Eugenio Carlucci, aka Ginny the Gun, one of Lopez’s men. One of Lopez’s nastier men. Ginny was known for blowing out kneecaps if you looked at him sideways.

  Ginny had recognized him. Those black eyes as flat and cruel as a shark’s had narrowed, focused in on Ratso. Lopez would spring Ginny in a couple of hours then Lopez would know he was with the cops. A minute later, Lopez would already be making his plans to get rid of him. Lopez was a fast mover. He would figure something out. Undoubtedly he had someone on his payroll in the BPD. Unless Ratso could get away—now—he was a walking dead man.

  Dripping with sweat, Ratso looked around, conscious of each second passing. The officer who had taken his prints had disappeared and, for the moment, no one seemed to be paying him any attention even though the squad room was packed. Ratso flexed his hands. Whatever he was going to do, he couldn’t do it in handcuffs.

  “Hey!” he called out when the officer reappeared without his prints.

  The officer looked over at him, frowning. “Yeah?”

  “Fucking hurts.” Ratso held out his handcuffed hands. “Come on, gimme a break.”

  The officer looked him over, then pulled out a key and unlocked the cuffs. Ratso rubbed his sore wrists. He still didn’t know what he was going to do but at least he wasn’t in handcuffs anymore.

  “Okay,” the officer said, attaching the handcuffs to his belt. “You just sit still until the lieutenant comes out. He’s been waiting to talk to you for a long time.”

  The lieutenant. Christ.

  Ratso looked around desperately. There had to be something he could do. Think! r />
  He had the use of his hands and his legs. And his head, which had never failed him before. He knew his looks fooled a lot of people, but he was smart. The only really dumb thing he’d ever done in his life was to keep Angelo Lopez’s accounts. He hadn’t drawn a carefree breath since.

  Ratso took in everything while making sure he wasn’t making eye contact with the cop across the desk. The cop wasn’t paying him any attention anyway. It looked like there was a little party going on two desks down, between him and freedom. The uniforms were clustered around a pretty blonde girl. The girl clearly wasn’t a cop. She was too young, for one thing, and looked way too innocent. So if she wasn’t a cop, who was she?

  Whoever she was, the cops cared about her, that was for sure. They were laughing and smiling and pumping her hand.

  A vague idea started taking shape in Ratso’s mind. But he’d need someone new to the cop shop, someone clueless…

  Shifting in his seat as if he were uncomfortable, Ratso moved his chair around so he could study the uniforms. Maybe a female cop. A woman might be weaker…

  He looked at the two female cops and changed his mind.

  He switched his attention to the youngest-looking cop. Roscoe, someone called him. Barely old enough to grow a beard, rosy-cheeked, he was laughing raucously at something someone had said, oblivious to his surroundings. Clueless.

  Perfect.

  The party was breaking up and the young blonde girl started gathering her things. She turned full-face toward Ratso and he blinked at how pretty she was. Never mind, he told himself. Didn’t make any difference what she looked like. Pretty girls bought it every day. Besides, who knew? She might even live.

  Ratso was plotting trajectories and moves when the door to Lieutenant Cruz’s office started opening. Panic skittered up his spine. Once Alex Cruz was in the room, Ratso knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with anything. It was now or never.

  “Feel sick,” he mumbled.

  The cop who had taken his prints looked up at him with a frown. Ratso knew he was pasty white and he could feel the sweat rolling down the sides of his face. It was terror, not nausea, but the cop wouldn’t know that.