Sniff and a beautiful Malinois stood just inside the door. She scratched Sniff’s head and turned to the Malinois. “Who’s this?”
Rick gave the dog a hand signal that had him plopping down. “This is Nitro. He’s my new partner in training.”
Madison glanced up at him. “Does this mean Sniff’s retiring?”
“Yes. His retirement has been approved.”
“Yay!” She did a little fist pump. “That’s wonderful news.” She bent down to rub Sniff’s head again. “Hey, pal. Congratulations! You can look forward to a life of leisure now.” She turned her attention back to Rick. “You having Nitro? Does that change anything about your plans for Sniff?”
“No, of course not, but now he’ll have a buddy to keep him company.”
Madison smiled at Nitro. “He’s beautiful.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Malinois?”
“Malinois–Dutch shepherd. Come in. Let me take this into the kitchen first. Get you a drink.”
Turning to follow him, Madison was confronted by the disorder she’d noticed from outside. She stepped over a running shoe and what looked to be a dish towel, and followed Rick into the kitchen. It was a pot sitting in the doorway. She picked it up and placed it in the sink.
Rick, meanwhile, retrieved the tea towel and tossed it into a laundry hamper inside the open door of a cupboard. He scooped up some kibble from a canister and poured it into two metal dog dishes. Sniff and Nitro both sat patiently until he released them to eat.
“Now, what can I get you?”
“A glass of white wine would be nice, thanks.”
Drink in hand, she followed him into the living room.
With an embarrassed laugh, he hurriedly replaced the cushions and chucked a sneaker that had been on a chair into the corner of the room. “How’s that?” he asked with a grin. “At least you can sit down now.”
Instead of sitting, she joined Rick in his backyard while he barbecued the steaks, potatoes and vegetables for their dinner. She helped by putting together the salad and making garlic bread. She loved the easy good humor they shared. As she set the patio table, she glanced at the two dogs sleeping in the shade of a large tree.
“Isn’t Nitro too old to be training as a police dog?” she asked.
She could see Rick’s face harden. “Nitro’s been with our unit for a few years. He was Brody’s dog. You remember him?”
She nodded. Based on what she’d seen of the man, she felt bad for the dog. “So why’s Nitro with you?”
Rick stuck a fork into the potatoes to test them. “Brody’s no longer with the K-9 Unit.”
“Oh.” She didn’t like the man and wasn’t sorry he’d left. “He quit the police department?”
“If only. No. He was transferred to the financial crimes unit, although I doubt he has the smarts to do much good there.” His gaze met hers, and she could see the dislike Rick harbored for the other cop. “Anyway, Logan’s going to fill Brody’s spot in the unit, but we decided to retrain Nitro for narcotics detection. With Sniff retiring, I asked to be partnered with Nitro.”
At the mention of their names, both dogs lifted their heads, but Rick signaled them to relax and lie back down.
Madison took a sip of her wine. “Explain to me how it works. I’ve heard bits and pieces. How do they search houses and cars, for example, for drugs?”
Rick lowered the top of the barbecue and joined her at the patio table. “A dog will do what’s called a perimeter search of a structure or a vehicle. With the dogs’ track records for accurate detection, if he indicates that drugs are present, that gives us probable cause to search inside. More often than not, it leads to arrest.”
“I see.”
“We also patrol the border. Often we have tips from CIs—confidential informants—that there’s a shipment coming across the border by vehicle or mules.”
“Mules?”
“Yeah. Runners working for a cartel, coming from Mexico on foot with drugs to deliver to dealers on this side of the border.”
“They walk across?” She thought about the length of the border and how daunting it must be to patrol all that distance, not just the roads.
“The dogs help there, too. There are some common crossings. Once they’re on this side of the border, they’re illegal aliens, so we can apprehend them even without the suspicion of drugs. Most of our dogs are trained in suspect apprehension, too, and can catch a suspect if he runs.”
“What kind of person would risk coming across the border like that, smuggling drugs?” she asked.
“All kinds. Poverty can do strange things to a person, and the cartels can be...persuasive.” His face sobered. “Often they’re no more than kids.”
“It must be hard to arrest them if they’re kids.” She was dismayed that children would be used in such a manner.
Rick sighed and got up to check the steaks. He came back to the table with two full plates and placed one in front of her. Just when she concluded that he’d assumed her question was rhetorical, he cleared his throat. “I don’t. Not always,” he said quietly.
“What, then?”
“I...I sometimes let them go.”
Madison stared at him. “Even if they have drugs?”
He nodded.
“But they’ve broken the law!”
He shrugged, watched her as she tried her steak. “How do you like it?” he asked, changing the subject.
“It’s perfect. Thanks.” But she was too curious about what he’d said not to pursue it. “So what happens to them if you let them go?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Her mouth full, Madison nodded, but she was no longer certain she did.
“All right. I’ll give you an example.” He told her about a young boy called Matías, whom he’d caught at the border with a couple kilos of cocaine and a nasty bruise on his face. He’d taken the drugs, gotten as much information from the kid as he could and let him go, hoping he’d continue into San Diego as opposed to going back.
While they ate, Madison kept thinking about Rick’s role in law enforcement compared to the one he sometimes chose out of compassion. He understood the law and in every other respect seemed committed to uphold it. She realized he couldn’t disregard his own experience. Still, he wasn’t doing what he’d sworn to do. She tried not to dwell on it, at least for the time being.
After their meal, Madison offered to retrieve the dessert she’d brought, but Rick had his own plans. He brought out four sweet buns with a streusel topping. “It’s a Mexican dessert,” he explained. “It’s called pan dulce.”
Madison tasted one of the buns and licked the tasty, sticky streusel off her fingers. “Delicious! Is this something you ate when you were a child?”
Rick bit into his own bun. “Not in Mexico. It’s one of the things my mom—Hillary,” he clarified, “did for me when I came to live with them.” He smiled. “She did it to make me feel at home.”
As they finished their coffee and dessert, Madison’s thoughts drifted back to what she’d learned about Rick. She considered her father, and what he’d have to say about a law enforcement officer choosing when and when not to uphold the law, even if that officer had the best of intentions.
“Is everything okay?” Rick asked when he walked her out to her SUV at the end of the evening.
Her moral dilemma must have shown on her face. “Yeah. Sure,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction, even to her own ears.
As she drove home, she continued to think about everything they’d discussed that night. Was it so wrong for Rick to be helping boys who’d already suffered in ways no child should have to suffer? Was he seeing himself in those boys and was that why? Still, the law was the law. She’d learned that as far back as she could remember. Apart from her fa
ther, how did she feel about it? Compassion versus convictions waged a battle. She truly cared about Rick—was more than halfway in love with him—but she might have discovered a basic incompatibility that they needed to understand and resolve...or accept.
And if she did accept it, she’d have to keep it from her father. Of that she was certain. Her entire life, she’d never lied to him, had never kept anything from him. Having to do it now would create a whole new dilemma for her.
* * *
MADISON WAS UP to her elbows in flour. Since she had the day off, she’d decided to try her hand at making Rick the pan dulce pastries he remembered so fondly. Without Rick’s knowledge, Madison had gotten the recipe from Mrs. Stewart and wanted to surprise Rick with it after dinner. She’d just started to knead the dough when Owen raised his head, let out the typical malamute woo-hoo and bolted for the front door.
Madison glanced at her kitchen clock. It was much too early for Rick to arrive. When she heard the doorbell, she brushed her hair back with her forearm and rushed after Owen.
She swung the door open and squealed. “Dad! I didn’t know you were coming to California.” She hugged him, trying to be careful not to get flour on his dark suit jacket.
He didn’t seem to have the same reservation and wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, honey,” he murmured.
When she stepped back, he brushed at the flour on her forehead.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, gesturing at the generous amounts of flour she’d managed to transfer to his jacket.
“Don’t worry about it.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and walked in. “Hey, Owen.”
“It’s great to see you, Dad, but why didn’t you call or send me an email to let me know you were coming?”
Patrick Long followed his daughter and gave her a blank stare. “I asked Holly to send you an email,” he said, referring to his assistant. “Didn’t you get it?”
Madison shook her head. “No, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just happy to see you! What brought you here and how long are you staying?”
“I was asked at the last minute to fill in for a speaker at a conference. I had to work on my presentation, which is why I asked Holly to send you the note. Unfortunately, I have to return first thing tomorrow morning. So let me take you to dinner tonight.” He chuckled when they entered the kitchen and he saw the clutter on every available surface. “When did you start...” He took a closer look. “Baking?”
“Today,” she acknowledged, a little embarrassed by the uncharacteristic disarray in her kitchen and the mess she was sure she was. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. Her father laughed and brushed off the flour she must have deposited there. “As for dinner...” She thought about calling and canceling with Rick, but if her father was leaving the next day, she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to finally introduce him to Rick. “Um, how about having a home-cooked meal here instead?”
Her father knew her well and was aware of her lack of interest in cooking. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s sweet of you, but I don’t mind taking you out. Spare you the trouble.”
“It’s not that simple.” She washed her hands and mixed her father his favorite whiskey sour. “I’m making dinner and, as you can see by the chaos around us, dessert...for someone.”
“Am I correct in presuming it’s a man?” He seemed even more disbelieving, and that made her laugh. She wasn’t surprised by his reaction.
“Uh-huh.” They’d had a cook and housekeeper when she was growing up. Madison had always been more interested in her studies and sports, and had had little time for domestic work.
“This man you’re cooking for. It’s serious, then?”
She was certain she was blushing. “I think so.”
Her father leaned against the kitchen counter and took a slow sip of his drink. “Why haven’t you mentioned him to me?”
Another tough question. “I don’t know, Dad. It’s early days still. You could meet him tonight,” she suggested with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
Patrick put down his glass and moved over to Madison. He wrapped both arms around her, resting her head against his shoulder. “I miss having you close to home, honey. I miss knowing about the developments in your life.”
He sounded despondent, and that made Madison feel guilty for not having told him about Rick—and sad about the physical distance between her and her father. For most of her life, it had been just the two of them. She tightened her arms around him. “I miss it, too, Dad. As for Rick, I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned him to you, but I’d like the two of you to meet. It would mean a lot to me.”
“I’d like to meet him, too,” Patrick said.
Madison grinned up at her father. “I’d better call and give him a heads-up. It wouldn’t be fair if he showed up and I just sprung you on him!”
“I can remember when I was a young man and first dating your mother,” he said with the dreamy look he still got whenever he spoke of her. “I’d say that’s an accurate statement. Make your call and then tell me about him.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Madison opened the door for Rick.
He brushed his lips over hers and handed her a huge bouquet of flowers.
“Thank you. Nice,” she commented, and gave him an appreciative smile.
“I’m glad you like them.”
“I do. They’re beautiful. But you...” She motioned with her free hand. “I’ve never seen you in a suit before. Very nice.”
Rick straightened the collar of his shirt. “It’s not a suit exactly. Just pants and a sports jacket. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make a good impression on your father. It also isn’t every day a person meets a Supreme Court judge.”
“He’s just Dad to me.” Madison raised the bouquet to her nose and inhaled the sweet scent of roses, lilies and freesia—her favorite. Rick had remembered! “Thanks again for these. They’re beautiful. Come on in. I’ll put these in water and introduce you to Dad.” She glanced back while they walked toward the kitchen and flashed him a brilliant smile. “You look great all dressed up. Just so you know.”
* * *
AFTER DINNER, RICK watched Madison walk her father out and hug him goodbye.
When she reentered the living room, he was sitting in the middle of the sofa, his head against the cushion. He was sure his face looked as glum as he felt. “That couldn’t have gone much worse,” he said.
Madison flopped down on the sofa next to him and reached for the mug containing her now-cold tea. “I don’t know... He didn’t threaten to have you removed from the police force.”
Rick’s chuckle was strained. “I guess. But other than that, we seem to be at the opposite ends of the spectrum about subjects that are basic to each of us—policing, the judicial system and burden of proof, to name a few.”
“You could’ve let some of the subjects go,” she suggested gently. “I did try to change the topic once or twice, particularly when you were talking about the predicament of underage drug smugglers.”
He sighed heavily and took her hand in his. “No. I couldn’t have. It’s not who I am. Not when they’re things that define me. Some of those kids deserve a break.” He rubbed a callused thumb across her knuckles. “Will I be able to keep seeing you, or is he likely to get a restraining order?”
Madison’s laugh sounded uncomfortable. The fact that she didn’t answer concerned him. He placed his other hand on top of their joined ones. Whether he’d been joking or not, the thought of not seeing her again scared him. He was falling for her, and hard. He’d even tossed the word love around in his head. “I care about you. A lot. I wish your father and I could have gotten along better.”
Rick appreciated how much Madison’s father meant to her. He could see in her eyes—in the lines of her face—that
a grudging acceptance between the two of them for her sake wasn’t what she’d hoped for. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “If I have another chance with him, I promise I’ll try to be less opinionated. More conciliatory. I care that much about you.”
She responded with a slow nod and a small smile.
Rick had to believe her father would try to make the best of it, too, if that was Madison’s wish and in her best interests. He just hoped fervently that her father thought he was in her best interests.
Time would tell.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RICK SAT ON the patio at Buster’s Beach House Bar. Passing his bottle of beer from hand to hand, he watched a schooner sail past. He thought again about Matías and wondered where the kid was and what he was doing. It had been nearly a month since he’d run into the kid. He hoped Matías had followed through, stayed in California and gone to Child Services. He hated the idea of him being back with his family in Mexico and doing the bidding of the cartel. He glanced up when he heard booted footsteps approaching his table.
“Sorry I’m late,” Logan said, and pulled out the chair opposite Rick.
“No problem.” Knowing his captain had a preference for Coronas, too, Rick signaled to their waiter to bring two more beers. “You were interviewing for a replacement for Brody, weren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Logan took off his black ball cap with the SDPD K-9 Unit insignia and placed it on the vacant chair. “There’s a lot of interest, as usual.”
“See anyone promising?”
“A couple actually. One’s a ten-year veteran from Vice. The other’s a rookie who’s showing great potential. Ethan Gillis and Veronica Monroe. Thanks,” he said to the waiter when he brought their beers. “Do you know either of them?”
“I know Gillis to see him, but I don’t know anything about him as a cop. Veronica?” He shook his head. “Never heard of her. Usually you don’t look at rookies.”
“I’m obliged to consider everyone who applies.”
Rick smiled at Logan. “Yeah, yeah. Let me rephrase, Captain. Generally, rookies don’t demonstrate the requisite levels of experience and maturity needed to take on one of the most dangerous roles in policing, blah, blah, blah. Are you being pressured to meet a quota?” Rick asked with a more serious tone.