“Nah.” Logan took a sip from his bottle. “Veronica is smart, balanced and has already distinguish herself in her own unit. She’s also good with the dogs. She seems to be a natural.”
“Sounds as if you’ve decided.”
“The jury’s still out, but those two are at the top of the list and, like I said, both look promising.” Logan watched a tall brunette wearing shorts and a tank top sashay by. “How I love the hot California sunshine!” he said with a grin when she was out of earshot. “So what’s on your mind?”
Rick took a drink, too, and thought about how Madison’s own views, and the discussion with her father over dinner, had caused him to question even more what he’d been doing with the kids coming across the border. “You tend to be a black-and-white sort of guy,” he began slowly. “We all understand and respect it. We always know where you stand and where we stand with you.”
Those piercing blue eyes of Logan’s narrowed. “Someone have a problem with that?”
“No.” Rick was quick to assure him. “But do you ever see any gray between the extremes?”
“In what way?”
“On the job.” Rick could see that Logan was trying to work out in his mind where the conversation was heading. If the deep creases in his brow and the hunching of his shoulders were any indication, he didn’t seem too pleased about the prospects.
“The law is black-and-white. There’s not a whole lot of gray there.”
Logan sounded like Patrick Long. Rick knew he had to choose his words carefully, especially since Logan was not just a friend but his boss. “We don’t issue speeding tickets to people who’re a few clicks over the limit, nor do we arrest a kid who’s got a joint or two in his back pocket, despite the fact that in both cases they’re breaking the law.”
“True. We don’t have the manpower to process all those minor infractions, nor is there a huge downside. If we catch them, we give them a warning. That’s usually deterrent enough, at least for the short-term.” Even white teeth flashed when he smiled. “How many times would your younger self have been hauled in if we enforced to the letter of the law?”
“About as often as you would’ve been,” Rick shot back. “But never for drugs,” he added. “So there’s some gray at times that is acceptable,” he concluded.
Logan’s lips turned down and his gaze was steady on Rick’s. “Did you get written up for something? Speeding? A brawl?”
Rick’s loud laugh attracted a few curious glances from nearby tables. “No! C’mon, Jagger. You should know better than that.”
“So what’s this about?”
“What if someone just needs a break? Those examples you cited, they show there’s some flexibility in the system, right?”
“The law is the law, but resources and consequences need to be considered. The examples you used are very minor infractions that would just bog down the system. It’s accepted that we use our discretion in those cases.”
“Exactly!” Rick pointed with his bottle and thought again about Matías and the life he would’ve had in Mexico, working for the cartel. “And in others? Where upholding the law might cause more harm than good?”
Logan drained the last of his beer. “Our job is to uphold the law. We aren’t judge or jury. It’s not our job to consider extenuating circumstances or decide punishment for a crime. If we did, we’d have anarchy. Each one of us would apply the law in a different way. Make allowances in an inconsistent manner.”
They locked eyes for a long moment.
“If there’s something specific you want to discuss with me, do it,” Logan finally said. “If not, I suggest we change the subject, because I can’t help you with esoteric questions.”
“No, there’s nothing specific.” Rick looked out at the ocean. He was reminded of his discussion with Madison’s father, and the fact that Logan’s position seemed to be consistent with Patrick Long’s. “You and Madison’s father would get along well,” he speculated.
When he slid his gaze back to Logan, he could see that his captain had relaxed.
“That’s what this is about? The views of the Supreme Court judge are a little more rigid than yours?” There was a mocking light in his eyes now.
Rick wished that it was that simple, but he decided it was best to leave it at that, at least for now. He got the distinct impression that Logan wouldn’t be sympathetic to Matías’s predicament and what Rick had done about it. He watched Logan’s face when his captain glanced at another young woman pass by. That might be unfair. Logan was a good cop, and he had a big heart. He’d be sympathetic but inflexible. In some ways, that would be harder to bear, Rick mused, knowing that upholding the law might not be the best outcome in a situation but upholding it regardless.
If he could do it over again with Matías, he knew he’d do exactly the same thing, so he turned the conversation to another topic that had been eating away at him.
“I think we have a snitch.”
Logan’s eyes snapped back to Rick’s. “Why do you say that?”
Rick shrugged. “It’s just too coincidental, if you ask me, that the last number of times we’ve moved on the cartel, they’ve been a step ahead of us. Someone must be feeding them information.”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“So where do we go from here?” Rick asked.
“We find the leak and shut it down” was Logan’s unequivocal answer. “And we do it before we make our big move.”
* * *
RICK CONTINUED TO struggle with what he was doing. His chat with Logan had done nothing to alleviate his ambivalence. Just the opposite. He’d established that his captain would not approve of his actions, which merely added to his discomfort. Out of guilt as much as for pleasure, Rick ramped up his drug-abuse awareness work with school kids. That was something the department wholeheartedly supported. Although he still planned to use Sniff, he wanted to introduce Nitro to the process, too, so he brought the Malinois mix for the session at Del Mar High School.
The murmurs in the school gymnasium subsided the minute Rick and Nitro walked in. Rick was pleased to see the large group. A few students asked if they could pet Nitro and Rick encouraged them to do so. The kids were more receptive if they felt comfortable with the dog, and it was a great orientation for Nitro. After the usual cursory overview by the teacher, Rick introduced Nitro, explained a little about his own job and how he and the dog worked together. He went on to talk about drugs and the harm they caused, the consequences that could result if someone chose to risk it and either use or sell drugs. He could see he’d made an impact on the kids by their wide-eyed looks and their body language. That mattered to him.
It was time to lighten up the session and leave them with a positive message. Rick walked Nitro around the semicircle of chairs so that each student could touch the dog and not be afraid of him. “Are you ready for a demonstration?” Rick asked the kids.
There was a chorus of excited yeses.
“All right. I’m going to ask Nitro to search for drugs in this room. Nitro is very thorough. While he searches, he’ll stop and check each one of you. He won’t hurt you, I promise, but he will get close and sniff you, including your pockets, shoes and so forth. Are you all comfortable with that?” Rick met the kids’ eyes to see their reactions. He’d done this exercise often enough to know that if any of the kids were early users—or worse, schoolyard dealers—their discomfort would show. When that happened in the past, he’d allowed the kid to excuse him-or herself, but followed up with a private meeting in the presence of a school counselor. Getting those kids off that path and back on the straight and narrow was the most rewarding part of his volunteer work. He was pleased to see only enthusiasm from these kids.
“Okay. Here we go.” He unclipped Nitro’s leash and sent him off with a hand signal. The kids giggled while Nitro chec
ked each of them, at times inadvertently tickling them when he sniffed their hair or clothes. When Nitro completed his search and came back to sit at Rick’s side, the kids were all smiling.
One hand shot up. “How do you know if he finds drugs somewhere?”
“He does what’s called a passive indication. Let me show you.” Rick motioned for the teacher who’d been standing at the back to bring in the box of canisters he’d left outside the gymnasium. When she returned, he asked her to place the half dozen canisters in various locations throughout the room. While she did so, Rick explained that one of the canisters contained a trace amount of narcotic residue and the others were clean. He further explained that the canister that contained the residue had a big red X on the bottom. This would allow them to determine if Nitro had the right canister or not.
“Ready?” he asked the kids when the teacher had placed the last canister. With a hand signal, he put Nitro to work again. The kids’ faces glowed with excitement.
The dog methodically searched the room again at a rapid pace until he got to one of the canisters. He sat down abruptly and stared at it. Rick was pleased to see how well Nitro had done, considering the short time he’d been working with him.
“What’s he doing?” one of the kids asked.
“That’s what I said is called passive indication. It means he can smell the trace amount of drugs in the canister. Why don’t you see if he’s right by checking the canister? Has it got the red X on the bottom?”
With a huge grin on his face, the boy ran over and lifted up the canister. He let out a loud whoop and showed the big bold X on the bottom to everyone in the room. “Nitro was right!”
“He usually is. He’s correct ninety-nine point six percent of the time. How many of you get scores like that on tests?” Rick asked with an easy smile on his face. The kids all laughed.
Rick thanked them for their attention and participation, and he and Nitro said their goodbyes. When he turned to leave, he noticed a blur of movement through the glass pane of the hallway door. He increased his pace and saw a small figure rounding the corner at a run. He was more curious than concerned, but picked up his speed. When he saw the dark-haired boy about to push through the crash bars of the exit door, he called to him to stop. The boy’s shoulders slumped and he glanced over at Rick. Rick recognized him immediately. This time he called the boy by name. “Matías! Wait.”
His eyes showed fear. Rick knew kids well enough that he could tell this one was about to scram. “Hold on,” he said. “I just want to talk to you.”
Matías froze and Rick jogged over to him. He unobtrusively signaled Nitro to do a quick check; he wanted to make sure the kid hadn’t been running because he had drugs on him.
He was clean.
“You decided to stay in California, did you, Matías?” he asked conversationally.
The kid looked around anxiously and, with a finger over his lips, he whispered. “Shh. I’m just Matt here. Just Matt. And yeah. I stayed.”
Rick realized the kid was trying to fit in by Americanizing his name. He himself had used Rick rather than Enrique almost from the time he’d set foot on American soil for the same reason. When a teacher approached them from the opposite direction, Matías appeared panicky. “I didn’t want to miss my class,” he said vehemently. “I got the highest mark on a math test and I don’t want to get in trouble or ruin my grades.”
“Good for you,” Rick said quietly. Then he dropped a hand companionably on Matías’s shoulder and spoke to the teacher. “Is Matí—uh, Matt in your class?”
“He is. But not right now,” she said with a warm smile at the kid. Then she glanced at the SDPD logo on Rick’s shirt and frowned. “Is Matt in trouble?”
“Jeez,” Matías grumbled under his breath to Rick. “See what you’ve done?”
Rick applied just enough pressure to his shoulder to both bolster him and keep him from fidgeting. “No, he’s not. We...met a few weeks back. I wanted to see how he’s doing, that’s all.”
The teacher relaxed noticeably.
“I understand he should be in a class right now. Could you let his teacher know I want to spend a few minutes with him?”
She nodded, and Rick said, “We’ll be outside. Thanks for taking care of this for me.”
She gave him an inviting little smile, but when he didn’t reciprocate, she headed off.
“So why were you running away from the gym?” Rick asked Matt casually while they walked outside and toward the baseball diamond bleachers. His hand still rested on the kid’s back, and he felt him tense. He wondered again if somehow the kid was still involved with drugs. The thought troubled him. “I’m asking as a...friend, not as a cop.”
Matt jerked his shoulders. “I heard a cop and his dog were comin’ to talk about drugs. I kinda wondered if it was you and your dog. Anyway, I wanted to find out what you were gonna say.”
“Why’s that?” Rick asked when they’d sat down on a bench.
“’Cause drugs are bad. Kids should know that,” he said with a resolute nod of his head.
Rick had an odd feeling he couldn’t quite describe. Was it pride? Was it hope that Matías—Matt—was going to turn out okay? “I’m glad you know that. How did you manage to stay here and get into school so quickly?”
Matt hopped off the bench to retrieve an overlooked softball. He tossed it from one hand to the other while he walked back to the bench. “I did what you said. I went to Child Services. They put me in a home with a bunch of other kids. It was okay. Better than back home, but then they moved me in with a family. They speak Spanish, and they...they don’t hit.” A grin appeared on his face. “We have a dog!” He pointed at Nitro. “Can I throw the ball for him?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
The ball went flying, and Nitro shot off after it. The kid had a good arm, Rick thought.
“They don’t hit and they listen,” Matt said, his voice serious, his back to Rick.
Rick remembered even after all these years what it felt like to get backhanded by his birth father or mother. More than the physical hurt, it was the emotional pain that lingered. “That’s good.”
Matt threw the ball once more. He laughed like a hyena when Nitro fielded it in midair. When Matt caught his breath, he turned to Rick. “I want good grades because I want to be a teacher. I want to teach kids so they don’t end up like...like some of the kids back home. So they can make money and take care of their family.”
* * *
RICK’S SELF-DOUBT ABOUT what he’d been doing had been heightened by Madison’s views and the subsequent discussion he’d had with Logan. But now, driving home from the school—having seen Matt and witnessed his passion and commitment to becoming a teacher to help other kids—he was glad about what he’d done. He could relate to Matt, since he’d felt the same way about wanting to be a cop at nearly the same age. Watching Matt’s beaming face and the glint of conviction in his eyes, Rick knew he’d done the right thing, no matter what Madison, her father or Logan thought.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“MADISON, MADISON!” HEATHER CALLED even before she swung open the door to the treatment room Madison was working in. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Yarby,” she said to the gentleman with the rottweiler. “But I need to speak to Dr. Long.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” Madison told the man apologetically and followed Heather out of the room, closing the door behind her. “What’s up?” Heather’s distress was clear.
“It’s horrible.” Heather grabbed Madison’s hand and pulled her toward the reception area, where she had the radio playing softly. “Listen...”
Madison did. She heard a commercial for a new-model Nissan. She looked at Heather quizzically. “You want me to buy a new car?”
Heather waved her arms frantically. “No, no! The news was on before that. There was
an explosion. A police officer was badly injured.”
Madison’s heart rate accelerated and a chill snaked up her spine. “That’s terrible! Did they say who?”
“No. Just that he’s with the SDPD, and he works narcotics,” Heather said quietly.
Madison reacted quickly but she felt as if she was moving through molasses. She picked up the phone, called Jane and asked her to handle her patient. The whole time, a terrified voice inside her screamed that it couldn’t be Rick.
She drew Heather into an office. “Tell me what you heard.” There were tears in Heather’s eyes, which only added to Madison’s trepidation.
“The reporter said they’d been trying to crack the largest Mexican drug cartel. Los Supo...or Zapos or something...”
“Zetas. Los Zetas,” Madison supplied. “Go on.” Madison was so cold she thought if she moved, her bones would shatter. Rick had told her Los Zetas was the largest and most dangerous cartel they had to contend with. She understood it wasn’t just a job for him. It was personal, and that could be even more dangerous, especially for a man who’d learned at a young age that life could be fleeting.
“Tell me,” Madison repeated.
“So they had a tip from a confidential informant, the reporter said, and they were executing a search warrant for a warehouse in Miramar. There are some light-industrial areas there. Apparently, a police dog determined that there were drugs inside the building. So they went in and the dog, um...” Heather’s voice trailed off.
“Indicated,” Madison murmured, and the full significance started to sink in. If a dog was involved... “Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. So the dog indicated that there were drugs inside the office area. The door was rigged to explode when they tried to enter. The reporter said they were lucky because there were sufficient explosives to destroy the entire building, and...”