Heather was hyperventilating.
“Take a couple of slow, deep breaths, then continue,” Madison instructed, resting a hand on Heather’s back.
Heather did as she was told. “Okay. Apparently, only a portion of the explosives that were there went off. Something faulty about how the way they were rigged—thank goodness. But the explosion badly hurt a cop. The dog and everyone else were far enough away so there were no other injuries.”
Madison covered her mouth with her hands and sank down on the low cabinet behind her.
Heather rushed to a cooler, ran some water into a paper cup. “Here...here.” She forced it into Madison’s hand. “The reporter said it was a trap. Said the cartel had declared war on the SDPD because of their aggressive stance on drug smuggling, and this was payback.”
“Would you call the division for me?” Madison asked in a strangled voice. “Ask if Rick is okay?”
“Sure.” Heather picked up the phone and dialed. She knew the number because she often had to call for appointments and follow-up.
Madison’s eyes felt huge and she stared at Heather, unblinking. “What did they say?” she asked as soon as Heather hung up.
“They wouldn’t tell me anything. They need to talk to the police officer’s family first.”
Madison’s terror was mounting. She tugged her iPhone out of her pocket. She wasn’t thinking clearly or she would’ve thought of that first. She called Rick’s cell phone number; it went straight to voice mail. That doesn’t mean anything, she tried to convince herself. He’d be busy—they all would be—with what had just happened. Please, God, let him be okay. But if it wasn’t him, it would be one of the other cops in the unit or the department. She scrolled through her contacts and found Jessica’s number. Pressed Send.
Madison watched Heather leave discreetly as she waited for the call to be answered.
“You heard?” was the first thing Jessica said.
Oh, God, it can’t be. It can’t be. “Is it... Was it...?” She couldn’t get the words out. At least she knew it wasn’t Cal, because they’d reported that it was a narcotics cop.
“Calm down, Madison. It’s not Rick, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“What?” Madison’s hand was shaking so badly she could barely hold the phone to her ear, but she hoped she hadn’t misheard her friend.
“It’s not Rick.” Jessica enunciated the words. “Rick is fine. The injured officer is with the Narcotics Task Force, not the K-9 Unit.”
Now the tears came—tears of relief, of pent-up terror and panic, of sympathy for the injured officer and his family. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered. Then she caught herself, realizing that a police officer was still injured. His family would be worried sick. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Do you know the officer?”
“Yeah. I met him, his wife, his son and his daughter a few times at police functions.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “Can you call me if you hear anything, either from Cal or about the officer?”
“Of course I will.”
As soon as Madison hung up the phone, she bent over, trying to catch her breath and keep from vomiting.
* * *
RICK CALLED MADISON a couple of hours later. She sounded relieved and upset at the same time, but seemed very glad to hear his voice. She wanted to see him and said as much.
“I’ll come over when we’re done here, if you’re okay having the dogs, and if it’s not too late.”
“Of course the dogs are welcome, and don’t worry about the time. I won’t be sleeping.”
When Rick finally showed up at her house well after midnight, Madison threw herself into his arms.
“I was so worried about you! At first I didn’t know it wasn’t you. Heather heard about the explosion on the radio. About a narcotics cop and the Los Zetas Cartel. I thought it might be you.”
She buried her face against his neck, and he stroked her back reassuringly.
“Hey. It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“But you were there?” she almost wailed. “You know the officer who was injured?”
“Yes. Fortunately, Mike will be fine.”
Madison took a step back. “But from what I heard, you could all have been killed. I heard there were enough explosives in there that the whole warehouse could’ve blown up, along with everyone in it.”
He grabbed her elbow, guided her in and closed the door behind them. “That’s true. More or less. There was a fault in the detonator cord. The fact that all the explosives didn’t go off likely saved us from additional...injuries. We’re all upset that Mike’s hurt, and his family is distraught. He has two kids.”
Rick led Madison into the living room, the dogs trailing behind them. He nudged her onto the sofa.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he continued. “We know there are risks. It’s the reality, and I can’t change that. We accept it as part of the job.” He wondered if she could accept it, but didn’t voice the question, especially under the circumstances.
He was afraid of the answer.
Madison sprang up, spread her arms, dropped them again. “You accept it? The fact that you could die? How does Mike’s wife accept that she almost lost her husband in that raid today? That her kids could’ve been left without a father? What about Jeff’s family? How should I accept it if our relationship gets serious?”
Rick was afraid he’d gotten his answer without having asked the question. He’d had a very long, hard day, and he was losing his patience. “Will you please sit down and let me get you a drink?”
She shook her head, disbelief evident on her face, but did as he asked and perched on the edge of the sofa. Her anxiety was transmitting itself to the dogs, and Rick gave them a signal to calm down. He tried to keep himself calm, too, as he went into the kitchen to get her a glass of water.
“The cop... Mike?” she went on when he returned. “He’s a colleague. You know him. Doesn’t this make you worry that it could happen to you, too? Doesn’t it make you think about quitting?”
Rick stopped abruptly and glared at Madison. “You don’t think I’m bothered by this? You don’t think it matters to me? Well, it does. Damn right it does! Like you said, he’s a colleague. Although we might not be close—mostly because his family means everything to him and he spends every spare minute with them—we’ve been on the job together since I joined the SDPD.”
Rick’s anger fizzled out and he sat in the armchair across from Madison, forearms resting on his knees, fingers linked. “As for thinking about quitting... No. Never.” The last word was an emphatic whisper. “This is who I am. It’s what I am. Something like this only makes me more determined to do what I do and do it to the best of my ability. My job is to take down guys like the ones who did this to Mike...and to Jeff. To keep them from hurting kids, and injuring or killing good cops or innocent people.” He exhaled. He didn’t want to think about the fact that all indications were, once again, that he was the one they’d targeted. They didn’t care about the collateral damage. All the explosives could’ve gone off and the entire building blown up. In fact, he expected that would have been a plus for them—a message sent to the entire department. “Is it so hard to understand why I feel this way?” he asked.
Madison’s face paled. “I’m sorry. I...I don’t know what to say other than sorry. I just don’t understand how you can be so...accepting... Accepting isn’t the right word. Resigned, maybe? About the dangers you face each day.”
Rick leaned back and considered how to respond. At the best of times, cops’ partners had a heavy burden to bear, knowing that any day there might be a knock on their door to let them know their spouse had been killed in the line of duty. And his current circumstances were far riskier, since the cartel was targeting him.
If their relationship
was to progress, she had a right to know about the extent of the dangers he faced because of the demons that drove him. She’d already put into words her concern about being able to accept it...and therefore accept him. And that didn’t include the possible risk to her. There hadn’t been any further occurrences and Logan had arranged for frequent drive-bys, but that didn’t negate the possibility. If he was completely honest with her, would his candor drive her away?
He was falling in love with Madison.
If she couldn’t accept him and his circumstances, which applied to both the danger he faced on the job and what he did on occasion with Mexican kids crossing the border, he’d rather know now than when his heart was even more deeply invested. He needed to make her aware of whatever information he could, but he wasn’t at liberty to discuss that the cartel was targeting him.
“I need to make a difference. I have to do what I do. It’s who I am,” he said again.
And then he started to tell her why and hoped she’d still want him when he finished.
* * *
MADISON LISTENED INTENTLY while Rick told her more about his childhood, about living in Tijuana. Details he hadn’t shared with her before—about his life there, his birth parents, their occupations and preoccupations.
And their execution.
She rose to move around the room and found it easier to listen to some of the most painful parts with her back to him, not having to look at this strong, brave man and see in him the terrified, neglected, abused boy he’d been. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, because he’d overcome his early experiences and achieved so much. But her heart shattered yet again for the little boy he was never allowed to be.
Rick segued into the present—what he did and why. The strength and reach of the cartels, the difference the SDPD had made in recent years and his own role in it. And that all translated into the dangers of his job and having to live with knowing what could happen to him any day he was on duty. He was going up against the largest cartels, the most notorious organized crime syndicates. In the short few months she’d known Rick, one officer had died and another currently lay in the hospital. Either time, it could have been Rick.
How could she live with that?
She turned and faced him, her vision blurred by tears. When he stood up to come to her, to take her in his arms and hold her, she had a new, nearly debilitating fear.
She wondered if she could live without him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RICK HAD A restless night. He wasn’t sure where he and Madison stood, and he remained frustrated and angered about how he and other members of his division had walked into another ambush the day before. Logan was in no better mood when Rick saw him. He was convinced he’d failed them all by not going along with Boomer to check for explosives. Rick understood what Logan was feeling. It wasn’t unlike what he felt about not being on duty when Jeff had lost his life. Logically, Logan would know they couldn’t protect against every possibility. Finding explosives set to detonate in the warehouse had not been an anticipated risk. It had happened only because the cartel had set a trap. But it was Logan’s job to expect the unexpected.
And that brought it full circle for Rick—thinking it was his fault since the cartel was targeting him. Why wouldn’t they just shoot him? They’d had all sorts of opportunities, but he knew the answer. It wasn’t only about taking him out. If that was all, there were many other cops who’d step into his shoes. He’d become a martyr and the department would want vengeance, even more so than they already did because of Jeff. So it was also about making a statement to any who might think of following his footsteps.
Logan, Rick and the others in charge had a bigger problem. This tip had come in through a CI the division knew and trusted, but it had been a setup. They were getting intelligence through a snitch or some other means. Could they be certain that the cartel had no knowledge of what they were planning for the takedown and when they intended to do it? Los Zetas seemed to have been a step ahead of them again. There had to be an informant working both sides. Was that person close enough to the SDPD to know of their plans?
Well, they’d been taught another costly lesson. Now they would expect the unexpected and prepare for it. Which meant that, for now, they’d have to rethink their plan and revise the timing. They couldn’t risk moving forward with their current strategy. And the information related to it would be shared on an even more restricted basis.
* * *
“DO YOU HAVE a minute?” Madison asked from Jessica’s office doorway.
Jessica swiveled around on her chair and gave her friend a wide smile. “What a nice surprise! As it happens, I do. Come in. What brings you here in the middle of a workday?”
“It’s my day off.” Madison looked around the small, cluttered office. “Can we get a coffee somewhere?”
Jessica rose and stretched her back. “Sure. I’m assuming you don’t want the toxic stuff we have in our lounge. There’s a coffee shop just around the corner.”
“That would be great.”
Jessica grabbed her jacket from the hook on her door, and they made their way out of the building that housed Care Across Continents’ corporate offices and down the street to the coffee shop. With mugs of steaming coffee in their hands, they settled at a table by the window. “What’s bothering you?” Jessica asked.
Madison choked out a laugh. “That transparent, am I?”
She shrugged. “I can read people pretty well, but the frown lines on your forehead are hard to miss. Also, you’ve never stopped by my work unannounced before.”
Madison inclined her head in acknowledgment. “How do you do it, Jess? How do you live with the fact that any day you might get a call that the man you love has been injured or killed?”
Jessica’s face sobered and she sighed. “It’s not easy, and I can understand your feelings. Look. We could leave here, I could cross the street and get hit by a bus.”
Madison frowned.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to trivialize it, but what I said is true. We need to make the most of each day. None of us knows how long we might have. With Cal’s job, I had to resolve in my own mind that he chose to be a cop, that he does the job he does because he wants to make a difference. He does it very well, but unfortunately there are risks. I love him for who he is. I can’t ask him to change for me. I trust him to do the best he can not to get hurt.” She shook her head. “Yeah, when I hear about cops being killed in the line of duty, the terror that one day it might be Cal resurfaces and part of me wants to beg him to quit.” She sipped her coffee. “The scary thing is that if I asked him, if I told him I couldn’t live with the fear anymore, I believe he loves me enough that he would quit. But that wouldn’t be right, and I’d have to live with knowing I forced him to sacrifice something so important, so elemental, to him, for my peace of mind.”
She looked out the window. “He might not want me to tell you this, but that’s what caused his first marriage to fail. His ex couldn’t tolerate being the wife of a cop anymore. Well, there was more to it, but that was what precipitated their breakup.”
Madison was at loss for words. She stared at the people walking happily along the sun-dappled sidewalk, seemingly without a care in the world. She realized they could do that as a result of people like Rick and Cal, who dedicated their lives to keeping them safe...and at times made the ultimate sacrifice to do so.
“The divorce was messy and very difficult for Cal.” Jessica broke into her musings. “Haley was lost to him for over a year. That’s why I say that if I gave him the ultimatum, he’d quit. But it wouldn’t be fair or right, and it could drive a wedge between us that I suspect we’d never overcome. But it’s different with Rick. What he does is essential to his very existence. He has more personal reasons for doing what he does.”
“I think it’s different, too, but I won
dered if I was overreacting because of my feelings for him. I listen to Cal, and I feel he understands the risks he faces, and he mitigates them the best he can. With Rick...” She shrugged and lifted her mug. “With Rick, I feel he doesn’t care about his own safety. No, no. That’s wrong,” she amended quickly at the challenging look on Jessica’s face. “Of course he cares. But I feel that’s secondary to his determination to take down Los Zetas. That’s what I mean. And don’t get me wrong. I know he’s smart and wouldn’t do anything foolhardy. But to what degree would he put himself in danger if he felt he could make some headway against the cartel? Sometimes I want to shake him because I feel he cares more about that than himself.”
Jessica’s smile was melancholy. “Yeah, it can appear that way. But he does care what happens to him. He wouldn’t want to hurt his family—or you—by doing something reckless. He’s dedicated. Determined. And yes, perhaps a bit fatalistic. When you face death repeatedly in your youth the way he did, I think your coping mechanisms kick in and you somehow learn to live with the possibility that any day might be your last. Not to be preoccupied by it every waking moment of your existence, but it’s there. Yeah, I appreciate why it would be more difficult for you with Rick because of that.”
“You’re supposed to be making me feel better, not worse.”
Jessica tilted her head. “I think you want to talk about what’s bothering you, but you also want me to be honest. If I wasn’t truthful, what kind of friend would I be? You have to go into a relationship with a cop with a full understanding of what that entails. I want to see you two together, but if it isn’t a good fit for either of you, I’d rather you found that out now.”
Madison nodded slowly. “I agree. I’m aware of how and why Rick committed his life to policing.”
“I’m glad he shared it with you. He doesn’t do that often. To be honest, if I was married to Rick, I’d be even more apprehensive about his safety than I am about Cal’s, for the reasons we just discussed.” She paused and her eyes were the color of angry storm clouds. “I don’t think Rick fears dying. Not like the natural fear most of us have. As a result—and I know this from Cal—Rick won’t shy away from taking on the most dangerous assignments at work, and he doesn’t hesitate to face off with the cartels when necessary. His fearlessness and his refusal to back down from any situation are what earned him the alias Pitbull.”