GAGE BUTLER'S RECKONING Read online

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  Chapter 1

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  Happy birthday to you, Gage Butler told himself as he hung up the phone.

  He meant it; the warrant that gave him the right to put Mitchell Martin behind bars was the best present he could have gotten, and a few days early to boot. And Judge Aaron Partain had expressed his own pleasure in swearing it out; he was retiring early from the bench, and men like Martin were the reason why, he'd told Gage.

  You won't get away with this one, Martin, Gage muttered to himself. And tried not to care that deep in his gut he knew the man had committed the same crime before, perhaps often, and had done exactly that—gotten away with it. While there was hope some of those prior victims might come forward after his arrest, Gage knew he had to settle for the fact that at last Martin would be stopped. He told himself it was enough. Sometimes he almost believed it.

  "You look … grimly satisfied."

  Gage turned to look at his boss, the only other person still in the detective division office of the Marina Heights police station, more familiarly known as Trinity West, at this hour. "I am," he agreed.

  Sergeant Kit Walker sat on the edge of the desk and studied him for a moment, her hazel eyes thoughtful beneath her tousled blond bangs. "Martin?"

  He nodded. "I just got the call. Judge Partain issued the warrant."

  Kit smiled, looking rather grimly satisfied herself. "Goad. What's the bail?"

  Gage smiled back, but somehow his expression was no less grimly satisfied. "A million. When he heard the whole story, Partain was really pissed. And this is a hot button of his."

  Kit's eyes widened in pleasure. "That's a hundred grand for a bail bond. Even Martin will have to scramble to come up with that in a hurry. Those spendy lawyers of his are going to have a fit."

  "Does my heart good."

  "Mine, too," Kit agreed. "When do you want to do it?"

  "Friday afternoon."

  Kit looked puzzled. "Not until then? Isn't he due back Friday morning?"

  Gage nodded. "But his business partner is leaving that same afternoon for South America."

  Kit studied him for a moment, then asked softly, "What are you plotting, Detective Butler?"

  "According to the information I have, most of Martin's money is hidden in nonliquid assets in the corporation, to dodge taxes. I doubt even he's got a million lying around in ready cash."

  "That's what bail bondsmen are for," Kit reminded him.

  "Yes, but they're not a trusting bunch. Even with Martin, they'll want collateral for that kind of money. And he still has to come up with ten percent."

  He watched as the grin spread across her face. "I get it. Even if he can manage the hundred thousand, he can't put the business or its property up for collateral without his partner's okay, right?"

  "Right. I checked the incorporation papers."

  "So at the least it will take him a day or two. Maybe more, because it's the weekend."

  "Exactly."

  Kit shook her head, still grinning. "Is there any angle you don't think of?"

  "I want him where he belongs. At least for a while."

  Kit's grin slowly faded. "Assuming he comes back Friday at all," she said sourly.

  Gage grimaced as she voiced his greatest concern. He was still chafing over the arrogant man's blasé indifference; he'd ignored Gage's warning to stay available for further questioning and promptly taken off last week on what he called an essential business trip to San Francisco. They hadn't had enough evidence yet for the warrant, but Martin's departure had only made Gage more determined. He'd broken the man's alibi three days later.

  "He'll be back. He's too arrogant to believe he'll really be arrested," he said, but he knew perfectly well that with his resources, Martin could be in Tahiti by now.

  "You're still ticked at that bribery attempt, aren't you?" Kit said, her teasing tone an obvious effort to lighten his mood.

  Since she'd made the effort, he tried to respond. "I'm ticked that Martin thought he could have me so cheap," Gage said wryly.

  "Now, now," Kit said in an obviously mock cautioning tone, "you heard the man say he knew nothing about it."

  "Right. That flunky of his just loves his boss so much, he thought up the idea on his own."

  "Martin's a lovable guy," Kit said wryly. "Just ask the folks who frequent the society pages."

  "The Santos family can't even afford to buy a paper, let alone make the society pages."

  Kit was quiet for a moment, then, tentatively, said, "If he doesn't come back—" She stopped when Gage shook his head sharply.

  "If he doesn't, I'll hunt him down. There's nowhere he can hide."

  Kit said nothing for a moment, but Gage saw her mouth tighten. She was a good cop and a better boss, but he knew she worried about him. She was only six years older than he was, but sometimes her concern seemed almost motherly. An odd thought to have about someone he'd have wondered about having a personal relationship with, if he had time for such a thing, and had she not made it quite clear very early on that that was a professional line she would never cross.

  Well, he amended, maybe big sisterly; Kit neither looked nor acted old enough to be his mother, nor would she appreciate the analogy. But he was used to it; the baby face that had shaped so much of his life inspired that feeling in many. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

  "I'm going to sit on his damn office all week," Gate muttered. "Just in case."

  "No, you're not."

  He blinked. "What?"

  "You've been working eighteen-hour days for weeks now on this case. You got the warrant. That's enough. Get some rest."

  "But if he shows up early—"

  "I'll call Chance Buckner over at Marina del Mar. He'll have their patrol watch the office and Martin's house. If he shows up early, they'll call."

  Gage knew she'd mentioned Buckner's name intentionally; the man was well-known far outside his own department. What the former Marina del Mar detective, now sergeant, said he'd do, he did. She couldn't have said anything better calculated to reassure him that the job would get done. Still; it went against the grain to trust anyone, even Chance Buckner, to do what he saw as his job.

  "Look, I'll just—"

  "Don't make me pull rank, Butler."

  Her voice had taken on that warning tone he'd come to dread.

  And she only called him Butler when he was headed for trouble. He knew just what kind, too.

  "Gage…" she began.

  He held up a hand. "I can feel it coming. Not another lecture, please."

  "You deserve it. You've been working like a fiend, too many hours, too many days."

  "It paid off, didn't it?"

  "I'm not saying it didn't. We never would have gotten even Judge Partain to issue that warrant if you hadn't broken Bryant's story, blasting Martin's alibi to bits. But you can't—"

  "I want this guy."

  "So do I, Gage. He deserves the worst we can throw at him. More. But I don't want it to cost you too much."

  "How about what it cost Diane Santos?"

  Kit sighed. "Do you think I don't know that?"

  Gage felt a rush of contrition; they both knew she did. Kit Walker hadn't let the difficulties of being a woman in law enforcement harden her; she'd been as furious as he had been at what had been done to the Santos girl, and she went to the mat for him—and his sometimes unorthodox methods—without fail. He couldn't ask for a more supportive supervisor. It had been instinctive, trying to divert her from ground too often trod. But that didn't excuse using a young victim's pain to do it. Sometimes he wondere
d if he hadn't been at this too damned long.

  "Sorry," he muttered, leaning back in his chair and shoving his hair off his forehead. "I didn't mean that."

  "And that is what I mean," Kit said softly. "You're on the edge, my friend. You have been for a long time, but that edge is starting to crumble."

  "I'm fine."

  Kit looked at him for a long, silent moment, her eyes troubled. "Someday, I hope you find somebody you trust enough to help you carry that load, whatever it is." Before he could deny it, she stood up. "I want you out of here. And that is an order. I'll meet you here at twelve hundred hours on Friday, and we'll go get the bastard."

  She uttered the epithet quietly, but Gage knew there was a wealth of feeling behind it. He also knew it was a declaration of understanding, but he didn't quite know how to acknowledge it.

  "Thanks," he finally said, rather lamely.

  Smiling as if she understood, Kit nodded, then walked out of his small cubicle. For a moment Gage sat there, tapping the eraser of his pencil on the legal pad before him. He thought about calling Buckner himself, to emphasize the importance of knowing if Martin returned unexpectedly. But he knew it wasn't necessary. Kit would make it clear, and Buckner was the best; he'd understand.

  I want you out of here. And that is an order.

  He let out a compressed breath. Kit didn't often give him direct orders. When she did, there was no gainsaying her; she hadn't gotten to be a sergeant—and a respected one, at that—by being a pushover. No one did, but for a woman it was even harder. But she had done it, and any male newcomer to Trinity West who had reservations about working for a woman soon had his outlook adjusted; Kit Walker, they were told, was the one you wanted to back you up, the one you wanted on your side. She had her own way of doing things, and while it was decidedly female, it worked. She'd more than once talked a more hotheaded colleague out of trouble. And, on occasion, saved a life or two in the process.

  And his life would become the proverbial living hell if she came back and he was still here.

  Dropping the pencil, he stood up and grabbed the battered brown leather jacket that hung over the back of his chair. He started to put it on, then paused. He ran a finger over the time-softened leather, tracing the mended spot on the left sleeve without looking at it. He didn't need to. He knew exactly where it was. It was as much a badge to him as the gold shield he carried. But it was a badge not of achievement but of failure. The biggest, most irrevocable failure of his life.

  With a sharp shake of his head, he yanked himself out of the well-worn rut. He yanked the jacket on without nearly as much effort.

  He heard light, quick footsteps approaching.

  "I'm gone," he yelped quickly, and headed for the door; the footsteps retreated.

  "You'd better be," Kit warned from the door of her office on the far side of the room.

  He grinned, threw her a salute and darted out the door. And just as quickly darted back in. Kit looked over her shoulder at him.

  "I … forgot something."

  He didn't bother to validate the fib by stopping at his desk, but instead headed toward the front of the office, to make his exit via the reception area. He saw Kit's brows furrow as she glanced from him to the door he'd almost used, then to the large end office, where the simple plaque like the one that labeled her Sergeant Kit Walker, Juvenile/Sex Crimes, had been replaced by a gold one elaborately declaring it the domain of Lieutenant Kenneth Robards, Commander, Detective Division, Marina Heights Police Department. He could almost see the fact that the light was still on in that office register with her. She looked back at him, her eyes widening in exaggerated horror, and she quickly dodged into her own office and shut the door.

  Gage grinned and kept going, feeling a bit lighter of heart. Really, it was doubtful Martin would abscond this early in the game. He had too much at stake here, several businesses, investments, and a net worth that had enough digits to the left of the decimal point that Gage knew the man paid more in taxes than he made in a year, probably two. Martin had never had to work a day for any of it, his father and grandfather had done that, but he certainly knew how to live the life.

  Yes, he'd be back. If for no other reason than that he was too damned arrogant to believe he could really be taken down.

  All the more reason, Gage muttered to himself. He would take Mitchell Martin down, and down hard. So hard all his money wouldn't buy his way out. So hard that the Santos family would know the system hadn't failed them.

  So hard that he would be able to sleep at night, without Debby's ghost haunting his dreams.

  But until he did, he was in no hurry to go home and contend with that ghost. In the parking lot of Trinity West, he sat in his car for a moment, tapping his finger on the steering wheel. Caitlin, he thought. He should tell her. She would be relieved to know that Martin would be arrested the day after tomorrow, and he knew he could trust her not to tell anyone about the warrant.

  Moments later—although longer than normal, because he kept glancing in the mirrors, thinking he was seeing the same car behind him—he pulled his car to a halt on Trinity Street East, in front of Caitlin Romero's Neutral Zone. And not for the first time, he marveled at what she had accomplished here. A few months ago, this street had mirrored this east side neighborhood, beyond run-down into borderline derelict, far worse than even the worst part of Trinity West. Only the Neutral Zone had stood out as having had any kind of attention at all in the last decade, if not two. Most of the other buildings had been festooned with crisscrossed boards over broken windows. Some lacked even that much care, gaping holes yawning where windows had once been. A liquor store with heavily barred windows had been the only sign of life at one corner, the old mom and pop style grocery store the only sign at the other.

  But now the grocery had been refurbished with the help of some Trinity West cops, who did it in thanks to the owner, Jorge Cordero, who had helped them in the fight against The Pack, the vicious street gang Ryan Buckhart had practically single-handedly broken up a few months ago. There was another storefront across the street, gleaming with new glass, and renovations were underway next door at the old building that was going to become Kelsey Gregerson's youth shelter. It was as if an entire block was going to be revitalized by the stubborn efforts of one gutsy woman.

  As he thought of the dauntless redhead, he felt a sense of vague wistfulness; he liked, admired and respected Caitlin, and had once wondered if those feelings might grow into something more. But the arrival of Quisto Romero had settled the question before it had truly formed. Not that he could begrudge her, not when he knew how happy she was. He didn't begrudge anybody who was able to find happiness in what was too often a rotten world. Besides, if he was honest with himself, it never would have worked anyway, any more than it would have with Kit. He just wasn't the type for a serious relationship. There was no room for that in his life; his failed marriage had proved that. Just as well Quisto had come along. He even liked the guy. And Caitlin clearly loved him to distraction.

  A good thing, Gage thought with an inward grin as he got out of the car, since she was very pregnant. Automatically he locked the door; the neighborhood might be improving, but it was a slow process, and there were plenty of people around who could strip down any vehicle in a matter of seconds. Not, he amended silently as he headed for the door of the Neutral Zone, that anyone would be attracted to his rather battered, ten-year-old coupe.

  At this hour on a Friday night, the Neutral Zone was crowded. Gage knew there had been a drop in numbers right after word had gotten around among the street kids that Caitlin's new husband was a cop. But they'd gradually come back; Caitlin had built a lot of trust since she'd opened this place, and Quisto himself was rapidly gaining a reputation as tough but fair. And the fact that he'd risked his life to find the murderer of a street kid no one else cared about had become well-known and done much to draw the kids back.

  Gage had tried back in the beginning to get Caitlin to move her club up to Trinity We
st, but she had insisted the need was greater here on the east side. He and a few other Trinity West cops had told her she was nuts, that nobody down there would abide by her rules of no alcohol, no weapons and no drugs, but she wouldn't listen. She had been utterly resolved. And against all odds, she had succeeded in her determination to give the younger kids an alternative to starting with the street gangs.

  And now she was going to have one of her own to spend some of that love on, Gage thought.

  He saw Caitlin the moment he stepped inside, her strawberry blond hair highly visible, even inside. She was standing behind the long bar, a rather makeshift affair of dark, stained wood that was nevertheless polished to a high sheen. She was pointing to the cheerful yellow wall behind the bar as someone else, on a short stepladder, was hanging a framed photograph in the spot Caitlin was indicating.

  It wasn't one of the regular Neutral Zone kids on the ladder, he realized, it was definitely a woman. And she was tall enough that she didn't need much help from the ladder. Not much else about her needed help, either, he thought with an appreciative glance at long legs clad in snug black jeans and a glossy fall of hair that looked nearly as black as the denim.

  At least Caitlin was being careful and not climbing the ladder herself, Gage thought as he closed the door behind him. Quisto's admonitions must have finally taken root.

  "Hey, blondie, how ya' doin'?"

  The cheerful hail came from a short, plumpish Hispanic girl wearing a pair of silver earrings that reached nearly to her shoulders and carrying several dirty glasses.

  "Hi, Elena. How's your mother?"

  "Better, she's much better."

  "Good. So you're back in school?"

  The girl rolled her eyes heavenward. "You gotta learn to take off the cop suit, man. Yes, I'm back in school. You know Caitlin wouldn't let me work here if I wasn't."

  He knew it was true; for kids to work for her Caitlin had added one more rule in addition to her big three about booze, weapons and drugs; you had to be in school.

  "You keeping her from doing too much?"