Badge of Honor Page 12

  "Perhaps we should discuss it in person. Can you meet me in, say, a half hour?"

  She had no good reason to say no, although with all the thoughts Kelsey had stirred up she would have preferred some time to quash them.

  "Of course," she said. "Where?"

  "Someplace close to here," he said, sounding a bit rueful. "I'll be coming back."

  "My sympathies," she said. "A day at city hall is certainly not my idea of a good time."

  "So rescue me."

  But who's going to rescue me? she wondered.

  "Have you had lunch?" he asked.

  "No, not yet."

  "Neither have I. Let's eat, then."

  To her surprise he suggested a fast food outlet across the street from city hall, apologetically saying that was about all he had time for.

  When she pulled into the lot she didn't see his car but figured he'd probably walked over. After she parked, she saw him by the front door. For an instant it hit her again. He seemed so alone. Even with locals and tourists milling around, he seemed to stand apart, isolated. It tugged at some place deep inside her, made her want to hold him and let him know he wasn't really alone.

  Even his expression seemed distant, she thought as she got out of her car and headed toward him. As if he was watching the world but didn't feel part of it. As if he noticed everything going on around him, but it didn't affect him.

  Then he seemed to sense her coming, because his head came around and he looked her way. She saw him focus on her. And then she nearly missed a step. His eyes lost that distant look in an instant, and a wide, unrestrained smile curved his mouth. The sudden change and the undeniable fact that it was the sight of her that caused it brought back every image she'd been fighting off, every idea Kelsey's words had given rise to.

  Rather recklessly she smiled back, for a moment putting all the obstacles aside and letting herself enjoy the simple fact that a very attractive and usually reserved man had lit up at the sight of her.

  When she got closer she thought she saw his arms start to come up and thought of that moment when she'd wanted to hug him. But then his right arm went to his side, and his left arm reached for the door as if that had been his intent all along.

  And I, she told herself firmly, would be much better off believing that.

  It felt decidedly odd, being in such a familiar, ordinary place as this with him, standing in line, reading the backlit menu as both of them had undoubtedly done countless times, but never together. She smiled when he ordered a chocolate shake, but it faded when he muttered something about it settling his stomach.

  "Maybe you'd better rethink that running for office idea if that's what city hall does to you," she said as they sat in a corner booth, as far away from the crowd and the windowed front of the building as they could get.

  "The point is to change things so it doesn't give anybody an ulcer."

  "You're not serious?" she said, concern creasing her brow. "About an ulcer?"

  He looked at her steadily for a moment before he said quietly, "I'm fine. But be careful, I could get used to you worrying about me."

  "I've always worried about you."

  "That's not what I— Never mind," he said. "Did you talk to Welton?"

  It took her a moment to tear her mind away from wondering what he'd almost said and focusing on what he'd asked. "I … yes."

  "And?"

  "He remembered the night pretty well. Said it stuck in his mind because he'd never seen Robards offer to tie his own shoes before, let alone take a felony report."

  Miguel's mouth quirked, but he only nodded.

  "But what's really interesting," she continued, "is that he says he filled out a supplemental report. A short one, since Robards made him leave the scene almost immediately, but he did one."

  "But it wasn't in the file," Miguel said.

  She shook her head. "I asked him who he turned it in to. You won't need three guesses."

  He lifted a brow. "Would Welton be willing to swear to that?"

  "He would," she confirmed. "He's very happily not a cop anymore, so he's got nothing to lose. And he doesn't harbor many fond memories of the man."

  "I'm not surprised." He nodded at her to go on. "Welton said he took offense at first, when he was ordered off, thinking Robards was implying he couldn't handle it. He was ticked enough to say so to him."

  "Don't blame him. Didn't you say he'd had seven years on?"

  She nodded. "Anyway, he said that just made it more memorable, because Robards was almost nice about explaining that that wasn't the case."

  Miguel's brows shot up. "He actually used nice in the same sentence as Robards?"

  She gave him a rueful smile. "He was as amazed as you sound, but he said it was true. Of course, he also said he knew very well he wasn't on Robards's list. 'I'm WASP enough he stayed off me pretty much,' I think was how he put it."

  Miguel looked thoughtful. "I didn't realize everybody was so aware of his predilections."

  She lifted her hamburger for a bite, then looked at him over it. "Did you think only his victims noticed?"

  He stirred his shake, took a sip, then said honestly, "Maybe I just thought only his victims cared."

  "Do you think Gage didn't care? He was as close as Robards got to a fair-haired boy, and Gage hated it. He went out of his way to aggravate the man just because he hated not being hated by him."

  He half-smiled at the words, then apologized. "I know he did. And others. It's just that sometimes all I see are wails."

  "There are doors. And windows. They're just not as obvious as the walls."

  "And you would know as well as anyone, wouldn't you?" he asked softly.

  Something about the way he said it made her shiver, but not from cold. He lowered his eyes to his tray, and she stole the moment to watch him, to see the thick sweep of his lashes and the softness of his mouth, features that kept his countenance from being forbidding.

  He stirred the shake again, and she managed to shift her gaze to her meal before he looked up and asked, "Anything else from Welton?"

  "Just that Robards was pretty adamant that he not only leave him to do the report, but that he leave, period."

  The dark, arched brow rose again. "Odd. Felony crime scene like that, you're looking for help, not sending it away."

  "I asked Welton about that. He said he just wrote it off to the fact that it was a busy night and they had calls backed up all over town. Said Robards told him since he'd caught it, he'd clean it, and to get back to work. And to keep quiet about it, so neither of them got in trouble over it."

  "Uncharacteristically noble of him," Miguel observed dryly.

  "Very."

  "And something we'd have a hard time proving wasn't true."

  "I know. I'd hate to have to getup in front of a termination board and explain that something wasn't right because I just know Robards would never be so concerned. I can hear his self-righteous defense now."

  "You'll never get a thirty-year cop fired on the basis of that," he agreed, sounding rather glum.

  "But we already knew we probably wouldn't be able to get him fired, let alone arrested. He covered his tracks too well."

  "And made sure there's an innocent explanation for everything."

  She sighed. "If it was any cop but him, I'd believe those innocent explanations."

  "Second thoughts?" he asked.

  "No," she said. "I know he's dirty. I—"

  "Sergeant Walker, hi!" Kit looked up, startled, then relaxed when she recognized the young parking control officer from… Lord, had it only been last week? "I just saw you here and wanted to thank you again for the other day. You really saved the situation out there."

  "No problem," she said.

  "You handled that lady so slick—"

  The young man stopped abruptly as he noticed, belatedly, who Kit was sitting with. He alternately paled and blushed, his mouth flopping in a way that reminded her of a beached grunion.

  "I … oh, wow, I'm so
rry, I didn't see you, Chief, I didn't mean to interrupt or anything, sir, I just wanted to thank the sarge for helping me out, and I—"

  Miguel held up a hand to stop the gush of words. "It's okay, son."

  Kit stifled a giggle at the young man's expression, managing to turn it into a smile. "Go eat your lunch, Larry. You're dripping."

  The man flushed all over again, nodded sharply and fled. Miguel watched him go with an amused expression. "What was all that about?"

  "That," she said wryly, "is what started this whole thing."

  He blinked. "Oh?"

  Quickly, she told him the story. "I didn't really do anything except defuse Mrs. Rivas's anger. She's not a mean or nasty person, so it wasn't hard."

  "But not everyone would bother," he said.

  She shrugged. "There was crowd potential, and I didn't want the kid in over his head."

  One corner of his mouth lifted. "I always said you were the best backup around."

  He had said that, Kit remembered. And she was enough of a cop to recognize the highest of praise in that simple statement. Cops were very particular about who they liked backing them up, often doing without if they didn't like the only officer available.

  "Thank you," she said, more than pleased.

  "You're damn good, Kit. Don't ever forget that."

  "I'm glad you think so," she said, aware even as she said it there might be a tad too much emphasis on that you.

  "If I didn't, I wouldn't be pushing you to take the next lieutenant's test." He had suggested it, to her surprise. She hadn't thought herself ready. "Which," he added grimly, "will need to be sooner than the city had planned."

  "Here, here." Kit lifted her soda cup in a mock toast. "Here's to opening up a lieutenant's spot."

  Miguel lifted his shake. They tipped the rims together, and Kit was very proud that she managed not to jump when their fingers touched. She tried not to notice the heat that sparked through her. Tried not to notice that Miguel, too, went very still.

  Above all, she tried not to notice the urge to do it again.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  «^»

  There was absolutely no point in going home, Miguel thought. He was so wound up he wouldn't get to sleep for hours. So he might as well put it to good use. He'd work the frustration and disgust off on that pile of paperwork he'd let stack up while putting together the preliminary budget the city council had just shot to hell.

  He had the oddest feeling, as he pulled into his reserved parking place next to the back door of Trinity West, that if it hadn't been for this, he would have thought of something else to keep from going home—if you could call it that. If home meant the place where you spent most of your time, then this plain, square building in front of him had become more his home than the small, stark apartment he lived in.

  But the saddest part, he thought as he went up the outside stain to the private door to his office, was that this place, with its outdated furniture and equipment and all the wear and tear of the years, was probably homier than the small, one-bedroom place he rented. He'd been there for two years, and there were still boxes he hadn't unpacked. True, for a while after he'd been shot he hadn't had the energy. Simply getting up and functioning for a day took every bit he had, and he had come home only to fall into bed and try and recoup enough to get up and do it again the next day.

  But even when he had most of his stamina back, when the ugly red wounds had faded to ugly scars, even when he no longer woke in the night fighting off waves of pain—sometimes real, sometimes remembered—he still made no effort to personalize the small space that housed him. It was a place to sleep, fix quick meals and do the work he brought home with him, no more. It was all he wanted.

  And after a while, he thought as he put his key in the lock on the door marked Private, it had seemed silly to lug all his work home to do in that place that was just another reminder of all he had lost. He'd put the house he and Anna had lived in on the market on the second anniversary of her funeral, the same day he'd finally taken off the ring she'd slipped on his finger all those years ago. He hadn't wanted to, but he'd known it was time.

  And he had grown weary of people commenting on it. They'd thought he didn't hear the whispers, the speculations on whether he'd ever get over it. The ring really hadn't mattered. He'd seen the pale mark it left, then felt the weight of it long after he was no longer wearing it.

  Crazy, he thought as he shoved the heavy door open, all these memories stirring. That had been happening a lot lately. Ever since Kit Walker had walked into his office that night—

  She was in his office now.

  For a moment they both stood, frozen, he with his hand on the doorknob, she with a file folder in her hand. She had on a trim, pale yellow skirt and a brighter yellow sweater. The skirt was not excessively short, but bared enough of her long legs to bring back—once more—that image of her in shorts. The sweater was long and loose, but the way it clung for brief moments when she moved made him imagine the body beneath it far more vividly than any tight, clinging garment would.

  Or maybe it didn't matter what she wore, he'd be thinking about it anyway.

  "You're here late again," he said rather quickly, and more to stop his wayward thoughts than anything else.

  "I was … putting away the copies I made of the drive-by case," she said, and he realized then she had open the desk drawer he'd told her to use for anything relating to their inquiries.

  He nodded, but frowned as he let the door close behind him. "You're putting in a lot of extra hours."

  "Afraid I'll break the overtime budget?" she teased.

  "No," he said, knowing perfectly well she didn't turn in for half of it. "I'm worried you'll break."

  She looked startled, then a slow smile curved her mouth. "Don't worry about me."

  I don't seem to have any choice, he thought. Funny how, when Anna had been alive, he'd thought of her mainly as a colleague and Anna's friend, albeit a friend he liked. And if he'd been vaguely aware of having to put more effort into keeping her in those slots than he should have, he'd managed to ignore it.

  As he stood in his office looking at her, he couldn't deny he knew exactly why that task had been harder than it should have been—he'd always known he found her attractive. It hadn't mattered then. He'd loved Anna fully and completely. But as Anna had teasingly said on occasion, being married didn't mean you were dead.

  And Kit had made it easier then, because he'd known she had more respect for marriage vows than some of the people bound by them did. She would no more breach them than he would, even if Anna wasn't her friend. The fact that Anna was her friend had meant, to Kit, that those vows were even more inviolable.

  But now that wasn't a factor.

  And for the first time since Anna's death, it mattered.

  Not that he hadn't thought about it before. It had been five years, after all, and there had been occasions when he'd met someone and had realized there was nothing stopping him. But it had never gone beyond that, because no one had stirred him beyond the realization.

  Until now.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked, startling him into wondering if his thoughts had been showing on his face.

  "Wrong?" Dropping his small briefcase in one of the chairs in front of his desk, he hastily grabbed at the only thing he could think of, what had sent him here in the first place. "No. No more than usual, anyway." He grimaced. "City council meeting."

  She grimaced in turn. "Ouch. It didn't go well?"

  "The subject of money never seems to go well when you're dealing with a bureaucracy."

  "The budget?"

  He nodded. "At least they make it simple. None of this going in asking for a lot and figuring you might get part of it. They just say keep doing the impossible with nothing."

  "Did you tell them it couldn't be done?"

  "Yes. They weren't buying."

  She shut the drawer she'd put the files in, then gave him a look he couldn't inte
rpret.

  "It's your own fault, you know," she said.

  He blinked. "What?"

  "You've been doing the impossible with nothing for two years. You've spoiled them."

  He had heard similar sentiments before and been happy about his accomplishments at Trinity West. But somehow, coming from her, the assessment made him feel a pride he'd not felt before. But he didn't quite know how to say so, wasn't sure he dared, so he covered his uncertainty with a gruff expression of his disgust at the whole process.

  "Sometimes I want to go in and bang some heads together just to see if there's a functioning brain cell or two among those people."

  She studied him. "I know there have been rumbles about you doing just that someday. Really running for city office someday, I mean."

  It had, in fact, been suggested to him more than once by various people. Several citizens and civic groups had broached the possibility repeatedly.

  "On nights like this," he said wearily, "I just about feel like doing it."

  "If anybody could pound some common sense into them, you could."

  "That's a pretty big if," he said dryly, "but I'm flattered by your confidence."

  "Don't be. It's true. You'd be good at it." She smiled at him. "And Mayor de los Reyes has a nice ring to it."

  "You after my job, Sergeant?" he asked teasingly.

  "Me?" She looked astonished.

  "And why not?" he asked, grinning at how the very idea seemed to fluster her.

  She laughed, shaking her head. "It would never happen."

  "Why not?" he repeated seriously. "You've got the brains, you've got the qualifications in education and police background, you're great with people and you can learn the administrative end." He nodded as the idea grew on him. "I think I'd like to see you in this office."

  "Now I'm flattered," she said, twin spots of color tingeing her cheeks. "But even if you roll straight into the mayor's office, please don't hold your breath waiting for them to choose a woman as your replacement."