Badge of Honor Read online

  The unprecedented show of total support stunned him. For a moment he had to look away, blinking rapidly. He didn't care if his people saw how moved he was, but he'd be damned if he'd let Robards see he'd ever doubted their support for a moment. He knew perfectly well who had pulled this all together, and he'd carry the image of Kit leading her small army to his rescue with him until the day he died.

  "There's not a real cop in this whole damn room," Robards snarled. "You can all go straight to hell."

  "I don't think so," Kit said. "But you'll be going straight to jail."

  Robards laughed, and Miguel knew he wasn't imagining the agitated, almost frantic undertone. The man was on a crumbling edge. And then the sense of Kit's words hit him, and his gaze shot to her face. To his amazement, she winked at him. He knew she'd found something.

  "You can't prove I ever touched that Rivas kid, and you know it. All you've got is hearsay and circumstantial, and I'll sue for false arrest and slander and own all of you."

  "We know you killed him," Kit said with steady certainty. There was a stir among the ranks. She apparently hadn't had time to give them all the details when she'd gathered them to come here, no doubt guessing how the confrontation was going to go. "And we'll make sure the public knows what we know. But it isn't that that's going to take you down. It's that little racket of yours, your little shakedown scam."

  Robards went very still.

  "Funny thing. When all of us—" she gestured widely at the room full of officers "—pooled our knowledge, we had an amazing amount of information on somebody who'd been running shakedowns on young street kids for years. Must have been quite a nice living you were making off those kids in return for leaving them alone. How many burglaries and robberies do you suppose you caused, since that's the only way they had to make enough to keep you off their backs?"

  "You can't prove any of this!"

  "I think any jury will doubt that when we parade witness after witness through court, all of them identifying you."

  "You think they're going to believe a bunch of—"

  "Teachers?" Kit suggested. "We've got a couple of those. Counselors? One of those. How about a guy who runs his own construction business now?"

  How had she done it? Miguel wondered. In just a few hours she'd scoured this up?

  "And one," Kit went on almost gleefully, "who's about to graduate law school, inspired by you. He wants to wipe slime like you off the planet." Robards gaped at her. "You see, that's where you really messed up, with your tunnel vision. Some of these kids survive. And some of them make something of themselves. But they all remember you, and they'd all like nothing better than to put you where you put so many of their friends."

  She had had, Miguel thought in amazement, a very busy morning. She was the most amazing woman he'd ever known.

  "I wouldn't bet a nickel on you making a year inside," Cruz said cheerfully.

  "Six months," Ryan countered, equally cheerful.

  "How fitting that you're going to be defeated by your own prejudices," Kit said with a grimly satisfied smile. "You figured because you didn't care about one Hispanic kid, no one else would, either. But you were wrong. Again."

  Kit smiled, her eyes alight with the fierce energy he'd always envied her. The odd thing was that, in this moment, with their gazes locked, it was as if she was giving some of that energy to him. He could almost feel it coursing through him.

  "And I," Miguel said slowly, looking at Kit rather than the walrus-like man before him, "can think of at least one very angry young man in a CYA camp who would be happy to spread the word that the cop who killed his brother for no reason other than to scare kids into paying up is inside now."

  "And if you so much as try and wiggle out of this with that no-confidence vote," Kit said, her voice so sweet Miguel made a mental note to be wary if she ever turned that tone on him, "I'll help Ryan scalp you and all your dinosaur buddies."

  Laughter rang out in the room. And being laughed at so publicly, by so many, was the last straw for Ken Robards. He moved sharply, his hand streaking to his side. To the plainclothes holster he wore.

  The room erupted into action the instant he moved. Robards fumbled trying to get his small revolver from his too-tight belt. He was too late. A split second later, there were at least twenty weapons, including Kit's, cocked and aimed at him, and Ryan Buckhart's big knife was at his throat.

  "To hell with all of you!" he screamed. "That kid was nothing but a punk Mexican, too smart for his own good, thinking he was something special. I won't take disrespect from street scum like that."

  "And El Tigre?" Miguel said softly, very softly. Every trigger finger in the room had tensed when Robards had begun to scream. They'd all dealt with men who had snapped, and they were ready to jump whatever way necessary to keep this one under control. The cops of Trinity West were the best, he thought. And he was damn glad they were on his side.

  "And you knew he'd seen you kill Jaime, so you had to kill him." There was a stir in the room, but Miguel didn't alter his carefully soft tone.

  "Somebody would have, sooner or later, anyway. I just did a little advance pest control."

  The rustling in the room grew, and Miguel knew the others were realizing how far gone the man was to have confessed to two murders in front of a roomful of his colleagues. Robards seemed to realize it, as well. His bluster vanished, and his fiat brown eyes looked vacant as he swayed slightly on his feet.

  Miguel looked at them, the cops of Trinity West, and saw the varying degrees of shock and distaste on their faces. But one thing was the same from one officer to the next. They flicked quick glances at him, waiting for his orders. Gratification filled him, washing away the abhorrence he always felt when a cop went bad.

  He looked at the roomful of his people. He looked at Cruz, whose bright blue eyes were full of support. He looked at Ryan, whose usually unreadable face was warm with approval. When their gazes locked the big man nodded. Even Quisto Romero, the newest of the Trinity West family, was smiling.

  Miguel looked at all of them, at the best of Trinity West, all there because Kit had probably told them he might need some help.

  "Thank you," he said, his throat tight. "All of you."

  His gaze went to Kit as a murmur of acknowledgment rose from the group. He knew he didn't dare say what he was feeling, not in front of them all. But then she looked at him and smiled, that slow, sleepy smile she'd awakened with that morning, after a second night spent in the kind of passion he'd never really believed in before. And he knew he didn't have to say it at all.

  So instead he looked at the roomful of cops again. "Anybody got some handcuffs?" he asked mildly.

  Laughter broke out again. A dozen sets of cuffs were dangling in front of him within ten seconds. With a grin he grabbed one and slapped them on the broken Robards. Then he turned to face the room again.

  "So," he drawled in mock severity, "who's minding the store?"

  Laughter again, followed by a few snappy shouts of, "Yes, sir!" And he knew Trinity West would survive.

  But when every single one of them paused to salute him as they left the room, he wasn't sure he'd survive the next minute without bawling like a baby.

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  «^

  Kit sighed. She'd thought she would be glad when it was over. But while she was glad that Robards would pay, and it had done her a world of good to be able to go to Carmela Rivas and tell her the murderer of her son had been found and would be punished, it left an evil taste in her mouth that the slime had done his dirty work under cover of the badge, making all cops everywhere have to work harder for the trust they had to have to do their jobs.

  But there was more to her unsettled feeling than that, and she knew it. In the week since Robards had snapped, Miguel had been caught up in an endless round of meetings, hearings and briefings with city officials and the press. He was, she was glad to see, coming off once more as the hero. Rightfully so, she thought. It had take
n guts to do what he had done, to face alone a man whose hatred and unbalanced mental state could have easily made him draw that gun when they were alone in Miguel's office.

  But the whirlwind had left them little time together. He came here at night—after she'd seen the small, stark apartment he'd been living in she was glad to have him out of it—but usually it was so late, and he was so exhausted, long talks were out of the question.

  This left her far too much time to sit alone and think. And she had finally had to face the simple fact that she was in love with Miguel de los Reyes. And that their situation was just as impossible now as it had always been. He was still the chief, and she was still his subordinate. The problems that entailed were huge, maybe insurmountable.

  She sipped slowly at her glass of wine. At nine she'd given up on any kind of early night. By eleven she'd undressed and put on her robe, curling up in the big, overstuffed chair in her darkened living room and wishing she was in his arms instead. But the past three days had gotten more chaotic, and they'd barely seen each other at all.

  And she kept thinking. Was this really her only choice? she wondered dismally. Was it really her job or Miguel?

  She had never thought anything would tempt her away from the work she loved. She couldn't conceive of doing anything else. But the thought of not having Miguel in her life was crushing. The thought of having to work with him but not have him, to see him each day but no more, was unbearable.

  And she knew that if it came to that, she would leave. She could live without Trinity West before she could live without him, and she'd never thought she'd say that, never in a million years.

  No wonder they warned you about fishing in the company pond, she thought sadly.

  She heard the sound of a motor, then a car turning into her drive. She recognized the sound of it and set down her wineglass. The car drove along the side of the house, then stopped in front of the garage, in the parking spot that was out of view from the street, one of the precautions they'd taken until they had time to decide what they were going to do. Or not do.

  Kit got to her feet and walked quickly through the kitchen to the back door. She'd given him a key to the house, but this door had only a dead bolt. She turned it quickly and pulled the door open just as he was getting out of his car.

  She noticed he was wearing the bright red tie she'd bought him on impulse, saying he needed some color in his life instead of his usual black and gray. He'd accepted it, even agreed with her, but told her that it wasn't a problem anymore. He had more light and color in his life than he'd ever thought to have again. Still, he was wearing it, and she sensed it was a bigger step than he perhaps realized.

  Then he looked up, and the back porch light she'd left on illuminated his face. He looked weary. The strain of the past week was showing in his eyes. And he looked physically tired. He was moving more slowly than usual. But he still looked beautiful to her. Sometimes in the night she would wake up and simply look at him, feeling nothing short of awe at this man who had been through the fire so many times, this man who could be both the gentlest of souls and the harshest of opponents. This man who wasn't afraid to be kind, nor to be strong when it was needed. This man she loved, totally and irrevocably.

  "You keep looking at me like that," he said when he got to the doorway, "and it's going to be morning before we get around to 'How was your day'?"

  "You have a problem with that?" Kit asked, her voice husky.

  He dropped his briefcase and the jacket he had tossed over his shoulder. "No problem at all," he said gruffly, reaching for her.

  It hit them in a rush. All the need they'd suppressed in the past days of chaos bubbled up at once. When he saw she had nothing on under the silky robe, he growled her name in a voice she'd never heard from him before. His hands slipped under the fabric and over her bare shoulders, and he backed her against the tiled bar, then held her there with his body. She felt the rigid press of male flesh and realized he was already fully aroused. His mouth came down on hers with all the fierceness of a striking raptor, but she welcomed the attack and returned it with her own, probing quickly and deeply with her tongue, wanting the hot, male taste of him.

  Her eagerness seemed to unleash something in him. He stripped the robe from her, leaving her naked before him. She found it unexpectedly erotic and shivered, not from cold but from heat as his eyes swept over her, eyes that had gone dark gray with urgent need. Want rippled through her, and a tiny cry broke from her lips.

  "Kit," he breathed, and in the hoarse tone of it she read his question.

  "Yes," she said, "right now, right here. Hurry."

  He muttered a harsh, grateful oath. His hands slid down her back to her waist. He grasped her, and Kit felt the novel sensation of being lifted as if she was tiny.

  Then she felt the cold tile of the bar under her buttocks as Miguel set her down. She shivered again, wondering what he was going to do, at the same time trembling with anticipation, wishing he would do it now.

  He did. He spread her legs and stood between them. He urged her back until she was resting on her elbows, then he leaned forward and, without preamble, suckled deep and hard on her nipples. She cried out at the sudden shock of fierce sensation. Her head lolled back, and her body arched. She had the thought that she was offering herself to him as if she were a meal served on this counter. And then he took up that offer, his mouth sliding over her belly, his hands parting her thighs, his gentle fingers opening the most intimate part of her.

  Kit moaned, knowing, waiting, helpless.

  And then his mouth was on her, his tongue stroking her with a wet heat that seared her to the core. He found that little knot of nerves and flicked it again and again, until she was crying out with every touch. She shuddered, her body on the verge.

  And then he was gone. But before she could cry out at her loss, before she could lift her head, he was back, lowering his head once more to her breasts. She felt the hot, blunt probe of his body and lifted her hips to urge him home. He sheathed himself in one swift, driving stroke, burying his length in her, stretching her with his thickness. It was all her ready body needed, and she convulsed around him violently, crying out his name in shock as her body surprised her yet again.

  "That's what I wanted," he whispered against her ear. "I wanted you to explode the minute I was inside you. I wanted to feel every sweet ripple, every hot, tight second of it."

  His erotic words made her shudder anew and cling to him, gasping. Her legs were wrapped around him. She was only vaguely aware of the feel of cloth, telling her he was still dressed. She didn't care. If anything it aroused her even more to know he couldn't wait to get undressed before he had to be inside her. She wanted to reverse that sometime, she thought, the image of him naked while she teased and tormented him giving her the kind of pleasure she thought he must be feeling.

  Her body clenched again as an aftershock of pleasure shot through her. He groaned and began to move, as if those deep muscles made it impossible to hold still. He slipped his hands under her back and curled them over her shoulders to hold her steady for his long, steady, driving strokes. He was tall enough to drive in and down, to the very heart of her, and to her surprise she felt her body responding again, when she'd thought herself beyond it, exhausted.

  He lowered his head to her breasts, sucking hard, biting with just enough pressure to make her writhe as reborn flames raced through her. He groaned her name like a litany, increasing his pace, driving harder, faster.

  When the explosion came it took them both, shattered them and left them drifting slowly in each other's arms, trembling, shaking, clinging.

  They never got around to "How was your day?"

  * * *

  Miguel sat at Kit's desk, reading what he'd written. He'd apparently lost what slight ability he'd ever had to sleep late, at least with Kit in his arms. But since they'd spent most of the night doing just about everything but sleeping, he'd slipped out of bed quietly and left her to rest.

  He
shook his head in amazement. Even thinking about it was having an effect on him, his body tightening eagerly. He was forty-four years old, for God's sake, not some horny teenager. So why did just thinking about making love with her make him ready to do it again?

  So stop thinking about it and worry about how you're going to make sure you get to keep doing it.

  It was a while later when Kit padded out of the bedroom on bare feet, wearing only his white dress shirt from yesterday. It barely covered the essentials on her tall, slender body, and the length of leg it bared ought to be criminal, he thought, and probably was in some states.

  "What're you doing?" she asked sleepily, shoving her tangled blond bangs out of her eyes. He wanted to scoop her up and take her right back to bed.

  "You're just in time," he said softly. "You can help me."

  "Help you what?"

  "Write my annual state of the department speech."

  Kit blinked at his mention of the annual speech he gave to all the personnel of Trinity West, congratulating them on a job well done and outlining plans for the future.

  "Isn't it a little early for that?"

  "I know I usually do it in December, but circumstances seem to dictate it needs to be early this time."

  "Oh. Robards?"

  "Not really. It's something else I need help with. From you."

  She laughed, more awake. "Me? That's a hoot. I'm no speech writer. At least, not the kind of speech where you convert everybody in the audience who isn't on your side already."

  "Actually, this part only you can help me with."

  "What part?"

  "The part where I'd like to announce to everybody that I'm getting married."

  Kit stared at him. "Married?" she whispered.