GAGE BUTLER'S RECKONING Read online

  Martin was soon yelling again, demanding his phone call. Gage looked at him blandly.

  "Your lawyer already knows where you are and why," he said.

  Martin swore, loud and crude. Gage stepped aside, giving the video camera aimed at the booking cage a clear view of the man. He knew what the monitor would show, an expensively dressed, smooth on the surface man who was rapidly losing his polish.

  Yes, he thought as he watched the jailer take the furious Martin away. This was what it was about, this was why he'd gone into law enforcement. To do this, not to snag unsuspecting young kids and toss them in jail when they were in many cases victim as much as suspect.

  Whoa, he thought, where did that come from?

  He stopped in the middle of stapling the fingerprint card to the booking form, something normally done by the jailer, but Gage had wanted to do this one all by himself, just for the sheer pleasure of it.

  He hadn't liked the high school undercover assignment, but he'd never questioned the rightness of it. He still didn't; every kid that had been picked up as a result of his investigations had broken the law or been about to, and he'd cut the few who were teetering on the edge some slack, hoping that they'd been scared enough to come down on the right side of that narrow fence. As Laurey Templeton had.

  He put the stapler down sharply, the thump echoing hollowly in the jail office. Darn that woman, but she'd stirred up a nest of stinging old memories. It was that, those memories, that were nagging at him, he was sure, not she herself.

  Maybe she did hate him for what he'd done back then, but he had only to look at her now, to know what she'd gone on and done in her life, to know he'd been right. She'd needed her cage rattled, because she'd been headed for dangerous territory. He'd done the rattling, she'd obviously awakened and seen the danger and had changed her course. She didn't have to like him for it, or even thank him. No cop expected that, or, if they ever did, they soon learned that the old axiom was true: If you want love, be a fireman, not a cop.

  "How about a drink? I think we need to celebrate."

  Kit's cheerful invitation yanked him out of a reverie he'd been spending far too much time in lately. More than ever, since he'd walked into the Neutral Zone and seen Laurey on that ladder.

  "I'm buying," Kit added.

  He smiled but began, "Thanks, but I need to finish this and then pull the file—"

  "That's what the jailer gets paid for, let him earn his salary. I'll make it an order," Kit said, sounding half-serious. "You deserve a break. You need a break."

  He could see she wouldn't take a refusal gracefully; she might just follow through on her threat to make it an order. He gave in; maybe he did need a break.

  "If you're buying, you're on," he said, grinning at her.

  "Good. You can drive. I plan to have a very large beer."

  "Okay."

  Gage didn't question her assumptions; Kit knew quite well that he didn't drink, and she knew why. He suspected she had, long ago, spread the word, because the initial ragging on his refusal to drink even beer had faded much quicker than he'd expected. And for that he owed her a stint as designated driver anytime she wanted. It wasn't often—she drank rarely, and not all that much—but she knew that made her more vulnerable—and dangerous behind the wheel—than if she drank regularly, and she never took the chance. He was glad she was so careful; he liked and respected Kit, and would hate anything to happen to her.

  Once in the bar in the back of the small restaurant that had become a department hangout because it was run by an ex-cop from upstate New York who'd moved here for the weather, Kit lifted her foamy glass.

  "Here's to the good guys winning one … for the moment."

  Gage raised his glass of cola. "Amen."

  They both sipped, then lapsed into silence. Gage knew Kit was as aware as he was that Martin would be out no later than Monday morning, and probably before. But for now, he was in jail, the kind of humiliation the proud, imperious man would not bear well.

  You took what you got, Gage thought as the bartender came by to check on their drinks. He watched as the middle-aged and very happily married man flirted shamelessly with Kit, who returned the favor with a sparkle in her hazel eyes.

  "All the good ones are married," Kit said with a sigh as the bartender went off to another patron after refilling their glasses.

  "Thanks," he said dryly.

  She grimaced at him. "Okay, married or off-limits," she amended.

  Gage chuckled. "What about that karate teacher of yours?"

  "He's sweet. Charming." She sighed. "And there's not an ounce of chemistry between us."

  "Better than that stockbroker," he teased.

  "Oh, yeah." Kit grimaced. "Hot stuff. Too bad he stood in the sex appeal line twice and skipped the integrity line altogether."

  "I keep reading the business section, figuring he'll show up in the headlines someday."

  "He will," she promised. "Along with the words 'SEC Investigation.'"

  Gage laughed. So did Kit, and he waited until she stopped before turning serious. "Er, you are … being careful, aren't you?"

  "Careful?"

  "I know it's none of my business, but … it's scary out there these days, and—"

  "Why, Gage Butler, are you giving me advice on my sex life?"

  "Well … yeah," he said sheepishly.

  She patted his hand in mock patronization. "Sweetie, if it makes you feel any better, it's a moot point."

  He blinked. "Oh."

  "Yes, oh. My sex life is about as active as yours."

  His mouth twisted up at one corner. "That bad, huh?"

  "Speaking of which—"

  "Uh-oh."

  "Yes, uh-oh. My social life may not be the hottest around, but at least I have one. Unlike you, my friend."

  "I don't have time for a social life."

  "Exactly my point. But I'd settle for you even having a sex life."

  "Haven't we had this discussion before?"

  "Repeatedly," Kit said. "For all the good it does."

  They had had this discussion before, and Gage didn't really see the point in having it all over. "Then let's skip it this time around."

  "Let's not," Kit said, sounding determined enough to make Gage sigh inwardly. "You can't keep on like you always have, nothing in your life but your work."

  "If I didn't, Martin wouldn't be in jail right now," he said pointedly.

  "I know that. You're a good cop, Gage. The best. But you've got to find some balance. You're bordering on obsession here." She hesitated, then added, "Some people think you're already there."

  His gaze shot to her face; he knew Kit was genuinely concerned, but he wasn't sure just how far she would go. He also knew her opinion was universally respected by everyone—well, except for Robards, and he hardly counted, since no one respected him—from the chief on down.

  Would she have spoken to de los Reyes about her concerns? They had a good relationship, he knew. The man had an open door to anyone who worked for him; it was one of the things that had won him the unwavering regard of most of the force. Again except for the blowhard Robards.

  "Gage," Kit said softly, "you know it's true. You're too smart not to see it, even from the inside. You don't let anything else into your life, it's—"

  "Look, just because I haven't been on a date in a while—"

  "I'm not even talking about that. You don't let anything in, Gage. Or anyone. You don't hang out with the guys, you don't do anything on your own, you have to be ordered to take even this much downtime," she said, gesturing at their surroundings.

  "My caseload has been—"

  "I know what your caseload is, Butler. I give it to you, remember?"

  Uh-oh. He was suddenly Butler again. And that told him what was coming. Told him she meant what she was about to say, and strongly.

  "It's got to stop," she said, her voice quiet but still somehow fierce. "You're using your job to hide from life."

  "When did you get your
psychology degree?" he asked, knowing it wasn't a fair shot, but unable not to make one last effort at stopping her.

  "Same place you did," she snapped back at him. "On the street. And don't try diverting me, Butler. You need to face whatever it is that's driving you. And since you mention it, maybe Dr. Walters is the answer."

  He shook his head as she mentioned the name of the department-affiliated psychologist, the man officers were referred to in the aftermath of traumatic incidents, such as shootings.

  "Just drop it, will you? I'm fine."

  "You're not fine," Kit insisted. "You're putting on a good front, but someday it's going to catch up with you. Nobody can put in the hours you do, pour the mental energy into the job that you do, and not pay a price. A big price."

  "You have a problem with my work?" he asked stiffly.

  "You know I don't. I said you're the best. But you're also running on overload, and you have been since I've known you."

  "I'm fine," he repeated, feeling a bit battered. He knew Kit. She was never this insistent on a personal matter unless it mattered to her. She'd never been so insistent with him before, and it was wearing on him. And wearing him down.

  "I don't want you getting killed because you hit the wall at the wrong moment," she said. "Do I have to go to the chief and have him make it an order before you get some help?"

  Damn, Gage thought. She would, too. He'd never seen her quite like this before.

  "I'm your friend, Gage," she said softly. "You have to know that, know that I'm not blowing smoke here. I'm worried, damn it. I don't want to lose you."

  He let out a compressed breath. She was his friend. The best kind of friend.

  "Maybe … maybe I have been pushing a little," he said at last. "I've been … a little edgy." He gave a wry chuckle. "Even been feeling a bit paranoid lately, thinking somebody was following me." Kit frowned, and he waved a hand at her. "Just imagination. So maybe you're right, I need a break. And I'll take one."

  "Hallelujah," Kit muttered.

  "It's going to have to wait, though. We need to have a watertight case against Martin, and that's going to take a lot of preparation."

  "You know it'll be months before it comes to trial."

  "But there are things I have to prepare."

  "You'll have time. Plenty of it, once his lawyers start kicking the system around."

  He had no answer to that; it was absolutely true. "Okay, okay. After we have a trial date set, I'll take a break."

  Kit eyed him skeptically. "Should I ask for that in writing?"

  "I promise, Kit."

  She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "All right. But I'm going to hold you to it."

  He lifted his glass and drained the last of the soda. "I have no doubt of that."

  After another exchange with Henry, the bartender, in which she declined a refill, Kit got to her feet.

  "Let's stop by the Neutral Zone," she said. "I want to let Caitlin know Martin's spending the night on her tax dollars."

  Gage opened his mouth to instantly protest, remembering the last time he'd set foot in the Neutral Zone. But Kit didn't know about his confrontation with Laurey. At least, he didn't think she did, unless it had come up at the baby shower last night. But Kit probably wouldn't have been able to resist teasing him about it if it had.

  And he was driving, he remembered belatedly, so there was really no way out of it unless he explained exactly why he didn't want to go. And even to himself, avoiding Laurey Templeton sounded too silly a reason to be believed. So with an inward grimace, he pulled out his keys and led the way back to his car.

  You need to face whatever it is that's driving you.

  Her words echoed eerily in his mind. It wasn't true, he told himself. He knew what was driving him. The fact that he didn't talk about it didn't mean he didn't know what it was.

  And he ignored the nagging little voice that was telling him that knowing it and facing it were two very different things.

  * * *

  "Quit pacing, Gage. You're making me nervous," Kit told him lazily from her seat at the bar, where she was sipping one of Caitlin's famous root beer floats.

  "Sorry," he muttered. He knew he was restless, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't anything in particular—certainly not the things Kit had said—he was just … antsy. And the noise level in here, with music blaring, kids jabbering and video games whooping, was getting to him. He thought of the kids' standard joke, "If it's too loud, you're too old." He hadn't expected to be old before he was thirty, but he felt it right now. If he was honest about it, he'd been feeling it for some time.

  "Okay, I give up for now on teaching you how to relax. Go ahead and go," Kit said. "Quisto will give me a ride to the station to pick up my car when he comes for Caitlin. I'll be fine to drive by then."

  He stopped his transit of the floor, turning to look at the two women. He knew Quisto was working the evening shift, not getting off until midnight, and that Caitlin usually waited here for him after the Neutral Zone closed, which was a bit later on Fridays, to keep the kids off the streets on the more dangerous weekend nights.

  "You're sure?" he asked.

  "Sure, we'll get her back to Trinity West," Caitlin answered. "Or Laurey said she might stop by, and if she does, she can take her sooner if Kit wants."

  An instant knot formed in his belly. It scared and irritated him at the same time. He resented the fact that he wanted to dodge out of here before Laurey arrived, yet was grateful for the chance to do it, at Kit's suggestion, without being obvious.

  And he didn't like the way Caitlin was looking at him, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  "All right," he said abruptly and set down the half-full glass of soda he'd been nursing since Caitlin had poured it for him in celebration of their news about Martin's arrest.

  "See you Monday," Kit said. "Bright and early, I'm sure."

  "Unless Martin or his lawyers manage to pull together a hundred grand, or find his partner, or a bondsman who will take a chance without signed papers before then."

  "If it happens, it happens. We knew going in he'd be out in a hurry," Kit said.

  "Yeah," Gage muttered. "Have money, will travel."

  "But Judge Partain made it as tough as he could, setting the bail high."

  "Let's hope it's high enough to keep him eating jail food for the weekend," Gage said.

  He gave Caitlin a quick, brotherly kiss on the cheek and turned to go. He made his way out of the Neutral Zone, nodding to those who waved to him, smiling at those who looked at him hesitantly, and overlooking those who looked away. He knew Kit was right, Judge Partain had done all he could. Maybe because he was a friend of Chief de los Reyes's, but also probably in part because of Kit. He liked her. Said she had changed his old, set-in-his-ways viewpoint about women in law enforcement. She followed the rules and still got the job done, he'd told Gage once, leaving him to wonder if there'd been an implication in there for him.

  He started toward the car he'd had to park a block down, thanks to the busyness of the Neutral Zone, thinking idly he was going to have to get that tune-up soon. Yet another thing he'd skipped in his passion to become a cop had been learning anything much about cars. He supposed that made him an anachronism, a guy who didn't know or care much about the quintessential guy thing, but as long as the thing got him to work, that was all that mattered.

  All that mattered.

  He ignored the way the words seemed to echo in his head. He wasn't obsessed, he was just … involved. And he knew sometimes his methods weren't by the book, but when it came to dealing with confused kids and the victims of the ugliest of crimes, it was results that counted in his book. Getting runaway kids home or at least help, getting kids in deeper trouble on a better path, getting rape victims what justice the system would allow, that was what mattered. It was all that mattered, to him.

  All that mattered.

  You're bordering on obsession, here. Some people think you're already there.

>   He wasn't obsessed, he repeated silently as he neared the blue coupe and dug into his pocket for the keys. Obsessed meant something else controlled you, and it was he who controlled what he did and when, and how much. He was very conscious of controlling it, knowing that it was partly because there was so much he couldn't control that he so tightly controlled what he could.

  But there was nothing wrong with that, he told himself as he unlocked the driver's door and pulled it open.

  You've got to find some balance.

  Balance. It was clear Kit thought he could find it in a relationship, but he wasn't convinced. He'd never known a woman strong enough to deal with him, or that he was drawn to enough to counterbalance his commitment to his work.

  An image formed unbidden in his mind, of a woman with misty gray eyes and silky dark hair, who had the strength to face him down with a passion that had startled him. And bothered him, he thought, in more ways than one. She was—

  She was walking toward him. He stopped dead, his fingers curling around the keys he'd just removed from the door lock, inanely feeling how warm they were. From his body heat. Which had suddenly gone soaring upward, he thought a little dizzily as he watched her. She was wearing jeans, possibly the same black ones she'd had on before, and a silky gray blouse that was nearly the shade of her eyes. She also wore boots with a heel, making her legs appear even longer and herself even taller. He liked that, that she was no longer trying to hide her height by slumping over, as she had in high school.

  And he didn't like that it meant something to him.

  She saw him then, and when her steady stride faltered, he realized his last thought had made him frown. Or maybe it was just that she hadn't expected—or wanted—to see him.

  Of course it was, he told himself ruefully. She'd made her feelings clear enough. So clear, he half expected her to keep right on walking without even acknowledging him. But instead she stopped, a safe couple of feet away, but still close enough to show that she wasn't going to simply ignore him.

  No, she was probably going to chew him out again, and he was in no mood. He'd had enough of heavy emotional discussions for one night. Maybe from her point of view she'd had reason to be angry once, but it had happened years ago, and it was time to move on. Past time.