Kansas City Cop Page 11
The petite beauty studiously ignoring Mike was turning out to be as complex a mystery as the recent spate of attacks they both wanted to solve.
She pointed out the next intersection where he needed to turn and watched out the window as they entered the older neighborhood. The street narrowed and the houses got closer together and more run-down. The arching maple trees littered the small yards and sidewalks with their messy buds as leaves started to sprout. Gina shivered, and Mike discreetly turned on the truck’s heater, although he suspected it was something mental, not physical, that had given her that chill.
Just as he thought they might reach her house in silence, Gina spoke again. “If the other incidents have all been a misdirection to throw the investigators off track, then who’s his real target? Or if he just hates cops, why hasn’t he killed any of us?”
“Thank God for that small favor.”
“Seriously. Is it ineptitude? Is he toying with us?” Her shoulders lifted with a deep breath as she continued to speculate about the possibilities. “What if this has nothing to do with us being cops at all? What if it’s something personal—that there’s something besides a badge that connects all four victims? Or they’re not connected at all? What if he’s going after cops to make us think it’s the uniform he’s targeting and not a specific individual? How do we figure out who to warn? Who to protect?”
“Right now, we protect you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Right. While you’re busy trying to find answers to these attacks, taking care of your family, vying to make the new SWAT team, and, oh, yeah—healing—you really think you have the capacity to watch your back, as well?”
She shook her head, stirring her dark hair around her face. “Not my bodyguard, Choir Boy.”
Mike exhaled an irritated sigh. “That tough-chick shtick is getting pretty old.”
“Look around you.” She nodded toward the trio of young men hanging around a jacked-up car. “I have to be tough.”
The young men, smoking cigarettes, all wore ball caps with the same telltale color underneath the brim, labeling them as gang members rather than a baseball team. Their souped-up car and air of conceit reminded Mike of his dangerous forays into No-Man’s Land half a lifetime ago, when he’d sought out teens like that, instead of hanging with his true friends. He hoped it wouldn’t take a tragedy like the ones he’d faced to convince them to make better choices and see the hope in their future. If Gina was the real target, and the other assaults were planned diversions, could the real threat be from someone close to home, like these guys?
“Gangbangers,” Gina pointed out unnecessarily. She waved as they passed. Two of the boys waved back. One flipped them off.
Mike’s hands fisted around the steering wheel as he remembered the faceless driver who’d pantomimed shooting Gina that morning outside the physical therapy clinic. “I assume they know you’re a cop?”
“Uh-huh.” He noticed her good hand fisting in her lap, too. “The one with the rude salute is in my sister’s high-school class. My brother used to run with the other two. They’re low-level members of the Westside Warriors, more bark than any real bite. I doubt they’ll try anything unless their captain gives them the order to do so.”
“Are they a threat to your brother or sister?”
“Not them.” But someone else was? Gina’s mouth twisted with a wry smile. “Can you see why I need that promotion at KCPD? It’s so I can get my family out of this place.”
Mike didn’t have any platitude to offer. This was a dangerous part of the city. But it hurt to see that brave tilt of her chin and how all her responsibilities and the danger surrounding her day and night changed her posture. If he could make that smile a genuine one, for a moment, at least, he’d feel as though he was easing her burden. “And here I thought you just wanted a private bathtub.”
Her dark eyes snapped to his before he heard the laughter bubbling up from her throat. “I’m a very serious woman with a very serious set of troubles. I don’t have time for laughing with you.”
Mike grinned. Fortunately, she’d said with him and not at him. “That’s officially part of my recovery prescription for you. Laughing at least once a day.”
She settled back into her seat and pointed out the window. “Turn here. It’s the brick house with white trim and black shutters in the next block.”
Mike spotted a row of three small houses whose owners seemed determined to maintain a clean, respectable appearance. The lawns were greening up, and there was a lack of junk or old cars sitting on the grass or at the curb. Gina’s home was the one in the middle.
But the respite from worry and wariness was short-lived. “Did Captain Cutler say anything else about today’s shooting?” she asked.
Mike nodded. “SWAT One did a building-to-building search in that block. Stopped traffic and checked vehicles. No sign of him.”
“Any leads?”
Obliquely, Mike wondered if Gina had ever considered aiming for her detective’s badge rather than SWAT. Although he suspected, with her position as the major breadwinner for her family, she didn’t have a college degree yet, a prerequisite for becoming a detective. However, she was a natural at asking questions and observing the world around her. “It was an ambush from an unidentified vehicle, just like with you and Derek. McBride was answering a call on a fight at a bar and grill downtown. Not far from Precinct HQ. Still, the shooter was gone before backup got there.”
“No description of the shooter or vehicle either, I bet.”
“The only witnesses were a drunk still sobering up from last night and the bouncer. He was busy breaking up the fight. The two perps, of course.”
When there was no empty spot to pull up in front of the house, Gina pointed him into the driveway. “Any bystanders hurt?”
Mike pulled his truck up to the garage door. “The only casualty was Officer McBride. Looks like the man in uniform was specifically targeted.”
Unhooking her seat belt, Gina sat forward, facing him. “Wait a minute. Was the incident at the Sin City Bar and Grill?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
She pounded her fist on the console. “That’s the bar where the bikers we chased away from the Bismarck house allegedly went before Derek and I were shot. I’d love to talk to the patrons there. See if the Bismarck brothers and their buddies were there today—maybe even part of that fight. They don’t like cops. Maybe the whole fight was staged.”
“How would they know Frank McBride would respond?”
“Maybe the guy was willing to shoot at any cop who responded to the call. Or maybe he scouted the place out and knew that was Frank’s beat.” Her voice trailed away as she thought out loud. “Did he know the streets Derek and I patrolled? Or Colin Cho?” She was in full voice again as she turned to the door. “I need to see if anyone’s followed up on this.”
She tugged on the door handle and muttered a curse in Spanish when her recovering hand didn’t cooperate quickly enough.
Mike caught her left wrist before she could reach across to open the door with both hands. “I know what you’re thinking.”
She tugged on his grip. “No, you don’t.”
Mike tightened his hold on her. “You aren’t talking about making a phone call. You’re planning on going to the bar yourself to investigate. Not tonight. You’re home. You’re staying put.”
The tension left her arm and she smiled for a split second before forcing her right hand to fumble with the handle. “You’re not the only means of transportation available to me. I can call a cab.”
“The bar will either be closed or the cops investigating the shooting will have already talked to everyone.”
“I’d be in the way. No help to anyone. Is that what you’re saying?”
“What I’m saying is that it’d be a fool’s mission right now. Plus, you need your rest and some dinner because I know you missed lunch.”
“Not my nursemaid, Cutler.”
“Not your chauffeur—yet here I am driving you. Not your friend—yet I’m the one thinking of your best interests. Not your lover.” Her head snapped toward him, her startled eyes wide and dark as midnight. “And yet you kissed me like—”
She jerked her arm from his grasp. “Forget that kiss. I got carried away. I just wanted to thank you.”
“A tough chick like you couldn’t be interested in a nice guy like me, huh?” Why was he pushing this sore spot? Probably because his heart and ego had been battered one time too many. And a little of that rebel he used to be was getting tired of taking hit after hit. He reached across her, ignoring the clean, citrusy scent coming off her hair and skin, and pushed open the door. “Run if you want. You’ll face down anything except what’s happening between us.”
Gina climbed out and circled around the hood of the pickup. But Mike was there to block her path.
She propped her hands at her hips and tilted her chin to face him. “Fine. Let’s hash this out, Choir Boy. Is this where you tell me why you hung out in No-Man’s Land as a teenager? Why you were in a wheelchair? Where you prove to me you’re not so nice and that the two of us have enough in common to make som
ething work after all?”
An image of his teenage friend Josh’s mangled body flashed through Mike’s thoughts, followed by the familiar upwelling of guilt he’d known since he was sixteen years old. The grief of his mother’s death to cancer had sent him spiraling out of control, and the boozy haze of those wild months had cost him a football scholarship, the use of his legs and his best friend’s life.
But the pricks of fear and grief and guilt were manageable now. He could acknowledge those feelings and lock them away before he did damage to anyone else’s life. Or he allowed anyone else to be hurt when he could damn well do something about it. Including the stubborn Latina facing off against him. Gina needed to see him as her equal, as a partner who could help her if she’d only let him beneath that proud, protective armor of hers. “Let’s just say I made some bad choices after my mother died. I found the solace I needed in No-Man’s Land.”
That took her aback. The sparks of defensive anger in her eyes sputtered out. “You did drugs? You had a dealer here?”
Alcohol had been his drug of choice. “I had friends willing to sell liquor to an underage drinker. I was happy to take them up on the offer. Defied my dad’s rules, trashed my chance at a football scholarship, got a friend killed.”
Gina’s gaze dropped to the middle of his chest as she reassessed her opinion of him. Was she trying to realign her image of Mr. Nice Guy Choir Boy with an out-of-control teen who lived with baggage from No-Man’s Land the same way she did? Was the real Mike Cutler someone she could relate to and admire for getting his act together and making amends to the world for his mistakes every day of his life? Or did she now see him as the very kind of thing she was trying to get away from?
But Gina Galvan was nothing if not boldly direct. She tilted her gaze back to his. “How did your mother die? My mother had cancer.”
All the no-one-can-hurt-me attitude had left her posture. Her voice warmed with compassion and understanding.
At the balm of that hushed, seductively accented tone, Mike wanted to reach out to her. He rested his hand on the hood of his truck, mere inches from where her fingers now rested. He stretched out his fingers, brushing the calloused tips against hers. When she feathered her fingers between his to hold on, something eased inside him. There were some understandings that crossed the barriers of backgrounds and economics and skin color. “Cancer. It was long and painful, and I didn’t handle it well.”
“Is that where you met Troy? Was he in a gang?”
“Nope. But that’s where he got shot. In the wrong place at the wrong time during a drive-by shooting in the old neighborhood.”
Her fingers danced against his palm, spinning tendrils of warmth, desire and healing into his blood with even that gentlest of connections. “How did you end up in a wheelchair? And why aren’t you in one now?”
Gina’s persistence would make her a fine detective. But Mike hadn’t forgotten where this conversation had started. “If I answer all your questions, will you answer one of mine?”
She held his gaze expectantly, considering his request. Then she pulled her hand away and squared off her shoulders. Even without her flak vest, that woman’s armor was locked down tight. “All right. What’s your question?”
“Will you go to the Sin City bar on your own tonight after I leave?” She didn’t need to say the word yes. He could read the guilty truth all over her face. Mike angled his gaze toward the orange glow of sunset on the horizon, shaking his head at the symbolism of his chances of making a relationship work with Gina going down right along with it. He’d better reel in his emotions like the champ here, and settle for finding answers and keeping her safe. “How about I pick you up in the morning and we go to Sin City together after your training session. Somebody should be there setting up by ten. And you won’t be stepping on anybody’s toes at KCPD then.”
“Are you going to park outside my house tonight to make sure I stay put?” She’d barely uttered the flippant accusation before her expression changed. “Oh, my God, you are. You do know a truck this nice could get stripped in this neighborhood.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Fine.” Her cheeks flushed with irritation that he could be just as stubborn as she. “I promise to wait until you drive me in the morning if you promise to go home and not put yourself in danger because of me.”
He couldn’t make that deal. Mike planted his feet, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans and standing fast. If she was going into a dangerous situation, then he wasn’t letting her do it alone.
“I’m going inside.” She nudged his shoulder brushing past him, and Mike turned to follow her to the porch. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you get inside safely.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me between the curb and the front door.”
He waited for the import of what she’d just said to sink in. A quick glance out to the street and he knew she was reliving the day she’d been shot. That short distance between the safety of her police cruiser and Vicki Bismarck’s front door was exactly where she’d gotten hurt.
One look at the color leaving her cheeks and Mike turned her to the front door of her own home, sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her jacket and resting a supportive hand at the small of her back. He scanned up and down the block and through the neighboring yards, ensuring they were safe before nudging her forward. “Indulge a nice guy the manners his mama taught him, okay?”
Gina shivered at the polite touch but fell into step beside him as they climbed the single step onto the porch. “And here you are insisting over and over that you aren’t so nice. Which Mike Cutler am I supposed to believe?”
“Both.” Mike was grinning as they reached the door.
Gina pulled her keys from her pocket, but the door swung open before she could insert them into the lock.
A portly man with a strip of gray hair circling from his temples to the back of his head leaned heavily on his walker as he backed out of the doorway. “Gina, la niña. You are so late. We were getting worried.” The elderly man raised his dark gaze to Mike. “You bring us a friend?”
“Tio Papi.” Gina stepped inside to kiss the man’s pudgy cheek while Mike waited in the doorway. A tiny woman with snow white hair that curled like Gina’s dark mane tottered up behind the man, drying her hands on a dish towel. She gently chastised Gina’s tardiness in Spanish before the two women exchanged a hug. Keeping her arm around the older woman’s waist, Gina made the introductions. “This is Mike Cutler. My great-uncle, Rollo Molina. My great-aunt, Lupe.”
Mike nodded a smile to each. “Ma’am. Sir.”
“The Mike Cutler?” In addition to being overweight, Rollo Molina was a tad sallow-skinned. The man must be struggling with circulation or heart issues. But that didn’t stop him from grinning from ear to ear and extending his beefy hand. “I like to meet the man who saved my girl’s life. Now you see her every day. More than we do. We worry, but not when she’s with you.”
Mike accepted the vigorous handshake. “She’s mentioned me, huh?” Why did that surprise him? More importantly, why did knowing that she’d talked about him with her family fill him with a warmth and sense of connection that eased the lingering sharpness of that argument they’d had outside? Gina’s dark eyes bored into his, as if daring him to make something out of knowing she thought enough of him to tell her family about him. Oh, he was making something of it, all right. He’d been recognized as “The Mike Cutler,” so she must have done more than simply mention his name. Mike winked at Gina. “I imagine she’s a hard one to keep track of.”
Rollo laughed, pulling Mike into the entryway and shutting the door behind him. “She has a mind of her own, sí?”
“Yes, she does.”
Those dark eyes rolled heavenward. “Tio Papi...”
Gina started to explain something, but diminutive Lupe, a good three to four inches shorter than her great-niece, pushed past Gina to stand in front of Mike. She grabbed hold of his forearm, her body swaying slightly as she tilted her head back to study him through narrowed dark eyes. “You are Gina’s friend? The young man who makes her well?” She tugged on the sleeve of Mike’s jacket and he instinctively grasped her shoulders to steady her balance. “¡Dios mio! You are so tall. Your eyes are so azul, er, blue. Very handsome.”