Kansas City Cop Page 8

  Thankfully the elevator doors slid open, and she could escape the sound of Mike’s laughter.

  But she never got the chance to get her armor fully in place again. A trio of SWAT cops waited just outside the elevator, greeting Mike with a chorus of “Mikey,” handshakes and a ribbing about an upcoming barbecue contest.

  Gina knew the three officers, dressed in solid black, except for the white SWAT logo she coveted embroidered on their chest pockets. These were her trainers. Members of KCPD’s elite SWAT Team One, led by Captain Cutler. The one with the black hair, Sergeant Rafe Delgado, was even slated to lead the new tactical team she wanted to be a part of.

  Clearly, they were all longtime friends, with Mike giving the jokes right back, teasing Holden Kincaid, the team’s sharpshooter, about the dogs living at his house who were all smarter than him. He asked about Sergeant Delgado’s son, Aaron, and pointed to the baby bump just beginning to show on the woman with the long ponytail, Miranda Gallagher. “They’re not letting you out into the field, are they, Randy?”

  Gina admired the tall blonde who had been KCPD’s first female SWAT officer. She’d shared a couple of private conversations with Gina about the challenges and rewards of being a woman with her specialized training. Officer Gallagher cradled her hand against her belly. “For now, these bozos are letting me drive the van. Pretty soon, though, I’ll be relegated to equipment maintenance, and then it’s maternity leave.”

  Gina felt like an afterthought, and considered ducking back into the elevator with the two detectives who snuck in behind her to go downstairs. She hadn’t even realized she’d been backing away from the animated reunion until she felt Mike’s hand at the small of her back, pulling her forward to stand beside him. “You all know Gina Galvan, right?”

  Sergeant Delgado nodded. “Of course, we know our star recruit. We miss you at training.”

  Holden agreed. “She keeps us on our toes.”

  “Hi, Gina.” Miranda Gallagher smiled down at her.

  Apparently, she was going to be a part of this conversation after all. “Officer Gallagher.”

  Miranda tilted her head. “We talked about that.”

  Gina nodded. “Randy.”

  Sergeant Delgado pointed to her arm. “I heard you were at Mike’s clinic. How’s the recovery going?”

  “Fine.” She glanced up at Mike. Was she getting any better?

  Mike’s hand rubbed a subtle circle beneath her denim jacket, and she nearly startled at the unexpected tendrils of warmth webbing out across her skin and into the muscles beneath. “She’s progressing nicely. Slowly but surely, I’m seeing improvement every day.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Holden tapped his thigh. “You willing to give out some free advice to the guy who once saved your life?”

  Saved his life?

  “What’s up?” Mike asked. “And I thought I saved myself.”

  Saved himself? I’m not the choir boy you think I am, Gina. I’ve done things. She still couldn’t get her head around what kind of secrets a guy like Mike might have.

  “You wish,” Holden teased before getting serious. “My knee hasn’t been right since I took a tumble off a roof doing sniper duty last week. Anything I can do besides load up on ibuprofen?”

  “You should go to Mike’s clinic.” Gina wasn’t sure where the suggestion had come from, other than a deep-seated need to keep things even between them. If Mike was supporting her in a moment of social discomfort, then she’d support him. “The location’s not that far from headquarters. You could stop in over lunch or right after work.”

  “I’ll do that.” Holden smiled at Gina. “He’s obviously doing something right with you, so that’s a good recommendation.”

  Mike’s fingers pressed into her back. The tension flowing from him into her didn’t exactly feel like a thank you. “Call for an appointment. My assistant will make sure we squeeze you in.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  Sergeant Delgado checked his watch and hurried the conversation along. “I hate to break up the party, but we’ve got an inspection this morning. We’d better get down to the garage and secure the van.”

  “Good to see you guys.”

  “You, too, Mikey.”

  There was another round of handshakes, and a hug with Miranda before the three uniformed officers got on the elevator and Mike pulled Gina aside to whisper, “I don’t need you to drum up business for me.”

  “And I don’t need you to stand up for me.”

  He shrugged. “It’s what people do. Make everyone feel included. What is your hang-up with me being nice to you?”

  She propped her hands at her hips and tilted her face to his. “You know those are my superior officers, right? I shouldn’t be socializing with them.”

  “I practically grew up with those guys. That was running into family, not socializing.”

  “You weren’t including me in the conversation to curry favor with them, were you? I want to earn my spot on the new team on merit, not because I’m friends with the captain’s son.”

  Suddenly, the hushed argument was over. He straightened. “So, we’re friends now? And here I thought you were going to fight me every step of the way.”

  She stared at his hand when he reached for hers, overriding the instinctive urge to close the short distance and lace her fingers together with his. No, she couldn’t start leaning on Mike just because he made it so easy to do so.

  Gina heard a wry chuckle, although she didn’t see a smile, as he curled his fingers into his palm and turned toward the desk sergeant’s station to check in and get visitor badges. “Right. Just friends. Come on. Let’s find your partner.”

  Chapter Six

  “Did you talk to the man who had his plates stolen?” Gina asked, scrolling through the sketchy details of the report on Derek’s computer screen. Had he always been this lax about following up with paperwork on the calls they handled? Had she been too obsessive about her own A+ work ethic to notice his borderline incompetence? Or was he skating by on minimal effort without her at his side every day to push him into being the best cop he could be? “Could you tie him to the Bismarck brothers or Bobby Estes?”

  Derek perched on the corner of his desk, looking over her shoulder at the screen. “It was just me running a plate for you. I didn’t follow up because there wasn’t any crime.”

  Gina shook her head, closing down the page. At least a mouse was easy to control with just her thumb and index finger. It wasn’t frontline action, but she could make herself useful doing a little research. “Um, theft? Maybe tell one of the detectives working that stolen-car ring? You know I think Bobby is involved with something like that. How else could he afford the different cars he drives? And, clearly, Denny Bismarck is a motor head. You saw that bike he was riding. Does he work in auto repair? A guy like that could easily lift plates off another vehicle.”

  Speaking of detectives, her gaze slid across the maze of desks and cubicles to spot Mike chatting with a plainclothes officer she recognized as one of the department’s veterans, Atticus Kincaid. Was he related to Holden Kincaid, the SWAT sharpshooter? From senior officers down to the administrative assistant in the chief’s office, they’d all said hi or waved or nodded or smiled. He was a law-enforcement legacy more at home at Precinct headquarters because of his father’s seniority than she was after six years of scratching her way up through the ranks. If she needed any more evidence that they came from different parts of the city, from virtually two different worlds, that comfortable-in-his-own-skin, one-of-the-boys conversation was it.

  “You’re right.” Derek interrupted thoughts that felt melancholy rather than envious, as she would have had seven weeks ago. Either Mike had social skills she could never hope to possess or she truly was an outsider fighting to find her place among an elite group of cops. “I did mention it to a detective.”

  Gina spun the chair to face her partner. “What did they say?”

  Derek shrugged his broad shoulders. “I just gave him the message.”

  Gina combed her fingers through her hair and clasped the nape of her neck, biting down on her frustration. “Well, has there been any progress on the shooting investigation?”

  Surely, he’d be right on top of the case that was so personal for both of them. He nodded, moving off the desk to open the bottom drawer and pull out a file folder. “Detective Grove and his partner brought Denny Bismarck and his biker buddies in for questioning. Other than the verbal threats they made at the house, we can’t get them on anything. They all alibi each other. Said they left the Bismarck house and went straight to the Sin City Bar.”

  “Can anyone at the bar confirm that?” Gina picked up a notepad and copied names and contact information. Holding a pen was a skill she’d worked on with Mike. The handwriting wasn’t pretty, but it was legible, and learning these details was making her feel like a cop again.

  “You’d have to ask Grove. Whatever he found out is in that file.”

  “You didn’t follow up?”

  “I was in the hospital.”

  “I know. But after that?”

  “No.”

  “Four suspects accounting for each other’s whereabouts is hardly a solid alibi. And that wasn’t the first time we stopped Gordon Bismarck from hurting his ex-wife. What if that call was a setup to get us shot all along?”

  “What’s with all the questions?” he snapped, lowering his voice when the officers at the nearby desks looked his direction. “Look, G, I’m not trying to be a detective. My goal is SWAT.”

  “Your goal should be being the best cop you can be.” Gina stood,
tucking the notes into the pocket of her jeans. There had to be something else going on here. “Don’t you want to find out who shot you? I want to see that guy behind bars.”

  “I just want to put it behind me.” Derek skimmed his hand over the top of his light brown hair, a look of anguish lining his face. “I can’t solve the case for you. Hell, G, I don’t remember anything of that afternoon after being shot. The doctors said I hit my head. I remember getting shot, going down, and then...” He shook his head, his frustration evident. “You’re not the only one who lost something that day.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She squeezed her hand around his forearm, offering the support she hadn’t realized he needed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’m not criticizing. You must be as frustrated as I am. But I want answers. Justice. For both of us.”

  “I know.” Derek patted her hand. “I didn’t want to do anything that would get Vicki hurt either, so I kind of let things slide.”

  “Vicki Bismarck?” Gina frowned as she remembered a detail from the moments before they’d been shot. “You two were calling each other by your first names that day. Is there something personal going on between you two?”

  He shrugged and pulled away to shuffle some papers on his desk. “We may have gone out a couple of times. Nothing came of it.”

  “You dated a victim you met on a call? A domestic-violence victim? Was that before or after someone tried to end us?”

  “Vic is really sweet. Once you get past the shyness.”

  Gina’s mouth opened. Shut. Opened again. “Derek—you know what a jealous idiot Gordon Bismarck is. Going out with his ex-wife could have been the motive to make him go ballistic and target us.”

  Derek spun around, his tone hushed but angry. “We don’t know if that’s what happened.”

  Gina pushed the papers back to the desktop, wanting some concrete answers. “Did you follow up on Gordon? Find out if he saw the two of you together?”

  “No. And if I make a stink of it, he might take it out on her.”

  “Does Vicki mean something to you?”

  “I haven’t seen her since that day. Let it go, G.”

  “I’m not blaming you, especially if you’re trying to protect her. I just want answers. I want to put someone away for trying to end our lives. Don’t you?”

  “Sure.” Derek dropped his head to stare at the spot where her hand rested on his desk beside his. “Don’t you think I feel guilty? I don’t remember enough about what happened that day to ID the guy—and now you’re suggesting I may have triggered the incident in the first place? I just thought some crazy was targeting cops.”

  And maybe that was the answer. But how could he not be using every spare moment to find the truth? Would guilt, amnesia and worry about a victim’s well-being be enough to stop her from pursuing every possible lead?

  The telephone on his desk rang. He inhaled a steadying breath before picking up after the second ring. “Officer Johnson. What? Right now? Just what I need,” he muttered sarcastically. “No, that’s fine.”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked once he’d hung up.

  Derek smoothed the long black sleeves of his uniform and straightened his belt. “Let’s drop this conversation for now, okay? I’ve got a visitor. They’re sending him back.” He made an apologetic face. “Fair warning.”

  “Huh?”

  And then she understood the cryptic comment. A man wearing a visitor’s badge, looking like a hippie version of Derek, with faded jeans, a stained fringed jacket and a graying, stringy ponytail hanging down the middle of his back, came around the cubicle wall. “Dad? What are you doing here?”

  “There’s my boy.” The two shook hands before Harold Johnson pulled Derek in for a black-slapping hug. When he pushed away, he was grinning down at Gina. “Senorita Galvan. What are you doing here?”

  Gina remembered the ruddy cheeks, leathered skin and inappropriate comments from her earlier encounters with Derek’s father. All the years he’d spent outdoors working at a junkyard between stays in jail or rehab seemed to be aging him quickly but hadn’t put a dent in his oily charm. “It’s Officer Galvan, Harold. Or Gina. Remember?”

  “My apologies. But you remind me so much of that chica bonita who used to serve me tequila shots at Alvarez’s outside Fort Bliss.” He chuckled at the memory of the pretty girl who used to wait on his table. “And she was just as insistent I call her Senorita.”

  Derek shook his head at the tired old joke. “You said that was because she didn’t want you calling her after hours.”

  Harold swatted Derek on the shoulder and told him to get a sense of humor. “Forgive an old man. I know it’s not politically correct, but some habits are hard to change. Come here, honey.”

  Honey? Like that was any better. Gina went stiff as the older man leaned in for an unexpected hug.

  “I’m just glad you and my boy are okay. Scariest moment of my life was when I got that phone call that he’d been shot. I’m glad his mama didn’t live to see...”

  A hand came over Gina’s shoulder, palming Harold’s chest and pushing him out of the hug and out of her space. “Easy. She’s injured.”

  Gina didn’t need to hear Mike’s low voice to know who’d rescued her from the unwanted squeeze. She recognized his scent and the heat of his body against her back. Her breath came out in a huff of relief. She hadn’t even been thinking about her rebuilt shoulder. She’d been bothered by the same overly familiar discomfort she got when Derek talked about her sister, Sylvie, as if he wanted to date her. But, not wanting to insult her partner’s father and drive a rift between her and Derek, she was glad for the physical excuse. “Sorry, Harold. I’ve got to watch the arm while it’s still healing.”

  He settled for a loose handshake that extended the awkward moment when he pointed out her limp fingers. “That’s too bad about your hand. I guess you didn’t see the man who shot you, either. Derek had his back to him but said you were facing him.”

  Pulling away, Gina tucked her hand inside her jacket against her stomach, surprised by the indirect accusation. Of course, a father would want his child to be safe. Even if that child was a grown man, a good father would want to know why his son had gotten hurt. “I heard the shots. I didn’t see—”

  “Of course you didn’t. Otherwise, you would have warned my boy. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

  “Dad,” Derek warned.

  Mike moved to Gina’s side, positioning his body in a way that forced Harold back another step. He was shielding her again, even as he thrust out his hand. “I’m Mike Cutler.”

  Harold’s bushy brows knotted with confusion as they shook hands. “Harold Johnson. I’m Derek’s daddy. You a cop?”

  “I’m a friend. And you’re out of line.”

  Derek finished the introductions with an embarrassed sigh. “This is Captain Cutler’s son, Dad.”

  “You’re Captain Cutler’s boy?” Boy wasn’t a term Gina would ever use to refer to Mike, especially when he was a solid wall of defense between her and any perceived threat or insult as he was now. Harold’s frown at Mike’s intrusion flipped into a beaming smile. “I see the resemblance now. Your daddy’s got my boy on a short list for his new SWAT team. That means a promotion and more money.”

  “Gina mentioned it.” Mike nodded to Derek. “Congratulations. My dad doesn’t make decisions lightly. I understand he’s narrowed it down to ten good candidates.”

  Harold tilted his head to offer Gina a sympathetic frown. “Looks like it’s down to nine, unfortunately.”

  “Harold,” Gina chided, “Captain Cutler isn’t making his final decision for another week. I have every intention of giving your son and everyone else a run for their money. And I’m as much a victim of that shooting as Derek was.”

  “Ooh, touched a nerve there, didn’t I?” Harold laughed, elbowing Derek’s arm before apologizing. “I’m sorry, honey. I just assumed—”

  “‘I’m sorry, Officer Galvan,’” she corrected with the most precise articulation her subtle accent allowed. How had Derek grown up to have any charm at all with a father who didn’t possess an ounce of empathy or respect for personal boundaries?

  Harold retreated a step as Mike leaned toward him. “Watch your mouth, Johnson.”