“I want to work this case, Captain.”

“It’s against procedure for you to investigate your partner’s death. You know what the policy is.”

Nick was prepared. “Then I’ll quit and investigate on my own. Julio died, when it should’ve been me. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring the man in, procedure be damned. It’s your call.”

Captain Girard looked away. Nick reached for his police-issue 9 mm. “Fine. You have my resignation—effective immediately.”

“Stop, Detective. You can stay.”

“I can?” Nick couldn’t believe it. “What’s the catch?”

“You need a partner to watch your back.”

“I already have…” For the first time, the full impact of his loss sank in. He didn’t have a partner anymore. Julio was dead.

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You have to sleep sometime. She’s a cop.” Girard handed Nick a file. “Consider yourself joined at the hip.”

He quickly scanned the contents. “She’s not a detective?”

“K-9.”

“That’s no help!”

“Doesn’t matter. She and her dog also do private bodyguard work. I want her to keep an eye on you. Emotional men with guns shouldn’t be working the street alone—or at all, for that matter. If Lara Nelson tells me you’ve slipped up, you go on desk duty.”

Dear Reader,

The bond between man and dog goes back to prehistoric days. Man’s ability to reason and make tools, coupled with the canine’s extraordinary speed, vision, hearing and smell was an unbeatable combination. It still is.

The United States began its association with canine or “K-9” teams in World War One, using messenger and patrol dogs. Shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the government established “Dogs for Defense” to standardize war dog training. By 1945 over ten thousand American dogs served overseas as sentry, scout and messenger dogs. Some even parachuted into the field. In Korea and Vietnam their service was expanded to include bomb detection and water duties. And the natural outcome of American dogs of war? American dogs of law enforcement.

The German shepherd was judged best suited to wartime conditions, and is still the preferred breed for law enforcement in the United States. Contrary to popular belief, their biggest task is not attacking. These highly intelligent animals are trained to search, protect, apprehend and assist. Searching is one of their main functions, and they are asked to find many things, from missing persons to drugs, firearms, evidence of crime and articles of terrorism. They also act as a strong deterrent to violence in tense situations.

The biggest asset of the canine, however, is loyalty. Just ask the handler of Sirius, a K-9 killed at the World Trade Center attack, or the handler of a German shepherd K-9 in my hometown. His dog took a shotgun blast on duty and served his “final watch.” This book is dedicated to Urk, whose memorial service I attended. Urk’s bravery, along with his handler’s, inspired me to research this subject.

By the way, my characters, the kennels, the police stations and this story are purely fictional. And although my heroine is also a work of fiction, the history of law enforcement and police dog training is not. Welcome to the world of canines and their handlers: true heroes and heroines in the war against violence.

Anne Marie Duquette [owner of AKC German shepherd Renegade Striker]

Pregnant Protector
Anne Marie Duquette

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Urk.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE

May, Monday morning

DETECTIVE NICK CANTELLO of the San Diego PD’s homicide squad sat in shocked silence in the shift lieutenant’s office, and he wasn’t a man who shocked easily.

My partner’s dead? Julio’s dead?

He must have spoken the words aloud.

“Tough break,” said the shift lieutenant, a big, beefy cop named Joe Lansky.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me?” Nick’s normally smooth baritone was hoarse and grating. His lean face was pale under his tan. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

“We tried, Cantello. Your cell didn’t pick up and you weren’t at home. Homicide rode by.” Lansky’s eyes were filled with compassion.

Nick was too stunned to see it. As a man who loved deep-water boating but couldn’t afford a decent boat on his salary, he regularly paid for a weekend charter down to Mexican waters. Just as he had this weekend. But he always carried his cell phone charged, and he’d come straight to work Monday morning directly from the harbor, riding Julio’s motorcycle.

“Someone should have called! You should have kept trying.” Shock gave way to a sudden, horrible thought. “Oh, my God…his family. Does Lilia know?”

At Lansky’s nod, Nick felt a painful twist in his gut. Julio and Lilia Valdez had two kids and a third on the way. In his soft, quiet way, Julio had told Nick the good news over a beer two nights ago.

“How did he die?” Nick asked.

Lansky spit out a foul expletive. Then, “It’s bad…”

Nick doubted he could feel worse than he did right now. “Give it to me.”

“MVA Friday night.”

Motor vehicle accident.

“It was raining,” Nick said with particular emphasis that only locals could understand. It had rained steadily all the way to the harbor, an uncomfortable event for even a man as experienced with motorcycles as he was. Southern California’s desert climate made rain a rare event, something people talked about. It also provided both law enforcement and the public with a lot of grief. The freeways connecting Tijuana/San Diego/Los Angeles/Hollywood carried the densest traffic in North America. The desert climate meant no measurable rain for months. When rain did arrive, months of embedded oil floated to the surface on heavily used roads. Everything from local streets to packed interstates became almost oil slicks. For local drivers who had little practice driving in rain, vehicular accidents skyrocketed in those first wet thirty minutes. Then came the infamous California pileups, with the accompanying injured and dead.

Lansky nodded. “Yeah. His—your car—spun out. I understand you two swapped keys in the parking lot. Why’d you take his bike?”

The “bike” was a huge Harley-Davidson motorcycle, for Julio and Nick had met at a SDPD motorcycle fund-raiser and had hit it off instantly. When both were promoted and transferred to the detective unit, neither had to ask the other to be his partner.

“Julio’s wife called right before the shift ended. Said the refrigerator wasn’t working. The repairman couldn’t get there until the next morning. She needed him to pick up some ice. So we swapped.” Guilt stabbed through his pain. “If anyone should have spun out in the weather, it should have been me on the bike…not him. Hell, my tires are brand-new.” An uncomfortable pause told Nick more bad news was coming. “What?”

“There’s more. Someone took a shot at the car in the rain. Your car,” Lansky said pointedly.

For a moment, Nick fought to prevent being violently ill. He took a deep breath, like a raw rookie viewing his first homicide scene.

“Julio left the office when you did. It was after rush hour, Cantello. Traffic was moving, but not that fast, with the rain. Julio spun out right after the shot was fired. We got cell phone reports from other drivers on the scene and we’ve been interviewing them all weekend.”

Traffic on Southern California freeways was congested day and night, Sundays and holidays included. Beach exits were standstills in the summer. Tempers flared. Drive-by shootings in slow, crawling congestion were no novelty. Like earthquakes and wildfires, road rage was a price to be paid for living in the Sunbelt’s beach paradise and driving its massive freeway system.

Nick swallowed hard. “Did…did Julio take a hit, or just the car?”

“We don’t know yet. The divers are still trying to recover the vehicle, but it’s been all weekend, and still nothing. That shot sent Julio straight into the ocean. We had a chopper on-site, but by the time rescue got there…” Even the gruff veteran couldn’t finish.

Julio drowned, and I was off on a pleasure cruise with a damn cell phone that didn’t pick up in Mexican waters. It’s my fault. Nick’s heart seemed to stop as he realized, That should have been me. I had his bike. He had my car.

Nick echoed the words of all loved ones during tragedy. “I can’t believe it. Are you sure?”

“We interviewed more than twenty callers over the weekend.”

“Did they find the shooter? Description of vehicle?” He didn’t ask the question he usually asked, What about motive? He desperately tried, but for the life of him he couldn’t get the words out.

“Nothing. The captain contacted the local gang specialists, but initiations usually involve members of another gang. Never cops. We’ll be checking out more after the autopsy. In the meantime—” Lansky drew in a deep breath “—the department’s handling the funeral arrangements. Julio’s wife and kids have left to stay with family in Mexico until then. She said she’d call you in a few. You need to check in with the captain and take some time off.”

Nick issued an earthy expletive, which miraculously loosened the constriction of his throat. “I switched vehicles with my partner, he ends up dead, I might be tied to the real motive and you want me to go home?” Nick swore again.

Lansky’s reaction was mild. He even shrugged.

“I didn’t say home. You’ll probably get desk duty. Take it up with the captain after roll call.”

Nick said nothing as his lieutenant rose from his chair. Sorrow had largely replaced shock now, but the guilt was still there when Lansky called the roll and started the fifteen-minute morning briefing. Nick ignored the other members of the squad—the lucky ones who still had their partners—and listened to Lansky skip Julio’s name on the roster. It hurt, almost as much hearing the news the first time.

Lansky reviewed what new information SDPD had gathered from the cell phone callers over the weekend—which wasn’t much. “Funeral details will be posted later on. As always, full dress,” Lansky ordered.

The silence in the downtown San Diego squad room was broken by a whispered, “I knew that rain meant bad luck.”

During funerals held for Southern California cops, it always seemed to rain. This, in water-rationed San Diego. Always. Half the shaken cops in the room would probably repeat the old superstition—cops who rarely cried on the job, but waited until they were home with their lovers or spouses or six-packs of beer.

“Any other comments?” Lansky asked. “No? We’re still investigating the possibility that the killer was targeting Cantello.”

Nick felt the eyes in the room turn toward him.

“So far, we have no motive. The captain himself will be coordinating with Homeland Security. If anyone has any leads, come to us. As I told you before, expect overtime. This is one of our own.”

Nick’s lips tightened into a thin line. I should be in charge of this. He was my partner.

“Keep your eyes open,” Lansky continued as he picked up his uniform hat. “The same goes for your wallets, boys and girls. For those of you who missed seeing me over the weekend, I’m collecting for Valdez’s wife and kids. Contribute on your way out.”

“Baby showers, birthdays, retirement parties—now this,” someone mumbled. “Any more collections and I’ll need a second job.”

Nick recognized the bleak attempt at humor, and wished it had been from anyone other than that particular guy. Nick didn’t particularly like Homicide’s T. J. Knox. In fact, he found him just as irritating as his father, Sergeant Richard Knox. Nick tended to avoid both men. Still, he couldn’t fault the son’s generosity. The bill in T.J.’s hand was a large one.

Nick didn’t bother with his wallet. He quickly scribbled out a check, instead, then ripped it out with a vicious yank that tore a tiny chunk off the corner.

“Here, Joe.” He folded it and dropped it into Lansky’s hat.

Lansky unfolded the check and deliberately eyed the first digit and subsequent three zeros before the decimal point.

Nick snatched the check out of Lansky’s beefy fingers and stuffed it back into the hat. “Mind your own damn business.”

“You cops are my business. The captain’s still waiting to see you.”

“I said I’m not going home,” Nick ground out.

“So tell Girard, not me. I’m just passing on the message.” Lansky’s eyes were already on the next contributor. “Is that all you can give? Now Cantello here, there’s a man who knows how to donate. Look at his check.”

Nick’s face burned as Lansky retrieved his check and waved it in the offender’s face.

Damn that Lansky. Damn dress uniforms and funerals. And damn Julio’s killer to hell.

CAPTAIN EMIL GIRARD WAS waiting as Nick stepped into his office. Seated at his desk, his boss looked thin and faded, almost to the point of frailty. But the correct impression of an elderly man soon to retire vanished when you noticed his eyes—alert and intelligent. Girard’s body might be past its peak, but his mind still functioned in high gear.

“Sorry about Valdez. We tried to track you down,” Girard said quietly, gesturing toward a chair. “You don’t have a house phone, do you?”

Nick shook his head and sat. He thought having an economical cell phone voice-mail system was enough. Sunbelt house phones were expensive, and like many practical residents, he did without one, using his cell exclusively for his personal calls; he had a police cell for work. Unfortunately, California’s cell towers couldn’t always handle heavy traffic or Mexican waters.

“How are you holding up?” Girard asked.

Nick’s response was clipped. “A hell of a lot better than his family. I didn’t even get to talk to them! I want to work this case, Captain. I’ve got a high percentage of solves, and—”

“I’m familiar with your record, Detective,” Girard interrupted softly. “Just as I’m sure you’re familiar with policy. It’s against procedure for you to investigate your partner’s death.”

Nick was prepared. “Then I’ll quit and investigate this case myself. I am this case. Julio died, when it should’ve been me. And with or without my badge, I’ll do whatever it takes to bring the man in, procedure be damned. Take your pick—it’s your call.”

Girard looked away. Nick rose and reached for his police-issue 9 mm. “Fine. You have my resignation—effective immediately.”

“Sit down, Detective. You can stay.”

“I can?” Nick couldn’t believe it. “No refusal, lecture or a trip to the police psychologist before forced desk duty or a leave of absence?”

“Later. Your co-workers warned me you’d pull a stunt like this. We need your help now. That is what you want, isn’t it?” Girard asked.

“Yes. What’s the catch?”

“You need a partner to watch your back.”

“I already have…” For the first time, the full impact of his loss sunk in. He didn’t have a partner. He had a partner. Julio was dead.

Nick’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Until we know more, you get one. She’s a cop, it’s her job and you have to sleep sometime.” Girard handed Nick a file from across the desktop. “Consider yourself joined at the hip until this case is solved.”

Nick read the name on the file. “Lara Nelson? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“She’s never worked San Diego Downtown. She works Pacific Beach and La Jolla.”

If he hadn’t been so grief-stricken, Nick would have felt envious. The seaside section of San Diego called Pacific Beach sprawled north from Mission Bay and Sea World. P.B., as locals called it, teemed with bronzed surfers, college students, bars, nightclubs and comedy clubs. P.B. ran smack into La Jolla’s multimillion-dollar cliffside homes of the rich and famous—San Diego’s version of Los Angeles’ Malibu Beach. And it definitely lacked the crime other parts of San Diego had.

Grief didn’t quite suppress his curiosity. “How’d she manage that beat?”

“She’s just come off compassionate leave. We’re easing her back in.”

Nick avoided the too-sensitive subject of compassionate leave.

“Besides, the Nelsons breed and train canines for us. We want them to keep providing those dogs. Nelson Kennels are the best, Cantello. The best.”

“She’s not a detective?”

“No, K-9.”

“That’s no help!”

“Doesn’t matter. She and her dog also do private bodyguard work. She’ll keep you in one piece. And she’ll understand your feelings. She just buried her fiancé—I understand he flew choppers for the hospital up near Yosemite.” The captain paused. “Anyway, she passed her psych evaluations. I want her to keep an eye on you. Emotional men with guns shouldn’t be working the streets alone—or at all, for that matter. If Lara Nelson tells me you’ve slipped up, you go on desk duty.”

Nick swallowed hard at the thought of his new partner. He couldn’t work up resentment against anyone who felt the pain of loss he now experienced.

“Or,” Girard continued, “straight to the seventh floor.”

Nick didn’t want a trip to the police psychology unit. Profilers and counselors worked on the seventh floor. The only therapist he’d ever seen had been years ago during mandatory testing interviews for all rookies in the academy. A private person, he hadn’t enjoyed the experience, though he’d been classified as normal. His innate honesty would compel him to admit that he wasn’t feeling normal now.

At present, he barely kept a lid on his emotions. And that inner whisper, the one saying he should have kept his own car in the rain, received the original phone call, come in and gone straight to “the scene,” had to be kept quiet. Because of a pleasure trip, others had supported his friend’s wife and two young sons. He hadn’t even seen them after the death and before they’d left for Mexico! What kind of cop wasn’t there for his partner’s family? He had to call them as soon as possible.

Nick realized Girard was still talking. “…inter-agency cooperation. We’ve got the feds looking into this one. And Lara Nelson’s objectivity could be a plus. Lansky agrees.”

Nick’s eyebrows rose. “Lieutenant Lansky?”

“Yes. He and I both knew Lara’s mother—she was a cop—when she worked K-9,” Girard explained. “The Nelsons aren’t outsiders. I trust them. So does he.”

“But the lieutenant’s—” Nick broke off. He’d been about to say: As close to retirement as you.

A pause. “We won’t let Julio’s death go unsolved. Your job is to provide information. Nelson’s is to keep you alive.”

“Get someone from Homicide. She’ll hold me back.”

“Not as much as if you tried to do this as a civilian.”

Nick backed off, knowing he’d pushed his luck as far as he could. He reached for the file and reopened it, scanning the photo. Lara Nelson, white, late twenties. She looked somewhat nondescript, as did most subjects in the small official photos. Her record showed brains and nerve. The blue eyes beneath blond bangs in the photograph spoke of determination, not foolishness. But then, determination hadn’t kept his partner alive. Nick took a deep breath.

“When do I meet her?”

“She’s waiting down the hall. For now, we’ve given her an office here instead of at K-9. You go where she says. And Cantello, no driving. Give yourself some time to get your feet back under you.”

The meeting was over. Nick headed for the door, immediately using his cell to call the family in Mexico. There was no answer, nor did any answering machine pick up. He called again, with the same result.

Sympathetic looks followed him as he headed for the office. Nick ignored them all. He wasn’t ready for sympathy. Sympathy never eased the pain of a death. He’d seen the families of too many victims to believe it did. Justice helped a little—sometimes. Nick’s heart ached anew for Julio’s widow and children. Even a marriage that included kids didn’t always make for happily ever after. Not if one parent was a cop.

Nick knocked at the closed door of the spare office and stepped back as a woman with a big German shepherd at her side opened the door. He found himself meeting the eyes of a woman who didn’t hide her emotions. She might be a stranger who never knew Julio, but he knew that sympathetic look of pain couldn’t be faked. It hit him hard. He felt a powerful urge to reach out and pull her close.

“Officer Nelson?” he said instead.

She nodded, her eyes unblinking, her tanned face framed by head-hugging short blond curls. The simplicity of it suited her, Nick noticed objectively. He also noticed she wasn’t very tall, small even for a female cop. But he knew that brains often made up for brawn. With her dog, he suspected she had all the brawn she needed.

“Detective Cantello.” She reached for his hand and held it tightly. “Sorry to meet under these circumstances.” Only after releasing his hand did she turn briskly to the door to close it behind him and gesture toward the chair.

She ordered her dog to sit in German, the language the animals were traditionally trained to follow. Before 9-11, most police dogs were obtained in Germany, and though they weren’t now, law enforcement continued to use German commands. This prevented the dog from responding to a criminal’s English-language commands.

Nick watched her dog sit strategically at the side of the desk where it could watch both partner and newcomer. Lara Nelson moved with strength and grace, and so did her dog, a large female, mostly tan, with black markings on the face, ears and legs.

Lara introduced Nick to Sadie, then asked outright, “You have any problems with me, now’s the time to say so.”

He appreciated her bluntness, and suddenly the words spilled out. “I don’t want a bodyguard. I only agreed to this to keep from getting a desk job during the case. I refuse to stay sidelined or holed up someplace, and I intend to find Julio’s killer with or without your help.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended. “Or your company.” He defiantly stood.

She didn’t. Her hand dropped from her dog’s head, and her soft, feminine look was replaced by a surprising toughness.

“I’m in charge of your safety,” she said. “My partner and I are now your shield. If I have to use my training and my dog to make you follow my orders, I will. Sadie comes from my parents’ kennels. They train only the best dogs, and they gave me the best of the best. Would you like a demonstration of our ability to keep you in line?”

She didn’t even move from her chair. “Sadie, Zur Wache!” Immediately the shepherd changed from adoring pet to dangerous guard dog. Nick realized Lara’s hostess act had nothing on her dedication to duty.

“No need,” he said, annoyed yet respecting her stand. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Wise move. My mother was a K-9 handler. One of my older sisters works K-9 with the bomb squad. The other works K-9 Search-and-Rescue. Our dogs will do anything for us. If you deliberately work against me and anything happens to the public, to Sadie or to me as a result…” She left the words unfinished.

“I won’t do anything to risk anyone else. You have my word.” There’s been enough death already to go around.

“Then we understand each other.” With a single command, Sadie relaxed. Lara leaned forward on the desk, the hint of restrained power remaining in both woman and canine. “That being said, I am not in charge of your emotions, Detective. Nor am I your superior when it comes to law enforcement. As you are an officer of the law, I don’t think restricting your movements and hiding is needed at this time.”

Nick’s head jerked up. “No safe house?”

“No official safe house, but my house. Definitely safe,” she emphasized. “With the Valdez family in Mexico, we’ll need you to cover ground only they would know.”

Nick found himself quite speechless for the second time that day. There was something in the way she held her head, a quiet dignity about her, that spoke volumes.

“So I’ll be able to investigate Julio’s murder unhampered?” he managed to ask.

“As long as you let me protect you. You’ll follow my orders for your safety. To do that, I remain at your side until this case is solved.” She brushed away a speck of dust from the desk and met his gaze straight on. “If your…activities interfere with that, then and only then will I feel the need to curtail your actions by any means necessary. That includes reporting to your superior and mine—that’s Captain Girard.” There was steel in the voice coming from that delicately boned face. “Until I get back to K-9.”

“Got it,” he said, his voice grating like gravel. “Appreciate your understanding, Officer Nelson.”

“Hey. He was your partner.” Her businesslike manner slipped more than a little as she smiled. “My car’s outside. Let’s roll. And please, call me Lara.”

THE K-9 SQUAD CAR computer display and communication unit kept track of messages as Lara and Nick rode in silence. Sadie sat alertly in the back, Nick’s bag of clothes from the weekend on the floor beneath. Nick felt strange sitting next to her, instead of Julio, during the drive toward the pricey homes perched on the cliffs of the La Jolla shoreline. As the squad car approached her home, he took in everything with a trained observer’s eye: the white stucco front, the riot of flowers, the carefully manicured lawn. His gaze skipped over the expensive foreign cars to the frothing shoreline far below. As the Pacific sparkled and crashed green-blue in the sun, he thought of his own small apartment in an older blue-collar neighborhood of San Diego.

Nick couldn’t help but be curious about Lara Nelson’s circumstances. Girard had said Lara worked in La Jolla; he didn’t say she lived there. Homes in La Jolla went for three million dollars and up. Only movie stars, hi-tech industrialists and old-money types lived on these cliffs. Space and the world-famous view were at a premium. Those looking for an opportunity to buy had to wait a long time for a property to go on the market.

Nick breathed in the salt air as Lara parked the car on the pristine, oil-free driveway. He’d always appreciated beauty and begrudged no one his or her fair share. He wondered if Julio’s fatherless children would ever find their own place in the sun. Then, because a man in his kind of life accepted harsh realities, he shoved aside such thoughts and exited the car, stepping onto the fancy tiled sidewalk.

As man, woman and dog entered the pink-tiled foyer, Nick slipped and stumbled slightly. Lara grabbed at his waist, alarmed.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Just slipped on the tile.”

“Carrara marble. My dog and I slip on it, too.” Surprisingly, her arm remained firmly around his waist as she steered him to the couch in the large foyer.

“Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want any damn coffee,” he said harshly. Then he backpedaled, realizing she didn’t deserve rudeness. “I’m sorry. No, thanks.”

“Okay, but how about a beer? Or a scotch. You’re not on duty.”

Nick thought for a moment. “Scotch sounds good.”

“Ice?”

“Neat.”

“Sit down and put your feet up. I’ll be right back. Sadie, stay.”

He felt the dog’s eyes on him as he studied the room. A concert grand stood as the room’s focal point, its lacquered finish gleaming despite the curtains being drawn over the huge bay windows. The floor was highly waxed parquet hardwood, while the obviously expensive leather couch and matching hassock were the only pieces of furniture evident. There was no television and no stereo. The only things in profusion were voluminous collections of sheet music on the shelves and a few scattered pieces on the piano.

Lara returned with an iced tea for herself and the scotch for him. Her dog rose to its feet expectantly and trotted to her side. Lara shook her head, but remained standing. “Relax, Sadie. I’m not going anywhere,” she said with a smile of affection for the animal. Sadie lay down again and stretched.

The smile transformed the woman’s face. She was breathtakingly lovely. So lovely that it took him a moment to realize she was still holding out his glass.

“Thanks.” He tested the scotch with a small sip, then a bigger one.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.” The scotch, smooth as silk, burned a path to his midsection, replacing some of the icy coldness with heat.

“There’s more if you want,” Lara offered. “Just say the word. You wanna get drunk, I don’t have a problem with it. God forbid if anything happened to my partner.” Her hand dropped to rest on the molded head of her four-legged companion.

Getting drunk—something he hadn’t done since his college days—appealed, but only for a moment. If he were drunk, he couldn’t work. He’d take a quick shower, not for hygiene but to shock his body into alertness, and he’d exchange the constricting work clothes for jeans. He’d shove his grief down where it couldn’t hamper him, and then, only then, would he start to work on finding Julio’s killer.

CHAPTER TWO

Monday afternoon

“DAMN!” Lara swore as she hit yet another wrong note on the piano keyboard, the third in the past five minutes. Julio’s body was now in the hands of the medical examiner, and she hadn’t yet told Nick. At present he was showering. She planned for them to visit the police station to check on new developments, but first she needed to eat. She’d missed her breakfast, and it was already past noon. Lara suspected Nick hadn’t eaten since hearing of his partner’s death. Okay, she decided, she’d tell him about the phone call from Girard after they’d eaten. There was no harm in stalling. No sense ruining his shower, as well.

She’d sat down to practice at the piano while waiting, one of her passions but unfortunately not one of her skills. She pushed away from the Steinway, the legs of the piano bench scraping the waxed parquet floor. Might as well take a break. Her mind wasn’t on her music, anyway. It was on Nick Cantello.

Lara crossed to the big bay window overlooking the Pacific, parted the drawn curtains slightly and took in the view. In many ways, she thought, Nick was exactly the way a law enforcement officer should be. Strong, both in his hard, lean body, and in his personality. But there was something else about him she found disturbing—his loneliness. He tried to hide it, she knew, but having reviewed his file on Girard’s orders, Lara sensed it. Nick considered Julio’s family more his than his own, distant one; his parents, siblings and grandparents lived in Italy. Now, sadly, the Valdezes were back in Mexico. Despite Nick’s brusque, almost rude manner, she’d instantly warmed to him, both emotionally and physically, utterly surprising feelings for her to have toward a stranger suddenly thrust into her life.

Circumstances such as murder and a grieving, angry man didn’t bode well for romantic attraction. Nick wanted justice for his partner, with or without her, and Lara knew a brick wall when she met one. Her dog’s ears swiveled suddenly, alerting her to Nick’s passage down the stairs from the guest room on the upper level. She swung around and greeted him with a smile.

“Giving up on the ivories?” Nick asked.

“I should have given up years ago. I’m terrible. Still, I love music.” She shrugged. “I try not to inflict too much suffering on others. Thank heavens Sadie doesn’t mind.”

“Your dog’s tone deaf?”

Lara noted it was the first time she’d seen him smile. “Yep. So is Lexi—that’s my oldest sister Kate’s dog. Kate’s the real musician. We share this house. But she’s out of town on business,” she said, anticipating his question. “It’s just us.”

Lara sat back down on the bench and dropped her hand, feeling for the furry head never far from her side. “Hungry? We can leave whenever you’re ready. I thought we’d stop at a place I know near the beach. Or wherever you prefer.”

“In a bit.” Nick sat down on the couch, his expression one people close to him would recognize as alert. “Tell me about your…house.”

“Two stories, seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, kitchen and bar, formal dining room, four-car garage, pool and spa, tennis courts, plus a beautiful ocean view,” she said. “Actually quite modest for La Jolla.”

His eyes traveled around the room, sparsely yet elegantly—and expensively—furnished. “You win the lottery?” he asked.

“In a way.” Lara grinned. “Wanna know the story?”

“Please.”

Lara noticed his please was more an order than a question, a characteristic of most law enforcement officers who set up and controlled interviews. She did it herself, but today being treated as “business” was irritating. She’d never had a problem maintaining her emotional distance from co-workers before. But Nick had somehow skipped right past her “official” mode, and suddenly she wished the reverse were true.

Lara lifted her foot to the bench and tucked her knee under her chin. “My mother used to be a K-9 officer, and Dad worked with explosives canines. Dad runs the kennels. Both Mom and Dad train. We all help out on our off time.”

“We? Your siblings?” he asked.

“Kate and I, now. My other sister, Lindsey, is married and works up at Yosemite with her husband. Kate and I occasionally do bodyguard work for friends or friends of friends.”

Nick jerked his head in the dog’s direction. “You freelance with the dog?” Law enforcement officers were allowed to moonlight, such as working parking control at sports events, but dogs rarely were.

“Sorta kinda. I don’t charge my friends. And legally, Sadie’s my personal property. I wasn’t assigned her. I came to the job with leash in hand.”

“Unusual.”

“Not since 9-11. Increased numbers of law-enforcement dogs are becoming a normal part of life in this country. And as our kennels provide many of the working law-enforcement dogs in this area…” Lara shrugged. “Sadie passed her certifications.”

“Go on,” he ordered. Lara lifted one eyebrow, and was rewarded with another “Please.”

“Kate and I worked a charity event for children’s cancer a few years ago. A rock concert,” she specified. “My father’s a friend of the lead singer. The rock star’s girlfriend and their young daughter were there. The daughter has cancer.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. Anyway, Kate and I foiled a kidnapping attempt on the daughter. We caught the perps and kept the family safe. The rock star was very grateful.”

“So, this?” he gestured around the expensive room.

“We don’t take pay, of course. But Kate had her arm broken. I had a couple of broken ribs. Our dogs were okay, thank God. They got a good workout on the kidnappers.” She grinned. “And despite their zeal, neither dog damaged a tooth.”

“Good girl, Sadie,” Nick said. In acknowledgment of the praise, Sadie graced him with a single, minute twitch of her tail.

“The rock star paid Kate’s medical bills, and mine. When I got out of the hospital—”

“You were hospitalized?” he interrupted.

“I needed a few stitches,” she said. “No biggie. So when I got out, the rock star presented the house as a fait accompli to our kennels, complete with gardener, pool man, stocked bar and paid utilities. Plus a Mercedes in the garage. Like I said, we don’t charge friends, but we couldn’t refuse or sell the place without taking a heavy tax hit to our business. The client must have paid his lawyer big time to set it up that way. He and his girlfriend really love their daughter. Happy ending for all parties concerned.”

Nick nodded. “So you and your sister moved in?”

“We did. Mom and Dad still live on the kennel property, of course.”

“Where’s your sister now?” Nick asked.

“Kate and her dog are at a FBI convention—new bombs, new antiterrorist methods, new canine training. Kate works for the Port of San Diego—coastal cities need harbor security just as tight as airports. She gets to do the occasional cruise ship. They always request her when in port.”

Nick noticed the pride in Lara’s voice when speaking of her sister. He found himself asking, “So you’re both single?”

“We are.”

Her tone said, Back off, but Nick suddenly remembered Captain Girard’s words. “You up to this? Girard told me you’ve just come off compassionate leave yourself.”

“That’s right. Jim was a pilot. We were to get married last year. His chopper crashed. End of story.” She lifted her chin. “But don’t worry, I won’t hold you—or the investigation—back. The shrinks said I’m good to go.”

“Sorry. Damn.” He started to reach for her, to give a consoling hug, then stopped. An awkward pause filled the room. He filled it with the lame “Well, with your sister not here, at least I won’t have to share the shower.”

Lara eagerly seized the opportunity to change the subject. “With Kate gone, it’s quiet, but secure. I don’t think you need a ‘safe house’ yet. For the present I’d rather Sadie and I stayed on our own turf to protect you.”

“Makes sense,” Nick admitted. The security measures in his older apartment building couldn’t match those in La Jolla’s rich district. Nor did his apartment have the hi-tech central monitoring system he’d noticed throughout the house.

“And we’ll be using my Mercedes. It’ll draw less attention than my squad unit.”

“You’re very lucky.”

“Yep. Sadie even has her own pool.”

“I didn’t mean the house. I mean, you lived to fight another day. The rock star and his family remain intact. The bad guys are behind bars—where I intend to put Julio’s killer.”

Lara blinked, and her chest tightened with surprise. Most people envied her free home and raved about her “luck.” Obviously that wasn’t true with Nick. She noted he hadn’t asked for the name of the rock star. Nick had his own priorities.

“Let’s crank up that fancy car of yours, grab a bite and head over to the police station,” Nick said. “Time to find out what’s going on.”

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, Nick sat in Lieutenant Joe Lansky’s empty office waiting for him to return with coffee. Lara had placed badges around both her neck and Sadie’s, where they were visible for all to see. When she wasn’t in her special K-9 squad car, she didn’t wear her uniform.

“I’m gonna roam, if you don’t mind. You’ll be safe enough in here,” she’d said before leaving. “We got news this morning when you were in the shower.”

“What news?”

“Lansky will fill you in. You’ve got my police cell number and my personal cell number. Don’t even think about leaving the building without me. Got it?”

“Got it.” Her posture and tone said it all. It reminded Nick of Lara’s story of foiling a kidnapping. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he remembered her saying dismissively, “A few stitches.” Clients—even wealthy ones—didn’t usually compensate “a few stitches” with La Jolla mansions.

Nick took the liberty of logging onto Lansky’s computer. First he tried to access any information on his partner’s death, but found only a flashing, coded “pending.”

Annoyed, but still logged on, he pulled up the police details of the rock star case. Four men had attempted to kidnap the rock star’s daughter; Lara and her sister with their dogs had won the battle, but not without a price. Lara had been knifed in the ribs by one of the men. The knife was polymer, just as hard and sharp-edged as metal, and had escaped detection by concert security in the metal detectors. Three of Lara’s ribs had been slashed right through, and the knife-wielding kidnapper had died by two bullets, one from each sister; either hit would have been fatal. Lara needed emergency surgery, according to the police reports. The three remaining kidnappers were in prison, the ringleader on death row due to “special circumstances,” stalking, the attempted kidnapping of a minor, the attempted murder of law-enforcement officers and assault upon said officers.

Nick logged off the computer and returned to Lansky’s visitor chair, his face thoughtful, his suspicions confirmed. Lara had courage when it came to law enforcement. Terrible thing, her fiancé dying…

Lansky entered the office, two cups of coffee in hand, and Nick gave himself a mental shake. He lifted his gaze to Lansky’s ruddy face. “What’s new with the investigation?”

Lansky set both coffees down and sat behind his desk. “Nothing on the shooter. The divers recovered Julio’s body around ten this morning. We contacted Nelson, and—”

“Ten this morning?” She could have told him. She hadn’t. Nick remembered the cheery breakfast they’d had, and his lips thinned. He needed information, not a babysitter.

“Yes. Julio’s driver’s-door window was destroyed by a single round, which continued into his body. What with the slow traffic speed during the rain, it’s conclusive, Cantello. We’re talking murder.”

Nick blinked. A bullet. Shot at his partner.

“What caliber?”

“Dunno yet.”

“Anything else?”

“The burial arrangements are pending. When the body is released from the coroner’s office, the family will return. Have you talked to them?”

“I haven’t been able to get through. I’ve tried more than once.”

“We’ve reached them. They know.”

“That’s all?”

“You know, you’re just as impatient as your aunt.”

“You knew Magda?” Nick’s late aunt, Magda Palmer, hadn’t been a law enforcement officer—women didn’t hold such jobs in her day—but she had worked as a clerk-typist in the old paper-records department. She’d also raised him.

Lansky shrugged. “Professionally. She used to type up some of my cases. So tell me. What’s up with your new bodyguard, Lara Nelson?”

“She’s a pro with dogs, obviously.”

“Where’s she gonna stash you?”

“She’s not.”

Lansky’s forehead furrowed. “No? I hope this lady knows what she’s doing.”

Nick jumped to Lara’s defense. “Captain Girard said you agreed to her assisting.”

“Only because we didn’t want you quitting and going vigilante,” Lansky said pointedly.

A muscle worked in Nick’s jaw. “Point taken. What else?”

“Valdez’s wife called him at work, she said, right before the shift ended and you two walked to the parking lot. We replayed our phone logs from Friday this morning…something about a broken refrigerator and needing ice. Julio agreed, but he’d be a few minutes late.”

“I know that. That’s why we swapped vehicles,” Nick said with impatience. “What else?”

“Julio’d discovered information on a fellow officer he needed to check out. Even wished you were around to give him a hand—but you’d already left for the weekend. On the phone, he told Lilia he’d catch you when you got back Monday. He died before he made it home.”

Nick felt a twist of pain in his gut. “What are you saying? This fellow officer killed Julio. Shot him with a heavy round of ammo and watched him skid into the ocean?” He didn’t think anything could have made him feel worse. But he was wrong.

“Maybe you weren’t the target,” Lansky said. “Maybe Julio was. Cantello, didn’t Julio say anything about that information?”

“No,” Nick said bleakly. “He knew I was in a hurry to catch my charter. The boat doesn’t wait.”

“Go see Girard,” Lansky said next. “He has more info for you.”

Nick rose.

“Cantello…” Lansky said.

Nick looked at him. “What?”

Lansky’s eyes were soft, kind. “I hear you and Valdez used to grab a beer after work now and then.”

Nick didn’t answer. Memories of Julio laughing, Julio dragging him to their favorite sports bar for a cold one flooded him. Nick could almost hear him now, see his twinkling brown eyes warm with friendship.

“My kids are crazy about you, Cantello,” Julio had often told him. “So’s my wife. No accounting for taste, but she’d have my hide if you ate alone. After this beer, you come home for dinner.”

Nick had always let himself be persuaded. Lilia Valdez would welcome him with a big smile, while Julio’s two boys greeted him with hugs and excited chatter….

I hear you and Valdez used to grab a beer after work now and then. Those days were gone now, never to return.

“What about it?” Nick said to Lansky. He didn’t want to travel down memory lane. He didn’t want to grieve for Julio yet. There would be time for that later.

Lansky clapped a beefy hand on Nick’s shoulder. “If you ever need a drinking buddy, look me up. I’ll even buy the first round.”

“I’ll buy—after we find our killer.”

NICK KNOCKED on the door to Captain Girard’s office and went in. Lara and Sadie were there with the older man.

“The gang’s all here,” Nick observed.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Lara said.

“Ballistics confirmed the bullet caliber—25 mm,” Girard said. “Antitank, military issue, high velocity. Deadly—and unusual.”

High velocity was favored by the military. The police used lower velocity bullets, greatly lessening the chance of one passing through a criminal and hitting an innocent bystander. The military considered that a plus, not a minus.

“Whoever was gunning for you or Valdez didn’t want to take chances,” Lara said softly.

“At least we’ll be able to trace the weapon through the military,” Nick stated. Among civilians, handgun registration was only recently mandatory in California. Rifles and shotguns did not have to be registered.

“It’s a starting point,” Girard agreed. “We’re running a cross-check on employed veterans and those still serving in the reserves.”

“You think it’s one of us?” Nick asked.

“Well, our own staff is the place to start. All we have to go on is Julio’s conversation with his wife. My thinking is, computer files are a dead end.”

Nick caught the expression on Girard’s face at the word dead. It came and went so quickly that only a trained observer could have seen it. Like himself. I’m not the only one torn up about this, he thought. Maybe an outsider’s a good idea.

He glanced at Lara, and for a moment she didn’t feel like such an outsider, after all, until Girard said, “There’s one more thing. As I told Lara earlier this morning on the phone, we’ve recovered your car and your partner.”

“You knew this morning and didn’t tell me, Lara?” Nick flew to his feet. “I’m going to see Julio.”

“No,” Girard said. Lara quickly blocked the door, dog at her side, and placed her hand on Nick’s arm.

“Your partner took an antitank round, Detective,” Girard said. “The M.E. says he died on impact of the round, long before the car submerged. Officer Nelson just came from the morgue.”

“You should have told me!” he said angrily, shaking off her grasp.

“Trust me, Detective, you don’t want to see his body. I wish I hadn’t,” Lara said bluntly.

An uneasy silence filled the office until Girard said, “You’ve got work to do. Best get going.”

Lara stayed in front of the door, still shadowed by her dog. “Captain, if you could have your assistant e-mail those ballistics reports to me? Here’s my card.”

Nick was grateful for the interruption as Lara passed his boss the business card with her official cell phone and office number, e-mail address, title and K-9 Department unit number. It wasn’t until they were outside in the parking lot that she spoke again.

“Well, we’ve made some progress today,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I still would have liked finding out earlier. Next time you get a call from the station, let me know. I want information about Julio when it comes in, got it?”

She didn’t argue nor make excuses. “Agreed.”

Using the remote on her key chain, Lara unlocked the Mercedes door as they approached. Sadie shoved her nose under the back door handle, lifted it and opened the door, standard training for police dogs. Next she grabbed the rubber ring attached to the inside door handle and closed it herself, just as she did in Lara’s squad car. Lara took the driver’s seat like before, and Nick climbed in. He couldn’t drop the subject.

“You should have told me they’d recovered the body. And that the autopsy had been performed. I had every right to know. Every right to see Julio’s body.”

Lara faced his accusation head-on. “If I were you, I’d be furious.”

“I’m way past furious. It was my call, my partner.”

“Not today, Detective.” She closed her eyes, then opened them. “For God’s sake, don’t let his wife and kids see what I saw.” Her voice was calm, but it took her two tries to get the key into the ignition. Nick didn’t miss it.

“You okay?” he asked, his anger gone.

She actually smiled. “I should be asking you that.”

“Want me to drive?”

“Nope. I’m fine.” Lara took a breath and turned the key. “Besides, I’ve taken the bodyguard-driving course. I can drive like a Hollywood stunt driver. Sadie might get bored with you at the wheel.” She attempted a lighter mood that failed, but impressed him just the same. “Which reminds me, I arranged to have Julio’s motorcycle temporarily stored in Impound. As your bodyguard, I don’t want you exposed. I could have told you that earlier, too.”

“Oh, the bike. I need to take care of it. I have a storage unit near Julio’s place. I was always there…” His voice trailed off.

“Later. For now, let’s head for your apartment so you can pick up your things.” They fastened their seat belts and Lara automatically locked all the doors. “Hope you’re not a fresh-air fiend like Sadie,” she said, turning the air-conditioning on high. “She likes to hang out the window. It’s bad for eyes and ears.”

“No problem,” he said, appreciating the comfort of the leather seats.

Lara pulled through the parking lot and to the stop-light-regulated exit onto the main drag. She stopped at the red light. “What’s the quickest way to your place?”

“I’d take—”

He never finished his sentence. Gunfire slammed into the driver’s-side door of the Mercedes. The door collapsed, glass cracked, then a second and third shot hit the back of the car as Lara cut the steering wheel hard and jammed the car into reverse, gunning it backward and away from the source of gunfire. Nick drew his gun and frantically searched for the shooter, but could see nothing through the mottled glass of his section of the car.

In seconds the attack was over. Police officials ran to the Mercedes, Sadie barking furiously at them. As Lara brought the car to a complete stop, Nick slowly reholstered his gun to stare at the windows—cracked but still in one piece. His gaze met Lara’s.

“Whoever this rock star is…I have got to start buying his albums.”

CHAPTER THREE

“I’LL HAVE TO REPLACE two windows. And the armored body. My insurance better cover this,” Lara stated as the Mercedes was towed to the police impound yard to join Julio’s motorcycle. Sadie sat behind them in Lara’s squad car, which a fellow officer had retrieved for her, her nose pointed toward Lara, ears perked and alert for any command. A crowd of police officers, including Captain Girard, buzzed about.

“Insurance?” Nick said. “Someone fired three shots at us, no suspect is found and all you worry about is insurance?”

“Do you know how much bulletproof glass costs?”

“Done venting?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Lara sighed. “I don’t care about the car, anyway. I’m just upset. We were shot at with rounds that would stop a dinosaur!”

Captain Girard interjected. “Lara, calm down. We’ll get him.”

“Him? Her? We didn’t see a thing!”

Nick laid a casual hand on her shoulder as Girard spoke, his voice confident. “I’m going with a man. Statistically, most women kill in self-defense on domestic turf. Men are much more liable to kill in public, and this—” he gestured toward the expansive downtown police parking lot “—is about as public as it gets.”

Lara nodded.

“Cantello,” Girard ordered, “you and Nelson get out of here—and out of your houses. Nelson, call for a safe house. It’s moving day for both of you. We’ll touch base later.”

“I’ve sent a squad car ahead with a couple of my buddies,” Nick said to Lara.

“When did you do that?”

“A few minutes ago. We’ll meet them at my place first, then yours.”

“I’m in charge of your safety. You shouldn’t be giving the orders,” Lara immediately said.

“You shouldn’t be in morgues or doing detective work,” Girard insisted. “You’re as white as a ghost.”

Lara didn’t like the tone of the older man’s voice. “Hey, I’ve been shot at. I’m entitled to a little adrenaline. And I’ve got questions! Are we dealing with Julio’s murderer or something totally different? My window took the shots, not yours. What if we have a serial cop killer on our hands?”

“Don’t get hysterical, Officer.”

Lara’s mouth opened, but before she could honestly protest, someone called out Girard’s name and he turned away. Nick gently pushed her toward her squad car.

“Drop it, Nelson. And get in.” He jerked a thumb at the passenger side. “This time, I’m driving.”

LARA SHIFTED in her seat during the drive, her nerves still raw—and aware that both her dog and the man driving had picked up on it. Nick kept flicking her quick glances, while Sadie, in back, kept her long nose near Lara’s neck, past the open grill that, when locked, separated a prisoner from the officers in front. The remote control could pop open the back door, as well, when a quick exit was needed.

“Are we almost there?” she asked.

The corners of Nick’s lips twitched. “You sound like Julio’s kids. Next you’ll be wanting ice cream.”

“Ha, ha,” she replied, feeling more of her courage flow back into her spine. “Still, it’s better than being accused of being hysterical. Talk about old school.” Girard’s comment still stung.

“Girard is old school.” Nick glanced at her. “You ever been shot at before?”

“Never.”

“First time for me, too. Guess we’re not virgins anymore.”

Lara deliberately made her voice light. “Another milestone in a cop’s life.”

“Well, you handled yourself well. Drove us out of the line of fire. Plus that fishtail spin so the shooter had a smaller area of car to hit. Excellent work, lady.”

“You, too, Detective,” Lara admitted. “I saw you draw your weapon and check for our shooter. All out of the corner of my hysterical little right eye.”

“I’ll take your hysterical over others’ calm any day.” Nick flicked on his signal light. “We’re here,” he announced, then gestured at the other squad car waiting for them. “And there’re my guys.” Nick pulled up into an oil-stained driveway in front of a faded apartment complex. It was definitely older, but maintained well.

“You live here?” Lara asked, surprised. She took in the old trees, their roots making cracks in the sidewalk. They were just a part of the many concrete areas, including the driveways and carports, where children played in lieu of yards or parks. Water in San Diego was expensive, as was irrigation. Grass refused to grow on just air and sunlight. Landlords knew that—and children tore it up, anyway. Better to mount swing sets in cement and let the parents deal with skinned knees.

“Not La Jolla, but it’s home,” Nick said casually.

“I’m no snob. I meant that this place looks more like it’s for families. Pets, kids, picnic tables. Swing sets and slides.”

“Julio and his wife used to live here until they found a bigger place. I moved in. My last place was bulldozed for condos and the management company takes good care of this place.” He shrugged, then reached for the mike as the car’s radio crackled with confirmation from the other two officers that they’d searched his apartment, courtesy of the landlord’s key, and the premises were secure.

“Would you mind leaving Sadie in the car?” Nick asked.

“Actually, I would. Sadie’s like my badge and gun—they rarely leave my side.”

“I wouldn’t ask, but I’ve got a cat, and he’s not too good with dogs,” Nick said.

“Oh. Well, since we already have men here.”

In German, Lara ordered Sadie to stay in and guard the car, which was parked in the shade with open windows. Nick and Lara went through the open courtyard filled with dead leaves, gum wrappers, bikes, toys and the accompanying children. Some shouted out his name and waved. He smiled, caught and returned a tossed football.

Lara actually jumped as an aged cat emerged from behind the potted cactus near his door. As it hissed and arched its gray back, Nick met her gaze.

“Calm down, Nelson. It’s only my cat.”

“I’m calm, and is that what this is?”

“Yep.” To her surprise, Nick bent over and scooped the wild-looking thing up into one hand, while with the other reached for his mailbox on the stucco outer wall. “I don’t have the wife or kids yet, but I do have the pet. Someday…”

Lara blinked, thinking of Jim and the family they’d planned. Only, she’d wanted a family dog for the children, not a scarred feline with defiantly unsheathed claws. The animal had obviously been through some rough times, had probably tangled with San Diego’s coyotes, which shared the heavy areas of population due to habitat destruction; their only source of water was automatic city sprinklers. Adult coyotes learned the hours they went on and off, females taught their pups. Generations of coyotes who’d lost their fear of man trekked through the streets like so many stray dogs. Trouble was, these animals lived off fruit from the local citrus trees and mammals, including small domestic pets. Even fenced yards weren’t protection.

“You picked out this cat?” she asked.

“He picked out me…used to live next door. The last tenants left him behind. The new ones couldn’t take him in. Their youngest is allergic.”

“Poor thing.”

“The cat or the child?”

“Both.” Lara couldn’t imagine a life without animals, but she didn’t venture closer to pet the feline. Smelling of dog, she wasn’t about to socialize with this set of claws.

“The child is happy, and this cat is old and doesn’t like kids, anyway. He’s been fixed, I get him his shots, and he’s content to hang here.”

“That’s good. I doubt the shelter would consider a war-torn veteran like him adoptable,” Lara observed.

He stroked the gray head once, then set the cat down and opened his door.

“What’s his name?”

“The old tenants just called him ‘the cat.’” Nick unlocked the door. “It’s all he’ll answer to. Come on in.”

The gray tiger streaked by her as she stepped inside. It immediately made its way to the kitchen at the other end of the living room. After a quick shuffle, Nick tossed his mail on the coffee table.

“They’ve already searched the place, so make yourself at home. I’ll grab my things,” Nick said.

Lara felt tempted by the comfortable, padded recliner. Murder, the morgue and a bullet-riddled Mercedes had made for a rough day, she thought, as she studied the room. The inside of Nick’s place was a pleasant contrast to the shabbier courtyard outside. She took in the neat surroundings, freshly painted walls, clean carpet and the dust-free furniture. As she waited, she realized the room held few touches of its owner. There were no magazines or newspapers carelessly scattered, no photographs on the wall, no personal mementos anywhere.

If it weren’t for a single boating magazine and mail on the coffee table, she could have been in a nice hotel and never known the difference. Lara’s gaze wandered about, her eyes troubled. There had to be something that spoke of the man who lived there. She saw nothing except a cat without a name.

“Everything meet with your approval?” Nick asked suddenly.

Lara turned to see him watching her, a nylon gym bag and plastic suit carrier slung over his arm.

“I was trying to learn more about you,” she admitted.

“Any success?”

“Nope. You don’t even have a television. A room like this—” she gestured with one hand, and met his gaze “—seems so sterile.”

“My cleaning lady lives in the complex. She’s a neat freak—even for her profession. I lent my TV to the tenant across the complex. He’s home alone on worker’s comp with a broken leg.” Nick looked around his place with new eyes. “Besides, I’m not here much. Julio’s wife keeps a spare room for me at her place and gave me a key. Most of my personal stuff’s there.”

She nodded.

“I’ve got to feed the cat.”

He set his two bags by the door and walked to the kitchen visible from the living area. The feline immediately jumped off the counter to rub against his legs, purring all the while. Lara watched from the living room.

Quietly she asked, “Tell me about your partner.”

Nick opened a cabinet and removed a can of tuna. He opened the can, then set it on the floor. It wasn’t until he threw away the lid and leaned against the counter that he replied, “What’s to say?” Nick’s expression was as sterile as the home he lived in. “We were close. Now he’s dead. I haven’t talked to the family yet. His wife may or may not kick me out of their home. I don’t know.”

“I meant professionally—regarding this case,” Lara explained. “Like enemies, money problems… I’m sorry, I should have specified.”

“It’s been a wild morning,” he said, his law-enforcement manner back to normal.

Lara did the same. Obviously Nick wasn’t the one incapacitated by emotions now. He’d assumed control, as she had earlier in the day. It was time for her to get her own emotions back in control. But if she hadn’t owned an armored Mercedes…

“Hell, yes. I wish we could find a motive for two attacks. Any ideas?” she asked in a brisk voice, moving to stand at the breakfast bar separating the rooms.

“No. Julio and I worked the day shift. Our last case involved some small-time drug hustlers—no major players—until one of them shot another over money.”

“Seems pretty cut and dried. Was it?”

“Yes. Julio and I had enemies, but there are only two or three I’d consider dangerous, and at present they’re behind bars. Julio was a good cop, a faithful husband and a great father. He didn’t touch dirty money, nor did I. I was positive either he or I was the target until you were shot at. Now I don’t know what to think.”

They were both silent. Nick waited a few more minutes until the cat had finished eating, then rinsed out the can—San Diego was home to ants, as well as coyotes and sunshine—and tossed the empty tin in the recycle bin. He retrieved the suit carrier and bag, then let Lara and the cat out of the apartment.

“What will happen to the cat when you’re away?”

“The bathroom window’s open for him and I took out the screen,” he said, gesturing toward the high, hinged pane of glass. “He can come and go as he pleases. The cleaning lady feeds him if I’m not home. She has a key.”

Lara exhaled a slow sigh at the sight of the old, battered animal. For a moment—just a moment—she felt like hell over the unfairness of the cat’s life—of a cop’s life. Then she shook it off. The cat was a survivor. She’d do better to use her energies for those who weren’t, like Julio Valdez.

She followed Nick to the squad car. The backup officers took off first, to check out her home premises, leaving the two of them to follow.

“Keys, please. This is my squad car,” she reminded him.

“True. But where do we go now?”

“My place. I need to get some clothes, too.”

“I won’t stay at any safe house out of the area,” Nick warned. “I want to stay local. And you should think of yourself. You’re a target as long as you’re with me.”

“We’re not going to a safe house.”

“But Girard said—”

“Girard said I was in charge of your safety. We’re going to my parents’ home—Nelson Kennels. It’s in a good neighborhood, the food’s free and the beds are clean. We have to sleep sometime. And it’s pretty damn safe.”

“You sure?” Nick asked.

Lara grinned with satisfaction at the security measures and the many trained dogs on the compound. “Oh, yeah. I don’t even need to ask.”

“I do,” Nick insisted. “Better sound out your parents. I don’t want to drag them into this.”

“I know what they’ll say. Now give me the keys to my unit. I’m driving.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Monday evening, east of Escondido

“WE TAKE A RIGHT at the stop sign, then we’re just five minutes from Nelson Kennels,” Lara said to Nick. Then, “Sadie, calm down!” Sadie was standing in back, ears perked and tail thumping against the window. “Yes, we’re going to my parents’.”

Sadie’s tail thumped even harder and she whined with excitement.

“She’s certainly excited,” Nick said, flicking the dog a glance as Lara concentrated again on her driving. The city of Escondido wasn’t beach, but rather a transition area of inland valleys and foothills. Next came the mountains and after that, the desert, but even these foot hills were full of hairpin curves and sharp inclines.

“She knows the way. Hard to mistake this route, even for a dog.”

He nodded. The rugged driving took them around another sharp turn on the narrow two-way road. Pin oaks hung determinedly onto the sides of rocky inclines, while olive trees flourished in the heat and sandy soil. “Nice country, though.”

“It is beautiful, isn’t it? Great place to raise kids and dogs. Too bad it’s getting so settled,” Lara said.

“The casinos?” Nick guessed. Ever since the Native American gaming laws had passed, they’d been popping up all over California. San Diego County was no exception, with a dozen operating and even more planned.

“Yeah. Harrah’s, Valley View, Pala—you name ’em. They’re smack dab in the middle of what used to be livestock dairy and poultry country. All this land is a seller’s market.” Lara sighed. Always an animal fan, she hated that the thousands of Jersey cows from her youth were gone. Others, like fruit farmers, horse ranchers and vineyard owners, couldn’t resist swapping hard labor for the money they’d get for the land, which developers would turn into spas and golf courses.

“Your parents aren’t selling?”

“No way. It’s home. Besides, where would they go? There’s no beachfront property left—and even if there was, it’s wall-to-wall people and not zoned for animals. The mountains are too far away from where we do business, and as for the deserts—” Lara shrugged “—too hot for working dogs.”

“There’s plenty of open space left, especially the citrus groves,” Nick observed. They’d finished climbing and were now descending into a valley area. “Looks like some people have kept their land.”

“True. The tourmaline mine’s remained. And the chicken, llama and horse ranches are still operating—the thoroughbred ranches, especially. But so many of the flower growers have moved on—especially with the drought.”

“Progress is a mixed blessing.”

“Tell me about it. Still, if it wasn’t for the booming population, trained security dogs wouldn’t be needed, and my parents wouldn’t be in business. Okay, there’s our sign. We follow this road to the end and we’re there in ten minutes.”

As soon as Lara flicked on her blinker and turned, Sadie, already excited, went into overdrive, squeaking, whining, then full-fledged barking.

“Sorry about that,” Lara sang out. “In case you haven’t guessed, Sadie was born here. Just roll down your window for the noise. That’s what I do.”

Nick rolled down his window, his ears ringing. “Don’t you have a command for quiet?”

“Sure, but let her bark. It’s good for the lungs, and she’ll calm down when we get there.”

Sadie proved Lara right. As soon as Lara pulled up into the private drive opposite the business parking area and unlocked Sadie’s door, the dog stopped whining. However, she ran straight to the double-gated entrance of the chain-link fence where the four family housedogs ran free in the many-acred landscaped family yard.

“Stay outside the gate,” Lara warned Nick. An older German shepherd bitch, Mrs. Nelson’s current pet and Sadie’s dam, along with three other dogs, rushed barking to the fence. Their aggressiveness abated some at seeing Lara, hearing her voice, smelling her scent. The red dachshund and the shepherd bitch continued to growl suspiciously at Nick through the fence, while the more sociable graying black Lab and young white terrier pranced outside the second, pad-key gate separating Lara and Sadie from them on one side, and Nick on the other.

Lara took off Sadie’s special collar/chest shield with her badge on it and hooked it to her own belt. That meant Sadie was officially off duty. Lara opened the gate. “There you go, girl. Break time!”

Sadie bounded inside to eagerly exchange licks and sniffs with her canine family. The other dogs gathered around the police pair, but Nick saw that Lara didn’t take the time for a long hello or enter the open yard. Much to the pack’s disappointment, she closed the gate to the main yard, locked it, then exited again.

“Let’s find my parents,” she said. “The office is this way.”

They didn’t have to look for long. Before they’d even stepped into the building, a couple came out to greet them. Though he’d never seen Lara’s parents, Nick easily recognized Lara’s mother—she was simply an older, taller version of Lara. Sandra was in her mid-sixties and her facial features were lined, but mother and daughter both wore expressions of alertness and intelligence. Character, even more than similar coloring, marked them as related.

The older man was introduced as Lara’s father, Edward Nelson, “Call me Ed.” He had to be at least a decade older than his wife, Nick estimated, but the handshake Lara’s father gave him showed no hint of weakness. He noted Lara had inherited her father’s more angular, stubborn chin.

“We always know when you’re coming. I could hear Sadie whining a mile away!” Mr. Nelson said, hugging his daughter, then noticed her lack of uniform. “Saw your squad car. On duty?”

“Actually, I’m on special duty.”

“Then what brings you here?” Mrs. Nelson asked. The older couple had begun leading the younger couple to the kennel office.

“Trouble,” Lara said.

“Damn,” Ed said at the same time that Sandra lifted her eyebrows, accompanied by a curious, “Really? Brief me.”

“You’re retired,” Ed warned his wife—to no avail.

“I think I’ll let the staff handle the rest of my day,” Sandra said. “I wouldn’t want to miss a visit with my youngest. Ed, please tell the others,” she ordered with the easy authority of a woman used to command. “We’ll all meet at the house.”

A SHORT WHILE LATER the four sat in the comfortable living room—informal save for the many photographs, awards, ribbons and official commendations on the shelves and fireplace mantel. At Ed’s invitation, Nick studied the photographs while waiting for mother and daughter to emerge from the kitchen.

“You’ve got quite a family here,” Nick said.

“That I do. Here’s my first dog.” Ed pointed.

A much younger Edward Nelson in military uniform stood proudly beside a military bomb-sniffing dog in a jungle setting.

“Vietnam?” Nick guessed.

“Yes. I smuggled my partner back here,” Ed said. “They destroyed canines in the old days, but I had a buddy who owed me. My dog and I came home together. I’ve been working with dogs since.” He gestured to another photo. “Here’s my wife.”

Sandra Nelson’s photo showed her in her younger days, as well, in police uniform with her first K-9 officer, yet another German shepherd.

“And Kate, the eldest.” Ed indicated a photo with a woman in uniform with her explosives canine. Then, “Lindsey, my middle daughter.” Her picture showed her standing in a ranger’s search-and-rescue uniform, her newest shepherd posed beside her new husband and his own dog. “And here’s Lara.”

Lara’s photo also showed her in uniform, with Sadie beside her.

“Impressive,” Nick said. “The world needs more families like this.”

“I understand you come from a law-enforcement family yourself.”

“More administrative, and only my aunt Magda. She worked as a clerk typist back in the days before computers. That was a long time ago.”

Nick felt a sudden surge of loneliness. Julio was gone, his wife and children were in Mexico. The aunt who’d raised Nick—she’d left Italy with Nick for “a better life” in California and even changed her surname Palameri to Palmer once she’d settled—was dead.

Nick’s grandparents and parents still lived in Italy, along with his three older siblings. His mother, Mara, had been ill after Nick was born and had asked her younger sister to care for Nick. Magda had never married. Although he and Magda had kept in touch with their Italian relatives, Nick had never been close to any of them.

Even as a boy, there was an emotional gulf and a stretch of ocean between them and him. Obviously the Nelson children didn’t have that problem with their elders. The many photos on the wall showed the daughters’ respect for family and pride in their work. They also showed a great deal of courage. The older couple had dedicated their lives to the public. Now the three daughters were doing likewise.

His thoughts were interrupted by the women’s reentrance with drinks—coffee and soda—trailed by the family pack and Sadie. Dogs and people found places in the living room, and Lara and Nick in turn related the events of Julio’s case, ending with the attack on the Mercedes. The expressions on the faces of Lara’s parents were solemn when Lara said, “We need a safe base of operations. Can we stay here?”

Sandra flicked her husband a quick look and received an affirming nod. “We’ll do all we can to help,” she said. “You’ll need your sleep. Gotta keep those reflexes sharp.”

“And you’ll have separate rooms,” Ed added, his gaze on Nick. “Even the Secret Service doesn’t sleep in the president’s bed.”

Lara flushed pink. “Dad!”

Sandra rose to her feet. “Ed, why don’t you go back to the office while I get some sheets for the guest room?” she suggested with a hard stare at her husband. Various dogs followed the couple either to the back door leading outside or down the hall to the linen closet.

Lara didn’t say anything until they were out of ear-shot. “Forgive my father. He’s a very traditional man.”

“It’s his house, and I wasn’t offended.”

Lara excused her father’s behavior, anyway. “Dad was shocked when I moved in with my boyfriend—we didn’t get engaged until later. I don’t casually hop into bed with anyone, and certainly not under my father’s roof,” she said with a frankness Nick appreciated.

His gaze swung again to the photos on the walls. “Perhaps he’d have accepted sons in high-risk jobs more easily than daughters.”

Lara ran her hand through her short blond curls. “I doubt it. Dad always wanted his children, no matter the sex, to have safe jobs. He keeps reminding me how lucky he and Mom were to make it to retirement unscathed. He didn’t scare any of us off, though. In fact, just the opposite. That’s why Jim—my fiancé—and I didn’t wait. No long courtship, no waiting until after the marriage to move in together.”

Nick tactfully said nothing.

“Anyway, don’t worry about my father. He knows I’m here to protect you. That’s enough.” She rose, followed by Sadie and the dachshund. “Come on, I’ll show you the guest room. You can freshen up. Take your time.”

“I will,” Nick replied. “I need to make a few calls.”

“Don’t plan on using the house line,” Lara said immediately.

“But—”

“They’re much easier to trace than cell phones.”

“Right.” Nick shook himself mentally, embarrassed. He’d planned on trying Mexico again from a conventional line, hoping he’d have better luck than earlier.

“Who did you want to call? Your partner’s wife?”

“I haven’t been able to reach Lilia,” he admitted. “And I want to check in with headquarters, too.”

“Ah. Use your cell,” she repeated.

“Got it.” If he didn’t connect on the first call, he knew he’d have no trouble with the second. That call would be to Internal Affairs.

LARA LET NICK UNPACK and settle in as she placed the fresh sheets on the bed. When she finished, she took a chair in the room and absently scratched the ears of the dachshund she now held in her lap. Sadie wandered in, followed by her dam, Shady Lady—aptly named, as she was mostly black as opposed to Sadie’s dominant tan. Nick hung his suit bag in the closet. He was finished, as well.

“You hungry? We missed lunch, thanks to our shooter.”

“I don’t want to put your parents out.”

Lara grinned. “You won’t. I make a mean sandwich.” She set the dachshund back on the floor. “Kitchen’s this way.”

In the kitchen she seated Nick at the small wooden table and opened the bread box. “You want rye or white br—”

Nick’s cell rang.

“I don’t know who that is, but don’t tell anyone where we are,” Lara warned. “It’s an easy guess, but there’s no need to confirm.”

Nick’s sideways glance showed he didn’t need the warning. “Rye.” The phone call took him completely by surprise, and Lara intently listened to the one-sided conversation.

“Well?” she asked when he clicked off his cell.

“That was Homeland Security.”

“And?”

“It’s confirmed. The bullets used against your car were 25 mm. They would have penetrated an ordinary car.”

“But we know my car isn’t ordinary. You want sliced ham or roast…what?”

“Homeland Security says the bullets that hit Julio came from the same gun, but they weren’t light rounds.”

“We knew that, too. Ham or roast beef?” she repeated.

“Julio’s slug was made with DU.”

Lara’s lips actually parted in shock. “Not…depleted uranium?”

Depleted uranium was a by-product of leftover natural uranium after U-235 was extracted to fuel nuclear weapons and power plants. Common in the United States, the leftover uranium was weakly radioactive, but still had its uses. It remained a deadly tank-piercing heavy metal that made guns loaded with lead bullets look like popguns. Any “heavy” ammunition or artillery was strictly regulated and controlled by the Federal government. “Light” ammunition, such as that used by police or civilians, remained under local control.

“Why didn’t Girard tell us before?” Lara demanded.

“Because everyone at the station assumed the extensive damage to the car body resulted from the crash and the rocky bottom. Hell, I’ve never seen a DU bullet hole in person. Homeland Security has, and they checked for radioactivity.”

“My God! That stuff’s military only. Hasn’t the United Nations classified it as a Weapon of Mass Destruction?” Lara asked, horrified. “The radioactivity and heavy-metal toxicity threatens the environment!”

“True, but a single DU bullet could take out a whole armored personnel carrier filled with enemy troops. That’s why we still use them.”

“No wonder I…” No wonder she nearly lost her breakfast after viewing the skimpy remains of Julio Valdez. “Nothing. Go on.”

“So does Great Britain,” Nick said. “Homeland Security said our military prefers 25, 105, and 120 mm rounds.”

“And now someone’s shooting them here in San Diego?”

“So they say. Homeland Security also said they’ll be handling further ballistics investigation and other aspects, as well.”

Lara rubbed her forehead “But…I’m confused. I thought another law-enforcement member targeted Julio. He went to buy groceries, you said. Is our shooter a cop or terrorist? We weren’t shot at with DU. Julio was.”

“Homeland Security will handle it. They’re better equipped. Even if they weren’t, I’m not leaning toward the terrorist angle,” Nick said. “Internal Affairs finished checking out Julio’s computer.”

“Internal Affairs?”

“Yes, I just talked to them. I know Julio was writing a speech for the next department retirement dinner. IA said there was no file on the hard drive. I doubt a terrorist would delete a retirement speech, DU ammo or not.”

“A speech?” Lara echoed. “Why your partner?”

Nick’s lips thinned into a hard line. “English or Spanish, Julio wrote the best damn reports in the department. He was always writing something for the bosses.”

“If he had to write a testimonial, he would have had to research the subjects. If he did—he might have found something he shouldn’t. Who’s retiring?”

Nick frowned. “Girard, Lansky and Knox. All from Homicide.”

“Girard and Lansky I know. Who’s Knox?”

“Sergeant Richard Knox. His son, T.J., works in Homicide, too. But the sergeant isn’t the one I want to talk to right now.” Nick pulled out his cell phone. The dachshund and Sadie watched from their spots on the cool tile as Nick dialed Girard’s direct number.

“Girard here.”

“Hey, Captain. It’s Cantello.”

“What’s up, Nick?”

“Thought I’d check in with you. Any news?”

“Nothing yet at this end, though I did get a call from Homeland Security ballistics.”

“Same here.” A beat, then Nick asked in a bland voice, “Did Julio finish his retirement speech?”

Silence. “If he did, he didn’t keep it on the computer.”

“I know for a fact he did. Someone wiped it.”

“I’ll tell Internal Affairs.”

“I already did.”

“How’s your new bodyguard doing?” Girard asked.

Nick couldn’t help but notice the abrupt change of subject. “She’s kept me alive so far. Do me a favor, Captain. Have ballistics call me when they’re done picking apart Nelson’s Mercedes.”

“Planned on it. So, you think she’s gonna be any help in solving this murder?”

A chill streaked down Nick’s spine. It was his warning system, and had saved his life more than once. “She’s a good worker,” he said in a deliberately casual voice. “But she’s not a detective.”

Girard sounded reassured. “Where are you staying?”

“Wherever Ms. Nelson stashes me. After this morning, she and I will be keeping a close eye on each other.” Nick smiled, but it wasn’t from pleasure. “Pass the word around, would you?”

“Of course. Keep in touch.”

“Of course,” he echoed. Nick set down the cell.

“What are you smiling about?” Lara asked.

“Looks like we may have a starting point, after all. Three retiring men. First thing in the morning, we’ll see if any of them served in the military.” Nick pushed aside his cell phone. “Make it a ham on rye. Please.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Tuesday morning

AFTER A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP at her parents’ home, Lara met Nick in the kitchen for coffee. There, she’d suggested that civilian clothes and no cruiser would make them less of a target. But using any personal car, including her parents’, could make them easier to spot.

“I don’t need a red bull’s-eye on our backs. We’re getting a rental and I’m not wearing a uniform as long as I’m your bodyguard.”

In keeping with a low profile, she dressed in jeans, a navy tank top with the yellow words SD Police on the front and back, and a navy windbreaker that would effectively hide both the top and her gun. She attached her badge to her holster, where it wouldn’t be seen. Sadie, as always, had her official collar badge on. Lara could simply discard her windbreaker for an official presence.

After some breakfast, Lara drove Nick to the rental agency, then they both drove back to the kennels. Lara led the way, Nick right behind. Once home, she parked and waited outside for Nick. His rental was only a few lengths behind. Her mother spotted her from the office and walked over, the old black Lab at her side. The women exchanged good-mornings as Nick approached and parked his car. Lara watched him key in numbers.

“Rental car, huh?” Sandra observed. “How’s he doing?”

“Besides being sleep-deprived? And unable to reach his partner’s wife? Not bad—but he’s got to stop and sleep sometime.”

“Poor guy,” Sandra said. “You two come up with anything?”

“We’re already targeting three men.” Lara quickly filled her in on what Nick had related about the retiring men and Julio’s missing written testimonial. She concluded, “Ballistics says the military ammunition used on Julio Valdez came from the same weapon used to fire at us.” Lara deliberately avoided the topic of depleted-uranium bullets. Her mother worried too much as it was, and Nick still needed to learn if the three suspects were military veterans.

“That seems a bit thin for a motive,” Sandra said. “But if you intend to run with it…” She hesitated.

“What?”

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t bring up old gossip, but those three men… You and Nick check out Magda Palmer.”

Lara immediately whipped out her notebook. “Who’s she?”

“Nick’s aunt. She raised him. He came to California with her when she left Italy. You didn’t know that?”

“No.”

“Magda Palmer—used to be Palameri—worked at the police station with Girard, Lansky and Knox.”

“The three men retiring.”

“Yes. Knox Sr., Girard and Lansky were all close friends—until Magda came along. The official story was that they wanted Magda for their own private secretary.”

Lara didn’t like what her mother’s expression was saying. “The unofficial story?”

“Palmer’s typing skills weren’t what they were fighting over, despite the three men being married. Nick’s aunt was an alleged adulteress, to use the lingo of the times, and had more than one man fighting over her.”

“Who was the man?”

“I don’t know.”

Lara put away her notebook. “No proof, huh?”

“No, but office affairs are nothing new, and no one ever defended her innocence, either. Back then, even today, she would have been fired. On the other hand, Magda Palmer could have given any glamorous movie star serious competition. She was blond, buxom and brainy.”

“A buxom adulteress?” Lara smiled. “Really, Mom. You sound like Dad.”

“You heard me, and that was before implants became commonplace. Most men noticed her body first, her brains second. Magda made men breathless with both—perhaps not the wisest idea in a man’s world a few generations ago. They found her body in the ocean beneath the La Jolla Cliffs.”

Lara blinked. “No one swims in those waters. You’re suggesting it wasn’t an accident?”

“It was never proved, but rumors persisted. Let Internal Affairs and Girard investigate Julio’s background. Let Homeland Security handle ballistics and would-be terrorists. But you—you investigate Nick’s family. And Nick himself.”

“Do you think Nick knows this?”

Sandra shrugged. “Find out. Girard, Lansky and Knox were good friends with Magda. Use that as your springboard.” Sandra’s blue eyes glittered in the way of an experienced cop. “Complacency kills. Your father’s right. Watch Nick’s back, but watch your own, too.”

The two women looked up as the dogs started barking as Nick exited the rental car.

“You be very careful, baby, or I’ll kick your ass.” The blunt warning came with a maternal hug. Sandra kissed her daughter’s hair, then headed back into her office as Nick closed the car door. Lara took in a deep breath. She hurried over to the nondescript sedan, Sadie at her side. They’d chosen a four-door with latches Sadie could open.

“Do you want to take that rubber ring out of your squad car now?” Nick asked without preamble.

“No.” Lara studied the U-shaped inner latch and removed her jean belt. “This’ll work.” She threaded it through the latch and rebuckled the leather, then tucked the metal end close to the latch, leaving the leather free for Sadie, the metal safely away from teeth. “Don’t suppose they provided us any bulletproof rental glass.”

“Afraid not. But we purchased the extra insurance.”

“Then I guess we’re all set,” Lara said lightly. “You drive.”

Nick climbed back into the driver’s side, leaving her to “ride shotgun,” the Old West term for the armed protector.

“And try to stay away from any rifles with 25 mm bullets,” she added.

“No kidding,” Nick replied. “You may as well know I called Internal Affairs on the way back and named three senior officers as murder suspects.”

“With no evidence?”

“And I told IA, I intend to interview them, as well. That’s our plan for the next couple of days, if that’s all right.”

“It’s more than all right.”

“Why?”

Lara took in a deep breath. “According to my mother and some old gossip, these three men have more in common than retiring. They were all involved with your aunt. I doubt it means anything, but—”

“Define ‘involved.’”

“That’s for us to find out. You didn’t know about this?”

“Hell, no.”

“Get in, Sadie.” The dog lifted the outside latch, bounded into the back seat and easily closed the door using Lara’s leather belt. “Good girl.”

“That was English,” Nick said.

“Sure. Police dogs can tell from body language what’s expected of them and whatever language the handler wants to teach them. Sadie was raised at our kennels, remember? I only use German for certain work-related tasks. So…who’s first on the list?” Lara asked Nick as they started off.

“Captain Girard. He’s working swing shift today. He’s still at home.”

“You know the way?”

“I have directions. He’s expecting us.”

“THIS IS IT,” Nick announced a half hour later. He parked at the curb in the hilly residential area of Clairemont.

They both unfastened their seat belts and climbed out of the car to look around. “What a great view,” Lara sighed. The upper-middle-class community was sprawled across the hills overlooking Mission Bay, San Diego’s huge recreational inlet.

“High praise, lady from La Jolla. Come on.”

Lara called her dog to heel. Sadie bounded through the window. Lara attached the leash, then started up the inclined driveway to Captain Girard’s place.

“Wait,” Nick said.

She paused. “What?”

“It wouldn’t hurt for you to be low-key around Girard.”

Lara used Nick’s expression from earlier. “Define low-key.”

“Play bodyguard, not detective. I don’t want anyone thinking you’re a threat. Threats are targets.”

“Since I’m protecting you, I’m certainly a target,” she agreed. “More importantly I am a threat, Detective. That’s what’s keeping you safe.”

“Listen, Lara—” she noted it was the first time he’d used her first name “—I’ve named three high-ranking officials as murder suspects—with no hard evidence. Working with me isn’t a good way to advance your career.”

“Thanks, but I’ll worry about my own career.”

Lara determinedly rang the doorbell. Captain Girard immediately answered. Lara wondered how long he’d known they’d been there. They were shown in, seated and offered hot or cold drinks after being told Mrs. Girard was out. They exchanged small talk, delaying the official questions as a courtesy.

“Beautiful dog,” Girard said, directing his attention toward Sadie, who had earlier obeyed Lara’s “Down” command. “A female, right? I’m surprised. I thought males were the rule—larger and more aggressive. And the females were saved for search-and-rescue or contraband work.”

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