“You can’t always believe your eyes—or an autopsy report, Risa. Dig deeper.”

“That’s good advice, but I have a feeling I can dig to China and I still won’t find the truth.”

“Well, you’d better find it,” her father warned. “Your life depends on it.”

He was right, of course, but suddenly the situation seemed overwhelming. She’d lost everything. The world felt upside down, with her father helping her and Grady kissing her. She couldn’t think straight, much less creatively.

Behind the garage the dog barked once then quickly fell silent, as if remembering where he was. She spoke quietly. “What happens if I can’t?”

“That’s not an option. You’re a Taylor and Taylors don’t fail.”

The connection Risa had felt between them shriveled. Her throat went tight as he stared sternly at her.

“Now, pull yourself together,” he ordered.

Dear Reader,

The Partner is the first in a series of six related Superromance books. Set in Houston, Texas, the stories center on the deep and abiding friendship of the heroines, a relationship that springs from their shared experiences at the Houston Police Academy. When tragedy strikes in the life of my heroine, Risa Taylor, their rare sisterhood, so precious and valuable, is thrust into jeopardy.

I’ve heard it said that friends are the family we pick for ourselves. That is certainly the case with me. I have a lot of acquaintances, but there are only a few people I think of as true friends, and as such I hold them very dear. They’re too hard to come by to be treated any other way.

As the perfect example, I’ll tell you about one of my closest friends. She’s a writer, too, and we met fifteen years ago through a writing organization. She was already published, but had stepped back from her career to care for her two babies. I was a wanna-be newbie. The common thread of reading and writing drew us together. Something deeper pulled us even closer. We see the world through a similar prism, and things that are important to me are also important to her. At the same time, we’re different enough to keep ourselves entertained. We started talking at that long-ago meeting…and we haven’t shut up since!

Losing any valued relationship is traumatic, but my heroine’s experiences go beyond that. In one irreversible moment she loses her partner, her friends and her career. Then she meets Grady Wilson. He seems determined to deepen her losses, yet in the end he does just the opposite. He fills the holes in her life and helps her recover. In the hidden parts of her heart, however, Risa continues to miss her friends. Can the rift ever be repaired? Will the six women regain their closeness?

I’m sure you’ll enjoy The Partner and the five stories that follow it, but in addition, I hope these books help us all realize the importance of our friends. Like the old saying goes, they double our joys and halve our sorrows. Treasure your relationships and work hard to keep them.

Kay David

The Partner
Kay David

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one is for Leroy. He was a great partner and a loyal friend who will stay in our hearts forever.

Thanks go to Sherry, Anna, Linda, Roz and K.N. for allowing me to join them in this project. It was a pleasure to work with such a wonderful group of professionals.

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 ONE

“HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING?” Risa Taylor glared at her partner, Luke Rowling, as they stood in the underground parking garage, the glow of a nearby light bathing them in orange.

They’d left headquarters only minutes before but Risa was already sweating, rivulets of moisture gathering between her shoulder blades and running down her back. August was not a good month for Houston and she’d started out the shift in a bad mood. She didn’t need Luke out of it, too. She had enough to handle tonight.

When he didn’t answer, she repeated her question. “I said, have you been drinking?”

“What’re you gonna do if the answer’s yes, Risa?” Leaning his elbows on the roof of their unmarked ride, a five-year-old Crown Victoria that had seen happier times, Luke gave her a lopsided grin. “Spank me for being a bad boy?”

She narrowed her eyes and stared at him.

When she’d joined the Sex Crimes Division at HPD, Risa had heard a lot of rumors about Luke Rowling and his successes. According to some, his promotions had come too fast and too easily. Risa had been so thrilled to get her assignment in the prestigious unit that she hadn’t cared, one way or the other.

Given that kind of success, though, she’d prepared herself for someone cocky and obnoxious, someone who’d be free with the constant teasing and sexual innuendo that were standard fare in the police department. She’d vowed ahead of time to dismiss any problems. Crap like that was part of working in a man’s world, and you handled it and went on. But Luke had surprised her. Rumors aside, he hadn’t come on to her even once, and more important, he’d turned out to be a much better cop than she’d ever expected.

Until lately.

Over the past few months, Risa had felt as if she were watching a car wreck in slow motion. The top-notch officer with the arrest record she’d envied had started to disappear, one piece at a time.

First, he’d come to work unprepared and confused, his clothing disheveled and his face unshaven. His hours had then become erratic and his behavior unpredictable. Last Friday, she’d thought she caught a whiff of alcohol when she brushed past him in the hall. This morning, when she smelled it again, she was sure.

“No, I’m not going to spank you.” Slamming her car door, Risa walked around the rear of the vehicle and came to where he stood. Up close, the fumes were really strong and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“I’m not going to do anything with you, Rowling, including work. You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and leaned closer. She had to hold her breath. “It’s been a bad day, ’Isa. Gimme a break and I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

She looked into his red eyes, the refusal she’d been about to voice dying on her lips along with her anger. The sudden and unexpected hopelessness in his gaze shocked her, but Risa hid it.

“What’s up, Luke?” She spoke calmly, as if talking to an upset child. “What’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself for weeks.”

He laughed, but the sound had a hollowness to it. “I haven’t been myself?” he said. “What the hell is myself? Where am I? Who am I?” He was leaning so heavily on her that Risa had to brace her hip against the fender to maintain her balance. “Tell me how to be who I am, and I’ll be happy to act like I’m supposed to.”

The sound of voices echoed over the concrete and Risa looked up to see a group of uniformed officers spilling out of the elevator. She could feel their stares across the hot, steamy garage, and she tried to back away, but Luke held her fast. Someone snickered then laughter rang out.

“Tell me who I am, Risa.” His pleading voice held a quality she hadn’t heard before. “Tell me who I am ’cause I’m balancing on a thin line here, baby.”

Risa lifted his hands off her shoulders and dropped them, his rambling discourse too strange to understand. “Go home and sober up, Luke. I’ll call everyone and cancel tonight.” She started to walk away, but his answer stopped her.

“I can’t.”

She turned and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head slowly.

“You can’t what?” she asked.

“I can’t go home. Melinda says I’m a loser and a freak and she threw me out. I had to leave….” Looking as if he wanted to cry, he managed to choke back his tears at the very last moment.

“God, Luke…” Risa returned to where he stood, a wave of remorse for her callous attitude sweeping over her. “Shit, man, I’m really sorry.”

And she was. Risa knew all about families shattered by the stresses their job generated—she’d grown up in one.

Luke lifted his gaze and their eyes met again. He seldom mentioned his wife, but Risa had suspected trouble at home for that very reason. They had one child, a little boy named Jason. Most happily married men she knew never shut up about their wives and kids.

“I’m very sorry,” she repeated. “I had no idea things were that bad.”

He blinked. “I didn’t, either.”

They stood in silence beside the car, Luke in obvious misery, Risa imagining the rumors that were sure to come. As soon as they’d become partners, a betting pool had started to predict when they’d hook up. The whole thing had irritated her—especially when she’d found out Luke wasn’t bothering to deny the gossip—but over time, she’d been so grateful that he never hit on her she’d let it go. Apparently all he’d wanted were the bragging rights, so who cared? Now she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. She sighed heavily.

“Give me the keys.” Holding out her hand, she gestured. “I’ll drive, and you can sleep in the car while I talk to Sun.”

His expression filled with gratitude, and he started to speak, but she held up her hand and stopped him. “Don’t say anything,” she demanded gruffly. “Just get a grip, okay? I can’t do my job and yours, too.”

He nodded and mumbled a thank-you, turning over the keys. A second later, she was behind the wheel and he was slumped over in the passenger seat. Before she could wind the big car down the ramp and out to Travis Street, he was asleep.

She shook her head sadly. Risa had always wanted to be a cop, but the thing she hated most about the life was the way law-enforcement families suffered. Her mother had fled her cop-father before Risa had been out of diapers. The youngest in her family, and the only girl, she had three older brothers. They were all in the business, too, and between them, they had four ex-wives and one pending.

Luke’s fate was sealed. He and Melinda would divorce, the kid would get hauled like a sack of potatoes from one house to another, then they’d each find someone else and start over, making a new spouse as miserable as the previous one. Risa flinched at her cynicism, but the truth couldn’t be denied.

There was nothing she could do to change the situation, either. She turned her concentration to the job—where it belonged—and headed out, vowing, as she did every time she heard this story, that she’d never, ever end up with a cop herself.

She merged onto the Southwest Freeway, quickly hitting seventy. Traffic was light for a change, but then again, it was almost two in the morning. They’d wasted time talking down in the garage. Risa frowned. She hated to be late even though the woman she was meeting probably didn’t care, unless she was charging by the hour, instead of the act. The guys made fun of Risa’s obsession with time, but she didn’t give a damn. They didn’t make fun of her collars and she was getting close to topping every one of them.

If things went as planned tonight, Risa would be adding to that record, too. In the past six months, three hookers had turned up at Ben Taub Hospital with their faces pounded into bloody masks. Risa wanted the SOB behind the beatings so badly that she dreamed about making the arrest. After days of negotiating, she’d finally gotten one of the street hookers to agree to meet her and Luke. Sun, the friend of a friend of a friend of one of the girls who’d been injured, had sounded like a flake but who knew? Her information might help Risa find the slimeball.

Within minutes, Risa reached the part of Richmond Street known locally as “the Strip.” For several miles on either side, bars stood next to massage parlors, which stood next to strip joints, which stood next to bars. The cycle seemed to go on forever, the signs the only thing that changed as one place went out of business and another one opened. The people who haunted the area stayed the same and so did the level of trouble they generated. When the clubs closed and the heat got to everyone, they’d take to the streets and drag race. Any sane person stayed away after eleven o’clock at night.

Slowing the Crown Victoria, Risa eased into the right-hand lane to join the line of vehicles waiting to get into the parking lot of Tequila Jack’s. Luke was now snoring with his mouth open, his head propped up against the window.

A space of two—maybe three—feet opened up between her bumper and the car ahead of her, and immediately the Impala behind Risa honked. She glanced into her rearview mirror. A wildly colored low-rider was sitting on her tail, the two pachucos inside laughing and passing a bottle of something between them. She closed the gap then looked back again. Catching her glare, the driver raised his bottle in her direction as if to offer her a drink, then he made a kissing motion with his lips. She held his eyes until he looked away.

Fifteen minutes later she parked the Crown Vic, grabbed her bag and opened the car door. The air hit her like a soggy blanket, steamy and thick. She instantly broke into a sweat that dried into clamminess when she entered the air-conditioned club.

She felt eyes following her as she headed for the bar, but she was accustomed to the sensation. All her life men had watched her enter a room. In the past, they’d done so because of how she looked; they did it now because of how she acted. Obviously they didn’t know who she was or what she did, but they knew she was someone they probably wanted to avoid. She’d worked on the attitude since she’d been a rookie and she had it down pat.

Pushing through the crowd, she took one of the empty seats at the end of a long Formica counter, the music so loud she could hardly think, much less hear. Screaming her order for iced tea, she ignored the bartender’s arch expression. Lots of cops drank on the job, but not Risa. She did things by the book. A minute later, the aproned man came back with a glass of something amber-colored, a few listless ice cubes floating on top. The watery concoction tasted like used dishwater, but the glass was half-empty when she put it back down. In the meantime, the bar stool next to her had filled. She glanced to her right.

The girl who’d sat down didn’t look old enough to even be in the place legally, much less be a hooker named Sun.

“You’ll have to find another spot.” Risa turned back to her drink. “I’m saving that for a friend.”

“I am your friend.” The teen’s voice was high and sweet with a Hispanic lilt. Risa barely caught her words over the music and the girl had to lean in closer and repeat them. A tidal wave of cheap perfume came with her as she laid her fingers on Risa’s arm. Her nails were painted with silvery polish. “It’s cool…”

Risa looked down at the girl’s fingers. They felt bony and slight as Risa lifted them and placed them back on the bar. “I really am waiting for someone else,” she said firmly. “Why don’t you—”

“You’re waiting for me.” She met Risa’s eyes. “You’re Risa, right? I’m Sun.”

The image of the last beaten prostitute, Janie Seguaro, superimposed itself on the girl’s childlike features and Risa had to take a deep breath. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was.

“You’re kinda young to hang out with Janie’s crowd, aren’t you?”

The teenager shrugged. “I guess. I dunno…” Reaching over, she took a deep pull from Risa’s drink then made a face and stared at the glass. “Yuck! What is that—”

“It’s iced tea—” A ripple of noise and then movement caught Risa’s attention and she swiveled her bar stool to get a better look. As she did so, one of the two men who’d been in the car behind the Crown Vic—the driver, she thought—charged past, glancing at her for a millisecond before he kept going.

She wanted to ignore whatever trouble was taking place, but Risa was a cop through and through. Something inside her wouldn’t let her stay where she was.

“Don’t leave,” she hollered to the girl above the noise. “I’ll be right back.”

Shaking her head, the girl frowned, her warning almost childlike in its naivete. “I wouldn’t mess with that guy if I was you—he looks crazy.”

“I’m used to crazy.” Waving off the teenager’s words, Risa pushed away from the bar and followed the pachuco. They were on the other side of the club when he came to a halt in front of a couple on the dance floor. Tightly twined around each other, the couple saw him a moment too late. The driver grabbed the second man, ripped him away from the woman and threw him to the parquet, screaming in Spanish as he did so.

Risa felt her pulse rate increase. She’d been off patrol for almost three years, and she hadn’t had to deal with this kind of stupidity in ages. She glanced around for the bouncer but he was nowhere in sight. Pulling out her cell phone, she speed-dialed Luke and prayed he wasn’t too far gone to wake up.

“Get in here,” she yelled above the music. “I’ve two drunks going at each other and I need some backup!”

Flipping the phone shut without waiting for his answer, she pulled back her jacket to show her shield and gun, then yelled, “Police,” striding to the men who were now tussling on the floor.

“Okay, that’s it, ladies,” she barked. “The cops are here. Stop right now and let’s all cool down.”

They paused long enough to look up at her then they resumed their drunken, ineffectual swings, missing their mark more often than not. Bending over with a curse, Risa jerked the nearest one to his feet and twisted his arm behind him. That’s when she realized the one on the floor was the second guy from the car. They’d come together to the club and now they were fighting. She rolled her eyes, then kicked at the boot of the one who was still down. “I’m Officer Taylor, HPD. Get up,” she commanded. “We’re taking this outside.”

To her surprise—and relief—he staggered upright. Yelling at the crowd to disperse, she pushed both men ahead of her. When they reached the door and tumbled outside, Risa wasn’t sure which was sweeter—the comparative silence of the nearby traffic or the muggy air she’d cussed before. After the bar, both offered a cleansing change.

Immediately the men went at each other again, wrestling and rolling around the steaming pavement like a couple of schoolboys, finally disappearing behind a nearby parked car. Risa considered leaving them to beat each other silly, then she changed her mind. She’d make Luke handle them. She yanked out her phone and dialed again. “Get over here, Luke!” she said angrily. “I need some help, dammit!”

He muttered something that sounded like assent and she hung up the phone, turning back to the two drunks.

One of them was gone.

The other one, now standing, held a gun.

Pointed straight at her.

Risa’s breath caught in her chest and she froze, her mind spinning. A thousand thoughts came and went in the space of a single second, but only one stood out: she held the highest rating the shooting range awarded but there was no way she would get to her .44 before he could fire. For the moment, she was stuck. She licked her lips and held up her hands, palms out.

“Look, buddy, this isn’t the time to do something stupid, okay? Drop the weapon and kick it away. My partner’s on his way.” Just to be sure, she repeated herself in Spanish. Her accent wasn’t perfect, but the message was clear.

He said something she didn’t catch, this time in English, then from the corner of her eye, Risa saw the other man rise from the pavement and start forward. She cursed under her breath—she thought he’d run off. Edging to her left, she stepped closer to the nearest car and away from the club’s door. She didn’t need any civilians getting popped, too. The one with the gun kept her in his sight, moving with her and spewing another rapid-fire burst of Spanish. She caught only bits and pieces, but it was enough to make her realize he wasn’t drunk. He was stone-cold sober and his hand was steady.

“Put the gun down,” she said evenly. “We don’t have to make this any harder that it already is.”

His face was slick in the neon light of the bar’s sign. He said nothing.

“I’ve called for backup,” she warned. “There’s going to be a hundred cops here any second and they’re not as patient as I am. They’re men. They like to shoot.”

His eyes widened, but he still didn’t answer. By this time, they’d almost traded places. She wondered for a second why he’d let her manipulate him, then she realized he’d wanted to get where he was—the car she’d been standing by was the low-rider.

Later that night, and for weeks afterward, Risa replayed the scene over and over inside her head. There had to have been something else she could have done, she agonized, some other path to take, but at the time her choice seemed like the only one.

Speaking in Spanish once more, the driver jerked his head at his friend, who suddenly appeared by his elbow. He now had a weapon, as well, Risa realized with growing panic.

As she debated her chances of trying to fire regardless, the men exchanged a glance, and that split second was all she needed. Ripping her weapon from the holster beneath her arm, she aimed and screamed. “Drop your guns! Drop them now!”

A second later, Luke rounded the corner.

The men hesitated, then they pivoted in unison toward Luke, shooting blindly as they turned.

CHAPTER TWO

RISA SHOT BACK.

When she stopped, three men lay on the sidewalk.

Down the street, sirens filled the silence, their wails growing louder as the police cars neared. With the part of her brain that wasn’t operating on automatic, Risa realized Luke had to have called for backup before he’d gotten out of the car.

The door of the club flew open and she swung her weapon toward it. Whoever was behind the door thought better of their actions and it instantly shut again, slamming against the frame so hard a piece of wood popped off.

The taste of fear filling her mouth, Risa approached the men with her gun extended. They weren’t moving, but Risa was a woman who didn’t take chances. She kicked their weapons under a nearby car, then bent down to the first man. He was slumped against the edge of the building and he sat in a spreading pool of blood.

He was dead.

The second one had a pulse but it was thready.

She reached Luke’s side, her pistol still pointed at the other two as she dropped to her knees on the dirty pavement. Pressing a finger against his neck, she searched for a rhythm. Her own heart was beating so fast all she could feel was the rush of blood inside her veins. She took a deep breath then held it, pushing her finger deeper into the side of his throat.

His eyelids fluttered open and she nearly passed out with relief.

“Hang on,” she said breathlessly. “Help’s coming, Luke. Hang on, okay?”

He smiled sweetly and said, “Okay.” Then his eyes rolled back and he went completely still.

GRADY WILSON HATED when the phone woke him up at four in the morning. The news was never good, he thought, fumbling for his glasses with one hand and for the lamp with his other. No one called that early in the morning to tell you you’d won a trip to Tahiti or that something had come up and your in-laws were not going to visit after all. Life didn’t work that way.

He picked up the receiver and answered. “Wilson here.”

“We’ve got trouble.” Stan Richards, Grady’s boss, sounded somewhat more awake than Grady but just barely.

“Imagine that.” Grady tested his theory. “I thought you might be calling to give me a raise.”

“You don’t need a raise,” Stan said sourly. “You’ve already got more money than God and you’re probably going to quit next week anyway.”

Grady ignored the money comment—he taught two night courses at the University of Houston on the side, so everyone thought he was rich. They had no idea college professors were as badly paid as cops. “You might be right about the quitting part,” he said instead. “I’ll decide after I hear about this trouble.”

Richards’s voice became serious. “It’s bad. In fact, it doesn’t get much worse. We’ve got an officer down over on the Strip.”

“Dead?”

“Not yet, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Damn.” Grady swung his legs to the side of the bed. “Who was it? Anyone we know?”

“Guy by the name of Luke Rowling. SCD.”

“Sex Crimes? What’d he do? Wander into a bust or something?”

“We don’t know right now. Chief Tanner got called so I got called so you got called. Go find out. I’m supposed to report directly to her personal assistant.”

“Directly?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Well, no, but—”

“The guy’s partner is Risa Taylor. You do know her, don’t you?”

“‘The Body’ Taylor?”

“The one and only. You’re a lucky man.”

Grady moaned. “I’m too damn old for this, Stan. Call someone else—”

“Can’t do that. It’s certainly not official but rumor has it, you were requested for the case. Taylor’s family is true blue and she’s tight with the chief. I suspect the Iron Lady wants this done right with no questions left.”

“So? What’s that got to do with me?”

“I don’t approve of your techniques, but you are the best. When you’re finished with it, everyone will know the case is tighter than a gnat’s ass and they’ll be satisfied.” Grady heard papers shuffling, then Stan spoke again. “They’re still on scene, Fifty-six eighty-nine Richmond, Tequila Jack’s. Samuel Andrews is the homicide lieutenant.”

As Stan hung up on him, Grady realized what was going on. Chief Tanner might have requested Richards to report directly to her assistant, but she wouldn’t have asked for Grady. Stan had put him on the case because he didn’t like Grady and had probably wanted to call him out at this ungodly hour.

A former instructor at the Police Academy, Catherine Tanner had been the HPD commander for some time, but Grady’s direct interactions with the woman had been too limited for her to ask for him, even if she were inclined to do so. Despite the gossip he’d heard about her, she was supposed to be fair and levelheaded, but a few people thought she’d gotten her job through connections rather than talent, and rumors continued to circulate about some type of vague corruption going on at the higher levels. Fair or biased, crooked or straight, it didn’t matter to Grady. He only delivered the truth.

Fifteen minutes later he was dressed and in his car. Fifteen minutes after that he pulled into the parking lot of the bar. Grady had the feeling he could have found the place without the yellow-and-purple neon sign of a fat man wearing a huge hat and holding a margarita glass. Dozens of cop cars with flashing red lights were parked haphazardly on the sidewalk and in the street. Nearly that many television vans lined the street on the opposite side.

Pushing through the reporters and hangers-on, Grady spotted Samuel Andrews. Simultaneously yelling into a cell phone, talking to two other cops and answering a reporter’s questions, the African-American lieutenant saw Grady and motioned him forward.

Grady nodded but took his time, looking around first. A blue plastic sheet covered a body, but it was the only one. Scanning the scene, he searched for Risa Taylor. He’d popped off about her nickname, but in truth, he wasn’t sure he’d even recognize the woman. She was supposed to be a looker and very, very smart…so naturally most of the male cops hated her and/or lusted after her. Grady couldn’t think of a more volatile mix inside a police department—resentment and sexual tension. Yipperdoodle, he thought dryly. This was going to be a real fun case.

He came to Andrews’s side and waited for his turn. Andrews handled everyone else smoothly and quickly then he faced Grady, his expression wary, his demeanor less friendly. Grady barely noticed. He was accustomed to the low-level hostility that followed him wherever he went. Everyone hated Internal Affairs.

They shook hands. “Bad night,” Grady said. “Any news on the officer who was shot?”

“I wouldn’t be counting on him for the next shift. They took him to Ben Taub but he looked like he was already gone.”

Grady held back a flinch. Most of the patients who were sent to the trauma hospital were so bad the docs swore they brought the dead back to life more often than they healed the sick.

“Where’s the partner?”

“EMS guys took her, too.”

“She was hurt?” Grady’s voice held surprise. Stan had said nothing about this.

Andrews lifted his hand and drew a line down his cheek. “Just a graze. Didn’t look too bad but you know the medics. She tried to stay then finally gave in.” He tilted his head toward the blue-covered mound behind them. “That’s Juan Doe, número uno over there. Número dos went to Taub with the rest of the party, but I think he’s had his last enchilada.”

Andrews continued his explanation and Grady listened, his eyes going to the other side of the parking lot, where support guys had begun to crawl between the cars and underneath the bushes. Every once in a while, they’d stop, open a baggie and drop something inside.

“Any questions?” Andrews finished.

“Not for now.” Grady always let the lieutenants talk, but he got his real information from the officers and the scene itself. “I’ll be in touch, though.”

Andrews nodded with a dour expression. “I’m sure you will.”

Grady wandered for another half hour, talking to the uniforms and letting the details register. He was just about to leave for the hospital when he overheard two of the techs. They’d been crisscrossing the parking lot, looking at the cars and trees.

“Even I coulda hit something,” one of them said, shaking his head. “That many shots fired? These guys musta been blind.”

Grady stopped. He knew a lot of the crime-scene technicians, and for the most part, they were friendlier to him than the officers. “What’s up?”

They looked up and greeted him. “No slugs,” the nearest one explained. “I don’t know what these guys were smoking, but they musta been shooting into the sky.” He held up his baggies. “Plenty of shells, but no slugs yet.”

“Keep looking, gentlemen. I’m sure you’ll do your best for the glory of HPD.”

They grinned and returned to their search as Grady headed for his car. The techs always said they couldn’t find the slugs, but sooner or later they located them. Lodged in telephone poles or buildings, tires or pavement, the spent bullets hid themselves well. Once, the day after a shooting, they’d had a guy bring a motorcycle into the station. Without even realizing it, he’d driven by a holdup in progress and caught a slug in his tire. When he’d heard the news that night, he figured out why he’d gotten a flat.

Back on the Southwest Freeway, Grady headed for the medical center.

AGAINST THE WISHES of her father and her three brothers, who followed him in everything, Risa had attended the Houston Police Academy at twenty-one, the first year she’d become eligible. The rivalry, or maybe it was animosity, between her and her siblings was nothing new—they would have disapproved of anything she did short of becoming a nun—but her father’s reaction had stung. Somehow, deep down, Risa had always thought that if she followed in his footsteps he might finally give her the same kind of attention he’d lavished on her brothers.

She’d been wrong.

When she’d told him she’d been accepted, Ed Taylor had frowned and muttered something about regret, then he’d disappeared into the garage of his aging home in Meyerland where Risa had grown up. She’d started after him, then she’d spit out, “What the hell,” and had left, understanding, better than ever, how her mother must have felt when she left him. If you didn’t see the world the same way Ed Taylor saw it, you were worthless to him. No wonder her mother had hit the road and never looked back. Risa got a Christmas card from her yearly and that was it. The lack of communication had hurt until she’d finally understood.

After she began her classes, the ache eased even more. Time had something to do with it, but more significantly, she made friends. She’d never been very good at that—and she still wasn’t—but the five women she’d met during the six-month course were different from any she’d ever known.

Except for one, they surrounded her now, their faces etched with concern as she sat on the table in the emergency-room cubicle. Hearing the officer-down call and recognizing Risa’s partner’s name, they’d come in from every side of town. Risa was incredibly grateful for their company and support. If she’d been the kind of woman who let herself say so, she would have broken down and told them what they meant to her.

Abby Carlton stood the closest, her hand warm on Risa’s back as she patted her shoulder in a comforting way. At twenty-nine, she was nearest in age to Risa’s twenty-seven, but she was the “mother” of the group. In a heartrending decision, she’d dropped out of the Academy to follow the love of her life, but things hadn’t worked out. She’d returned to Houston a year later to complete her classes, ending up in patrol and doing extra duty on the Crisis Intervention Team. Her warm eyes were filled with sympathy and pain, not just for Risa’s injury, which was minor, but for everything that had happened in the past few hours.

Crista Santiago stood on the other side, fiercely gripping Risa’s left hand. A Latina from the east side, Crista was thirty-three. She’d had a difficult time growing up in Houston’s barrios, but she’d risen above her former life and come out a survivor. A detective, she was tough…and gorgeous. She swung her dark hair away from her face as she leaned closer.

“Everything will be okay, chica.” As if her words could make it so, Crista spoke with confidence. The only hint she was upset was the Spanish that slipped out apparently before she could stop it. “Thank God, you got the sorry cabrones who did this…”

Risa squeezed Crista’s hand in acknowledgment then dropped it as Lucy Montalvo spoke from the foot of the gurney. “You got them both?”

Lucy was in the Missing Persons Unit of the Investigations Command. She was single-minded and ambitious and she’d made her way up the department just like Risa had—by working hard and being determined. Neither of them had a lot of free time to do things together, but out of all the women, Risa felt closest to Lucy. For good or for bad, they each valued their careers more than anything else in their lives.

Risa nodded.

“That’s some kind of shootin’. Those hours at the range finally paid off.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she answered quietly. “When Luke came around the corner, they opened up.”

“You did what you had to, Risa.” Mei Lu Ling spoke from the other side of the room. Leaning against the wall, her thin form dressed in black, she looked every inch the successful businesswoman she’d once been. She was a valuable member of the White-collar Crimes Unit, putting that experience to good use. She’d be a lieutenant by this time next year, Risa guessed. Even-tempered and measured in her ways, Mei Lu offered sound advice now. “Don’t look back. You did what you had to.”

“I know,” Risa lied. “But it all happened so fast and then boom! It was over, just like that. Luke was bleeding and I told him to hang on and he said he would, then…” She looked down at her hands. They should have been shaking, because she was on the inside, but they lay in her lap, perfectly still with streaks of dried blood on them. She raised her eyes. “Then he died anyway. He was gone before the ambulance even got here.”

Silence filled the cubicle as Risa’s words seemed to hang in the air.

“Have you heard from Catherine?” Crista asked after a moment.

Risa shook her head. Catherine Tanner’s presence would have made the group complete, but she would be swamped right now with other duties. She’d been one of their instructors at the Academy and now at forty-five she was the oldest and most experienced of them. She was also the chief of police. Only one other woman in Houston’s history had served in that position and she’d been appointed by a female mayor. To the majority of the force that had meant she didn’t count.

“She won’t come,” Lucy said, echoing Risa’s thoughts. “She can’t appear to be too close to Risa right now or people might read it wrong. Plus she’s got to deal with the media and IA and everything else—”

“Including Luke’s family.” Abby turned to Risa, her expression anxious. “He was married, wasn’t he, Risa? Did he have any children?”

Risa nodded slowly, instantly deciding the details of Luke’s disintegrating home situation would be a secret she would keep. “His wife’s name is Melinda, and yes, they have a little boy,” she answered. “I think he’s three, maybe four…” Her sentence petered out as her chest tightened. She hoped the poor kid would get a better deal than she had, but any way you sliced it, growing up in a one-parent household was not for sissies.

The curtains surrounding the cubicle parted and the doctor who’d stitched Risa’s cheek stepped in, a male nurse by his side. Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, the physician handed it to Risa while the other man began to clean up the remnants of bandages and tape scattered over the counter.

“That’s a script for a painkiller,” the doctor said. Retrieving another one from his other pocket, he held it out, too. “And this is for some sleeping pills. You might have some trouble the next few days—”

Still woozy from the shot he’d given her to stitch her face, Risa shook her head…a little too hard. She gripped the table. “I don’t need it.”

“You’ve just been through a very traumatic situation. Are you sure?”

She stood up and the room spun. “I’m very sure,” she answered. “I don’t take stuff like that.”

His wavering image split into three men in three white coats. Each of them nodded. “All right,” he said with a sigh. The sound said he’d dealt with cops before. They were all macho—the men and the women.

Risa nodded—a big mistake—then she walked out of the cubicle, her friends on either side supporting her in more ways than one.

THE WAITING ROOM WAS a blue sea and it would remain so until Luke’s body was released. That’s the way it had always been done when an officer got shot and Risa expected the tradition would never change. She entered, then stutter-stepped slightly, Abby clutching her right elbow, Lucy still holding her left. Their grips were firm but discreet. Any sign of weakness from a female cop, even one who’d just been shot, set them all back.

“Hang tough,” Crista murmured from behind her. “We’ll talk to the widow then get you out, okay?”

Risa nodded, the word widow throwing her for a second.

The women waded en masse through the uniforms, eyes watching from every corner of the room. In truth, the majority of the men they worked alongside were okay, but the few who weren’t pleasant were a vocal minority. Risa heard someone mutter, “…better partner this wouldn’t have happened…” then she found herself staring at David Kinner. A fellow S.C.D. officer, Kinner was rude, repulsive and tried his best to make every woman on the force feel unwanted. Risa read his lips as he leaned toward the cop on his right and spoke.

“Five butts, one brain…”

They’d almost come to blows the first time he’d uttered the insult. She and her friends, still in the Academy, had been passing his table in the cafeteria when he’d said the words just loud enough for them to hear. Risa had immediately questioned his manhood and his alleged affinity for farm animals, but her comeback hadn’t been enough to quiet him. He was persistent as well as stupid.

She ignored Kinner’s remark and stepped before the thin, pale woman who’d been married to Luke.

Melinda Rowling was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties at the most, but grief had done its job and at the moment she could have easily passed for forty. Her expression blank, her eyes red and swollen, she brushed a hank of blond hair off her forehead then dropped her hands to her lap, raising her gaze to Risa’s at the same time.

They’d talked only briefly at Christmas parties and the like. Not sure Luke’s wife would recognize her, Risa went to her knees and put her hands over Melinda’s. Too late, she remembered the dried blood that still painted her fingers. Melinda didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m so sorry,” Risa said, her voice cracking despite herself. “I tried to stop them, Melinda, I swear. I—I just wasn’t fast enough.”

She blinked at Risa with eyes as pale as her hair. “I’m sure you did all that could be done.” Her words were spoken as if by rote, dully and in a chopped-up fashion.

Risa didn’t quite know what she’d expected from Melinda, but this wasn’t it. Grief, for sure, anger, perhaps? She pondered the question for a second then suddenly realized the obvious: Melinda was doped to her eyeballs, which was probably a good idea, Risa decided.

“I’m sorry,” Risa repeated. “If there’s anything I can do…”

As Melinda nodded, Risa began to rise but she was pulled back abruptly, Melinda gripping her stained fingers to hold her still. “Did he say anything?” she whispered.

Risa looked into her tortured eyes and made an instant decision, lying without hesitation. “He said he loved you and Jason.”

A momentary confusion flickered over Melinda Rowling’s face, then it was gone.

Without another word, she released Risa’s hands. Her emotions in chaos, her cheek now throbbing, Risa stood unsteadily then turned to leave. The uniformed men parted silently as the five women walked through them. After they passed, the path behind them closed once more and the vigil resumed.

THE WOMEN WALKED Risa to the hospital’s lobby, arguing over who would spend the night with her. She let them yak until they reached the elevator for the parking garage.

“No one’s staying with me,” she said firmly. “I need a ride home and then I’ll be fine.”

Abby looked at her with worried eyes. “You can’t be by yourself tonight, Risa. You’re been through too much to be alone.”

Mei Lu concurred. “You need company.”

“I’ll be fine,” Risa repeated, “and besides, I want to be alone. I need to think about everything that happened.”

“But that’s the problem,” Crista replied. “You’ll think too much and get even more upset.” She stepped to Risa’s side and put her arm around her shoulder, squeezing her gently.

As usual, Lucy was the lone dissenter. “Come on, you guys, Risa knows what she’s talking about. Let’s let her work this out like she wants to. I think that’s for the best.”

The others looked uncertain but, one by one, agreed, albeit reluctantly. Exchanging a final hug, they went their separate ways, Crista the one elected to drive Risa home. They headed down an almost deserted Main Street, winding through Rice University until they came out at the freeway again.

Crista glanced in her rearview mirror then over at Risa. “You did the right thing tonight, so I hope you don’t start second-guessing what happened.”

“I won’t,” Risa said woodenly.

“Yes, you will,” Crista replied. “You already are. I heard what you said to Melinda.”

“I didn’t know what else to say.” Risa stared blindly out the window at the passing buildings. “I had to say something.”

“So you’re okay with how it went down?”

“I’m okay with it.”

The rest of the twenty-minute drive was silent until they pulled into the driveway of the modest town house Risa had bought the year before. She said, “Thank you,” and started to climb out, but Crista’s voice stopped her.

“You better prepare yourself, Risa. This could get rough, you know. I’ve seen the system chew up and spit out a lot of folks, and sometimes the truth gets lost in the process, especially when the IA guys get involved.”

“I know there’ll be a dog-and-pony show, but I’ll get through it. I’m a cop’s daughter—remember?”

As the words left her mouth, Risa winced. God, her father… He was sure to know what had happened by now. He was even more connected since he’d retired than he had been in the past; he heard the department’s latest gossip before Risa.

“All I’m saying is you have to look out for yourself, okay? No one else is going to do it for you.”

Risa stepped out of the car then glanced back through the open window. “I’ll be all right.”

Crista nodded then Risa turned and went up the sidewalk, the Jeep’s lights shining on her as she unlocked the door. Inside the sanctuary of her home, she closed her eyes and lay her head against the front door, a weariness sweeping over her that quickly found a path all the way down to her bones. Her eyes were dry, though. She wouldn’t cry, because she couldn’t. She’d been just a child when her last tear had been shed and she could still remember her father’s mocking voice as it had slid down her cheek. “Buck up, Risa! Taylors never cry.”

“Taylors never cry,” she repeated softly in the dark. As if waiting for an answer, she paused, but there wasn’t one, so she straightened and walked into the kitchen, going directly to the refrigerator. She wasn’t a big drinker, but she kept some beer on hand for her friends. Pulling a Tecate out, she popped the can open and was lifting it to her mouth when the phone on the wall rang shrilly.

“Ed Taylor, Senior” flashed across the caller ID screen, and her hand hesitated over the receiver. Two more rings sounded before she picked it up.

She said hello and her father answered her, his gruff greeting followed by a heavy, accusatory silence. She hated the games he played and usually she fought them, but tonight Risa didn’t have the strength. Something about life-and-death situations took it right out of you, she guessed.

“You heard the news,” she said into the void. “Thanks for calling to check on me.”

Her voice held a tinge of sarcasm, but like always, her father ignored it. “Bobby told me what happened.”

Bobby was his former partner, and he was as attached to his police scanner as he was the oxygen tank he had to drag everywhere, years of cigarettes catching up with him. Risa had been surprised her father hadn’t come down with cancer himself, just from sharing a cop car with the guy all that time.

“Well, Bobby’s always got the goods.” She could hear her father’s television in the background. It stayed on 24/7. “I guess you know everything, then.”

“I know you’re alive and your partner isn’t.” He stopped there, his unspoken censure obvious.

Your brothers wouldn’t have gotten themselves into this kind of situation. I always knew something like this was going to happen. You’re supposed to back up your partner, not get him shot. What the hell have you done now, Risa?

She had never measured up. And she never would.

Swallowing her defensiveness, she gave him the details, leaving out Luke’s inebriation. Her father would be the last one to let it slip, but if the truth got out, Risa feared Luke’s family might be in danger of losing all they had left now—his pension. Should the medical examiner run a drug-and-alcohol scan, which he probably wouldn’t without cause, then the chips could fall where they did, but Risa wasn’t going to bring the subject up.

“I’ve got it under control,” she concluded tightly. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I don’t have anything to worry about regardless,” he answered. “This is your bag, Risa. You gotta carry it by yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want to do anything to make the family look bad.” Her father had left the force with all the right medals pinned to his chest, and her brothers were equally well regarded. The four of them were known as cop’s cops. Risa lightened her tone. “Gotta keep the Taylor rep, you know.”

He spoke without hesitating, his criticism slicing her heart in two. “I think it’s too damn late to worry about that now.”

CHAPTER THREE

NOON HAD COME and gone when Grady Wilson wheeled his two-year-old Porsche Boxster into the police headquarters parking garage and made his way up the ramps to his assigned spot. The car was his only extravagance, but he frequently left it at home for weeks at a time, driving an old Volvo to work instead. Sometimes it wasn’t worth putting up with the gibes he got whenever one of the guys saw him in the Porsche. This morning he’d decided he didn’t really give a big rat’s ass.

Picking up the Taylor/Rowling file from the seat next to him, Grady rubbed his eyes and sat for a second. He’d stayed up all night, reading the records he’d downloaded after coming home, and he felt like hell. When this case was over, he should head somewhere down in the islands, like Jamaica. He needed a break. Maybe he needed a permanent break.

Locking the car, he reached the elevator and punched the recall button, thinking of Trudie, his ex. Seven years ago she’d walked into his office late one night and said he was married to the job so he didn’t need her, and she’d left. She hadn’t given him a chance to defend himself, but that hadn’t really mattered, because she’d been right.

And nothing had changed since then. Grady still didn’t have a life outside of work. He was forty, but he felt like a hundred. He couldn’t remember when he’d had his last date, and he was daydreaming more and more, his mind wandering when it should have been concentrating. Sometimes he imagined himself as one of the monkeys he’d studied while getting his Ph.D. They’d literally worked themselves to death for the food pellets he and his first-year psych students would give them.

Grady continued to labor as hard as the animals had, but the satisfaction that had once made the sacrifices worthwhile was nothing but a memory now. He wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but that had definitely become the case.

After getting a cup of coffee, he went to his office and dropped the file on his desk. He was on the twentieth floor and the view was incredible, but he didn’t glance at it as the file on his desk fell open to Taylor’s photo. He sipped his coffee and stared at the picture instead.

When he’d gotten to the hospital last night, Risa Taylor had already left, but if she matched the photo in front of him, she was a knockout, no doubt about it. Dark hair, even darker eyes. A body that looked fit and trim. Expanding on his former fantasy—and it was a fantasy because he knew he’d never take that vacation—he mentally gave her a bikini and put her on his Jamaican beach. He was slipping his arm around her bare shoulder when Richards knocked on the door and startled him. Grady cursed loudly as hot coffee splashed over the photo then dripped onto his newest Cole Haans.

“Whoa, man, settle down!” His boss looked at him with disgust. “What’s wrong with you?”

Grady rolled his eyes and grabbed a tissue from the box sitting on the corner of the desk, propping his foot up on the edge to dab at his shoes. “Did you need something?”

“I want to know where you are with the Taylor thing. Any thoughts yet?”

He looked up. “For God’s sake, Stan, they haven’t even had time to mop up the blood. Gimme a break—”

“Okay, okay,” the other man said. “I’m just checking, that’s all. Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m asking for the mayor.”

God, first the chief, now the mayor. Who was next? The governor?

Grady continued to brush at his shoes. “You can tell the mayor I’ll let you know what I know after I talk to Taylor and find out what she knows.”

Richards knew better than to press Grady—he had his own way of doing things and had never played by the book—but Richards didn’t expect a real answer anyway. All he wanted was the ability to report back to his superiors that he had asked. He fled as Grady took another swipe at his loafers then tossed the tissue, wondering again about the role of the higher-ups in the situation. Maybe Stan hadn’t been lying about Chief Tanner. Knowing there was only one way to find out for sure, Grady picked up the sopping file and headed for Risa Taylor’s office.

After several false starts—navigation was not his strong suit—Grady found the Sex Crimes offices. An older woman with neatly braided hair looked up as he entered their area. Her name tag read, “Debra Figer,” and she’d been crying—her eyes were rimmed with red and glistening.

Grady introduced himself, but left out his department. “I’m here to see Risa Taylor—”

“She didn’t come in today.” The woman pursed her lips. Grady didn’t recognize her but she seemed to know who he was. “She was wounded last night and the boss told her to stay home.”

Grady nodded with a pleasant expression and started back down the hall. As he turned the corner, he heard Figer pick up her phone and punch out a number.

Before he could return to his office, Risa Taylor would know he was looking for her. He pulled his car keys from his pocket and walked quickly down the corridor.

GINGERLY TOUCHING the bandage on her cheek, Risa stared into her bathroom mirror then reached for the vial of pain pills on the counter. She regretted not taking the sleeping pills the doc had offered, but she didn’t handle that kind of stuff too well. Her cheek felt as if it’d been branded, though, and she had to do something. Shaking out one of the capsules, she broke it in two, then paused, her mind wandering.

When he’d gotten to the scene last night, Luis Trevino, her boss, had ordered her to stay home today. She’d ignored his words and had been getting ready when he’d called her earlier that morning.

“Take off the suit and forget about it,” he’d said when she’d answered the phone.

“How did you know I was—”

“I meant what I said last night, Risa. I want you to stay home today and take it easy. We aren’t doing anything productive anyway. Everyone’s pretty rattled.”

“What’s the word on the second shooter?”

“He’s hanging on, but barely. The docs still won’t let us talk to him so we’ve printed him and we’re working on an ID.”

“I could come in and help, look at the books or something.”

“No. You stay home. That’s it. No arguing.”

She’d gone back to bed and hadn’t woken up until the phone had rung again a half hour ago. This time, Debra had been on the other end and she’d explained about the man who’d been looking for Risa. The secretary seemed to know everyone on the force and she’d been positive the man was IA, but Risa had doubts. Things generally moved slowly at HPD, but the Internal Affairs department was notorious for its glacierlike progress. When Risa looked down at the half pill in her hand, though, she decided to wait. Opening her fingers, she let both pieces of the capsule drop into the sink then she turned on the water to wash them away. If by chance, Debra was right, Risa wanted all her wits about her.

Pushing away from the counter, she shuffled downstairs with the vague intention of eating something. She hadn’t had anything since lunch the day before, but the thought of food made her stomach churn. She decided on coffee instead. Heating a cup in the microwave from the pot she’d made earlier, she stared out the kitchen window to the small alcove that was her yard.

Last night had been the worst night of her life. She’d tried to sleep, but all she’d done was replay the shooting over and over and over. The few times she’d managed to drift off, she’d jerked herself awake, dodging bullets. If she’d thought she’d have gotten any help, she would have called her dad, but even as desperate as she had been, she’d known better. He’d never thought she’d make it on the force.

And maybe he’d been right, she thought as the microwave dinged and she pulled out her mug. What kind of officer let her partner get shot, point-blank?

The doorbell sounded and Risa jumped, splashing hot coffee down the blue warm-up she’d put on after changing from her suit and going back to bed. Not nearly enough time had passed for Debra’s IA man to be here, so the damn reporters had to have returned. Risa cursed and brushed at the stain with a cup towel, then she gave up and tossed it to the countertop, the bell pealing again, this time with more insistence. She’d already told two of them she had nothing to say. Storming into the entry, she jerked the door open with harsh words on her lips.

“Look, I already told you people I wasn’t saying anything.”

A man stood on the front porch. She didn’t know who he was, but he was not a reporter or a cop. His suit was too expensive and there were no cameras behind him or vans in the driveway. There was a Porsche, however. Her eyes came back to his. They were the color of cold ashes and she shivered without thinking.

“Risa Taylor?” His voice was deep and smooth, a direct contrast to the chill in his stare.

“I’m Grady Wilson.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “A lieutenant with HPD Internal Affairs.”

Risa’s stomach tightened, and she sucked in her breath. So much for her policewoman’s judgment. Score one for Debra.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Of course.” She stepped aside and he brushed past her. He was tall, well over six feet, and he made her five-six height feel insignificant.

“Please sit down.” She waved toward her living room. “Would you like some coffee? I just spilled half a pot down my pants, but I think there’s some left.”

He made a wry face then lifted his right foot. His leather shoe—also expensive—was freshly spotted with something dark. “I’m wearing my caffeine today, too,” he replied. “But I’d like to have some to drink, if it’s not any trouble.”

She nodded. “No problem. Give me a minute.”

Back in her kitchen, Risa made fresh coffee, her nerves zinging. She couldn’t believe the guy had gotten here so quickly. He was obviously a fast worker…and a fast driver. Watching the first drips of coffee flow into the thermal pot, she tried to talk herself out of being anxious, but she failed.

She put everything on a tray and returned to the living room, sitting down on the couch. “How do you take your coffee, Lieutenant?”

He turned away from the photos hanging above her fireplace. “Black is fine, and frankly, I’d rather you call me Grady.”

She filled a cup and held it out to him as he walked toward the sofa, his request surprising her. “Are you sure?” she asked skeptically.

He smiled in a friendly way and took the coffee. “I always drink it black.”

She shook her head. “I’m talking about the lieutenant part.”

He sat down right beside her. His closeness made her feel uncomfortable, but if he realized it, he pretended he didn’t. Then again, she thought abruptly, maybe that was exactly why he’d sat where he did.

“I may be in Internal Affairs, Officer Taylor, but I’m not immune to what the rank and file think about my division. I find it more helpful if we try not to get too stuffy during these kinds of investigations.”

He took a swallow of coffee then looked at her over the mug, his strange gray eyes measuring her in a manner that left her even more apprehensive than his proximity. “If the laxity makes you ill at ease, feel free to use the title.”

It did just that, but she wasn’t about to let him know.

“Grady is fine,” she answered.

“You were wounded.” He smoothly changed gears and nodded toward her bandage. “How do you feel today? Are you in any pain?”

“I’m okay. I would have gone in but my boss wouldn’t let me.” She touched the patch briefly. “It’s nothing.”

“But the loss of your partner isn’t.”

Her eyes went to her hands, which were wrapped around her coffee mug. She’d scrubbed them for a long time last night, removing Luke’s blood. The red stains had washed off easily, too easily, considering what they represented.

“Luke Rowling was a good cop.” She lifted her eyes once more to Wilson’s. “And a good man. I’ll miss him.”

“Have you thought about talking to the department shrink? Leo Austen’s very professional and he knows his stuff.”

“I’d assumed I’d be seeing him at some point during all this,” Risa answered. “He’s part of the package, isn’t he?”

“‘The package’ varies with each situation, Officer. A lot of what happens next will depend on you.” He put his drink down on the table. “For example, you need to decide if you want to contact your union rep before we talk. That’s your option, you know.”

“I’m not a member of the union.”

His dark eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly.

“I don’t need anyone to hold my hand,” she said in a dismissive way. “I’m a big girl.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand, but sometimes it’s nice to have the support.” He tilted his head toward the fireplace and the photos. “How about your dad?”

“How about him?”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Yes.”

He waited for more, but she gave him nothing.

“What about your friends?”

“They were with me last night.”

“What about the chief? I understand you’re pretty tight with her.”

Her eyes jerked to his. “Catherine Tanner was one of my instructors at the Academy. We are friends, but you can leave that fact out of this equation, Lieutenant.”

“I intend to,” he said steadily.

He held her gaze for longer than was necessary, then he leaned back and put his arm across the top of the couch. His fingertips were an inch away from her shoulder and he seemed totally relaxed.

“Tell me what happened, Risa. In your own words. At your own pace. I want to hear the whole story and I’ve got plenty of time.”

IT WAS PAST FOUR by the time Risa stopped talking. She’d been tight-mouthed at first, especially since she’d explained everything over and over the night before, then his gray eyes had warmed and she’d relaxed. Relating the same story to Grady Wilson somehow felt different. For one thing, he was an excellent listener, and for another, he knew the right kind of questions to ask. She’d almost forgotten he was an IA guy—she’d felt as if she were talking to a friend instead.

Which was probably a big mistake on her part.

She looked at the man still sitting on her couch. At some point she’d risen from the cushions and walked to the other side of the room. He was in the same relaxed position.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“I think that’s it. I did everything by the book, but I know there’s a world of difference between sustained and exonerated.”

If he found the first, she could face criminal charges. Needless to say her career would be over. If he found the second, her record would stay pristine.

No one except the IA guys themselves understood the mazelike paths their investigations could take, and rumor had it, even some of them got lost on occasion. A lot of officers, especially the union guys, felt the obfuscation was deliberate, but Risa wasn’t sure. All she knew for certain was that Grady Wilson was in charge of what would happen next. He could recommend more training and counseling for Risa, but written reprimands, a suspension or even termination were options, as well.

Whatever he decided, after his investigation he’d present his recommendation to his boss who would, in turn, hand it over to the assistant chief of IA. The assistant chief and the Citizens’ Review Committee would examine everything then the chief would get her chance.

Catherine would make the final determination. She could send the case to the district attorney and a grand jury if criminal charges were to be filed or she could dismiss the whole affair. Either way, she counted on the IA investigator. Nine times out of ten, his original suggestion became the final outcome.

Everything depended on Grady Wilson.

“Whatever the results,” he said, “you can always appeal if you’re unhappy.”

“I won’t be unhappy because I followed department procedures. It happened so fast I didn’t have a chance to do anything else.”

“That’s why your training is so important. Sometimes it’s all you have. Your training…and the truth.”

They stared at each other from across the room. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something else. Finally, after several more seconds, he stood and reached inside his coat, removing a business card that he dropped to her coffee table.

“That has all my numbers on it,” he said. “Home, cell, office, whatever. If you think of anything else you’d like me to know, don’t hesitate to call, 24/7.”

“I’ve told you everything,” she answered, “but I’m sure we’ll be talking more.”

He murmured, “Oh, yes,” then followed her as she led him back to the entry.

Despite the smoothness of the interview, Risa still felt anxious as she opened the front door. Grady took a step toward the threshold then stopped. They stood close, almost eye to eye, and her gaze went to his hair. It was thick and longer than she’d thought, curling at the base of his neck. More than one strand was gray, but she found that reassuring—he wasn’t a rookie. She also found it strangely sexy.

“When you come back to the office, we’ll start the paperwork,” he said, “but it may take a few days. Be prepared for delays.”

She frowned and focused once more. “Delays?”

“You know how it is,” he answered with an easy smile. “Forms to get the forms to get the forms. It’s all routine and the whole deal won’t last long, even though it might feel differently.”

Risa stilled. “I don’t think I understand,” she said slowly. “What’s routine and won’t last long?”

His eyes met hers, and she suddenly wondered why she’d thought them warm.

“I assumed you knew,” he said quietly. “Until this situation has been cleared, you’ll be behind a desk.”

RISA TAYLOR’S EYES WIDENED until Grady felt himself enveloped by their darkness.

“That’s crazy!” she blurted out. “I know it’s the rule but I can’t sit on my butt while this investigation is ongoing! My partner’s dead! I’m not going to stay on the bench while everyone else is out there doing their best—”

“Your team will understand,” Grady said calmly. “This is SOP for an officer-involved shooting.”

“I don’t give a damn what’s standard.” Her expression was fierce, energy vibrating around her like sound waves off a tuning fork. “This is different! I have to do something.”

“You don’t have a choice in this matter, Officer Taylor.” Grady stared at her, the sympathy he felt for her well hidden. “You’re off the beat—and the case—until this investigation is resolved. Homicide will be handling it.”

“But I can help!”

“Your cooperation will be necessary, yes, but not as an officer. You were a participant and, as such, you can’t work the case, too. Surely you understand that?”

“Well, of course I do, but this situation is different.”

“It seems that way because it’s happened to you, but all I can say is I’m sorry. I do know how you feel.”

“I doubt that.” She looked at him with open animosity. “Not unless you’ve lost a partner, too.”

He started to tell her the truth, something he hadn’t done with anyone in a very long time, but he swallowed his answer. Stepping off her porch and into the sunlight, he said, “Call me when you decide to return to headquarters, Officer Taylor. I’ll be waiting.”

CHAPTER FOUR

LUIS TREVINO PHONED Risa that evening.

“Everybody’s bugging the hell outta me to find out how you’re doin’ so I thought I’d better call. You okay or what?”

Risa couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks for the concern, boss. Knowing you care so much makes me feel really loved.”

He made a sound between a snort and a chuckle, then spoke again. “Just answer the question, Taylor.”

Her fingers went to her bandage. “I’m okay. I’m coming in tomorrow.”

“No, you’re not,” he replied. “We got a new rule on the books. Injured officers gotta stay home for at least two days.”

“Forget it. I’m coming in. I want to work. It’s better for me than sitting here and thinking.”

“Yeah, thinking can be dangerous,” he conceded. “But I don’t want you back yet. You, ah, need to rest some more.”

He was bullshitting her. She waited a second before answering. “What’s going on, Luis?”

The silence continued until he broke it with a curse. “The IA prick, Wilson, came in this afternoon and told me there’s some kinda holdup with your file. Nothing important, just some bureaucracy crap.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “You shoulda just said so in the first place.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“It’s part of the deal, Luis. I understand how it’s going to work. You don’t need to baby me.”

“I’m not,” he said defensively.

“Yes, you are,” she countered. “But that’s okay, too. Maybe I could stand a little babying, whether I want it or not.”

“I’m glad you’re not mad at me ’cause tomorrow’s going to be bad enough as it is.” He hesitated as if he wasn’t sure of her reaction to what he was going to say next. “They’ve scheduled the memorial service, Risa. Two o’clock, Settlegast-Kopf on Kirby, day after tomorrow. Later on, there’s gonna be a private cremation.”

Later on… Risa swallowed as she realized what Luis meant. An autopsy had to be performed and Luke’s body could not be buried until those results were in. They talked for a few more minutes about the status of her cases, then they hung up. Closing her eyes, Risa put her head down on the kitchen table.

But she didn’t cry.

She thought instead.

She thought about Luke and his kid. She thought about her and her father. Finally she thought about Grady Wilson, or, as Luis had put it so succinctly, the IA prick.

Grady had told her to be prepared for delays, but what did it matter now? When she did get back, she was going to be stuck behind a desk instead of doing anything worthwhile.

Her mind struggled to cope with the chaos that had taken over her life. Yesterday morning—a little more than twenty-four hours ago—Risa had had everything in order: her future, her career, her very existence—and now nothing but anarchy ruled. Her partner was dead, she was under investigation and her job had just disappeared. For one crazy minute, she had the feeling that she might just follow.

She cursed Grady Wilson, then she took a deep breath.

The guy was simply doing his job, just as she’d told everyone he was. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The situation was only temporary. In a matter of days, if not weeks, the IA man with the spooky eyes would conclude his investigation and Risa would return to the street and do what she’d been trained to do. Instead of whining, she should be on her knees thanking God. Eventually, she’d have her life back.

Luke wouldn’t.

GRADY TOOK a final look in the mirror and straightened his Windsor knot one more time. He’d come home after a late lunch to change for the memorial service. He got as much grief over his clothes as he did his car, but he liked being well dressed. It was a throwback to his peanut-butter-sandwich days. When he’d been a kid, and later on a starving student, he’d promised himself he’d dress well when he got older, even if he didn’t have the money. People believed what they saw, and if they saw someone who looked successful, they thought he was successful.

Grady knew better, of course. He’d worked IA too damn long to believe anything, including his own eyes, but most people hadn’t witnessed all he had.

Turning away from the mirror, Grady walked down the hall of his two-bedroom house. He lived in the Heights, an eclectic, historic area off the Katy Freeway. The neighborhood was perpetually “in transition” as the architects put it, commercial property next to homes and vice versa, each one fluctuating wildly in value. Trudie had insisted on living there, though, and she’d financed the place. It’d been way out of bounds for Grady’s salary, but by that point, he hadn’t cared. He’d let her have her way and when she’d left him, he’d paid her off, getting a loan on the side. The community had grown on him but it wasn’t for everyone.

Risa Taylor lived in a completely opposite milieu. An organized enclave of town homes and condos, her part of Houston had restrictions and fences and manicured lawns with scheduled maintenance. If everything in her file was the truth, and he had no reason to believe it wasn’t, then her surroundings fit her as well as his own did him. He was willing to bet serious money she had always colored between the lines as a child.

Grady reminded himself as he backed out of his driveway that he shouldn’t be making hasty judgments about the people he was investigating. He’d attended a seminar last year about sensitivity in IA matters, where they’d all been admonished to keep an open mind and let the natural traits of the officers reveal themselves. Don’t jump to conclusions, their instructor had instructed. Police intuition is the stuff of TV series, she’d pronounced.

Grady had pronounced her theories “bullshit” and had walked out. He’d always depended on his gut and he wasn’t about to start doing anything different now. Especially not with Risa Taylor.

He knew she was what he had already decided she was—an honest, conservative cop, too bright to be on the force but too dedicated to leave. Her actions the other night had most likely saved her life, though not her partner’s. She’d done what she had to in order to survive and Grady was ninety-nine percent sure he could investigate her until the end of time and he wouldn’t find anything to the contrary.

On the other hand…

That one percent did exist and he knew it did because he’d been bitten on the ass by it before. Also, there was something about Risa Taylor that bothered him. She seemed like a pretty together person yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that underneath the polished exterior something more existed. For lack of a better word, he’d defined it as “energy.” A ferocious, determined and potentially dangerous kind of energy. If she didn’t keep it under control, it might end up controlling her. He’d seen too many cops who had gone to the other side in the war they were all fighting because they couldn’t handle themselves.

He swung into the right-hand lane and took the exit for the Loop 610. Traffic was bad. The late-lunch crowd was still on the road and the sneaking-out-early guys had begun to join them. By the time he got to Kirby he was almost late.

Despite that fact, after parking the Volvo, he sat for a moment and watched the mourners cross the funeral home’s parking lot. The majority of them were cops and Grady couldn’t help but wonder which one of them would phone him. In every investigation, someone contacted him about halfway into the case with a tip. The caller was always anonymous and always a cop, but not always helpful.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Risa Taylor approaching. Talking to four other women, she passed directly in front of his car. She didn’t recognize the Volvo, of course, so Grady took the opportunity to study her.

Straight black hair hung almost to her shoulders and it gleamed in the hot sunlight. Her sleeveless dark dress revealed arms that were tanned and muscular. She’d played tennis in college, he remembered from her file, and obviously still did. As she cleared the car, he glanced at her legs. They were tight and firm. As was the rest of her.

He called himself a dirty old man. At twenty-six, Risa could have almost been his daughter had he ever been successful with the girl next door. There were certainly fourteen-year-old kids around now who had babies. He saw them everywhere.

He shook the thought from his head and climbed out of the car.

Five minutes later he was seated two rows behind Risa and her friends. When the service started and everyone rose, Grady stood, too. But he didn’t turn around to watch Melinda Rowling and her son approach. Instead, he faced the front so he could see Risa’s reaction as Melinda walked down the center aisle.

Unfortunately, Risa spotted Grady before she saw the widow. Her dark eyes widened and she seemed to catch her breath. One of the women looked at her with a questioning glance, but Risa shook her head at her friend’s concern, mouthing the words it’s okay. From where he stood, Grady read her lips, then found himself distracted by her mouth itself. She had on red lipstick—bright red—yet instead of looking cheap as it would have on most women, the color seemed to be made for her.

The family passed by and he remembered where he was.

Risa looked at Grady one more time. She’d regained her composure and he couldn’t have read her expression had his life depended on it.

When he thought about that later, he decided it was probably just as well.

THE DAY AFTER the shooting, Mei Lu had picked up Risa’s Camry from the downtown police garage and dropped it off at her house. Risa could have driven to the services, but when Abby had offered her a ride, she’d accepted, surprising herself—and Abby. Usually independent and self-sufficient, Risa still felt nervous, and fighting Houston’s traffic was not something she’d wanted to do. As they left the memorial service and headed to the south side of town where Luke Rowling had lived, Risa found herself even more grateful. She wasn’t sure she would have made it on her own, especially after seeing Grady Wilson at the services.

She’d actually trembled when her eyes had connected with his and she had no idea why. Except for what he did, he seemed like a perfectly nice man. She decided to blame her reaction on the pain pill she’d taken before leaving the house.

Behind the wheel, Abby worried. “I wish everyone else was coming. Lucy said she had something going with a case, though, and Crista had some kind of meeting planned. Mei Lu didn’t say why she wouldn’t be there. Did Catherine tell you if she’d be at Luke’s?”

Risa’s thoughts drifted back to Grady Wilson then she realized Abby was asking her something. For the second time.

“Risa? Have you heard from her?”

“From who?”

“From Catherine…” Abby shot her an anxious glance. “Will she be at the Rowlings’?”

Risa shook her head. “Debra said she stopped by earlier this morning because she was going to give the press a statement after the services.” She turned back to the window.

Abby reached across the seat and touched her arm. When Risa looked over, Abby asked, “Are you okay?”

Risa’s answer was not really but she said, “I’m fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Risa smiled affectionately at her friend. She was lucky to have Abby and all the others, but like her father had said, this was an ordeal Risa was going to have to go through alone.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Abby. Luke is dead and for the moment, my hands are tied. I want to help with the investigation, but I can’t. End of story.”

Switching topics, Abby kept the conversation light after that, Risa answering her occasional question by rote. Just as they pulled to the curb outside Luke’s house, Abby’s cell phone chirped. Risa stepped out while Abby took the call and a second later, still behind the wheel, Abby rolled down the window closest to Risa and called out her name.

Risa bent down to look at her. “What’s up?”

Abby’s face was wreathed in concern. “I’ve got to go. The team’s had a call—a jumper’s threatening to go off the Ship Channel Bridge and it’s all hands on deck. I hate to strand you like this but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Forget about it. I’ll find a way home, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Risa answered. “If nothing else, I can call a cab.” She made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Go on. Duty’s calling.”

Abby nodded and pulled back out to the street, her car disappearing in a haze of heat a minute later. Risa smoothed her dress and started up the sidewalk. Abby’s support would have been great, but until she’d attended the Academy and met everyone else, Risa had never been close to anyone. Her father and brothers had seemed to share some kind of testosterone-laden pact she’d been left out of, and with no mother or even an aunt nearby to compensate for it, Risa had had to make do on her own. Meeting Abby and Mei Lu, Crista and Lucy, Risa had finally learned what it meant to have friends. Catherine’s success had cemented the group, giving them inspiration as well.

David Kinner opened the Rowlings’ front door before the doorbell could finish its peals. Sucking in her breath, Risa stifled her reaction as the overweight cop scowled then led her to a white satin guest book. When she finished signing the book, he pointed toward the back of the house, his attitude cold and indifferent.

“Everyone’s in the living room,” he said. “There’s coffee and cake in the dining room.”

There were over seven thousand law enforcement officers in Harris County. Why had Melinda chosen Kinner to stand at the front door and greet everyone? She’d probably asked him to help since he’d been on Luke’s team. Certainly not for his charming ways.

Risa put him out of her mind and walked down the hall.

Five feet down the narrow corridor, she found the dining area. A tiny space to begin with, the crowd made it seem even smaller. All she could see was wall-to-wall uniforms, then Debra appeared at her side. Taking Risa’s elbow, the secretary pulled her out of the stream of people and into a nearby corner.

Risa shook her head. “My God, Debra, what a crowd!”

“I know it. Been this way since this morning. So many people have come by, there hasn’t been room to swing a cat.” She reached out and plucked a plate off the laden dining-room table, handing it to Risa. “Get yourself something, then let’s go into the other room. There are less folks in there.”

Risa held her hand up, the thought of food curling her stomach into a knot. “I’m not hungry,” she said. “But escaping this mob sounds like a good idea. You lead the way, I’ll follow.”

Replacing the plate, Debra turned around to push a path through the crowd. They came out in the comparative serenity of the kitchen. Stuffed with cabinets and open shelves full of knickknacks, the area was actually smaller, but there were fewer people in it. Risa focused on the wall beside the refrigerator, a framed photograph of Jason catching her attention.

Following her stare, Debra spoke softly. “Poor little guy. It’s hell to be that young and not have a daddy no more.”

Risa’s throat tightened. “Is he here?”

“I haven’t seen him. I think I heard someone say a neighbor lady’s got him.”

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