Face the Flames Page 3
“That sounds like . . .” Melissa fell silent for a few moments, the strangest expression on her face.
“Sounds like what?”
“I have a cousin who was sent back to prison last year because he had an accident and the police found drugs in his truck.” She shot Clay a sharp look. “Does the name Foster Ryan mean anything to you?”
The question was a sucker-punch right in the balls. Clay stared at her grim profile and his mouth went dry. “That’s the name of the man who hit our ambulance.” And cost me a year of my life.
“He’s my cousin.” She spat the word cousin as though ridding her mouth of a foul taste.
He gaped at the detective. “Jesus. No wonder your last name sounded familiar.”
“Unfortunately, we share blood. I’d change my surname, but the cost and legalities just aren’t worth it.”
“I take it there’s no love lost between you and him.”
“To put it mildly,” she snorted. But her chuckle held no real humor. “Foster and my uncle can both go to hell, but that’s a story for another day. We’re here. Nice house, by the way.”
“I—thanks.” His head was reeling from what he’d learned. This woman was related to the bastard who’d nearly taken his life. Unreal. “I appreciate the ride, too.”
“It’s the least I could do, considering.” Her green gaze pierced him, filled with regret.
“You had nothing to do with what your cousin did. He made his own choices.” Reaching out, he laid one hand over hers. “Don’t take on guilt that isn’t yours.”
She shook her head. “I’m not, but I am sorry for what he did to you. I’m ashamed that he’s family.”
“We all have those in our family tree.” He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s a story for another time, too.”
She gave a rueful laugh, and her eyes sparkled again. “I look forward to hearing it.”
He nodded. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.”
Climbing out with his cane, he shut the door. As she backed out and started off, he cursed himself for not getting her phone number. “Dumbass.”
Or was it too soon? I look forward to hearing it. Had she even been hinting that she wanted to see him again? Maybe, maybe not.
Exhausted, he shuffled into the house and flopped onto his couch, unable to move another step. This afternoon definitely hadn’t gone as planned. He prayed Drew would recover. No young man deserved to have his life cut short when he was simply trying to do his job.
Then he thought of Melissa. Perhaps some good had come from this day after all.
• • •
In some ways, it sucked being the new cop on the block again.
Though Melissa was hardly a rookie anymore, and had made a lateral move from her previous city as a detective, she still had to endure the endless teasing. Being a cop was still very much a man’s world, no matter how far the country had come with equality. The good old boy system was alive and well, and she was the lone female detective on a team of hot-blooded men.
Thank God most of them were settled down with their own wives and girlfriends. She couldn’t imagine how much worse the teasing and innuendo would be if they were all single.
Being back in Sugarland was strange. She’d spent years trying to put this city and her volatile uncle behind her, and she’d thought she’d succeeded. But she’d kept tabs on him and her cousin, and their illegal operations, from afar. Like a beacon, the possibility of justice kept calling her home, and eventually she’d heeded it.
What her next move would be, she had no idea. She was here, however, and that had to count for something.
Striding into the station, she ignored catcalls and whistles from a couple of uniformed officers and kept walking straight to the area she shared with the other detectives. The guys were decidedly morose, and didn’t bother to tease her when she arrived—a sign of how upset they were over the shooting.
“Has anyone heard how Drew’s doing?” she asked the group.
Tonio Salvatore shook his head. “Chris called a few minutes ago. He and Taylor are doing their best to keep Shane and Daisy calm. Drew was rushed into surgery the minute he arrived at the hospital, so it’s wait-and-see now.”
“Guess we won’t hear anything for a while.”
“Probably not.” The handsome, dark-haired man frowned. “I want the bastard caught who did this to that poor kid.”
“That makes two of us. Want to come with me, knock on some doors, see if we can catch the perp?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He grinned. “I’m not riding in that little shit box you call a car, though. I’ll drive.”
“Suit yourself.”
She followed him from the station, thinking it felt good to do something, even if they couldn’t catch the shooter. Maybe they’d get lucky, though. Who knows?
She slid into the passenger’s seat of Tonio’s muscle car and covertly admired the powerful machine’s interior.
“Gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“Pretty cool for a penis extension.”
He laughed and fired up the engine. “Now who’s making sexist jokes? How come it’s okay for a woman to do that and not a man? It’s an annoying double standard.”
Her face heated. “You’re right. My apologies.”
“Forget it,” he said with a wink. “I was just giving you a hard time.”
“But you were right.”
“I usually am.”
“Jesus.” She rolled her eyes.
Downtown, Tonio parked at the gas station where the robbery and shooting had taken place. Other officers had spread out and searched for the perp, and questioned the locals downtown, but none had seen anything. At least none they’d found.
“They’re concentrating on the more populated areas, because that’s the direction the shooter ran initially,” Melissa said. “But what if he doubled back?”
“It’s a good possibility. I’d want to avoid the main search area, too.”
They hadn’t gotten out of the car, so Tonio pulled out of the parking lot again and headed away from downtown—in the general direction of Clay’s house.
As they kept their eyes peeled for anyone suspicious, Melissa’s thoughts drifted to the injured firefighter. In her entire career, she’d never had such a tough time maintaining her professionalism around a witness. She wasn’t sure she’d really succeeded on that score, either.
Clay was a gorgeous man. Tall and broad-shouldered, the man had blue eyes, sandy blond hair that appeared almost gold in the sun, a killer smile, and a set of dimples that had probably been the downfall of many a woman.
And there was one thing about him that made him more attractive than his looks—his determination to survive. The man was no quitter, and he hadn’t spent the past year sitting around feeling sorry for himself. Hellish as the struggle must have been, Clay had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and slowly healed. She couldn’t fathom how he must’ve felt to wake up from the coma in a body no longer under his control. To be trapped in his head, unable to speak, walk, or feed himself.
She admired nothing more than seeing his will to push on as he’d left the gas station earlier, soldiering on his way despite his obvious pain and exhaustion. The man didn’t know she’d lied—there was no errand that brought her back in his direction. She’d been drawn to return, to make sure he was all right as he trudged home. When she’d seen him collapse onto the bench, visibly spent, her heart had constricted.
Thank God she’d returned. Sure, he could’ve called for help or waited for the bus, but it felt wrong to leave him there.
“Hey, look at that guy,” Tonio said, interrupting her musings. He pointed toward a man walking along the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, head down.
“He fits the general description.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s see what he has to say.”
Tonio caught up with the man, pulling his car alongside him, and stopped. Melissa opened the door, unsnapping the holster at her side as she got out. On the other side of the car, Tonio did the same. The subject of interest stopped in his tracks and eyed them warily, then his gaze dropped to her badge and gun.
“Sugarland PD. Where you aware there’s been a robbery nearby, at the Quick-Mart?” she asked in a pleasant tone. “We’d like to ask you a couple of—”
The man took off like a turbocharged jackrabbit.
“Fuck!” she spat.
Then she bolted after him.
2
The suspect was fast, she’d give him that much.
But he was also bulkier, and that slowed his flight as she chased him through the well-kept neighborhood. She was in top shape, and he clearly wasn’t. He stumbled over garbage cans and his own two feet as he began to tire.
He did, however, have desperation on his side. Perhaps a few drugs in his system as well. Determined not to be caught, he plowed ahead, heedless of her shouts to stop. Hard on his heels, she leaped over fallen debris in an alley and scaled a fence right after him, dropping on the other side and taking off again.
Where the fuck was Tonio? She hoped he was following in the car, angling for the opportunity to box in the guy, but she didn’t have a second to spare a glance.
When he left the alley and leaped a resident’s fence to cut through the backyard, she pushed even harder. While getting him cornered would be easier now, there was also an increased risk of his taking a hostage. She couldn’t allow an innocent bystander to be hurt.
“Police, stop!” she yelled again. Not that it did any good.
The suspect tripped over a garden gnome figurine and went down hard. Instantly, Melissa was on top of his back, fighting just as hard to get him pinned as he was to throw her off. But she managed to get one arm twisted behind his back, and it was over. Quickly, she grabbed her cuffs and slapped one end around his wrist. Then she grabbed the other flailing arm and he was soon restrained, facedown on someone’s lawn.
“Get off me, you piece of pig shit!” he bellowed.
“Aww, that’s not very creative.” She grinned, though her sides were heaving from the chase. “You can do better than that, surely?”
“Fuck you, bitch!”
“I’d say you’re the one who’s fucked, and not in a good way.” Damn, these were the times she lived for—putting one more slimy asshole behind bars. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you . . .”
She finished and hauled the scumbag to his feet just as a familiar voice reached her.
“That was fucking hot, if you don’t mind my saying.”
Whirling, she spotted none other than Clay smiling at her from over the top of the fence, one arm casually resting on top of the slats. For a few seconds she stared at him, then snorted a laugh.
“Doesn’t take much to trip your trigger, does it?” she retorted.
“A sexy lady cop tackling a bad guy in my neighbor’s backyard? What’s not to love?”
“Get a room,” the bad guy in question muttered.
“Shut your face and get against the fence,” Melissa ordered, holding firmly to his arm. Spinning him around, she pushed his chest against the boards and kicked at his ankles, urging him to spread his feet. Then she began to pat him down, searching for a weapon.
Found it, too, tucked into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. A wad of money was stuffed into his right front pocket, and she confiscated it as well, ignoring his bitching. Completing the search, satisfied, she tucked the gun and cash away and fished out her cell phone. Tonio answered on the second ring.
“Where are you?” he almost shouted. “Did you lose him?”
“Nope. Got him.” She called to Clay, “What’s your address?” After he recited it to her, she relayed it to Tonio.
“Meet you out front,” he said, and disconnected.
She started to say something to Clay, but when she looked over, he was gone. “Huh. Well, let’s get you off to your nice free room and board, shall we?”
This time, the perp had no comment. She led him through the gate and into the front yard, and once there, she spotted Clay coming out his own front door.
“We have to stop meeting like this, you know,” he quipped.
“People will talk.” She gave him a wink.
“Let ’em.” He waved a hand at the suspect. “Do you need me to—”
“I’ll give you a call later,” she said, shaking her head. She didn’t want the suspect to know Clay was a witness. Especially not since the man would know where Clay lived.
“Okay. Take care.” His brow furrowed.
“You, too.”
Tonio pulled up and they hustled their captive into the backseat. As the other detective drove away, she contemplated meeting the firefighter twice in one day. She might’ve called it fate, if she believed in that sort of thing.
She’d learned long ago to make her own destiny.
• • •
A big part of taking charge of her destiny was by putting the past behind her. But in order to do that, she was determined to find a way to take her uncle down.
Frowning, she leaned forward and studied the page on her computer screen. She was no hacker, and her attempts to probe James’s finances yet again were clumsy at best.
Understandably, her limited contacts at the Bureau were reluctant to provide her with a great deal of the information they’d managed to uncover on his operation, which made her frustration worse. They didn’t want her doing exactly as she was now—poking her nose in and stirring James up.
But that was what she wanted. A part of her itched for him to know she was digging, and she suspected he did know. Not much got by him. If she couldn’t accomplish anything but being a pain in his ass, it would be worth it.
That piece of dog shit needed to suffer for the hell he’d put her through, not to mention Aunt Jennie. That could be the answer—simply piss him off to the point he got sloppy and made a move.
“Hey, Mel?”
Slowly, she looked up from her mountain of paperwork and pinned young Officer Jenkins with the laser glare of death. “My name is Melissa,” she said evenly. “Not Mel or Lissa, or any other cute variation thereof.”
“S-sorry,” the young man stammered. “The guys told me you preferred to be called that.”
She gave him a toothy smile. “Well, then they set you up.”
He winced. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
“I know you didn’t,” she said with a sigh. Seemed the crew wasn’t done yet with her hazing. And poor Jenk by proxy. “Anyway, what did you want?”
“Oh, um, there’s a guy here to see you.”
Her heart sped up. “Did you get his name?”
“It’s that firefighter dude, Montana. Didn’t he see your shooter earlier today?”
“He did. Thanks, Jenk.”
“No prob.”
Pushing out of her chair, she walked out to the lobby to meet Clay. The man was standing with his profile to her, looking out the window at the waning sunlight. Her breath hitched for a second or two. He was quite a sight to behold.
Powerful shoulders filled out his blue denim jacket, and his long legs, encased in jeans, seemed to go on forever. His straight hair covered his ears in a semi-shaggy style, the lobes just visible, and the way the strands fell into his startling blue eyes was adorable. He had a straight nose and full lips she just knew would be great at kissing.
He was leaning on his cane, and when she cleared her throat, making her presence known, he turned and gave her the full wattage of his smile.
“Why is it people can’t use my name properly today?” She smiled back to let him know she was teasing.
“Sorry. Melissa.” He gestured toward the back. “You called me down to have me pick the shooter out of a lineup, right?”
“If you can, though it’s only a formality. Thanks to the surveillance video, not to mention the gun and money he still had on him, we’ve got him cold.”
“I’ll be glad to. Before, I wasn’t sure I could pick him out, but now I can.”
“How so?”
“He’s got a small tattoo on the back of his neck,” Clay told her. “When you turned him around to search him, I remembered seeing it when he was running from the scene. It didn’t register until then.”
“That’ll definitely make things easier. You ready?”
“Absolutely.”
She led him through the maze of desks to a hallway in the far right corner of the next room. Down that hallway, she stopped at the fourth door and went inside, shutting it after them.
The room was dark, a curtain drawn over a long window in the wall in front of them.
“That’s a two-way mirror,” she explained. “When the curtain opens, they’ll send in a lineup of men who look similar to our suspect. If you see him among them, tell me which one.”
A knock at the door was preceded by Tonio walking inside. “Good news,” he told them. “Drew is out of surgery and stable. Barring any complications, he’ll make a full recovery.”
“That’s fantastic news!” she exclaimed.
“Sure is.” Clay’s smile brightened the room. “I can’t imagine how relieved Shane and Daisy must be.”
The young man would face his would-be killer in court, but that was certainly better than the tragedy this day could’ve been.
Tonio remained with them to view the suspects, and soon the curtain opened. Six men were led inside to stand against the white wall, first in profile. The men were ordered to turn in place slowly, showing both sides, their backs, and finally facing forward.
“The second one on the left,” Clay said with confidence. “He’s got the tattoo.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked. “Many people have them.”