The Partner

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.