“Have they gotten to you yet, Cade?”
He frowned, not understanding her meaning. “Has who gotten to me?”
“Internal Affairs.” The venomous tone sounded foreign to her usually soft voice. “They’ve been to the house at least three times, most recently yesterday. At first they danced around things, saying how sorry they were about Brian. Then they started asking questions. Had he said where he was going that night, what he was going to be doing? Yesterday they asked if they could go through his things.”
Her words seemed to come from a distance. Internal Affairs? Cade tried, and failed, to imagine a positive reason for them to be looking into the shooting. The whole event, as much as he remembered of it, had been laid out in the report he’d dictated to the investigating officers. Then her last sentence registered, and her revelation started to take on an even more ominous light. “What did they want to look through?”
“Brian’s case files. They asked whether he kept notes on any ongoing investigations and I said no. You know Brian left work at work.”
“What are they looking for?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Irregularities is the word they used. Like he was a damn accountant or something. When I press for more information, they clam up. But every time they come around, they get pushier, and one of them threatened to get a search warrant.”
Although trepidation was circling in his gut, he made an automatic effort to soothe. “Don’t worry about it, Carla. It’s just I.A. on another wild-goose chase.”
She clutched his arm, her fingers biting. “I was a policeman’s wife for eight years. I know what I.A.’s all about. Cops hunting other cops. They think Brian was dirty. They’re investigating him.”
Looking into her liquid dark eyes, he couldn’t find it in himself to lie to her. “What are their names?”
“Torley and Morrison. Do you know either of them?”
He shook his head. But then, he wasn’t especially well-acquainted with anyone from I.A. Because of their occupation, the cops he knew had a healthy disdain for that department. Ferreting out corruption in the ranks was a noble enough calling, he supposed, but good cops had a way of getting dragged into their investigations, too. And the taint of an I.A. investigation had stalled more than one police officer’s career.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his wallet. It took a moment searching the contents before he found what he was looking for. He took out a card and handed it to her. “I want you to get in touch with someone at this number.” She took the card and looked at it. “It’s the policemen’s-rights committee. Tell them what’s been going on and then follow whatever advice they give you.”
Her jaw set in an expression that was all too familiar. “I can’t call them, Cade. It’d be like admitting there was substance behind I.A.’s interest.”
“It’s an admission that you need help,” he retorted, “and with I.A. sniffing around, for whatever reason, you do. Call them. I’m going to check in tomorrow to make sure you did. Got it?” He waited until she gave him a reluctant nod. “Good.” Gathering her close, he patted her back reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It’ll all turn out to be nothing.”
“You won’t let them smear his memory, will you?” For the first time her control seemed to waver. He could feel the tremors working through her body. “He was a decent cop. You said so yourself. I don’t want my babies growing up thinking otherwise.”
The thought of his two dark-eyed godsons had his chest going tight. At three and two, neither of them would recall their father. There would be no memories of ball games and barbecues, or fishing in the bayou. All they’d have, all there was, were pictures and newspaper clippings. And the stories their mother would tell them about their father’s bravery. Living up to a hero’s legacy could keep the boys on the right track all their lives. And living with a shadow over their name could send them hurtling down the wrong path.
“No.” The word was torn from him without his conscious permission as he hugged his dead partner’s widow closer. “I won’t let them smear Brian.”
Chapter 2
“Shae, you’re needed in I.C.U.”
Shae looked up as Tim Pearson, the E.R. supervisor, strode into the examining room. “What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “All I can tell you is that Martin Reeves called down and said to send you up to room six. We’re not too busy right now. I’ll take over for you here.”
He reached for her clipboard, but Shae was slow to relinquish it. What would Martin Reeves, one of the hospital administrators, want with her? She’d rarely had occasion to even speak to the man, but when she did, it was in his office on the sixth floor, not on the intensive-care ward.
“Is it about one of my patients?”
He tugged lightly at the clipboard, and she released it. “He didn’t say. Just asked if I could spare you for a few minutes, but you’re using that time up pretty rapidly.”
Given the number of times she’d rejected Pearson’s invitations to go out together, she wasn’t overly concerned with his brusqueness. He wasn’t a man to accept rejection gracefully, but he was professional enough not to let it affect their working together. He was right about one thing—the only way to get her questions answered was to head to I.C.U.
“What do we have here?” Pearson asked.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she made to leave. A much bigger person wouldn’t take a modicum of enjoyment from handing this particular case over to the man who had made such a pest of himself for several months before he’d finally given up on her.
But sometimes being small and petty could be so satisfying.
“Patient presented with severe pain due to an obstruction,” she said blandly.
Tim’s gaze shot up from the clipboard, took in the male patient positioned on his stomach, his hips propped up by several pillows. Next his eyes took in the utensils Shae had gathered, lingered on the set of forceps. His head swiveled to hers, the expression in his handsome face dismayed. “It probably wouldn’t hurt if you were a little late upstairs. Just tell them you couldn’t get free.”
She was already moving away from the cubicle. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t pay to keep Martin waiting.”
The small sense of pleasure she derived at the thought of Pearson’s distaste for the task ahead of him had dissipated by the time the elevator doors slid open on the I.C.U. floor. It vanished completely when she stepped into room six and observed its four occupants. Reeves was there, his plastic public-relations smile firmly affixed to his plump face. With his solemn presence and unfailingly smooth tones, he’d always reminded her more of an undertaker than an administrator. A uniformed policeman stood next to the room’s bed. But it was the patient in the bed that drew her attention. Jon LeFrenz.
With a thread of apprehension she swung her gaze to the man lounging in the corner. Cade Tremaine. He was again dressed in jeans, wearing a black T-shirt and black running shoes. Today he wore a shoulder holster, along with his shield. He didn’t look any more rested than he had three days ago.
Annoyed that she’d made unconscious note of the fact, she stopped in the doorway, addressed Reeves. “You wanted to see me?”
“Dr. O’Riley, Detective Tremaine has asked for our cooperation while he speaks to Mr. LeFrenz. I assured him the hospital would extend him every courtesy.”
It