for her father. One last flare-up to fix, and she’d finally be able to live the life she wanted.
4
ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, when Riley went to the station to check Michael Baxter’s criminal record, he was dismayed to hear his squad mate Max’s whistle moving down the row of detective cubicles. Damn. Not wanting to have to explain what he was up to, he’d hoped for the usual weekend quiet.
“What are you doing here?” Max asked. “I thought you were sleeping all weekend.”
“Woke up. Got bored.” Riley had almost not come, since Idle had seemed under the weather. The dog had a hot nose, no appetite and remained in bed instead of trotting after Riley around the house. It had crossed his mind the dog just missed Chloe. Riley kind of did, too.
“What about you?” he said, to shift focus. “You worked as hard as I did.” They paired up on a lot of cases, both feeling the drive to push for the last clue, make one last canvas, one more attempt to reach a missing witness, even when the lieutenant blasted them for too much overtime.
“Just finishing up some DRs and supplementals.”
“You’re doing reports? On a Saturday? Without the lieutenant ragging on you? Come on.”
“Okay, okay. Susan bitched me out for not doing anything around the house. So I told her I had paperwork and left.”
“You are purely whipped, man,” he said.
“You’ll see. Wait’ll you get married.”
“Like I’ll ever do that.”
“Sure you will. What about Marie? She’s into you.”
“That was just sex.” He shrugged.
“Sex…yeah, I remember sex. Back when I got some.”
“Come on. Susan’s good to you.” He wanted Max to stay happy—he was one of the few cops Riley knew with a good marriage. Lots were divorced, a few were on shaky ground on the home front, and the single ones were like him: no plans to change status.
“So, who’s Michael Baxter?” Max looked over his shoulder at the terminal where Riley was checking records.
“This guy’s involved with the Sylvestris and got into some trouble. He wants to come clean, but looks like he’s got some beefs back in Chicago. Minor stuff, but stuff.” He normally liked the feel of finding somebody had a record. But this was Chloe’s father. With his record, jail time was almost a guarantee with this felony burglary. Especially in the law-and-order atmosphere of the state these days. Gloom filled Riley.
“How did you connect with this guy?”
“Through his daughter. Long story.”
“Long story, huh? I got time.” Max leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head.
But Riley wasn’t about to get into it. “I’m going to talk with the lieutenant about pursuing a deal. There’s a possible in with the Sylvestris, since the guy works for them.” Baxter might make a decent informant. Chloe was their new cook, but Riley didn’t want to involve her if he could help it. Already, he was pulling punches on the case. Not a good sign.
Forcing out the thought, he said, “Want some help with those DRs?”
“What’ll I owe you?” Max said, suspicious.
“Susan’s pot roast some Sunday. And help with my cases if the Sylvestri thing pans out.”
“You know I’ve got your back,” he said. “Pot roast it is.”
Riley took a stack from Max’s in-box. “Go do some yard work. Get on Susan’s good side.”
“I’d better if I ever hope to get laid again.” Max shook his head, but there was a trace of a smile on his face.
Riley saw the appeal of a family, but knew it meant sacrifice and a burden. Max’s kids hardly saw him. He’d missed soccer matches and dance recitals, and Susan’s family reunion, which had pissed her off big-time.
At least as a detective, Max wasn’t in much danger. Not like a vice or street cop. How could those officers put their families through the dread of that call, the officers on the doorstep with the bad news? And, with that on your mind, how could you do the job right?
Riley was glad he was accountable only to himself. Except now he was worried about Chloe and her father. Not good. Emotions snarled good sense, complicated things, muddied life.
On the other hand, the idea of nailing Enzo Sylvestri got Riley’s blood moving. Maybe he’d been bored. He’d considered trying for a reassignment as undercover or working narcotics again. He’d wanted to shake things up.
If the lieutenant and the D.A. worked a deal with Mickey Baxter, coordinated with the FBI’s Organized Crime Task Force, Riley might get assigned to the case. A lot of dominoes had to fall right first, so he wouldn’t get ahead of himself.
He hoped he could help Chloe’s father, too. It meant so much to Chloe, which, he realized with a twinge, mattered more to him than it should.
“YOU TOLD A COP!” Chloe’s father’s eyes went wide with alarm. “What have you done to me, Chloe Marlene?”
“Riley’s a good guy, Dad. He’ll help us.”
“Cops live to clear cases. To them, we’re all liars and thieves, believe me. They’ve got no mercy.”
“I trust Riley,” she said, though his voice on the phone had been stern. We need you and your father to come to the station this afternoon to discuss his situation. One this afternoon.
No would that be all right? or when’s a good time? More like get your asses down here. Maybe people were listening, so he’d had to sound terse. When she’d asked if everything would be all right, he’d only said, We’ll talk once you’re here.
She hoped he’d be warmer in person, but when he met them in the lobby, he looked stern, almost angry, and his kind eyes were hard as stone. “Ms. Baxter,” he said, nodding at her as if she were a casual acquaintance, not someone he’d held naked in his arms. She felt queasy and disoriented, as if she didn’t even know the man, as if her trust had been misplaced.
“Mickey Baxter,” her father said, lunging forward to shake Riley’s hand.
“My father,” she added, emphasizing the personal connection. “We’re very nervous about all this.”
She tried to catch Riley’s eye, draw out a smile, but he opened the security door and said, “If you’ll come this way,” completely neutral.
He led them to an interview room that looked more like an office meeting room than the grim, prison-green space with a two-way mirror she’d expected. The walls were a soft white. There was a whiteboard and a small laminate table surrounded by three office chairs on rollers. No mirror anywhere.
Two men in suits rose from the table, where a tape recorder
