her sister but that slimy lothario who struck Gina as a mobster wannabe—if he wasn’t already running errands and doing small jobs for some of the bigger criminals in town. Gina swallowed the curse on her tongue. She needed to keep this civil if she wanted to get her great-aunt and -uncle the help they needed. “Bobby, put Sylvie on.”
“It’s your wicked big sister,” he announced. The sounds of horns honking and traffic moving in the background told her they were in his car. Hopefully, in the front seat and not stretched out together in the back. “What will you give me to hand you this phone?”
That teasing request was for her sister.
Gina cringed at the high-pitched sound of her sister’s giggles. She groaned at the wet, smacking sound of a kiss. Or two. So much for keeping it civil. “Bobby Estes, you keep your hands off my sister or I will—”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Sylvie was on the line now. Finally. She could live without the breathless gasps and giggles and the picture the noises created of a practically grown man making out with her innocent sister. “What do you want?”
“You forgot Tio Papi’s doctor’s appointment.” Better to stick to the purpose of the phone call than to get into another lecture about the bad choices Sylvie was making. “You promised me you would drive him today.”
“Javi can do it.”
“He’s at work. Besides, it was your responsibility.” Her fingers curled into a fist at the sound of her sister’s gasp. Really? Bobby couldn’t keep his hands to himself for the ten seconds it would take to finish this call? “Do you want me to treat you like a grown-up or not?”
“I just got home from school.”
“A half hour ago. I was counting on you. This isn’t about me. It’s about helping Rollo and Lupe. Do you want to explain to them why you’ve forgotten them?”
Bobby purred against her sister’s mouth, and the offensive noise crawled over Gina’s skin. “Is big sis being a downer again? You know she’s jealous of us. Hang up, baby.”
“Bobby, stop.” Sylvie sounded a little irritated with her boyfriend. For once. The shuffling noises and protests made her think Sylvie was pushing him away. Gina suppressed a cheer. “When is the appointment?”
“Four forty-five. Can you do it?”
“Yeah. I can help.” Thank goodness Sylvie still had enough little girl in her to idolize her pseudo grandparents. She’d do for them what she wouldn’t do for Gina. Or herself, unfortunately. Her tone shifted to Bobby. “I need to go home.”
“I said I was taking you out to dinner. I was gonna show you my friend’s club,” he whined. “Just because Gina’s a cop, she doesn’t make the rules. She sure as hell isn’t in charge of what I do.”
“Don’t get mad, Bobby. Just drive me home.” Sylvie was doing some purring of her own. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Ooh, I like it when you do that, baby.”
Gina wished she could reach through the phone and yank her sister out of Bobby’s car before she got into the kind of trouble that even a big sister with a badge couldn’t help her with. “Sylvie?”
“I’ll call Tia Mami and tell her we’re on our way.”
“Bobby doesn’t need to go with you.” A powerful car engine revved in the background. “Seeing him will only upset—”
“Bye.”
Bobby shouted an unwanted goodbye. “Bye-bye, big sis.”
She groaned when her sister’s phone went silent. Gina cursed. “Have I ever mentioned how much I want to use Bobby Estes as one of the dummies in our fight-training classes?”
Derek laughed as he put away his phone. “Once or twice.” He opened his door, and Gina shivered at the blast of wintry wind. “I keep telling you that I’d be happy to help run him in.”
At least the chill helped some of her temper dissipate, as did Derek’s unflinching support. “Bobby’s too squeaky clean for that. He does just enough to annoy me, but not enough that I can prove he’s committing any kind of crime. And Sylvie isn’t about to rat him out.”
“Just say the word, and I’m there for you, G.” He turned to climb out. “I’ll leave the car running so you stay warm.”
But the dispatch radio beeped, and he settled back behind the wheel to listen to the details of the all-call. “So much for coffee.”
Derek closed the door as the dispatch repeated. “Attention all units in the Westport area. We have a 10-52 reported. Repeat, domestic dispute report. Approach with caution. Suspect believed to be armed with a knife.”
“That’s the Bismarck place.” Derek frowned as he shifted the cruiser into Drive and pulled out onto the street. “I thought Vicki Bismarck took out a restraining order against her ex.”
“She did.” This wasn’t the first time they’d answered a call at the Bismarcks’ home. The address was just a couple of blocks from their location. Gina picked up the radio while Derek flipped on the siren and raced through the beginnings of rush-hour traffic. “Unit 4-13 responding.”
Her family troubles were forgotten as she pulled up the suspect’s name on the laptop mounted on the dashboard. Domestic-disturbance calls were her least favorite kind of call. The situations were unpredictable, and there were usually innocent parties involved. This one was no different.
“Gordon Bismarck. I don’t think he’s handling the divorce very well.” Gina let out a low whistle. “He’s got so many D&Ds and domestic-violence calls the list goes on to a second page. No outstanding warrants, though, so we can’t just run him in.” She glanced over at Derek as they careened around a corner. “Looks like he’s not afraid to hurt somebody. You ready for this?”
“I know you’ve got my back. And I’ve got yours.”
She hoped he meant it because when they pulled up in front of the Bismarck house, they weren’t alone. And the men belonging to a trio of motorcycles and a beat-up van didn’t look like curiosity seekers who’d gathered to see what all the shouting coming from inside the bungalow was about.
Derek turned off the engine and swore. “How many thugs does it take to terrorize one woman? I hope Vicki’s okay. Should I call for reinforcements?”
“Not yet.” Gina tracked the men as they put out cigarettes and split up to block the end of the driveway and the sidewalk leading to the front door. Middle-aged. A couple with potbellies. One had prison tats on his neck. Another took a leisurely drink from a flask before tucking it inside the sheepskin-lined jacket he wore. Their bikes were in better shape than they were. But any one of them could be armed. And she could guess that the guy with the flask wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking. Judging by what she’d read on the cruiser’s computer screen, these were friends, if not former cell mates, of Gordon Bismarck’s. Gina’s blood boiled in her veins at the lopsided odds. She reached for the door handle. “But
