scanned it quickly before she stopped, paused to read more carefully. Minutes later she logged off, more shaken than she cared to admit.
She didn’t know many men who took three bullets to the chest in the line of duty, only to be back on the job two short months later. He’d been dangerously close to death by the time he’d arrived at the hospital, and his recovery must have depended on equal parts luck, science and sheer force of will. Even from the limited time she’d spent with the detective, his tenacity was apparent. She could only assume he’d browbeaten his physician into granting him a release without giving many details of the danger of the job he was returning to. From what she’d witnessed today, it didn’t appear as though he’d allowed his condition to slow him down much.
It shouldn’t matter. As she made her way to the parking lot, she tried, and failed, to convince herself of that. In all likelihood she’d never see the detective again, and a flicker of relief accompanied the thought. What kind of person, after all, exhibited that kind of dedication to his job? A very determined man. Or a very driven one.
Either way, he seemed like an excellent man to avoid.
At dusk St. Jude’s had emptied of the usual tourist tours. In New Orleans cemeteries were notoriously unsafe at night. Row after row of white monuments provided endless hiding places for thieves and muggers waiting to pounce on the unwary. Only foolish or dangerous souls would take a chance and be caught there alone. The woman standing before the narrow gleaming tomb didn’t fit either description.
Cade reached her, placed his hands on her shoulders. “Carla.” She didn’t turn; she must have heard his approach. She covered one of his hands with both of hers.
“We just got the marker up.”
“I saw that. It looks good.” Silently they both stared at the shiny gold plaque.
Brian Hollister, beloved husband of Carla, father of Benjamin and Richard. Died too young in the line of duty.
“He was a good cop, wasn’t he, Cade?”
“The best.” There was no doubt in his voice, none in his mind. He’d partnered with Brian since he’d made detective four years ago, was godfather to both his children. He’d spent as much time at the Hollister home as he did at his own apartment. And not a day had passed in the past two months that he didn’t feel guilty for being alive while his friend lay lifeless in the family vault.
“I can’t tell you what it means to hear you say that.” Carla turned to face him, and he saw the toll the recent weeks had taken on her. Always delicate, the Creole beauty looked as though a good wind would tumble her over. There was no sign of her familiar teasing smile, but the haunted look in her dark eyes struck a chord. He saw the same in his own each time he looked in the mirror.
“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
