reputation Tony had left.
He suspected the sadistic part of Clare had enjoyed watching him being raked over the coals in the media, and he couldn’t help wondering what new torture she had in mind for him today.
There’d been a time when Tony had felt closer to Clare Foxx than anyone alive. She’d been his first partner after he’d made detective, and for a while, he’d thought she might actually be able to help him exorcise the ghosts that had haunted him since Ashley’s death.
But their relationship—both professional and otherwise—had ended badly. While time and promotions had passed Tony over, Clare had learned to play the game extremely well. She’d caught herself an angel somewhere along the way, and now she was his superior—literally had control over his destiny. A position she relished, Tony figured.
If there was ever a reason for not sleeping with your partner, he thought dryly, Clare Foxx was it.
“I HEARD THE NEWS,” Clare said a little while later, as Tony sat in her office at district headquarters. “Congratulations.”
She was dressed in a black suit with a trim jacket and above-the-knee skirt. As she came around the desk and perched on the edge, Tony caught a flash of thigh.
Damn, he thought, staring in spite of himself. Clare had been working out. Nearly ten years older than Tony, she’d held her age well at forty-one. Hell, she looked good for any age, and she damn well knew it, too.
Smiling, she tucked a wisp of long dark hair behind her ear, revealing a tiny diamond stud in her lobe. She wore a gold chain around her throat, and she played with the necklace as she talked, twisting it around her fingers.
She was a beautiful woman, but her eyes gave away her age and occupation. Dark, piercing, they were a little too hard and cynical, with deep crinkles at the corners that weren’t from laughing.
Clare was a good cop, had been a good partner until she and Tony had gone and made it personal. Until it went bad. Then she’d become like every other woman he’d ever known. She’d wanted a piece of him he wasn’t willing to give. Not anymore. Not since Ashley—
“So,” Clare said, giving him a slow once-over, “now that the review board has exonerated you, what does Dr. Metzer say? You ready for active duty?”
No matter what the rank, it was routine procedure for a cop who had been involved in a shooting to be checked out by a staff psychologist. “Sure. My head’s screwed back on straight. For the time being,” he couldn’t resist adding.
Clare glanced at him sharply. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’ve been skirting the edge for so long, one of these days you’re going to go native on us. Even Dr. Metzer won’t be able to bring you back.”
“Don’t sell Metzer short. Look what he did for you.”
Her cheeks colored, not from embarrassment but from anger. “I don’t have to take that from you, Tony. I’m your commanding officer, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Not likely to forget that,” he muttered. “So what have you got for me?” Might as well plunge right back in, get his feet wet his first day back.
“It’s not going to be as easy as all that,” she said, heading back around her desk to sit. She picked up a report and studied it for a long, tense moment. Her glasses were lying on the desk but she ignored them. “Things are going to change around here, Tony.”
He stretched his legs in front of him. “Meaning?”
“Just because we were…partners in the past doesn’t mean you’re going to get a free ride.”
“I never thought I would.” He met her gaze.
She seemed momentarily flustered. Glancing back down at the report, she said, “Superintendent Dawson is putting pressure on all the bureaus to clean up their acts, but especially on Investigative Services. No more tune-ups, attitude adjustments, whatever euphemism you guys are calling it on the street these days.”
“You know me better. I’ve never gone in for that.” Although he wouldn’t be human if he hadn’t been tempted a time or two to work over a suspect, especially the ones who murdered children. He remembered the Betts case—then again, he didn’t want to remember the Betts case. He’d been the one to find the child’s body in the Dumpster behind an abandoned apartment building in Chinatown. The little girl’s battered face and staring eyes had haunted him for months, years. But the smirk on her old man’s face when Tony had gone to search his apartment had haunted him even longer.
Yeah, he could easily have done a little attitude adjustment on that psycho, but he hadn’t. He might not always play by the rules, but he knew the dangers in losing control. If he ever came that close again that would be the day he’d hang it up. Walk away. Spend the rest of his life scrubbing toilets or some damn thing if he had to.
Clare’s gaze softened, as if she’d decided to cut him some slack. Or maybe she was remembering little Julie Betts, too. Clare had been the one to pull Tony away from Robert Betts when they’d gone to make the arrest.
“I know you don’t go that far—not even close—but you are something of a Dirty Harry, Tony, you can’t deny that. You should have called for backup the other night, and you know it.”
“I was more concerned with saving two lives. Three, if I could have.” He hadn’t wanted Franco Mancini to die. Tony had tried to persuade the man to throw down his weapon and surrender, but Franco, eyes glazed from whatever drug he’d been popping or snorting, had just kept on shooting.
Tony rubbed his forehead, where a migraine was starting to throb. The light in Clare’s office was suddenly almost blinding.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Clare frowned, and the compassion she might have felt moments earlier vanished. She said coldly, “You’ve got a woman threatening you because of your actions that night.”
He shrugged. It wasn’t the first time, and he doubted it would be the last. Still, if he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit he wasn’t exactly comfortable with Maria Mancini’s vendetta against him. The woman looked pretty edgy herself.
“One of these days,” Clare warned with a hint of maliciousness, “someone is going to make good on their threats against you.”
He wondered if she was talking about Maria Mancini or herself. If memory served, Clare had made a few ugly promises of her own the night Tony had split. The scene had been nasty and brutal, not something he wanted to replay even in his head.
As if she were recalling that night herself, she lifted her chin, glaring at him. “You’ve pretty much been allowed to go your own way around here because, frankly, none of the other detectives want to be assigned with you. But like I said, things are changing. As of today, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”
Alarmed, Tony straightened in his chair. “I thought we had an agreement. I work best alone.”
She smiled. “That agreement was with your old lieutenant. Any promises you and I made to each other have long since become null and void. Isn’t that right?”
Her
