A Bullet for Carlos (15 page)

If Renkin expected me to be taken aback he got a surprise. I grew up in the Bronx and worked narcotics in Brooklyn—a Houston, smart-ass, womanizing cop wasn’t that threatening. “But he’s a good cop?”

“I think he’s the best.”

“Then we need him on this case. I’m not a homicide investigator. I just—”

“I know about you. I got a call from your captain
and
lieutenant.”

Worry crept in with those words and I felt certain my face showed surprise as I shifted in my seat.

“The captain said you were a good cop.”

The captain?
I managed to keep the shock from my expression. “And the lieutenant?”

“Lieutenant Morreau said he didn’t know you well enough, but he had a trusted source who vouched for you. Some hero cop.”

Donovan. Dominic was right about him.
“And what do you think, Lieutenant?”

“I don’t think anything yet. I take people for what they are. I’m sure I’ve got some bad cops, like everybody else, and I have guys like your future partner, who I have to watch and baby-sit, but he’s good. Real good.” Renkin stood and walked to me, patted my back when I stood. “You give me results like he does and I’ll take heat for you. I won’t cover up anything crooked. But I’ll take some heat.”

I smiled. “Sir, where I grew up we call that top shit.”

He laughed. “Top shit. I like that,” he said, and started for the door. “Are you ready to meet your partner?”

“Let’s go.”

As we walked through the building, Renkin stopped at the restroom, leaving me waiting in the hall. I bent over to get a drink from the water fountain as another cop rounded the corner.

***

Tip Denton loved a
nice firm ass—and here he was staring straight at one. His eyes were glued to her as he walked down the hall. He thought of a few comments he could make, but resisted. He was already on a dead-end case because of a woman, or more correctly because of what he said to a woman. “Morning,” he said, with all the charm he could muster. He put everything but the gracious tip of a hat he didn’t wear into that one word.

The nice firm ass lifted her head, water still dripping from the right corner of her mouth. She gave a quick swipe and smiled, holding her hand out to shake. “Awkward way to meet but, hi, I’m Connie Gianelli.”

Tip made sure not to stare at anything but her face. “Tip Denton,” he said, and shook her hand.

She had a petite hand, but a good firm grip. He liked that. And she had a deep, almost manly voice. He liked that too. Her eyes were big and round, and dark, with thick lashes—so…sexy.

The bathroom door opened and Lieutenant Renkin walked out. “Tip, I was looking for you.”

“And here I am.”

Renkin looked at Tip, then Connie. “In the event you two haven’t met. Tip Denton, meet Connie Gianelli, your new partner. Connie, this is Tip.”

“A chance meeting, Tip. Guess that’s a good omen.”

“Guess so,” Tip said. He couldn’t recall what he did that made God treat him so good, but he’d make it a point that if he remembered, he’d keep doing it.

“Connie’s here about the Lisa Gardner case. They had a similar one in New York.”

“So you’re from New York?”

“Brooklyn.”

“I think you’ll find Houston’s a lot different than what you’re used to, but we’ll try to make you feel comfortable.”

“I’m ready to go, Tip. Let’s get started.”

“Good. We’ll grab a drink and get the file.” Tip started off down the hall, but Renkin grabbed his arm.

“Connie, the coffee room is down the hall. Would you mind getting a few cups going. I need Tip for a minute.”

“Sure thing. Thanks.”

Tip stared at her ass as she walked down the hall.

Renkin poked a finger in his chest repeatedly. “Denton, I’m warning you. Don’t embarrass this department with any of your bullshit. I see the way you’re looking at her.”

Tip nodded but never took his eyes away. “I’m trying to figure out if I like it or not.”

“Like what?”

“Her butt.”

“Goddamnit, Tip, you can’t say things like that.”

“Just me and you here, John.”

“Things have changed. It’s not enough to be a good cop anymore. You have to be a good citizen, too. And you have to watch
everything
you do and say.”

“She’s got a little limp, did you notice that?”

Renkin threw his hands up in the air. “What’s the use,” he said and stormed off. “If you fuck up this time, I won’t be able to get you out of it.”

Tip walked down the hall wearing a smile as big as Texas. When he entered the coffee room, Connie was pouring coffee from a freshly brewed pot. “How do you take it?”

“Little bit of creamer, please. I’ll dump my own sugar in.”

As she brought the cups to a table, he once again noticed the limp. “What happened to the leg?”

“Got shot during a drug bust. It’s still a little stiff but getting better.”

“That’s the problem with drugs. Those people don’t care who they shoot.”

Connie set her coffee down and stared straight into his eyes. “Since we’re going to work together, I want to set things straight. I came here to work a case, not to get laid.” Her gaze shifted to his scar, a long white gash that went from his ear across his cheek to his mouth. It wasn’t clean like a surgeon’s cut, but had a little twist that resembled a stretched out “z”.

Tip smiled. She had the sexiest damn eyes he had ever seen. And she was saucy to boot. “Got anything else on your mind?”

“I just want to solve the case,” Connie said. She slid two folders over to him. “Here’s the Mason file from New York, and the Gardner case. Take a look.”

She nursed her coffee while he studied them. “You’ve got to admit, there are significant similarities.”

“Yeah. They’re both dead,” he said.

“So what do you think is up with him cutting the lips off.”

“All it tells us is he’s a sick son-of-a-bitch. The rest we’ll have to find out.”

“Might as well get started,” Connie said.

She dumped her empty cup in the can and walked to the door, Tip right behind her. Four other officers gathered at an intersecting hallway just ahead.

“Gianelli, you better wait for me or you’ll never get by those Neanderthals.”

“Think I might stop and chat with them. I’d rather move up the ladder.” Connie spun on her heels and looked up at him. “Meant to ask earlier. How’d you get the scar?”

He smiled, but when he did, the scar didn’t move, well, maybe it nudged. “Knife fight.”

Connie wasn’t short for a woman, maybe five and a half feet, but Tip was at least eight inches taller. She got as close to him as she could and whispered, “I know a knife scar when I see it, and that’s too jagged to be one. So what was it, a car accident?”

“What?” He stared straight at her but his eyes searched the area, taking in the cops who were milling around too close.

“I asked if it was a car accident,” she said, and her voice got slightly louder.

“I already told you it was a knife fight.”

“You can tell that story to anyone you want. I won’t even bust you for the lie, but while we’re partners you need to tell
me
the truth—about this and everything else.”

Her attitude rankled Tip a little, and he almost got pissed, but he decided to laugh instead. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and whispered, “Walked into a sliding glass door.”

“Drunk?”

“Kinda.”

“All right, we’re off to a good start. And now that we’re being honest, would you please stop staring at my ass?”

Tip’s eyebrows shot up. “How the hell did you know?”

“Women know. Trust me.
We
know.
”

“But I can’t help staring. I’m trying to determine if I like it or not.”

“Keep those thoughts to yourself, or I’ll give you another scar.”

“Now you got me scared. But I’m still gonna think about it.”

“Fair enough,” Connie said, and walked away. “At least you’re being honest.”

“You can stare at
my
ass if you want.”

“No thanks,” Connie said, and a smile popped onto her face.

***

I ducked into the
bathroom to compose myself. Nothing bothered me more than having to go through this bullshit, new-girl-in-the-office routine. And I absolutely detested the thought of doing it in Texas, with people I didn’t know. After splashing water on my face and washing my hands, I took a deep breath and headed back out, making sure to plant a big-old Texas smile on my face before I did. I didn’t know why I was upset; Tip seemed like an all right guy—underneath his bullshit. I think I was mostly pissed off because he made me laugh.

Tip got me a desk and suggested I take a look around. A perky woman named Julie was assigned to escort me through the office, and she embraced the assignment as if it were a trip to a rock concert, bouncing along the halls and up the steps with what I viewed as a little too much energy. Her hair was streaked with purple and her nails were a luminescent lime green with yellow sparkles, which made it appear as if something living resided on the tips of her fingers. The combination of appearance and personality made me wonder if they had drug tests for employees in the Sheriff’s department.

“What do you do here, Julie?”

“A little bit of everything, but mostly a lot of research for the detectives. I’m good with computers so they let me do that stuff.”

She giggled, but I didn’t know why. It wasn’t funny.

“When I don’t have research to do, I get files for people, run messages to other departments, and sometimes to the DA.” She paused, as if thinking what to say next. “Oh, and lots of food runs—mostly for Charlie. The guys call him Fat Charlie, but I don’t. I feel bad for him.”

I’d only known Julie two minutes and I liked her. “It’s nice to enjoy your work.”

“I love it. Nothing could be better.” Julie laughed and grabbed my hand. “I might act a little different than you’re used to, and I know I look different, but I get things done.”

Julie got some supplies then took me back to the coffee room, got water for both of us and showed me back to the desk. She spent several hours helping me get set up, and filling me in on people, then she said, “You ought to call it a day and start fresh in the morning.”

I stifled a yawn. “I think I might,” I said, and began gathering things from the desk. “Oh, and Julie, thanks for the help. I really enjoyed meeting you.”

“You’ll like me more when you get to know me. I’m not as weird as I look.”

I waited for her to leave, checked to make sure no one was around, then called the number I had for Tony Ramirez at HPD and told him where I was staying. He agreed to meet me soon.

I knew I should let Houston handle the drug case, but I couldn’t; I had to clear my name. On the other hand, if I got caught delving into the case my career was over anyway.

What the hell am I doing?

Chapter 18

A Surreptitious Meeting

I
was a single woman in Houston and I felt like going out, but I had a lot of work to do, so I pulled up my address book on the phone and started making calls. First on the list was Lieutenant Morreau, keeping him up to speed on what I was doing and, more importantly, trying to find out what was going on with my case. When I got nothing from him, I started to dial Uncle Dominic, but hung up before finishing. It wouldn’t look good if they saw a call from my cell to his house, or even from the hotel room to his house.

I decided to call Lieutenant Chambers, my old boss. I liked Chambers, and it would be good to hear a friendly voice. He answered on the third ring.

“Lieutenant, this is Connie.”

“Good to hear your voice, Connie. How are you?”

“Living the good life in Texas. How about you?”

“Texas? What are you doing there?”

“Got assigned to an old homicide and it brought me down here.”

“Are you making any progress on
your
case?”

His question caught me off guard. “Lieu, you’ve got to know I can’t be connected to investigating what happened that night on the bust.”

“I understand, but you can’t help poking around a bit. I know
I
couldn’t.” I resisted saying anything but he continued. “Connie, if you don’t do something, IA will have you off the force.”

What he said was no surprise. “What about Sean and Jerry?”

Now the pause was on his end. “It doesn’t look good for Sean. I think Jerry was okay, but…”

“Bullshit. No way Sean was dirty.”

“Don’t get worked up. They have nothing positive, but it doesn’t look good. And remember, Sean’s the one who convinced us to go with no backup.”

“Christ.” I opened the mini fridge, grabbed a beer and popped it open. “All right, Lieu, thanks for the heads-up. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Be careful, Connie. And watch your back.”

“You got it. Thanks.”

I sat for a moment, thinking, then decided to call Tariq and Marley to see how Hotshot and the fish were doing, and to ask if the apartment was still okay or if they had turned it into a party house. After listening through some rap-song ring tone, he answered.

“Say it.”

“How’s it going, Tariq?”