The Good Daughter (18 page)

Chloe wanted to purr as his naked skin and rock-hard muscles electrified her flesh. “Yes,” she barely managed to say before he swept her from her feet and covered her mouth with his, returning to the bed.

He proceeded to do things to her she’d read about in books—

And others she had not.

Despite his hunger, he patiently lured her along with him, teasing, tormenting…honing her own craving to a razor-sharp edge.

Featherlight, a finger traced the tender crease where thigh met hip, the silken hollow beneath her breasts. His palm caressed her mound, a slow, tantalizing press against the heart of her…

His tongue, his lips everywhere, whipping her nerves to fever pitch until she was ready to beg.

“Vince,” she gasped. “I—I want—”

He grappled at a drawer of the nightstand and knocked half its contents to the floor before emerging with a condom in his hand and a pirate’s gleam of triumph.

Chloe was torn between smiling and crying and giving thanks that this man had come into her life and
taught her that she could understand passion, that she could feel—

Love. Even before he did more unspeakably erotic things to coax her body to singing, weeping, screaming bliss, she knew that she was falling in love with Vince Coronado, whether he would welcome it or not.

“Please,” she begged him. “I can’t—”

But Vince slid his mouth lower and showed her that she could.

And then he showed her again.

Too dazed to move, Chloe could only look at him, at the strain on his features as he held himself in check, and she knew that she’d found her hero, her knight in shining armor, no matter what he called himself. “Now, Vince,” she begged.

His eyes were troubled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she murmured, and drew his head down for a kiss, arching her body into him with a new and sure knowledge born of this remarkable night and this unique man.

Though aroused to the point of pain, still Vince attempted to go slowly, but Chloe wouldn’t wait, wrapping her legs around his waist and opening herself deeper until he was too far gone to resist.

The power of the joining jolted both of them.

“Chloe—” Vince wished for a poet’s tongue so he could tell her in beautiful words about this place she’d taken him when he was supposed to be guiding her. Lacking the words, he bent to her and let his body speak for him.

As she moaned his name and wept with his kisses,
Vince knew a knife-edge of longing to stay with her in this moment of rapture where the world couldn’t touch them. Where his heart knew her heart and deserved all the goodness that was Chloe.

And when they tumbled together into bliss, he held her more tightly as if somehow he could keep the world at bay.

Until he could find the magic that would bind her to him forever.

One more kiss that felt like sliding into a cool river of peace. Before sleep claimed him, Vince told her in silence what he could never dare say.

I love you, Chloe.
In another time, another world, they would have been perfect together, he thought as he rolled and kept her against him, feeling her warm breath as benediction.

But this was the real world, where she was a princess, cherished now by two families.

While he was a cast-off child no one had ever claimed.

V
INCE JOLTED AWAKE
at the pounding on his front door. “Coronado, open up! Police!”

He leaped from the bed, automatically reaching for a weapon. Coming up empty, he blinked, trying to remember—

Chloe.
“What is it?” she asked, voice rough with sleep.

“I don’t know,” Vince said, jerking on clothes, searching for shoes.

But his heart sank.
It can get worse.
“Stay here,” he
ordered. “Don’t leave this room, no matter what you hear.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said.

“No,” he snapped.

More banging. “Coronado, open up now!”

He fought to mute the dread making him edgy. “Please. Let me handle this.” He stared at her, memorizing her naked curves beneath the sheet, her hair all sleep rumpled and sexy, and wanted the power to turn back the clock. Vowed to protect her from whatever this was.

“Get in the bathroom and lock the door,” he said.

“What?”

“Do it, Chloe.” He wished to hell he could kiss her again, just once. Instead, he forced himself to turn away. “All right, I’m coming,” he yelled. He strode to the door and opened it but stood in front of the gap. “What do you want?”

“Vincent Coronado, we have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Hector Balderas.” Jim Thompson from Homicide moved toward him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law….” He continued the Miranda warning, but Vince tuned out the words as he saw who stood behind Thompson.

Don Newcombe, face grim, contempt burning holes through Vince.

Then Newcombe’s gaze shifted to something behind him. Vince’s gut seized.

He looked over his shoulder, and there Chloe stood, clothes hastily donned; she was so clearly fresh from
his bed that he nearly groaned, wondering how in the hell he’d save her now.

“Don?” she said. “What is this?” But confusion slowly gave way to horror. “He couldn’t have done anything wrong. He was with—”

“Get the hell back in the bedroom, Chloe,” Vince ordered. “You don’t understand—”

“Coronado, answer me—do you understand your rights?” Thompson grasped Vince’s arm.

Vince reacted on instinct, ready to fight to protect Chloe.

Thompson and the patrolman beside him both grabbed at Vince. Thompson caught his arm and yanked him around, bending one elbow behind him. The sharp edge of metal bit into Vince’s wrist as the cuff tightened.

A sharper edge of fear sliced deep. Vince forced himself to still, mind racing over how to keep Chloe out of this.

Hot on the heels of that thought came a question: Who wanted Balderas dead and him framed for it? “It was my weapon, wasn’t it?”

Thompson’s grim look was all the confirmation Vince needed.

Chloe was pale but shook herself as if emerging from a dream. “You don’t understand. He was with—”

“No,” he shouted over her. He couldn’t let them taint her. He appealed to Newcombe. “She has nothing to do with this. If you care anything about her, keep her out of it.”

“Vince, you couldn’t have—” Eyes stark with terror, Chloe took a step toward them.

“Let’s go,” Vince ordered.
“Now.”

Thompson shifted his gaze between them. “Doc, I think you’d be wise not to get involved.” With a firm hold, he turned Vince to face the door.

Newcombe’s smile was chilling. “I told you to stay away from him, Chloe. He’s dirty, and now he’s killed twice.”

“Shut the hell up, Newcombe. You won’t get away with framing me.”

Newcombe stepped toward Vince, fists clenching. “Resist, Coronado—come on, give me a shot, you lowlife—”

“Back off, Newcombe.” Thompson intervened, leading Vince away.

“Vince, I’ll be there as soon as—”

He spun around. “No. I don’t need you.” His voice rough with desperation to spare her, he saw the barb hit, saw her flinch. Saw her naked heart in her eyes, pleading with him for answers.

Dear God. Vince could hardly breathe. Everything in him strained toward the woman he needed to protect.
Not now, damn it. Give me a minute to—

A sharp yank on his strained shoulders reminded Vince of one irrefutable fact.

He no longer had control of anything.

J
AIL SMELLS
: disinfectant, fear. Hopelessness.

Vince had known them for years, had felt them scorch his nostrils, curl up inside him and poison his lungs.

But he’d never expected to become one of
them,
the dregs, the lost. A part of society he’d crawled his way out of—a cesspool he’d known, from his earliest days, waited to suck him under its black surface. A hell he’d fought with everything in him to escape.

The stares of the booking officers scored deep gouges into his pride. The pity of the cops who’d brought him in, embarrassed to be cuffing one of their own. The silence in the squad car had pulsed with shame…and distance. Already, he was on the outside. No longer one of them. A pariah…a leper. A scumbag in the making.

Thompson had jerked him from the car with the rough haste they all used, as if prolonged exposure would taint them, too. As they rolled his fingers in the ink and printed him, Vince felt dirtied…diminished. Nothing separated him now from the slime he chased on a daily basis. The grime of his life had settled into its natural resting place.

This was where he’d been headed since birth. The son of a whore hadn’t escaped after all.

No.
For blessed seconds, rage warmed him. He was innocent. Damn it, he
was.

But the looks of those around him pronounced judgment.

Guilty.
Handcuffed. Photographed. Fingerprinted.

Doomed.

Why? Who wanted him this badly? Moreno? Newcombe?

Then he entered the holding area filled with prisoners cuffed three together, and reality slammed into his gut.

Jeers and catcalls. Word traveled fast. “Come here, cop.” Smooching sounds. “Come to Papa, lawman. Let’s welcome the detective, boys.”

“We’ll be questioning you in a few minutes, Coronado. Make yourself comfortable.”

Menace rolled over Vince, choking off his breath. A sharp tingle between his shoulder blades grabbed his attention. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Darden Whalen, the knife-wielding dealer who’d already served one long sentence, thanks to Vince.

“You look good in jewelry, Coronado,” he sneered. The gleam in his eyes promised retribution. “Ain’t that right, boys? No one we like to see in here more than a cop. So you dirty, eh, Coronado?” Malevolent eyes glowed as Whalen clucked dismay. “My, my…who gets to be your roommate, Vince?”

The officer beside Vince shifted. “Shut the hell up, Whalen.”

“What you gonna do, Officer?” A contemptuous stare raked over Vince. “This place is full—no luxury suites available for the lawman.” He nodded at Vince. “Me, I don’t think too much of anyone who’d shoot a man in the back.”

Vince stared stonily ahead. It wouldn’t do him any good to remember all the stories he’d heard of cops dying in jail at the hands of those they’d taken down. He stood straighter, impaling the convict with his glare. “Too bad they won’t let me be your roomie, Whalen. I’d like to be here to wave goodbye when they drag your ass to Huntsville.”

“You gonna be right behind me, Coronado.”

A spike of dread drove deep into Vince’s gut. Whalen could be right. How high would they set bail? Could he make it? And could he clear himself while still in jail?

A vision of brown eyes welling with tears rose up before him.
Ah, Chloe. Why did I think I could protect you? I can’t even protect myself.

H
OME NOW
, alone and frantic, Chloe paced her living room, trying to figure out how to help Vince. He couldn’t have done it. Why didn’t they see that? What on earth was happening? Had everyone gone mad?

She grabbed the telephone to call Roger and insist that he fix this travesty.

But it was still dark, and Roger would be the last one to help. He probably already knew and was no doubt jubilant. He’d remind her that he’d warned her to stay away from Vince.

She needed someone who believed in Vince, someone with standing inside the system. Once, she would have asked Don’s advice, but no more. He, too, was part of the night’s disaster.

Whom could she call? Suddenly, she remembered Mike Flynn, Vince’s friend, and his calm manner, his cool head with Vince after the Krueger shooting. He would know what to do, how to work the system to get Vince out right away.

She dialed the station, identified herself and requested Mike’s cell-phone number. Punching the numbers in quick succession, she mumbled prayers that he would answer soon.

He didn’t. She left a message.

After setting the phone back in the cradle, Chloe wrapped her arms around her torso, huddling against an inner chill. The weather might be warm, but no amount of heat could dispel the fear that gripped her with bony fingers.

Vince was in serious trouble.

No matter what he might say to dissuade her, he needed her. If no one else believed in his innocence, she did. She
knew
that the same man who’d held her to comfort her, who’d championed children no one else cared about…

That man was no killer. So maybe she might not be the best help, but no way would she let him face this alone.

A
N HOUR LATER
, Chloe paced the first-floor lobby of the courts complex, waiting for Mike to emerge from Central Booking downstairs. Voice sleepy, he’d answered her message within minutes, horrified at the story Chloe related. He’d resisted letting her accompany him until she’d made it clear she would go by herself.

Hearing Vince’s name in a murmured conversation at the control desk, she moved closer, hoping to glean something that would give her a clue to his fate.

“Never would have thought it of Coronado…”

“Did you catch what Whalen said? He wants a piece of Coronado bad.”

“No surprise at that. He’s already had one trip to the joint, courtesy of Vince. Now he’s set for another.”

“Yeah, but you know what happens to cops inside.
All kinds of people want to do them harm. Coronado’s life expectancy just got shot to hell.”

“I know we’re overcrowded, but he should be in a separate cell.”

One of the men walked away. Chloe stared after him, stomach clenching. Even in jail, Vince wasn’t safe. If anything, he was in more danger.

Just then, the outside door opened, and Roger entered. He stopped in his tracks, his ever-present calm deserting him for once. “What are you doing here, Chloe?”

She drew a deep breath. “He’s innocent, Roger. You have to stop this. You have to let him go.”

Roger shook his head, pity warring with curiosity. “Do your parents know you’re here? What will they think?”

Her parents. Chloe’s spirits sank lower.

“You can’t do this to them,” he said. “Their position in the community is too important.”

Her head snapped up. “Don’t you mean it’s important to you, Roger?”

The dart hit dead center. His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

The events of the night caught up to her. “The only reason you want me in your life is that I complete the picture. ‘A good asset,’ I think Mother termed me.” Her laughter was harsh to her own ears. “Well, I have a surprise for you, Roger. I’m not their child.”

“What?” He frowned.

“I’m adopted. There are skeletons in my background that even I don’t understand yet, but I can tell you this—
I’m not the princess you wanted in your campaign photos.”

“That’s nonsense,” he scoffed.

“Oh, but it’s not. Just ask my parents.”

“It doesn’t matter.” But his eyes wavered.

“I suspect it will,” she said. “Actually, it’s somewhat amusing. Vince and I have more in common than we realized.”

“What hold does he have on you, Chloe?” He seemed honestly curious. “Has he blinded you so much that you can’t discern what he is?” His voice tightened. “Is he that good in bed?”

She sucked in a breath at the contempt on his face. “It’s not about attraction, Roger.” She plunged ahead, desperate to reach him. “This is about justice. Surely, you wouldn’t stand by and let an innocent man—”

Rare emotion flooded his face. “He’s killed two people, Chloe. He’s a murderer.” He reached for her.

Chloe stepped away from his touch.

Roger dropped his hands, the heat of the moment vanishing as though it had never occurred. “If he’s innocent, he’ll go free. The system is designed to take care of that.”

Chloe struggled with her temper, fought off the despair creeping into her heart. “He didn’t kill anyone last night. He—”
Was with me.
She barely stemmed the words, but the worst thing she could do was to draw Roger’s attention back to where she’d spent the night. Instead, she focused on what she’d just heard. “You’ve got to arrange to get him out of here.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Do you realize the
outcry we’d hear if we gave him special treatment?” He shook his head. “He’ll get his turn.” He glanced at the elevator. “I’ve got to go. I suggest you leave, as well. You have no business here.” He lowered his voice. “Think about whether you really want to get mixed up in this. I’d be within my rights to question you, too.”

Chloe recoiled. “Me?”

“How do I know this is the first you’ve heard about it? I’m discovering that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Coronado, in and out of the office.”

“He didn’t do it, so he couldn’t have told me. Anyway, you can’t make me breach patient confidentiality.”

His smile turned triumphant. “You have no exclusion, Chloe. This is a criminal matter. Even
if
he were your patient, a relationship that I’m beginning to suspect vanished long before you issued your report, you can’t hide behind that. Consider whether you want your own reputation dragged through the mud, or worse yet, how much you’d like to wind up in a cell right beside him.”

Blood pounding in her ears, Chloe could only gape. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yes. If you force me, I most certainly would.” He turned on his heel and departed, leaving Chloe staring after him.

When Mike walked out of the elevator a few moments later, the look on his face told her volumes. Rubbing one hand over the back of his neck, he shook his head. “It’s not good, Chloe. Ballistics confirmed that the bullet came from Vince’s gun. It was thrown into the alley near where Balderas died.”

“But—”

Mike’s voice was gentle. “He had motive. He was seen having a heated argument with Balderas last night.”

“He didn’t do it, Mike. He couldn’t have.”

“They’ve got a cop on Vince’s detail who witnessed the argument just hours before the shooting.”

“I told you he was with me.”

“What time?”

She frowned. “From about midnight on, I think.”

“Balderas was killed between ten and eleven.”

Chloe grasped his forearm. “You can’t believe he’s guilty.”

“My opinion doesn’t matter if we can’t prove his innocence.”

Chloe struggled with despair. “If you won’t help me—”

“I never said I was giving up on him. That doesn’t mean we don’t have to face facts.”

She took her first deep breath in hours. Then she remembered what she’d heard. “He’s in danger in that jail, isn’t he? From the other inmates. I heard two of the officers talking. They said that if he—” She cleared a throat suddenly gone dry. “If he goes to prison, he’s a dead man.” Lifting her gaze to Mike’s, she saw nothing to comfort her.

“Vince can take care of himself.” But he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“When can I see him?”

“Not until he has his magistration hearing and posts bond.”

“But if he’s my client—”

Mike smiled, yet his eyes were sad. “No one who’s
seen Vince when he talks about you is going to buy that you’re his shrink.” His voice grew softer. “Be careful, Doc. He’s using what few chips he has to keep you out of this. So far Newcombe is cooperating. The mud on Vince is going to splatter everyone around him. He doesn’t want any on you.”

“I don’t care.”

Chagrin washed his features. “You’re supposed to be smarter than a dumb cop. Go. Please.”

“I can’t leave him here,” she whispered, blinking back tears.

“You’re making things worse for him, not better. The harder you push Barnes, the more he’s going to try to nail Vince. There’s no love lost between them. If you really care about Vince, you’ll go on to work and let me keep you posted.”

“Mike—” She grew physically ill at the thought of deserting Vince in what now seemed like enemy territory.

“He can’t concentrate on saving himself if he’s worrying about you destroying your life by association with him.”

Frustration and fear tangled inside her. “I don’t want him to feel abandoned. I want him to know I care.” She lifted her gaze to Mike. “I didn’t get to tell him.”

“You’ll have your chance,” Mike promised. “Assuming the magistrate grants bail.”

She gripped Mike’s arm. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, no—” Understanding dawned. “They’re going for capital murder? Does Vince have a good lawyer?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve got a trust fund, Mike. I’ll post bond. I’ll hire a lawyer. Tell me what to do.”

Mike studied her for a long moment. “He won’t want you any deeper in this, Doc.”

Chloe straightened to the posture that had been drilled into her since childhood. “He said I was stubborn, and he was right. I’m not going away, no matter what happens. Fill me in so I can get to work.”

Finally, Mike nodded. “Okay. He’s gonna kill me, but he’ll have to get out of jail to do it.” He shot her a quick grin. “He’d tell you he doesn’t deserve you, you know that?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we disagreed. Now, start talking.”

He did.

“W
HERE WERE YOU
between ten and eleven, Corona do?”

Vince studied Jim Thompson, seeing the discomfort in the man’s lanky frame. They’d worked some cases together. He respected Thompson, known all around for his evenhanded, steady touch with an investigation. He never jumped to conclusions but turned over every piece of a case slowly and carefully, preferring to see the pattern emerge rather than racing to a decision.

His presence might be Vince’s only break so far.

Newcombe paced. “What’s the matter? Decided to lawyer up?”

Vince cast him a glare. “I don’t need a lawyer. I’m not guilty.”

Newcombe snorted. Thompson merely sat in front of Vince, hands folded. “Nobody’s going to say anything if you want one, Vince.”

But I’ll look guilty as hell.
Didn’t matter what the truth was, if he insisted on having a lawyer present, the assumption would be that he had something to hide.

“Have to get your story straight, is that it?” Newcombe jeered. “Why don’t you take the easy way out and use Chloe’s alibi?”

“Keep her out of this.”

“How the hell did you sucker her in, Coronado? I thought she was smarter. She just want a walk on the wild side?”

Vince fought back the urge to launch himself at Newcombe. He refused to make eye contact, knowing Newcombe would love for him to lose his temper and say something stupid.

Thompson switched tactics. “Where’s your Sig Sauer, Vince?”

Here it came. But he’d already laid the groundwork by asking his question when they arrested him. “It was stolen.”

Even Thompson looked skeptical. “You reported the theft, of course.”

Mentally kicking himself, Vince shook his head. “Somebody broke into my house and took it last night. I was going to dust for prints, but—”

“You’re a cop under investigation, your off-duty weapon goes missing and you don’t report it? Come on, Coronado, what kind of fools do you take us for?” Newcombe taunted.

Understanding that he’d been ten kinds of dumb ass didn’t help Vince’s temper any. “A fool who wants me any way he can get me,” he retorted.

Newcombe slapped both palms on the table. “You don’t have jack to back that up. You’re the one who’s under investigation, and I’m the one who’s going to put you away.”

“What’s my motive?” Vince rose from his chair, leaning right in Newcombe’s face. “You were wrong about me seven years ago, and you’re wrong now, Newcombe. But you don’t give a damn about the truth, do you? All you care about is how it makes you look.” He wanted to bring up seeing Newcombe with Gloria, but he couldn’t play that card yet. He had too few in his hand.

Thompson rose, too, grasping Newcombe’s shoulder.

Newcombe shook him off and plowed ahead. “Your motive doesn’t matter. Your weapon killed the guy, and yours are the only prints on it.” He leaned closer. “You were seen earlier in an argument with him. You’ve killed before.” He straightened, radiating confidence. “You’re going down, Coronado. You know it, I know it, and now we’ve got proof.”

He smiled. “And you’re a dead man the minute you set foot inside the walls of Huntsville.” He walked toward the door and paused with his hand on the knob. “Me, I say good riddance to bad rubbish.”

After they left, Vince could only stare at the door, his mind doing cartwheels.

He had no alibi for the time of death. Akers had seen him with Balderas. So had a lot of other people.

And all they had to do was talk to Tino to realize that he was still working Moreno, even though he shouldn’t be. Sure, it wasn’t much motivation for murder that Balderas had been a disappointment. But only Tino, Vince and the dead guy were aware of that. And if they kept digging, they’d find out that he’d lied about Tino being his CI. They could say anything, draw any conclusion. Point was, his weapon had been used, and his prints were on it.

How did this tie into the missing evidence and Gloria’s denials? Everything pointed to someone inside the department, but Vince couldn’t accuse Newcombe without more proof.