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  He smiled. They had reached the first floor. He got out, not waiting for her. His best chance, Dugan decided, was to just keep going and make it out the door.

  “And with that,” he threw over his shoulder, “I bid you adieu.”

  Chapter 7

  “I’m home, Lucinda! Sorry I’m late,” Toni called out as she unlocked the front door and let herself into her house. Closing the door behind her, she quickly rearmed the security system.

  “That’s okay. I love hanging out with your baby.” Lucinda, a small, slender young woman with straight black hair and warm brown eyes entered the living room almost at the same time that Toni walked in. Her sharp eyes missed nothing as they skimmed over the older woman. “You look kind of tired, Toni,” Lucinda noted. “Did you have a hard day?”

  Toni smiled ruefully. While she would have denied it had anyone else asked, she saw no reason to pretend around Lucinda. Theirs was a relationship built on trust and it had taken her some time to build that up.

  “I am,” Toni admitted. “It’s been a while since I’ve put in an actual full day.” She dropped her purse on the sofa. “I couldn’t wait to get back and get my feet wet again, but I think I need to pace myself a little more until I recapture my momentum.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll stay overnight,” Lucinda told her. It wasn’t an offer but a statement. “That way you get to catch up on your sleep. Besides, your place is a lot nicer than mine is.”

  “No,” Toni said, turning her down. “I can’t let you do that. I can’t let myself fall back into bad habits like that.”

  “Catching up on your sleep is not a bad habit,” Lucinda told her. “And trust me, I’m an expert on bad habits. You’re still a new mother and you need to build up your strength.”

  Toni realized her mistake. She really was tired or she wouldn’t have allowed her protest to slip out the way that it had, at least, not worded that way. “I didn’t mean to make it sound as if you—”

  Lucinda cut her off with a wave of her hand. “I know you didn’t. You’ve been nothing but good to me, Toni.” Her expression softened a little as she remembered. “You took me in when my own family threw me out and slammed the door in my face.”

  She was not about to let Lucinda to feel bad about herself. “They didn’t mean to do what they did, Lucy. Your family was just frustrated that they couldn’t find a way to help you.”

  Lucinda smiled, resigned. “You can make up all the excuses you want for them, but you and I both know the truth. I had a drug habit and they didn’t want to deal with it, so they just pretended it—and I—didn’t exist. I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t made me go to that rehab clinic and then gave me a job once I got out.” She’d been Toni’s assistant until the baby came and then she had gone on to become Heather’s nanny. “Most likely I’d be dead,” she concluded grimly.

  “No, you wouldn’t.” Toni slipped her arm around the young woman. “You’re a fighter, Lucy, and you know that you don’t owe me anything,” Toni told her with feeling.

  “You’re wrong there,” Lucinda replied. “I owe you everything.” Clearing her throat, she said, “Now, I’ve got some soup for you on the stove. After you have that, I want you to go to bed.”

  “But it’s still early,” Toni protested, although not with much energy.

  “Doesn’t matter. You need to get some sleep,” Lucinda insisted. “And don’t worry about Heather. I’ll be here to take care of her.”

  “But I just said you don’t have to stay the night,” Toni reminded the younger woman.

  Lucinda shook her head. “And I told you that I don’t care what you said. I’m staying—unless you want to throw me out.”

  “Lucy, you know that I wouldn’t do that—” Toni began, still trying to get the young woman to change her mind.

  Lucida cut her off. “Good, so it’s settled. You eat your dinner, then go to bed.” She was about to say something else, but she stopped abruptly, listening. And then she smiled. “I think your daughter’s decided that it’s time to see if Mommy’s come home yet.”

  Toni gave it one more try, albeit a halfhearted one. “You know you don’t have to do this, Lucy.”

  “Sure I do,” Lucinda contradicted, her small, heart-shaped face lighting up. “Doing these little things makes me feel useful. And happy.”

  She’d hardly call them little things, Toni thought. What Lucinda was doing was tantamount to saving her life. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t mention it,” Lucinda insisted. “Now if you don’t mind, the baby needs my attention. I’ll bring her out once I’m done changing her,” she added.

  Even if Lucinda was staying the night, Toni did want to see her daughter before she went to bed. “You are a mind reader,” Toni marveled.

  “One of my many talents,” Lucinda said, leaving the room.

  Toni turned her attention to the pot on the stove in her kitchen. She knew that she should have put up more of a fight about taking care of the baby and sending Lucinda home, but the truth of it was, she did feel utterly exhausted. So exhausted that she didn’t even know if she could finish eating the soup that Lucinda had prepared for her. All she really wanted to do was close her eyes and go to sleep.

  Taking a bowlful now, Toni made her way over to the table and sat down. She had no sooner put a spoon into the soup than Lucinda came in with the baby.

  Lucinda had grown up taking care of three younger siblings. She’d forgotten how fast the young woman could be.

  “See? There she is,” Lucinda told the bundle in her arms. “Told you Mama was home.”

  Forgetting all about her dinner, Toni rose from the table and took the tiny bundle into her arms. Love swelled all through her.

  “Hi, baby. I missed you today,” she said softly to Heather. “Did you grow very much since I left this morning?”

  “Boy, you are tired, Mama,” Lucinda said in a high-pitched voice, pretending to answer as the baby. “Babies don’t grow in just ten hours—unless they’re baby tadpoles. Now eat your dinner and go to bed so that you can grow up big and strong, like me.”

  Toni laughed and paused to kiss the baby’s soft, downy head before she handed the infant over to Lucinda. “Okay, Heather. Don’t give Lucinda too much trouble.”

  “Naw. Me and Lucy are pals. Now go to bed.” Lucinda stopped for a second and looked at her over the baby’s head. “Really, the second you finish eating, go to bed. That’s an order. From both of us,” she added.

  “I’m paying you to take care of Heather,” Toni reminded the younger woman. “Not me.”

  Lucinda shrugged. “Consider it a twofer. Just accept it and stop giving me grief,” she ordered.

  There was a hint of a smile on the nanny’s lips as she left the room.

  “You’re too good to me,” Toni called after Lucinda’s departing back.

  Lucinda never stopped walking, but she did manage to say, “Right back at you,” before she went into the baby’s room.

  Toni could barely finished eating. Taking the bowl to the sink, she rinsed it out, then started to make her way up the stairs. She was halfway there when she stopped. The one thing she knew she needed to do, no matter what else she allowed to let go, was make sure the security system was back up and armed. She was fairly sure that she had rearmed it when she came home, but it didn’t hurt to double-check, just in case.

  Going back to the front door, she told herself that she was being paranoid, but she truly believed in the old “better safe than sorry” adage. After all, she thought with a weary smile, just because you were paranoid didn’t mean that they weren’t out to get you. And she was dealing with some really bad people, taking on this story. She knew that.

  Lucinda was the reason she’d gotten caught up in this drug cartel story to begin with. Lucinda and people like Lucinda who got caught up in the dr
ug trade and became casualties of the ensuing drug wars.

  Not because they were looking to profit from selling drugs, but because they—Lucy and people like her—were the ones the drugs were sold to. People whose futures were lost because they became slaves to the opiates they were taking, and when those were no longer available to them turned to heroin to appease their cravings.

  And died along the way, Toni thought angrily.

  She didn’t have any illusions. She knew perfectly well that she couldn’t stop the flow of drugs, not by herself and most likely not even with the help of an army of people, but at least she could dam up the flow from one pipeline—if she was lucky.

  Toni entered her room. She didn’t bother turning on the light. Instead, she just made her way to her bed.

  Damming up the pipeline was the last thought that crossed her mind before Toni fell, face down, onto her bed.

  After that, she didn’t remember a thing.

  * * *

  “So, ready to tell Daniels that you’re fed up and you’re not going to work with that fine young woman he saddled you with?” Adam Henderson asked, slipping into a seat right beside Dugan.

  Five months away from retiring, the Vice detective was strictly old school—the way school had been more than two decades ago. He also seemed to know a lot about everybody else’s business around him.

  Dugan had never much cared for the man and he didn’t particularly like the fact that Henderson relished sticking his nose into everyone else’s affairs, but he kept that to himself.

  “No, not yet,” Dugan answered. “I thought I’d stick it out a little while, see what she has to offer.”

  Henderson chuckled, his grin positively wicked as he said, “I can tell you what she has to offer.”

  Dugan felt himself getting defensive on Toni’s behalf even though he hardly knew her. Henderson’s grin rubbed him the wrong way. “No, not like that.”

  “Why not like that?” Henderson asked, stunned. “You’re letting a perfectly good morsel go to waste.” He shook his head in almost disgust. “You know what’s wrong with all you Cavanaugh boys?” the older detective asked. Putting down his mug of beer on the table, he sloshed a little over the sides. It dripped onto the table.

  Apparently Henderson wasn’t about to go away until he had some feedback, so Dugan decided to play along—for now.

  “No, enlighten me,” Dugan replied. “What’s wrong with us Cavanaugh boys?”

  Henderson looked as if he was more than happy to tell him. Settling in, the slightly overweight detective said, “You’re too honorable and squeaky clean. To get the job done, you need to get down and dirty, get in the trenches and take care of business the way it should be taken care of,” he declared.

  Picking up his mug again, he took a big gulp, his movements a little sloppier now than they had been a few moments ago. He seemed to be feeling his beer and obviously enjoying the trip.

  “Maybe you should stop now,” Dugan suggested tactfully. “You’ve had enough to drink.”

  Henderson looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Hell, no, I’ve got a whole night ahead of me. I’m just getting started, son,” the detective declared with a laugh.

  Rather than argue with him, Dugan looked toward the front of the room. He saw one of the owners tending the bar and he signaled to him, trying to catch the man’s eye.

  One look in his direction and the tall, almost hulking former police officer behind the counter came forward, weaving his way around the tables to theirs. At six-six, few men even thought to argue with Kyle Denver.

  “I’m cutting you off, Henderson,” Kyle told him, his deep voice rumbling from within the depths of his barrel chest.

  Dark, bushy eyebrows drew together, forming an angry, wavy line as Henderson looked up. “You can’t do that,” the inebriated detective protested.

  “I own the bar. I pour the drinks. I can do whatever the hell I want,” Kyle said, patiently contradicting the other man. Turning toward the bar, he signaled someone at the far end. A slightly smaller version of Kyle came quickly to attention. “Cal, call our satisfied customer here a cab. He’s going home.”

  Henderson rose on shaky legs. He almost pitched forward, then caught himself at the last moment, grabbing the back of a chair to steady himself.

  “The hell I am. I’ll go home when I’m good and ready to go home!” Henderson announced.

  “Adam—” Dugan began, attempting to persuade the other man to leave the bar as quietly as possible without a fight.

  But Henderson had other ideas. In response to the sound of Dugan’s voice, Henderson swung around, fist ready and made contact with Dugan’s face before the latter could duck out of the way.

  Recovering, Dugan quickly caught Henderson’s arm, bent it behind his back and instantly brought him down to his knees.

  “He’s ready,” Dugan told the owner over Henderson’s angry cursing.

  “Thanks, I’ll take it from here,” Kyle told him, taking possession of Henderson. “By the way, your tab’s on me,” he told Dugan just before he herded a very indignant Henderson away.

  “That is definitely not going to look pretty tomorrow,” Duffy Cavanaugh judged. Dugan’s younger brother sat down in the chair that Henderson had just unwillingly vacated. Cocking his head to take a closer look at the damaged area, he told Dugan, “However, if you ask me, it might actually be an improvement.”

  Dugan turned to his brother. Younger by eleven months, Duffy was two inches taller, making him the tallest one in the family. Dugan looked accusingly at the younger man.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  Duffy jerked his thumb back toward the far side of the room. “Over there, watching. I figured that you didn’t want your little brother to come running to your rescue.” He eyed Dugan innocently. “Was I wrong?”

  Dugan didn’t have an overblown ego that caused him to believe he could win every fight that came his way.

  “I might have been able to use the help.” He ran his hand gingerly along his face just beneath his eye. The sharp pain caused him to wince. “He sucker punched me.”

  Duffy nodded. “Yeah, go with that. I would.”

  “It’s true,” Dugan informed his brother indignantly.

  Duffy grinned. “I didn’t say it wasn’t,” he told Dugan. “What was he carrying on about, anyway?”

  Dugan put the whole story in a nutshell. “Daniels stuck me with a reporter.”

  Duffy rolled the words over in his mind, nodding. “Sounds interesting. Is she cute? Better yet,” he said, not giving his brother a chance to answer, “Can she help? You know, like with inside information or coming up with some source that no one else thought to tap into?” Unlike Henderson, Duffy, like the rest of his extensive family, was a cop first, a man second.

  Dugan paused. He looked his brother up and down before saying anything. “Honestly?”

  “No, lie to me,” Duffy cracked. “Of course, honestly.”

  “It’s still too soon to tell,” Dugan answered, and then he let his brother in on his thoughts. “But I’m thinking that this had to clear the chief of Ds’ desk, right?”

  Duffy immediately knew what his brother was thinking. “And he wouldn’t have given his okay in the matter if she was just some cute piece of window dressing. By the way, is she?”

  “Is she what?”

  “A cute piece of window dressing,” Duffy repeated. “Keep up, son.”

  Dugan grinned. “You know, I’ve got a good mind to let her know you asked that, just to get back at you for not coming to my aid.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Duffy reminded him.

  “No, I haven’t,” Dugan said, putting down his mug and getting up. “But, just so you know, there’s no law that says she can’t be both. Cute and competent,” he specified just in case his brother had lost the t
hread of the conversation.

  “Okay, now I want an introduction,” Duffy told him brightly.

  “Too bad,” Dugan said, beginning to walk away. “Because you’re not getting one.”

  “Hey, Mom told you to be nice to me, remember?” Duffy reminded him.

  “No, she didn’t,” Dugan answered as continued walking toward the front of the bar and the exit.

  “Okay, then I’m asking you to be nice to me,” Duffy said, never missing a beat.

  “I am,” Dugan said, glancing over his shoulder just before he walked out of the bar. “I’m not punching you for not coming to my aid.”

  Duffy had followed him to the door. “That doesn’t count.”

  “It does to me.”

  He heard Duffy laughing in the background. Dugan grinned to himself as he went out.

  Chapter 8

  Dugan arrived at the station earlier than normal, thinking that he’d get some work done before his babysitting detail officially began. But when he walked into the squad room at a quarter of eight that morning, the woman who had been assigned to him was already there. Holding court, as it were.

  The detectives who were already there for one reason or another were obviously drawn to her. They surrounded the desk she was temporarily occupying—Jason Nguyen’s desk, because it was unoccupied for the time being.

  As Dugan walked by, he heard her asking the other detectives questions, jotting down their answers and in general apparently ingratiating herself with each and every one of them.

  If he thought, because she was holding court, that he’d be able to get to his desk unnoticed, he found himself disappointed. The moment he had passed by her desk, Toni stopped interviewing the others. She thanked everyone for their candid answers to her questions and then, with two containers in her hands, she walked over to his desk.

  “’Morning, Cavanaugh. I brought you coffee,” she told him, indicating one of the containers she was holding.

  He saw the insignia on the side of the cup. The coffee had come from one of those shops that specialized in high-priced, foamy coffees that went for slightly less than a pound of coffee beans.