Fractured Read online

  Landry shook his head. “Why would I agree?”

  “Because you’ll do right by her.” The lieutenant’s voice was quiet but sincere.

  Landry glanced from one man to the other, feeling that knocking sensation inside his chest. “Then tell me one thing, Malone. Why does everyone and their brother think Tyrone Samuels was killed in the laundry room at the prison and knows nothing about any escape?”

  * * *

  Isabella charged after Sergio, bumping into people, then parked cars as they tore through the alley and spilled onto Division Street. His long stride allowed him to keep his advantage.

  “Stop, police.” She’d learned long ago most criminals didn’t obey when they heard that command, but said it anyway.

  He looked over his shoulder and kept running. From that brief glance, she thought he might have looked scared. Then again, that might have been wishful thinking.

  Normally, given her size, she didn’t strike terror into anybody by looks alone. But maybe he had a stash of weed in his pocket, or even something a little stronger. There was also the possibility he lived here illegally. But she was betting it was much, much more than a few drugs or a questionable immigration status that made him take off. Potentially, he might know something about Lou. Or, even worse, he could be somehow tied into his disappearance.

  “I need to talk to you.” She was no slouch when it came to running, but this guy either had equal stamina or he had a heavy doze of fear or chemical enhancement egging him on. Either way, she found the distance between them increasing.

  She was a block behind him now, with dozens of people in between. His dark wavy hair stood out in the crowd, but it was harder and harder to keep a visual. Her breath hiccupped in her throat as she tore around the corner and stopped.

  There was only a sprinkling of people on the sidewalk. And none of them was Sergio.

  It was like he’d disappeared. Now what?

  As she walked back to her car, a text from the lieutenant popped onto her phone. “Station ASAP.”

  That could only mean trouble.

  Memories from the Ramirez fiasco resurfaced. Six months later, and she still couldn’t get past the humiliation. She’d been so sure and confident about her information, half the department had been involved in what she’d envisioned to be the bust of the decade based on what a very reliable informant had told her. Unfortunately, they ended up scoring nothing but a couple of ounces of weed. Ramirez served a few months on a minor parole violation. She, on the other hand, lived with the humiliation every day for the last six months.

  She touched at the handkerchief in her pocket for luck, walked up the steps and yanked open the station door. Nobody paid her much attention. And, as usual, there was a constant buzz of activity which sounded a little like the drone of a beehive, the hum of disjointed conversations either in person or on the phone, the shuffling of paperwork, the ringing of phones. The smell of coffee, intermingled with the aroma of cigarette smoke, permeated the air.

  She knocked before opening the door to his office. “Hi, lieutenant, what’s up?”

  “Sit, Sanchez. There’s something I need to talk to you about.” Most times with her, he’d joke around, tell a few stories about the good old days before he got down to business. Today was markedly different.

  “If this is about Stateville, I can explain that.”

  He held out his hand. “I know all about that and don’t care, even though the Feds are all over me about it.” He drew in a deep breath. “The gun at your place matches the murder weapon.”

  “What?” Her mind switched gears as he hit her with something out of left field.

  “You heard me. Not your service weapon, but the one you had stashed in your apartment, is the gun that killed your father.”

  Her mouth refused to work. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d used it. How could somebody even know where she’d kept it?

  But Lou had access to her apartment. In her absence he could easily find out where she kept her spare.

  With considerable effort, she forced her mind to focus. “I haven’t fired that thing in months, maybe years. I kept it around mostly because I hadn’t gotten around to disposing of it.”

  He shook his head. “It had your fingerprints all over it.”

  A shiver wormed down her back. “Of course. It’s my gun. But I told you I didn’t do it. There’s got to be some kind of mistake.”

  He tsked and took a sip of coffee. “Look, Sanchez, nobody here would blame you if you offed your father. He was a bad dude, killed a couple of undercover cops before they locked him up. I could understand why you might feel threatened by him. Cop to it and you’ll probably only get a slap on the wrist.”

  “But I didn’t do it.” She gulped in some air before continuing. “You know there was no love lost between me and my father. Heck, I told most people he was dead even before he was, but I didn’t kill him. It happened like I said earlier. When Landry and I got to my apartment, he was already dead.” She heard the whiny sound to her voice and didn’t like it, but at the same time couldn’t seem to prevent it. “I’d have no reason to lie about it.”

  He studied her long and hard before he spoke. “Then I guess we’re going to have to figure out who and why somebody’s trying to set you up.”

  * * *

  Attempting to settle nerves that didn’t want to settle, Isabella had her grandfather’s handkerchief clutched in her hand while she paced the floor. There were so many crazy possibilities running through her mind she barely noticed when Landry got home around midnight. He stopped her mid-stride and yanked her into a hug.

  Despite the warmth and comfort that rattled through her body, she tried to pull away. She didn’t need him. Couldn’t need him. But he wouldn’t let go. And it felt so good.

  After a few seconds, she gave up the fight, and sunk into the sensation. She sucked in a deep breath, relishing the minty scent surrounding him.

  He wrapped his arms tighter and whispered into her ear. “I spoke with the lieutenant. He told me about the gun.” After several seconds, he moved back enough so that she could see into his eyes. And waited. “Talk to me, Isabella.”

  While the tenderness in his voice spoke volumes, every inch of maleness combined to make him appear more dominant than his physical attributes alone would dictate. Why hadn’t he given up on her? Didn’t he get it? She didn’t need anybody in her life. Clearly Landry had never gotten the memo.

  She desperately wanted to give in and allow him into her thoughts, emotions, her own private hell, but knew better. Getting sucked into a relationship destined to fail would be a disaster. She shifted her arms so that they were no longer clutching his back like some kind of lifeline, instead allowing them to hang limply at her sides.

  He must have sensed her need for space and inched back to give her some room. Closing her eyes, she warded off the sense of loss that followed.

  She bucked up and drew in a deep breath. Folding her arms across her chest, she gave herself another few desperately needed inches of space.

  Even though she trusted him, she couldn’t let him in even a little. Because pretty soon a little became a little more. Then before she knew it, he would be all inside her business. She didn’t need anybody inside her head but her.

  Sometimes she couldn’t remember why they’d broken up: Like when she remembered the hot, sweaty, died-and-gone-to-heaven sex. But at times like this, she remembered all too well. He craved intimacy. While she…well…yeah…not so much.

  “This is my problem. I don’t need your help.” Her trembling voice undermined the force of her statement.

  “Somebody’s setting you up. We need to figure out who and why.”

  We. We. We. Why did he keep saying that? This was her problem, not his. Why couldn’t he get it through his thick skull she was alone in this, just like always.

  “How do you know? Maybe I offed my father and then brought you back as my witness.”

  Why did the very ide
a seem so off-kilter in her head? The whole scenario equated to simple math. She was a cop. He was a bad guy. No harm. No foul.

  “We both know you’d have admitted to shooting him instead of engaging in this Mickey Mouse charade. Besides, the timing would have been pretty tricky getting yourself shot at in the exact alley where I would show up.” He smirked and nodded simultaneously. “Sure, that could happen. The odds might be ten million to one, but you never know.”

  “Like the lieutenant said, my dad was scum. The worst that could happen to me is I’d get a slap on the wrist.” Was it her imagination, or did her voice lack a sense of conviction when she spoke? She glanced at Landry to see if he noticed as well, but if he did, she couldn’t tell by the expression on his face.

  “Exactly. Whoever set you up like this had to know that, so the question is why bother? If we’re thinking embarrassment, my money’s on Ramirez. If we’re thinking the goal was to keep your hands tied for a couple of days, then we should go over your case load.”

  His thoughts sent a chill from the tip of her skull to her toes. Exactly. Why go through all the trouble for nothing? There wasn’t even a remote possibility she’d be prosecuted for murder.

  No state’s attorney would even consider the case. To do so would be political suicide. A cop against a convicted murder recently escaped from Stateville. No way would that happen.

  Then again, Ramirez would do something like this for the sport of it and to further humiliate her. But how would he possibly know her father had broken out of prison? It didn’t make sense.

  “What could anybody gain by doing this?”

  “An investigation would keep you out of the game for a couple of weeks while they cleared you of any wrongdoing. So the real question is, who have you been pissing off lately? What cases have you been working on? And what were you doing in that alley the other night? And don’t even try to give me that bull about it not being connected to Ramirez, because we both know it was.”

  “What exactly did the lieutenant ask you?” She evaded his question, at least for the moment.

  When he hesitated before he spoke, she wondered why, but didn’t ask. “He went over the same questions that we were asked the other day. When did we hook up? What happened when we got back to the apartment? How long had I been with you? Who found the body, me or you?”

  “Routine.” She forced herself to think. “What did he tell you?” While she was being evasive, she suspected Landry was as well.

  “That your spare matched for the murder weapon.”

  She pulled the hair away from her face and tried to think. “I know, but who would know where I kept it?”

  He shrugged, “I hate to state the obvious, but Lou had access to your place, didn’t he? He also looked guilty as hell when we saw him last night.”

  She bristled, but at the same time knew the logic of his words. “Just because he looked guilty doesn’t mean he did anything.” She closed her eyes and pushed back the feeling of helplessness. Somewhat used to the concept in her workday life, she never experienced it much in her personal life. This whole thing was really starting to tick her off.

  “Then what was he doing?”

  “I don’t know, but I know he didn’t kill my father.” She rubbed the edge of the handkerchief between her thumb and forefinger as she traced the edges of her grandfather’s initials. What she wouldn’t give to have him in her life again, if only for a few moments, to help her overcome this hurdle. Right now she craved more predictability and less chaos.

  Landry glanced at her hand before returning his gaze to her face. “Maybe not. But I bet he knows who did.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Chapter Six

  While Isabella had her secrets, Landry had his own. And no matter how he justified it in his head, he was lying to her. If she were in trouble, he’d be the first to stay by her side until the danger passed, even if he had to handcuff himself to her. But this whole thing felt different. While he remained uncertain about Malone, the lieutenant was a solid guy. Landry had no choice but to play this whole thing out as long as he could.

  “Let’s start at the beginning and work backwards. Are you going to come clean about what you were doing in the alley the other night? Don’t you think it could possibly be connected to all this? Maybe somebody knew you’d do anything to nail Ramirez and set you up. Speaking of which, has anybody caught wind of him now that he’s out of jail?”

  “Will you knock it off with Ramirez? It doesn’t have anything to do with this.” She avoided looking him in the eye and fiddled with her handkerchief. “If this is what it’s like rooming with you, maybe I should take a pass.”

  He rolled back the intensity, knowing she’d bolt if he pushed too hard. Then everything he told the lieutenant and Malone he could manage would disappear and she’d go totally rogue. “Listen, Isabella, maybe you rattled the wrong cage. Somehow it’s got to connect back to what you were doing in the alley.”

  Maybe if he let her think about it for a few moments, she’d finally see the connection. Although, based on the combination of the look on her face and the frantic way she was worrying that handkerchief, she already spotted the connection and was trying to keep him out of the loop for as long as possible.

  She huffed. “It was small-time stuff. You know those gangbangers, if they’re not running drugs, they’re selling guns. Same old, same old.”

  “It had to be more than that or you wouldn’t be so protective about it.”

  She moved toward the kitchen. “You just got off shift, aren’t you a little tired? Hungry? Hey, I’ll make you something to eat.”

  He laughed. “We both know you don’t cook, so stop avoiding the question.” He grasped her arm. “Come on, Isabella, what were you doing in that alley?”

  “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

  “No, it’s the Irish Inquisition, Landry Taylor-style. I know you’re hiding something.”

  She chewed her lip for a few moments before speaking. “What if the information on Ramirez was correct but we were looking in the wrong spot?” Her voice was barely audible. “What if it was all an elaborate set-up? What if the Feds were in on it?”

  “I’d say you were crazy.” He forced a smile while he contemplated the possibilities. “But I have to admit I’m mildly intrigued.” He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but figured it best to let her play it out at her speed.

  “I don’t give up my secrets mildly.” She grinned and placed her hands on her hips. “I got an anonymous tip—” She held out her hands to stop his protest. “I know that is not a by-the-book response, but I had this gut twitch telling me I was on to something.”

  “Let’s say, for example, your tip told you the Ramirez sting was a set-up and asked you to meet him in the alley. Am I getting warm?”

  She nodded. “I was supposed to find out more, but that’s when I got shot at.”

  “You sure it wasn’t Ramirez?” He didn’t believe she was keeping this information from him but wanted to make sure. With Isabella, he never knew.

  She shook her head. “Didn’t even know anybody was there until I got knocked on my butt.”

  “And you shot back?”

  “Once. But I missed.”

  “How did they make you and you didn’t make them?”

  “No clue. My back was protected and I had vision from three sides.”

  “Except it was darker than hell.”

  “At the time I figured me and the bad guys were on equal footing.” She chewed her lip. “Except what if we weren’t? Somebody with a night scope could have hit me without too much trouble, especially if they were on a roof of one of the garages.”

  He suppressed the fear that crawled up his back. She’d been a sitting duck. “If that’s true, they could have taken you out easily with a shot to the head.”

  She nodded slowly. “Are you thinking they shot me in the chest knowing I’d be wearing a vest?”

  “Maybe they wa
nted you distracted, but not harmed.”

  “No bad guy gives a cop a pass like that.”

  He drew in a breath as he contemplated how best to play this. He didn’t want her going off without thinking through the possibilities. “Bad guys don’t get tested for their marksmanship on a regular basis.”

  Although neither the lieutenant nor Malone came right out and said it, he had to figure there was some suspicion that whatever happened was an inside job.

  “Feds? Why would they take a pot shot at me?”

  He sucked in a breath and tried to ignore his duplicity with Malone. “Your father gets out of prison through some miracle that has yet to come to light. He shows up on your doorstep on the same night you were shot at.”

  She held up a shaky finger. “Wait a minute, what are you saying?”

  “I’m listing what we know.” He took a swig of beer. “Which reminds me, when I asked my cousin’s friend what happened at Stateville, he gave me some line about your father getting stabbed.” He held out his hand. “Work with me on this. I got to thinking maybe for the same reason the Feds gave your father a get out of jail free card. If I follow that line, I’ve got to think that shot taken at you might be more than a coincidence.”

  “You think it’s all connected? You think the Feds sprung my dad?” Her hands stilled their incessant movement.

  He nodded. “It’s the only explanation. We’ve been looking at it all wrong thinking about the embarrassment factor for Stateville with him being their first escapee.” While Malone didn’t admit to it; he also didn’t deny it. Landry figured that had to mean something. And while Isabella wasn’t putting all her cards on the table, he was. Most of them, anyway.

  “Why didn’t I see this before? Prisons are the worst gossip pits. If somebody made an escape, there would have been rumblings all through the place regardless of any cover-up attempt by the powers that be. Instead, they let it leak he’d been stabbed. If all that’s true, I’d like to ask Malone why he insinuated I had something to do with my father’s escape.”

  Good point. Landry still couldn’t figure out how that fit into the whole scheme of things, or if it was another red herring planted by Malone and his cronies.