He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And I have the feeling that you are one hell of a…”
“Yes?” she prompted when he didn’t finish.
Distraction. But perhaps it wouldn’t be wise for him to admit that to her. Instead he improvised. “Detective.” He finished the sentence. “Especially if your sense for police work is as good as your sense of direction.”
They made arrangements to meet the next day, and Madeline left. Other than the incident with Baker, she had little to put in her report to Brewer. And of course her boss already knew about the Internal Affairs investigation that had cleared Baker of any wrongdoing. No doubt the incident was another reason Martinez was under suspicion right now. Aside from the fact that he had been one of the five detectives investigating a crime related to the AK-47s, he also had reason to be carrying a major grudge against the department. To outward appearances, that didn’t seem to be the case, of course. He had continued his work, had even started moving up the ranks of officer. But she couldn’t shake her uneasiness as she remembered Cruz’s abrupt switch of moods when dealing with the other man.
How deep did his animosity toward Baker run? Deep enough to include the department because they’d sided with him? One thing she’d learned about Martinez today-he had a ruthless streak that she never would have suspected. She still wondered how deep that streak ran.
And whether he was ruthless enough to be involved in trading lives for cash.
Chapter 3
Madeline left her car in the long circular driveway in front of her father’s house. As she approached the luxurious brick home she didn’t even notice the flawlessly manicured lawn and neatly trimmed shrubs. Perfection was something Geoffrey Casey demanded; he would accept nothing less. She let herself in the front door and headed to the study.
As expected, she found him seated behind his walnut desk in the darkly paneled room. She crossed the plush Oriental carpet, and he rose, looking pointedly at his watch. From long experience Madeline ignored his silent disapproval. She knew she was on time for dinner, just as she was aware that he liked to enjoy a leisurely cocktail a half hour prior to dining. It was her custom to skip that part of the evening if she could.
“Father,” she murmured, kissing his cheek perfunctorily. “How have you been?”
“Busy, as usual. You’re looking well, Madeline. It’s a shame we can’t manage to see each other more often than our monthly dinners.”
Mentally disagreeing, she said, “Well, with our schedules, I guess we’ll have to take what we can get.”
“You’re too late to join me for a drink,” he continued. “I’m sure the cook has dinner ready.”
Together they walked to the dining room. Madeline had never been able to understand why her father insisted on dining every night in the coldly elegant room, at a table that could easily seat twelve. But then the thought of him eating in the kitchen, or anywhere less formal than one of his many clubs, was equally incongruous. Geoffrey Casey was one of those people whom Madeline couldn’t imagine doing any of a number of routine things in the course of a day.
They made small talk as the cook entered the room wheeling a cart. She began removing the steaming dishes from it and setting them on the table. Geoffrey abruptly fell into silence at her arrival, but Madeline smiled warmly at the woman serving them.
“Jenny, everything smells wonderful, as usual.”
The short, dark-haired woman threw her a quick smile, never pausing in her work. “You were never a tough one to please, Miss Madeline, but thanks, anyway.”
“How’s Bob?” Madeline inquired solicitously about the woman’s husband.
“Last doctor visit he got a clean bill of health. The doctor said there’s a little permanent damage to his heart, but he’ll be back on his feet in no time.”
“Tell him I said hello, and to take care of himself.”
“I’ll do that, miss.” The cook shot a wary glance at Geoffrey, who was eyeing her coldly. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
He waved a hand, dismissing her. “That will be all, Mrs. Parks. We’ll call you if we need anything.” The cook disappeared through the kitchen door. He waited until she was out of earshot before saying disapprovingly, “Really, Madeline, I would think that by now I would no longer have to remind you about engaging in banal conversations with the hired help. You’ve been taught better and it’s most unbecoming for you to treat them as-”
“As human beings?” Madeline finished for him in a tight voice.
He frowned at her interruption. “You know perfectly well what I mean. There’s no need to be disrespectful.”
She mentally began to count to one thousand, striving to hold on to her rapidly escalating temper. She knew from experience that arguing with her father never did any good. He detested what he referred to as emotional outbursts, and she suspected that what he really hated was emotion, period. Every word he uttered was delivered in the same smooth, level tone Anger, joy, frustration-it didn’t matter. His expression rarely altered, his voice never rose.
Where had she come from? Certainly not from this frigidly proper man Nor could she see much resemblance to Lorraine Casey, her mother, who’d been killed in a car accident when Madeline was a teenager. Her mother had been blond and beautiful, as proper and devoid of feeling as her husband. Always concerned with appearances, she’d never made a move without first weighing its possible effect on her husband’s career.
They certainly had gotten more than they bargained for in Madeline. She had been a squalling baby with a shock of red hair and a temper to match. The Caseys must have doubted that they’d been given the correct infant at the hospital. Even worse, a severe case of asthma had made it impossible for her to be packed off to a boarding school, as her brother, Kevin, had been. No, they’d been forced to keep Madeline at home with them, had to deal with her childish chatter and deplorable manners. Almost every word she could remember either parent directing at her when she was growing up was in the form of a command or a reprimand. She would have grown up thinking that hers was a normal family if it hadn’t been for the people hired to run the household, such as Mrs. Parks. The occasional glimpses she’d had into their homes had shown her otherwise.
A huge genetic mistake, that’s what she was. She was no longer a child, but she knew her reactions to her father were firmly based in the roots of her childhood. She had grown accustomed to masking her emotions in his presence, or at least making the attempt. The only way her father would listen to her was if she could remain as cool and calm as he did.
Not that he made a habit of listening to her. Geoffrey Casey had never lost his aptitude for engineering everything and everybody around him to suit himself, his daughter included. She’d made it her life’s work to not be manipulated by him, but it was grueling going sometimes.
“I understand you’ve been assigned to a new case.” Her father interrupted her thoughts.
Madeline could feel herself bracing for what was to come. One reason she avoided him was that he insisted on making her business his own. He wouldn’t ask what she was working on like other fathers. He would use his contacts through the city to make it his business to know. And since he’d spent nearly twenty years on the city council, his contacts were numerous. Then he would proceed to instruct her on the best way to handle her case, and herself, until she was ready to scream.
I will not do this, she promised herself. No matter what he says, I will not be sarcastic. She answered cautiously, “Yes, I’m investigating an arms supplier.”