Collision Force (4 page)

Andi frowned even though her partner couldn’t see her. She wanted him to commiserate, not be logical.
Men.
“If I don’t kill him, maybe we can investigate properly.”

Pete laughed again. “Perhaps you’ve met your match, Andi MacLaren.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? “I’ll solve the case,” Andi said.

“How’s the lil’ guy?” Pete asked. The subject change was welcome. Her partner had always loved Ethan, and the adoration was mutual.

“Just put him to bed, as I will myself shortly.”

“Ah. I didn’t wake you?”

“Nah. Just caught me out of the shower, though.”

“Woo-hoo. Nekked Andi.” Pete chuckled when Andi made a noise in her throat.

“I’ll forget you’re injured and shoot you again.” She bit back a laugh.

“I know what a mean shot you are, so I will remember that.” Pete’s tone was light, but Andi sighed as she was hit with another pang of guilt.

She was an excellent marksman, they both knew it.
Except that night
.

Her partner had not only heard it, but had interpreted it correctly. “Andi, don’t even start. It’s
not
your fault. And stop that feeling guilty crap, too.
You
didn’t shoot me, and it’s
not
your fault the bastard got away. You…I…
we
…will catch them. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I know,” she whispered. How was he always so spot on?

“Well, hit the hay, Detective MacLaren. Call me if you get anything tomorrow…
When
you get something tomorrow.”

“All right, Detective Crane.”

“Sleep tight.”

“You, too.”

“Hey, Andi.”

She paused. She’d almost hung up on him. “Yeah?”

“Play nice with Mr Fed.”

Andi rolled her eyes. “I wish a longer hospital stay on you.” She ended the call shaking her head at her partner’s parting laughter. The man laughed entirely too much.

She collapsed on her bed, sighing for what seemed the hundredth time that night. Her mind wandered. Iain danced into her thoughts, as always. His laugh had been almost palpable and she smiled. Andi missed him so much, but it was a hell of a lot easier than it had been. Her love hadn’t faded, but time had helped.

Not wholly healed, but living. Working in a job she still loved, but a job that had been the reason for Iain’s stolen life. A job he’d loved, too. She had their son to live for, and Ethan was the only reason Andi had been able to hold it together. Then and now. If only Iain could have seen him grow up.

When Chief and Pete had showed up on her doorstep to take her to the hospital, denial, fear and desperation had settled over her. She’d had no idea how she was going to raise a child alone.

Then she’d closed her eyes—she remembered as if it was yesterday—and had seen Iain’s smiling face. He’d had tears in his eyes and had told her he loved her, he loved Ethan and everything would be okay. Andi still couldn’t explain it to this day, but it was almost as if he had really been there, and he had been trying to tell her it was all right to let him go. But she hadn’t really let him go, not totally, even now.

Cole popped into her mind and she frowned. Handsome face, dimples that would make a nun’s heart race. A man like him would never be able to fathom how she felt about Iain and Ethan.
No way
. He was rocking that ‘I am an island’ crap to the extreme. Did he have any family? Someone who cared about him?

“He was probably spawned, not born,” Andi whispered to her empty bedroom, then shook her head.

How the hell was she supposed to make this work?

Chapter Three

His hand shook as he tried to pour whisky into the shot glass. He almost dropped the bottle—twice.

“Fuck it,” Carlo muttered under his breath and chugged the Jack. It burned a path down his throat. The warmth that spread neither comforted nor covered the pain that radiated from his leg and scorched through his side. “I’m in bad shape.
Worse.
I’m talking to myself.”

Blood pooled at his feet and he cursed again. His leg started bleeding every time he hauled his ass up. A tremble slid down his spine.
It’s just the alcohol
.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and tried to set the bottle on the counter of the house he’d broken into. It was more of a slam and the amber liquid swished inside the bottle.

Carlo clutched his side, wincing as he made his way to the bathroom of the sprawling ranch home. When he pulled his hand away, the red slickness on his palm told him he’d reopened the wound there as well.

“Fuck. God damn it.
Fuck.
”

Sitting on the closed toilet proved a feat that almost had him on the floor on his ass. He scrambled for the sink, his bloody fingers slipping before gaining purchase. He righted himself but his head swam.

Fever gripped him, which meant that infection was probably settling over him. Carlo didn’t need a doctor to tell him how screwed he was.

If he’d had a cell phone, he actually might have called Mike Amato—Cole Lucas, or whatever his real name was. FBI or not, the bastard would get him the medical attention he didn’t dare try to get for himself. His former boss wasn’t a dumbass. Like the police, they checked hospitals first. Gunshot wounds would attract cops like flies.

He was lucky he’d been able to take care of Reese and Gains, the first two guys Caselli had sent after him. Reese had shot him in the leg first, but Carlo would always remember the look on the big man’s face as he went down—Carlo had shot him, too. Only
his
bullet had counted. He didn’t regret it for even a second—he’d never liked that asshole.

Then the police had shown up. He’d got a few rounds off at them and escaped, but not without a second wound. One of the cops had shot him in the side. It was more of a graze, but had torn his skin as it passed through. It hurt like a bitch and bled like one, too.

Carlo was stuck. He’d used most of the gauze and medical tape he he’d found in the house. He’d tried sewing himself up, but the hole in his side was wide and he couldn’t twist enough to reach it. His leg still had a slug in it and it hurt too badly to try to dig out himself.

Reese had missed his femoral, but not by much. Carlo was a lucky bastard. He wouldn’t bleed out, but if he didn’t get some help, the infection could go from bad to worse. The idea of gangrene scared the shit out of him.

He couldn’t stay in the house forever. Piled up mail and newspapers suggested the owners were on vacation.
Yeah, how long could that last?

The longer he stayed, the more evidence of his presence he left behind, and the more risk he had of being caught. He was too weak to clean up after himself.

Carlo struggled with the last of the gauze on his leg. He didn’t have enough to redress his side. The starburst stain there spread as he moved, but he gritted his teeth and finished with his leg.

The damn homeowners must be saints, there wasn’t so much as over the counter pain killers anywhere to be found. He really needed some Vicodin or high powered Ibuprofen, but he would take Tylenol at this point. Breaking into a pharmacy was out. It was a sure way behind bars—he wouldn’t be able to flee any scene.

He gripped the sink with both hands and shoved himself up, cursing as his side burned. He shifted his weight back and forth, his leg throbbing.

Carlo collapsed on the couch as his vision started to close in on him. He was about to pass the fuck out. Good damn thing he was lying down. He fought to maintain consciousness but lost the battle.

* * * *

Andi stared at the coffee cup Agent Lucas held out to her.

“Truce?” he asked, flashing his dimpled grin.

Heat crept up her neck, but she ignored it. “You think such a small offering will do the trick after yesterday’s disaster?” She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a French vanilla cappuccino…” he teased, dragging out the last word.

How did he know her favourite flavour? It was all she could do to not snatch the treat from his hand, but she did take it. She wanted it, but damned if she’d admit that to him.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Which part?” she asked, heading down the hall towards CID. Cole was on her heels.

“Look, I’m…frustrated with how this case is going. It’s not often someone gets one over on me.”

Andi glanced over her shoulder in time to see him cringe. She sipped the cappuccino he’d bought for her, savouring the sweet flavour as it danced on her tongue.
Delicious.
She hadn’t had one in ages.

“You gonna let me in on what’s going on?” She kept her tone light as they reached her work area. She settled in her chair.

Cole propped himself on the edge of her desk, crossing his arms over his impossibly broad chest. Andi averted her eyes as his black T-shirt stretched across his abs. Her stomach fluttered.

“I’m fairly certain the bastard that shot your partner is my guy. His name is Carlo Maldonado, and he got away from me a few months ago.”

Andi sat taller in her chair. “Got away?” He didn’t have to explain how unusual that was for him. She was just certain of it.

“He turned state’s evidence when a deal for his boss went south. He’s got more worries than me on his ass.”

“Deal? Drugs?”

Cole’s steel gaze was level and about as serious as she’d seen him. “Girls. Young ones. He’s a trafficker. But he’s low on the totem pole.”

Andi gripped her coffee tighter. “Bastard…” she breathed.

“No doubt.” Cole shook his head.

Andi saw him in a new light. Was it because he cared about the case and the girls? Or because he’d failed…lost his prize?

“I was undercover for over a year. It took me six months to get in with his boss, Tony Caselli. Just when I thought I had them all trusting me, Maldonado pulled a stupid.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Saw a girl he wanted to keep.”

“Keep?” From the look on Cole’s face, she didn’t need him to clarify. “How old?”

“Fourteen.”

Andi’s stomach lurched. “No.”

“I got her out. And got us exposed. Maldonado didn’t know I was FBI before then, but he’s a coward at heart. I was escorting him in when they came after us, and I convinced him to turn to save his ass. We were almost home free when they found us. Shootout. He got away from me.”

“Are they after you, too?”

Cole shrugged. “Probably. I’m not worried about it. I know how to disappear.”

She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “And now?”

“I tracked him. I don’t know what brought him down here. He’s got no ties to Texas I could figure out. Hate to admit it, but I had no clue where he was until he shot Gains, Reese and your partner. I know he’s still around somewhere.”

“I got him. I just don’t know how badly,” Andi said.

“Bad enough to make him bleed. Four types at the scene.”

Andi nodded. “Thanks…for the info.”

Cole stared as if surprised by her comment. She flushed. Damn, what was wrong with her? Andi cleared her throat.

“You taking me to the warehouse?” he asked, his tone nonchalant.

She frowned. “I thought we went through this.” If he insulted her department again, she would—

“I suspect that Maldonado tried to make a quick buck.”

“Meaning?”

“Vacant warehouse. He could have contacts in the south. Get a few girls through, and bam. Some money to move on. But Gains and Reese found him. Or it was a setup—Maldonado is a greedy bastard so, dangerous or not, he would’ve tried it.”

In her city? Human trafficking?
Damn.
She didn’t know what to say.

“It can happen anywhere, Andi,” Cole said softly, as if he’d read her mind. Had his tone not been so low and
un
-mocking, she would have snapped at him.

“I still think the warehouse is a waste of time. There’ve got to be other leads to follow. What else do you know? Crime Scene already—”

“I want to see it for myself.” His tone brooked no argument.

Andi’s frown deepened. “Our Crime Scene guys know what they’re doing.” She set her cappuccino down and crossed her arms, her posture mirroring his.

“There’s no need to get defensive. Relax, babe.”

“Babe?” Andi rushed to her feet. “Do
not
call me that.” What gave him the right to be so casual with her? She was a cop. His
equal.
He was treating her like a chick he’d picked up in a bar.

Cole grinned. She stared, heat rushing her face. He’d
grinned
at her? He could go to hell. What a mistake she had made thinking he was anything but an asshole.

“We going or what?”

“You know what? You can go to—” Andi stopped as she took in his expectant gaze. This was what he wanted. Cole
wanted
to piss her off so she would let him ditch her. No. Fricking. Way.
Not
going to happen. “Yeah, let’s go.”

His mouth was a hard line, his handsome face tight, but he straightened to his full height.

The drive to the warehouse made her twitchy. She didn’t want the reminder, the guilt of that night.

Andi and Pete had happened upon the scene anyway. Neither of them had been on call that night, but Pete had had a nervous informant who’d insisted on meeting him not far from where the shooting had happened. The guy was notoriously unreliable, so she hadn’t wanted Pete going it alone.

They’d heard the shots, called it in and headed into what had ended up being two warm bodies and a fleeing shooter. Neither of them had even seen Maldonado—if he was indeed the shooter—but he’d seen
them
and fired. Shot Pete.

She’d got off a few rounds, but hadn’t wanted to leave Pete to give chase in the dark when, at the time, she hadn’t known how badly her partner had been hit.

The uniforms had arrived quickly enough, but the scum had escaped. She regretted not going after him. Andi would have caught him.

“Hello? Andi?” Cole’s tone held irritation. He must have called her name a few times.

“Sorry.”

“You okay?” His gaze was actually concerned.