but anarchy ruled. Her partner was dead, she was under investigation and her job had just disappeared. For one crazy minute, she had the feeling that she might just follow.
She cursed Grady Wilson, then she took a deep breath.
The guy was simply doing his job, just as she’d told everyone he was. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The situation was only temporary. In a matter of days, if not weeks, the IA man with the spooky eyes would conclude his investigation and Risa would return to the street and do what she’d been trained to do. Instead of whining, she should be on her knees thanking God. Eventually, she’d have her life back.
Luke wouldn’t.
GRADY TOOK a final look in the mirror and straightened his Windsor knot one more time. He’d come home after a late lunch to change for the memorial service. He got as much grief over his clothes as he did his car, but he liked being well dressed. It was a throwback to his peanut-butter-sandwich days. When he’d been a kid, and later on a starving student, he’d promised himself he’d dress well when he got older, even if he didn’t have the money. People believed what they saw, and if they saw someone who looked successful, they thought he was successful.
Grady knew better, of course. He’d worked IA too damn long to believe anything, including his own eyes, but most people hadn’t witnessed all he had.
Turning away from the mirror, Grady walked down the hall of his two-bedroom house. He lived in the Heights, an eclectic, historic area off the Katy Freeway. The neighborhood was perpetually “in transition” as the architects put it, commercial property next to homes and vice versa, each one fluctuating wildly in value. Trudie had insisted on living there, though, and she’d financed the place. It’d been way out of bounds for Grady’s salary, but by that point, he hadn’t cared. He’d let her have her way and when she’d left him, he’d paid her off, getting a loan on the side. The community had grown on him but it wasn’t for everyone.
Risa Taylor lived in a completely opposite milieu. An organized enclave of town homes and condos, her part of Houston had restrictions and fences and manicured lawns with scheduled maintenance. If everything in her file was the truth, and he had no reason to believe it wasn’t, then her surroundings fit her as well as his own did him. He was willing to bet serious money she had always colored between the lines as a child.
Grady reminded himself as he backed out of his driveway that he shouldn’t be making hasty judgments about the people he was investigating. He’d attended a seminar last year about sensitivity in IA matters, where they’d all been admonished to keep an open mind and let the natural traits of the officers reveal themselves. Don’t jump to conclusions, their instructor had instructed. Police intuition is the stuff of TV series, she’d pronounced.
Grady had pronounced her theories “bullshit” and had walked out. He’d always depended on his gut and he wasn’t about to start doing anything different now. Especially not with Risa Taylor.
He knew she was what he had already decided she was—an honest, conservative cop, too bright to be on the force but too dedicated to leave. Her actions the other night had most likely saved her life, though not her partner’s. She’d done what she had to in order to survive and Grady was ninety-nine percent sure he could investigate her until the end of time and he wouldn’t find anything to the contrary.
On the other hand…
That one percent did exist and he knew it did because he’d been bitten on the ass by it before. Also, there was something about Risa Taylor that bothered him. She seemed like a pretty together person yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that underneath the polished exterior something more existed. For lack of a better word, he’d defined it as “energy.” A ferocious, determined and potentially dangerous kind of energy. If she didn’t keep it under control, it might end up controlling her. He’d seen too many cops who had gone to the other side in the war they were all fighting because they couldn’t handle themselves.
He swung into the right-hand lane and took the exit for the Loop 610. Traffic was bad. The late-lunch crowd was still on the road and the sneaking-out-early guys had begun to join them. By the time he got to Kirby he was almost late.
Despite that fact, after parking the Volvo, he sat for a moment and watched the mourners cross the funeral home’s parking lot. The majority of them were cops and Grady couldn’t help but wonder which one of them would phone him. In every investigation, someone contacted him about halfway into the case with a tip. The caller was always anonymous and always a cop, but not always helpful.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Risa Taylor approaching. Talking to four other women, she passed directly in front of his car. She didn’t recognize the Volvo, of course, so Grady took the opportunity to study her.
Straight black hair hung almost to her shoulders and it gleamed in the hot sunlight. Her sleeveless dark dress revealed arms that were tanned and muscular. She’d played tennis in college, he remembered from her file, and obviously still did. As she cleared the car, he glanced at her legs. They were tight and firm. As was the rest of her.
He called himself a dirty old man. At twenty-six, Risa could have almost been his daughter had he ever been successful with the girl next door. There were certainly fourteen-year-old kids around now who had babies. He saw them everywhere.
He shook the thought from his head and climbed out of the car.
Five minutes later he was seated two rows behind Risa and her friends. When the service started and everyone rose, Grady stood, too. But he didn’t turn around to watch Melinda Rowling and her son approach. Instead, he faced the front so he could see Risa’s reaction as Melinda walked down the center aisle.
Unfortunately, Risa spotted Grady before she saw the widow. Her dark eyes widened and she seemed to catch her breath. One of the women looked at her with a questioning glance, but Risa shook her head at her friend’s concern, mouthing the words it’s okay. From where he stood, Grady read her lips, then found himself distracted by her mouth itself. She had on red lipstick—bright red—yet instead of looking cheap as it would have on most women, the color seemed to be made for her.
The family passed by and he remembered where he was.
Risa looked at Grady one more time. She’d regained her composure and he couldn’t have read her expression had his life depended on it.
When he thought about that later, he decided it was probably just as well.
THE DAY AFTER the shooting, Mei Lu had picked up Risa’s Camry from the downtown police garage and dropped it off at her house. Risa could have driven to the services, but when Abby had offered her a ride, she’d accepted, surprising herself—and Abby. Usually independent and self-sufficient, Risa still felt nervous, and fighting Houston’s traffic was not something she’d wanted to do. As they left the memorial service and headed to the south side of town where Luke Rowling had lived, Risa found herself even more grateful. She wasn’t sure she would have made it on her own, especially after seeing Grady Wilson at the services.
She’d actually trembled when her eyes had connected with his and she had no idea why. Except for what he did, he seemed like a perfectly nice man. She decided to blame her reaction on the pain pill she’d taken before leaving the house.
Behind the wheel, Abby worried. “I wish everyone else was coming. Lucy said she had something going with a case, though, and Crista had some kind of meeting planned. Mei Lu didn’t say why she wouldn’t be there. Did Catherine tell you if she’d be at Luke’s?”
Risa’s thoughts drifted back to Grady Wilson then she realized Abby was asking her something. For the second time.
“Risa? Have you heard from her?”
“From who?”
“From Catherine…” Abby shot her an anxious glance. “Will she be at the Rowlings’?”
Risa shook her head. “Debra said she stopped by earlier this morning because she was going to give the press a statement after the services.” She turned back to the window.