LITMIR.BIZ

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wouldn’t exactly say that. He doubted that anyone really knew Wilkins. He knew that no one really knew him. He didn’t let people in. Not anymore. “I told you, our paths have crossed.”

      Kady read between the lines. “Not over the burglary,” she surmised.

      Annoyed, Byron blew out a breath. The woman just didn’t back off. He looked at her. “You’re like a junkyard dog, you know that?”

      “No,” she contradicted with a smile, denying the comparison. “I’m Polish.”

      Eyebrows as dark as night drew together over the bridge of his nose. “What the hell does that have to do with it?”

      She’d learned a long time ago that beyond demeaning ethnic jokes, most people have a very limited knowledge of anything Polish. She set about educating him. “Polish women are known for their stubbornness.”

      He didn’t know about Polish women being stubborn, but she damn well was. “I didn’t know.”

      “Now you do.” She paused, waiting. Byron made no effort to continue. Biting back a sigh, she prodded him again. “You were about to tell me about crossing paths with Wilkins.”

      For a moment Byron debated telling her to back off, then decided that it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Not since Bobby died. “Wilkins used to be with IAB.”

      “The Internal Affairs Bureau?” she cut in. Now that she thought of it, the man was perfect for it. He was relentless and intimidating and, she had no doubt, probably ruthless as well, given half a chance. He’d probably loved his job.

      Byron looked at her, mildly impressed. “You know about IAB?”

      “Sure.” And for the first time since she’d gone in to wash her hands after examining Milos, she grinned. “I watch TV like everyone else.” But because the subject was serious, she sobered again before asking, “What was it that Wilkins investigated?”

      The moment the question was out of her mouth, she knew.

      “You?” She saw his jaw harden. She didn’t think of herself as the world’s best judge of character, but she was pretty high up there, she reasoned. IAB investigated cops who were crooked. Her gut told her that Byron was as honest as they came. “Why?”

      “Every time a detective discharges his weapon, there’s an investigation.” He stared straight ahead, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He was beginning to regret his offer to bring her down here.

      “And did you? Kill someone?” she prompted when silence was the only answer that greeted her.

      “Yeah.” He slanted a look in her direction. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

      By the way Byron asked the question, she knew he wasn’t referring to anything recent, nor was he referring to the time he’d brought his employer into the E.R. But instinct told her it had to have had something to do with the E.R. That would explain why, the first time she recalled meeting him, she’d had this nagging feeling that she’d seen him before. At the time she’d chalked it up to someone looking like him. So many faces came and went in the E.R., it was hard to remember them all.

      “Not specifically,” she admitted. “Although I’ve had this feeling that I’ve seen you before you walked into the E.R. with Mr. Plageanos.”

      He nodded, hardly hearing. “I came in the ambulance with this rookie cop.” His voice was completely dead, as if he was reading lines from a teleprompter. “He was off duty and he’d walked into this mom and pop deli to pick up some provolone for his brother.”

      This was hard for him, Kady thought, watching as each word labored its way past his lips. She kept her peace, waiting for him to go on.

      “There was a robbery going on. The rookie tried to stop it.”

      His voice died away. He couldn’t just leave her dangling here. “How did you figure into it?” she finally asked quietly.

      He took his time replying. She could have sworn that he was physically erecting a wall around himself. A wall between him and the pain the words caused.

      “I was in the car, waiting.”

      She made the natural assumption. “You were the brother?”

      He nodded so slowly she thought his head hadn’t moved. “I was the brother.” And then his voice hardened. “I should have been the one who went in, not him, but there was a news bulletin on the radio and I wanted to hear the end of it. So Bobby hopped out of the car and went into the deli. The next thing I knew, there were gunshots and then this tall, skinny guy, still holding a piece, came running out. It was as if I saw the whole thing that had happened inside in slow motion. I yelled out that I was a cop, told the guy to stop. When he didn’t, I shot him.” He didn’t add that he’d looked into the store and saw Bobby on the ground in a pool of his own blood, or that the robber had turned his weapon on him and was about to fire when he killed him.

      “It was a clean shoot.”

      She said it with such confidence, he had to look at her. He would have said she was pandering, but there was nothing to gain. So he shrugged it off. “Wilkins didn’t see it that way.”

      Wilkins, she decided, was a man that people could easily hate. “They brought you up on charges?” she asked incredulously.

      “No, I was cleared.” But it had been close for a while. IAB had everyone afraid of coming forward. It was as if, to prove everyone was vigilant, a scapegoat had to be sacrificed. “And then I quit.”

      If there were no charges, he should have remained to work toward his pension. To leave seemed foolish. “But why?”

      He’d thought of the police force as his family. The family—except for Bobby—that he had never actually had. When Bobby died, and everyone on the force backed away while the investigation was ongoing, he felt as if he’d lost everything. His marriage, such as it was, fell apart. So, he’d shut down and backed away himself.

      “Didn’t seem to be any purpose to staying on a force that turns against you just when you need support.” And then his own words played themselves back to him. His expression hardened as he turned to her. He looked formidable. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

      “Because I want to know,” she replied simply.

      That still didn’t tell him anything. “Why? We’re strangers.”

      Her answer surprised him. “Only because you want it that way.” When he looked at her quizzically, she added, “Me, I make friends with everyone.”

      She was making assumptions. “Maybe I don’t want any friends.”

      “Everyone wants friends,” Kady countered quietly. “You just might not know it.”

      “Same thing,” he insisted.

      “No,” she replied, her voice as firm as her belief, “it’s not.”

      “We’re here,” he told her, pulling up into the parking lot.

      And none too soon, he added silently.

      Chapter 4

      It was only after Kady had gotten together with the sketch artist, bringing to life the man she’d seen murder two innocent people, that she remembered. Remembered that the rookie policeman that she’d worked over in the E. R. that night Byron had recreated for her had died shortly after he’d been brought in. Died despite all her best efforts to save him. The damage had been too extensive.

      Numbed, she looked around to see if she could glimpse Byron, but he was nowhere to be seen. Kady sighed inwardly. She’d been so involved in trying to secure bits and pieces of information from Byron, she’d missed the elephant in the living room.

      “Something doesn’t look right to you?” the technician asked, ready to hit another

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