8

Veranda had been to many fire scenes in her career. She had witnessed families huddled together in a ragged circle beyond the yellow perimeter tape. Shell-shocked and disheveled, they squeezed each other tight while their house, their possessions, and their memories were reduced to cinders before their eyes.

She’d never imagined herself in the role of displaced homeowner, helpless against the flames consuming her modest bungalow as curious neighbors gathered around the block to bear witness to her personal tragedy.

After the phone call from dispatch, Lieutenant Diaz had turned the canal crime scene over to Sam, then followed in his car as Veranda drove to her house. She had badged her way past the patrol car posted at the outer perimeter and screeched her Tahoe to a stop behind an idling hook-and-ladder truck, Diaz nosing his unmarked supervisor’s car in behind her.

Red and blue lights sliced the night sky as she flung her door wide and leaped out. Deaf to Diaz’s shouts to wait for him, she sprinted past the firefighters and their hulking vehicles until she reached the corner lot and her footsteps pounded to a halt. Where her house once stood, only a smoldering husk remained.

Her hand flew to her mouth, and she choked back a sob, refusing to give voice to the howl of anguish trapped in her throat. She would not allow herself to go to pieces. Not in front of everyone. A firm hand gripped her shoulder. She spoke no words and offered no resistance when Diaz pulled her to him. So much devastation. So much loss. She stared wordlessly at her ruined home and sagged against her supervisor’s chest.

“Get your hands off her.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of a gruff male voice to see Cole in his beige turnout glowering at Diaz. She should have realized he would be the one to respond from the fire department’s Arson Investigation Unit. The last time the two men had been within an arm’s reach, they’d come to blows.

Diaz tightened his hold on her shoulder. “I don’t take orders from you.”

She was in no mood for their bullshit. “My house just exploded.” She pivoted out of Diaz’s grasp. “Can you two dial it back for five minutes?”

Cole directed his response at Diaz. “We’re investigating this as a possible gas leak, so it’s a fire department scene right now.” He brought himself up to his full height. “And I don’t take orders from any police lieutenant.”

Diaz straightened. “It’s a joint investigation until we know what caused it. If it’s a gas leak, you guys handle it. If it’s a bomb, it’s ours.”

“A bomb?” Cole’s icy blue gaze slid away from Diaz to settle on her. “Who the hell would blow up your house?”

She saw the moment his jumbled thoughts converged on the only logical conclusion. As his angular features hardened into a mask of fury, Veranda seized on the possible alternate explanation he had offered.

“Maybe this was a gas leak,” she said, looking at Diaz and Cole in turn. “Maybe a weird coincidence. Maybe …”

The words died on her lips. She’d heard victims and witnesses say maybe over the years and recognized what it represented.

Denial. An indulgence she couldn’t afford.

Cole took her by the elbow and pulled her aside. Angling his head down, he dropped his voice to a rough whisper. “We both know this was no gas leak, Veranda.” He jerked a thumb at her house. “That fucking cartel did this, and they damn near blew us both to bits.”

A wave of remorse washed over her. She understood the realization that he had almost died in her house bubbled beneath the surface of his anger.

She covered his hand with her own. “I never meant to put you at risk.”

A muscle in Cole’s jaw bunched. “Promise me you’ll stop this insane vendetta with the Villalobos family.” His voice shook with barely contained emotion. “Look where your decision to fight them has gotten you.”

She took her hand away. “I had no choice.”

“You went after Hector Villalobos because of what he did to your mother thirty years ago. Now he knows who you are.” He swallowed hard. “That you’re his daughter.”

“Hector never paid for his crimes. I’m a cop, Cole. I put bad guys in jail.”

“You act like you’re the only one who can. And that’s a choice.” He reached out to touch her face, then slipped his finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. “I’m asking you to choose me instead, Veranda. Turn the investigation over to someone else.”

He had put it on the table. A condition for their continued relationship. She recalled that Diaz was close enough to overhear their exchange and held her emotions in check. “You know I can’t,” she whispered.

He let his hand fall to his side. “Can’t or won’t?”

Without another word, he turned away and trudged toward the charred remains of her house.

She watched Cole’s retreating back as Diaz’s deep voice came from behind her. “I can’t stand that pinche fireman, but he has a point.”

She whirled to face him. “If you weren’t my supervisor, I’d punch you in the mouth.” Seething, she itched to vent her frustration on Diaz. “Hell, I might do it anyway. It’d be worth the suspension.”

He softened his tone. “Cálmate.” He approached her again, raising an arm as if to put it around her shoulders.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He held up both hands, palms out, in surrender. “I know you’re going through hell right now, Veranda, but try to focus on the investigation so we can arrest whoever is responsible.”

The fact that Diaz was right irritated her further. “I’ll get to work right away,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll have one of the other squads take over. You can give them a complete briefing. For the lead investigator, I’ll pick a senior detective who’s—”

Not only was he about to pull her off the case, he intended to reassign it to a completely different squad.

“I’m the best one to investigate this, Lieutenant. And you know it.”

He sighed. “You can’t investigate a case where you’re the victim.”

She scrambled to counter his argument. “Then put Sam on point. I promise to follow his lead.”

“But it’s your squad. Your people.”

“Exactly my point,” she said, willing him to see her perspective.

Diaz’s obsessive rule following would set the investigation back. She had to make him see beyond the regs.

“My team knows all the background.” She flung her hands up in the air. “What are we going to do? Turn our case files over to another squad and get them up to speed while the trail goes cold?”

Diaz dragged a hand through his thick, close-cropped hair. Looking into his dark eyes, she saw an inner battle raging. Aware silence was the best option, she opted not to answer, giving him time to consider.

Finally, he spoke. “I’d lock you away in a safe house, but we both know how that would end.” This time he did touch her, grasping both of her arms. “You disregard orders. You go rogue.” He released her with a slight shove. “You’re impossible to supervise.”

Sensing his crumbling resolve, she took advantage. “Lieutenant, you almost died this morning because you didn’t listen to me.” He opened his mouth as if to argue, but she forged ahead, softening her tone. “Don’t make that mistake again.”

He closed his eyes and let out a stream of Spanish expletives.

She held her breath and waited.

His eyes opened, fastening on hers. “Your squad will continue to investigate. But Detective Stark will have the lead.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Not you.”

She inclined her head to show her agreement, unwilling to betray her thoughts with words. Silently, she turned to look at what had been her house. She easily spotted Cole, his white arson investigator’s helmet contrasting with the yellow ones worn by the firefighters.

Her chest tightened. Not only had she lost her home, she might have lost her man. Unbidden, a stray thought filtered up from the dark recesses of her mind. Cole is better off without me. If he had stayed behind to wait for her, he’d be dead now. Because he’d fallen for a woman with a target on her back. And a certain tattoo on her chest.

Anyone I love is at risk. Something else occurred to her. Something truly horrific. Her head snapped back to Diaz. “My family,” she said, anxiety rocketing through her. What if this hadn’t been the only explosion tonight? “I have to check on them.”

Diaz’s voice became soothing again. “I called your mother on the way here. Everyone’s fine. I sent a South Mountain precinct patrol unit to the family property to keep watch for the night.”

A wave of relief washed through her, followed quickly by remorse. She should have thought of her family’s safety before Diaz did.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. That was very thoughtful.”

He drew nearer. “I take care of my own.”

She’d heard the sentiment from supervisors before when referring to their subordinates, but Diaz made the expression sound intimate. She considered asking him what he meant but decided to let it go and focus on the clear and present danger.

She thought about her kickboxing lessons. Jake, her instructor, had taught her two critical things every fighter must do before entering the ring. First, be ruthlessly honest with yourself. Identify any weaknesses. Second, eliminate those weaknesses. Failing that, minimize them.

She couldn’t help having a family, but she could prevent a man from being in her life. Until her personal war ended, she couldn’t allow anyone to get close to her. She had dared to take on the Villalobos cartel. And they had detected her greatest vulnerability even before she did.

Her heart.