This Guy's in Love Read online

  “Anybody hurt?”

  “A black eye to the only female in our foursome today.”

  “Damn.”

  “A fact of having women in modern police departments, Ash.”

  “I guess.” A hesitation. “As for the party, you and I are working together on food.”

  “Brolin already booked the place, right?” When his brother affirmed that, Ty asked, “Isn’t food provided by the venue?”

  “You have to meet with them to plan the menu and setup, bro.”

  “All right. How soon does it have to be done by?”

  “ASAP.”

  They made a date they both could meet, then Ash said, “Stay safe, Ty.”

  “I will. I’ll see you at your reading on the weekend.”

  Ty hated that his close-knit family worried about him. The others had picked safe careers, but ever since he was little, Ty had wanted to become a cop.

  He wondered if Francesca Marcello had grown up thinking about police work. He knew nothing about her background and didn’t dare ask her. Everybody in the squad was into each other’s business, except hers. She’d bitten one guy’s head off when he asked, and nobody questioned her again.

  * * *

  Just before ten o’clock, Frankie pulled into her driveway and found a Prius parked halfway down. The car belonged to Evangelina. Frankie was surprised at her younger sister’s visit because she’d told Frankie earlier in the week she was going to Angels Stadium to see a baseball game tonight. “Hi, kiddo,” Frankie said when they got out of their vehicles simultaneously. “How come you didn’t go inside?”

  “I got here a couple of minutes ago.” Evvie flung her arm around Frankie and leaned into her.

  Uh-oh. Something was wrong. “What’s going on?”

  Under the street lamps, when her sister stepped back, Frankie could see tears in Evvie’s eyes. She still wore her scrubs. “We, um, we lost a baby.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Evvie took her work in the neonatal unit at the Children’s Medical Center to heart. She suffered—or rejoiced—over every single child brought there. “Come inside with me.”

  “You’re probably exhausted.”

  “Never too tired for you.” She punched in the numbers to open the garage and led Evvie into the kitchen and over to the table. “What do you want?”

  “Wine.”

  She poured her sister a glass of merlot.

  “You don’t want any?”

  “Believe it or not, I had two beers.”

  “I like beer. I drink it at the ballgames all the time.”

  “Speaking of which, I thought that’s where you’d be tonight.”

  “I was planning to go. I even talked one of the other nurses into coming with me, but then an infant we’d both tended to took a turn for the worse.”

  “It was nice of you to stay.”

  “Everybody did. Most, anyway. Some had commitments, but those of us without any stayed to see if they could help.” Again, the moisture appeared in her chocolate eyes. “His name was Jason. And he was only two pounds when he was born. He died from pneumonia. His little lungs couldn’t do the work.”

  “Aw. You want to talk about him? His parents?”

  “No. Can I stay here tonight?” Evvie had moved onto the same street as Frankie when she got an internship at the world-renowned center.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have ice cream?”

  “Yep.”

  “Let’s get in bed, OD on the treat and watch no-mind TV.”

  First, Frankie took a shower in her master suite. When she exited the bathroom, she saw Evvie had changed into a pair of her pajama bottoms and an Angels T-shirt from Frankie’s drawer. She’d also taken her hair out of its braid, and it fell in curly locks all the way down her back. She leaned against an upholstered blue headboard, sipping wine. Even though the house had a guest suite, Evvie would sleep here. A common occurrence among all seven of them when they were growing up, then continued when they became adults.

  Frankie dragged on similar nightwear, took down her hair and started to brush it.

  “Here, let me.”

  Kneeling behind her on the bed, Evvie brushed out Frankie’s thick, straight hair that still skimmed her waist. When she finished, they switched places. And for a little while, all was right with the world.

  Chapter 2

  “So, I have some news.” Captain Lincoln made the statement nonchalantly, but Ty knew he rarely did anything on the fly.

  Mumbles made their way around the room of the officers gathered for the morning meeting. They were lucky to have a side of the building with windows, which were open and letting in a breeze.

  “Last winter, President Manwaring implemented Police Training in Tactical Missions to be conducted out of Beltsville.” The location of the Secret Service James J. Rowley Training Center, a half hour from Baltimore. “The program is headed by two high-level agents who now train cops for the same situations they teach to their recruits.”

  Deke grunted loudly. “We don’t need no training like those guys. Most of us have at least a decade on the job.”

  Lincoln didn’t flinch. “Anyone in this room know why we might need it?”

  Francesca raised her hand. If he could have, Ty would have headed her off. The new guy should keep his—or her—mouth shut. “Law enforcement all over the country needs better skills to figure out how to deal with active crime scenes. When all those school shootings occur, the police find themselves—ourselves—undertrained for dealing with an attack like that.”

  “That’s an excellent reason, Detective Marcello. Anyone else?”

  Maybe Ty could take the edge off the shit she’d get for siding with the cap. He said, “They also teach de-escalation of active incidents in hopes of avoiding unwarranted shootings by police officers of civilians.”

  “Not that again.” Deke spat out the words.

  “It happens, Deke,” the captain told him. “Baltimore’s taken a big hit for misconstruing situations, and some of the high-profile cases are still in the minds of our residents.”

  “You sayin’ we kill criminals without cause?” Deke asked.

  “No, but in some instances, BPD members have shot people before we know the cause.”

  “Maybe because we panic,” somebody else called out.

  “Or because we’re prejudiced,” a black officer put in.

  “All valid comments. If you’re not convinced by those reasons, you have to admit that violence against police officers is rampant today. We need better tactics to protect ourselves in those circumstances, and that’s what the Secret Service does—protection.” No more mumbling. “In any case, this isn’t a choice. We’ll be going in pairs, spread out over the next six months.”

  “As partners?” someone asked.

  “With someone in your foursome. I have a list here. Don’t ask to be reassigned to anybody else, and only request a different date if it’s an emergency—and your wife’s birthday isn’t one.”

  “How long is the training?” Francesca asked.

  “A week to begin with. Then, like the Secret Service, we’ll go back for refresher classes.”

  Ty glanced around. Since this was a younger squad, most of the men and women seemed okay with the news. The older guys, like Deke, looked resigned. A few, like Francesca, of course, were excited.

  The cap handed out the assignments. Ty scanned the list. Right at the top, to begin this Monday, were the names Ty Collingsworth and Frankie Marcello. Seriously? They were going to spend a week together? She must be pissed as hell.

  He wasn’t. Actually, he was looking forward to getting to know her better.

  * * *

  Because she learned not to show her reactions in a meeting, Frankie held off until she got to her office. There she shook her head in disgust. She said to Mack, “I don’t know why I can’t go to training with you.”

  “Whatsamatter, honey? You don’t like Collingsworth? Women usually do.”

&nbs
p; She snorted. She’d heard the rumors about females who pursued him. Objectively, she could understand why.

  “It’s not that. He’s always hovering, making conversation.”

  “The asshole.”

  Her head snapped up. When she saw the mirth in his dark eyes, she had to smile. “Okay, even I think that sounds stupid. There’s just something about him...”

  “Hey, Ty,” Mack said, glancing over her shoulder when the man in question come to the door. “Need anything?”

  “I wanted to talk to Marcello. Can you come down to my office sometime this morning?”

  “I guess.”

  “See you then.”

  When he left, she looked at Mack. He said with a grin, “Boy, was he out of line there.”

  “I get it. I get it.”

  An hour later, the captain entered their office. “Some of the beat guys are caught up in an aggravated assault situation, and called for backup. I sent black and whites, but I want detectives there.”

  Frankie grabbed her suitcoat. Mack never wore a formal jacket, only the white shirt and tie required of male detectives. Thoughts of the training and Tyrell evaporated as they left the station.

  When they reached the Metro, the site of the disturbance, Mack stepped in front of her. “Follow me. Keep your hand on your gun.”

  Frankie didn’t take insult. She’d been a cop for eight years and knew the drill, but she was the younger partner, and Mack didn’t know her full capabilities yet.

  After hurrying through entrance turnstiles, they shuffled down steps and strode to the crowd gathered twenty yards away. The scent of unwashed bodies and diesel fuel made Frankie’s stomach clench. This part of the subway was underground and not well-ventilated.

  Uniformed officers held passengers back, and she and Mack elbowed their way through the throng. What they found on the other side was a common scene in big cities, but still made her sick. A rail-thin man wearing tattered clothing, with scraggly long gray hair, lay on the ground, bloody and bruised, coughing and moaning. Two medics worked on him. Meanwhile, other officers had two teenage males cuffed and up against the wall.

  “You can’t arrest me,” one boy yelled. “I’m too young.”

  The officer who’d secured the plastic tabs said, “Ever heard of juvenile detention?”

  Mack and Frankie approached them. Another boy slouched next to the first, but said nothing. A slight girl with pretty blond hair sat motionless on the ground about five feet away, hands bound, head down.

  The patrol cop nodded to Frankie and Mack. “Glad you’re here.”

  “What’s going on?” Mack asked.

  “Kids were on their way to school—a Catholic one, believe it or not. We saw the tail end, but passengers report the three of them got off the train and saw the guy laying there, and beat him up. Must have wanted some kicks before class. We cuffed them and read them their Miranda rights.”

  “Hell. Did you talk to all the onlookers?” Mack asked.

  “Not yet. But we corralled everybody we could. They’re not happy about being late to work.”

  Sometimes Frankie couldn’t believe the shortsightedness of people. “Go ahead and interview the rest,” she told the guy. “Get their names and contact information. We’ll take over with the teens.”

  Mack approached the most sullen boy. He wore a light blue shirt beneath a navy blazer with an insignia, Be a good Christian on the pocket. Talk about irony. “So, I wanna know what you did.”

  Silence.

  “Now!” Mack bellowed.

  The boy’s blond brows raised. “Didn’t do nothin’. Saw this guy laying there and went over to see if we could help him.”

  “You were caught in the act by the cops.”

  “Lyin’ pigs.”

  “Yeah, you won’t be talking that big when you face prison for an aggravated assault.”

  The one next to him, also in the school uniform, snorted. “We’re fucking underage.”

  “How old?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Mack shook his head. “My guess is you’ll be tried as an adult.”

  “Call our parents.”

  Deke gestured Frankie to the girl. Frankie covered the few feet between them and knelt down. “What’s your name?”

  Silent, she only shook her head. Up close, she was even smaller in build, almost petite.

  “I need your name or I’ll have to search you for identification.”

  “Danielle Murphy.” Her khaki jumper showed splotches of blood, which wouldn’t bode well for her.

  “Well, Danielle, you want to tell me what happened?”

  Again, the shake of her head.

  “Then let me tell you something. Those boys over there will sell you down the river to get a better deal.” Frankie stood. “Come on, get up.”

  When the girl obeyed, her head fell back. And Frankie saw the bruise on her right cheek. “The victim punch you?” she asked.

  Danielle darted a glance at the boys. Frankie tracked it. They were staring hard at her. She said simply, “Yeah, he got a punch in.”

  A man wearing a medic’s uniform approached them. He nodded to Frankie and spoke first to Danielle. “What’s your name?” Danielle told him. He gestured to her head. “Let me take a look at that.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Nobody can go to the police station unless I check everybody out. It’ll only take a minute.”

  Fear suffused Danielle’s face. Frankie put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and the medic, whose name tag read Brady Sullivan, gave her an approving look. She smiled back at him.

  After examining the wound, he doused it with antiseptic, applied cream and gently secured a bandage.

  “Thanks for your help,” she told him when Danielle didn’t say anything.

  “Yours, too.” He angled his head at the injured man who was set on a stretcher and wheeled out. “What a shame.”

  Danielle started to cry.

  Now that was a good sign.

  * * *

  Mrs. Murphy’s chin trembled as she walked into the interrogation room, a square of ten feet with a desk and three chairs. Mr. Murphy jammed his hands into his pockets and wore a grim expression on his face. Frankie made sure she was there when the couple first saw Danielle so she could gauge their reaction.

  Her mother rushed to her side and touched her daughter’s shoulder. “My God. What’s going on?”

  Danielle kept her face down.

  Her father joined them. “Sweetheart, you can tell us.” His voice was shaky.

  Still nothing. Mrs. Murphy turned to Frankie. “What happened?”

  “Your daughter was read her Miranda rights and we arrested her for the assault of a homeless man in the subway.”

  “Our Dani?” her father said, his brows raised, his eyes wide.

  “I’m afraid so. Why don’t you sit down? You can move a chair so you can both face her. It might help.”

  The mother sat. “I—I don’t understand.”

  There was a reason for that, one that had given Frankie the idea that something more was going on here. This obviously wasn’t customary behavior for her daughter. “A homeless person was sleeping in the subway. Both police officers and bystanders identified Danielle and two boys as the ones who kicked and punched the man.”

  “Danielle, is that true?” Mom again.

  No response.

  “Danielle, look at us.” Dad.

  The girl finally raised her head. Her eyes filled. “I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Murphy shirked back. “Dear Lord in heaven, you’re hurt!”

  “A medic at the scene checked her out.”

  “Did you do this awful thing?” her mother asked.

  “I—I—” Now, Danielle began to weep.

  Mrs. Murphy drew Danielle into her arms. After Dani cried it out, she drew back. Her father reached for her hand and addressed Frankie. “Do we need a lawyer?”

  “Of course we do, Martin.”

  “Alice, we don
’t have money for that.”

  Following protocol, Frankie told him, “If you can’t afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you. That’ll be decided at the arraignment next week.”

  The dad nodded. “Then we want one. Meanwhile, we’d like to talk to our daughter alone.”

  “All right.” Frankie stood. “I’ll be back.” She walked out of the interrogation room and over to the next.

  The boy who’d slouched against the wall sat up straight now, next to a well-dressed couple, who were speaking to Mack. She turned on the sound.

  “How dare you arrest our son?” this woman asked. “Do you know my husband is a local politician?”

  The father put in, “Our lawyer should be here any minute. You better think about the black eye I can give the Baltimore Police Department.”

  Frankie turned the sound off.

  “What’s going on?” Tyrell came up beside her.

  “Assault against a homeless man. Two belligerent boys, and a girl who can’t stop crying.”

  “Hmm, she’s the one I’d try to get the truth from.”

  In a rotten mood because of the circumstances of the case, she said sharply, “Do you think you have to tell me that?”

  “What?”

  “I know how to do my job.”

  “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. I was only giving you my opinion.”

  She glared at him.

  He said, “Screw it,” and stalked away.

  Two hours later, Frankie went back inside the Murphys’ room. “You can leave now,” she informed them. “Danielle will be remanded to your custody, but you have to appear at an arraignment on Monday.”

  “Not yet.” Mr. Murphy was settled more and his tone was confident. “Danielle has a lot to tell you, Detective Marcello.”

  * * *

  This time, Ty was mad. In the last three months, he’d put up with all the woman’s dislike of him, but erupting for what he suggested was way out of line. He planned to—