In The Line Of Fire

Okay, she admitted, so that bothered her. Danny Gates was a hero-type hunk and if his past was any indication, he’d probably been around with the best womankind had to offer. It went with the territory. She couldn’t compete with that. She shouldn’t even want to. And she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. But for some reason, it made her feel so sad.

Molly went back to her bed. Beside her uniform cap, which she picked up and placed on her dresser, was the file she had gotten out of records hours ago. She went to the kitchen for a can of soda pop, then came back and curled up in bed with the file. She told herself again that she owed it to her kids to know exactly what Danny had done—and to convince Ron Glover to let him go if need be. If he posed any danger whatsoever—outside of the bad influence that Ron Glover had obviously already overlooked—she’d drag him off that gym floor bodily.

She read, and twenty minutes later she had enough of a headache to get up again and go looking for some aspirin.

Not much of the police report made sense. The store Danny had robbed had been way the heck north on Mission Creek Road, halfway to Lone Star Highway, actually beyond the city’s jurisdiction. That was the first odd thing. The sheriff had tossed the case to the Mission Creek boys but there was no record of why. Still, she could have lived with that, it was the only oddity.

What bothered her most was the fact that Danny had been picked up on the opposite end of Mission Creek Road—within the city limits—seventeen minutes after the 911 call had come in from the convenience store. Was it even possible to drive from the Mission Ridge area—which was just west of Mission Creek Road where the store had been held up—to a point south of Gulf Road inside of seventeen minutes? It was, she thought, if you had the pedal to the floor. And according to the police report Danny had been driving a spiffy, presumably horsepower-endowed Lexus at the time. But was it possible to drive that distance in seventeen minutes and add a small side trip even farther to the south and a jog to the west where his condo had been located? Because that was what he would have had to do to deposit the stolen money there. The 911 call had come in at 2:12 in the afternoon. He’d been picked up at 2:29. The stolen money was located almost simultaneously in his bottom dresser drawer by other investigative officers because, lo and behold, the convenience store owner had known Danny’s name and had bleated it out like a frightened lamb the minute the first cops had arrived on the scene. They’d dispatched another unit directly to Danny’s address, and that unit had discovered the money.

How neat. How convenient. Except…

For that to be possible, Danny would have had to leave the Mission Ridge area, drive all the way to his condo to dump the stash he’d taken, and then for some reason he would have headed north and east again before the cops had picked him up. Oh, and one other interesting thing, she thought. He would have had to make an inexplicable U-turn on Mission Creek Road in the process because by that time, when the cruiser had nabbed him, he’d been heading back home.

At least he’d said he’d been heading home. Maybe he’d lied. Cons did lie.

Why hadn’t he called for a lawyer? Maybe that just bothered her because Ed Bancroft hadn’t done it, either. An awful lot of guys these days were going down without a fight, Molly thought.

Why hadn’t anyone noted the discrepancy in the direction Danny had been traveling? Where had he really been heading home from—especially since he had presumably just left his condo after dropping the cash?

The Mercado compound was right off Mission Creek Road, she thought, between the convenience store and the location where Danny had been picked up. If Danny had been driving home from there, he would have been traveling in the correct direction.

Molly got back into bed and set the file carefully on her bedside table. Well, well, well, she thought as she turned her light off. Another smelly fish in the desert.

“I’ve figured it out. You were framed.”

Danny barely heard her. He was too transfixed by what he found when he came downstairs from his apartment and set foot in the gym on Wednesday afternoon.

First of all, there was an open library book on the floor in the middle of the court. The regular kids were standing back a way and watching Molly skeptically. Some of the newcomers had returned, as well. Four or five of them were lined up on the side of the court next to Bobby.

“What the hell are you doing?” Danny demanded.

“Playing basketball.”

“You’re not playing basketball. You’re bouncing around on your toes and occasionally looking down at that book. What’s that book?”

“You were framed. Either you’re too stupid to realize it or too stupid to care.”

“I cared.”

“You didn’t do anything about it.”

“I want to talk about basketball.”

“Well, I don’t.” She stopped bouncing and faced him, planting her hands on her hips.

Those hips, Danny thought. What he could see of them today left his mouth dry. She wore spandex leggings. There was a great deal of rolled-down sock at her ankles and…she wore new high tops. She also wore a black sports bra, and he liked it a whole lot better than Cia’s.

Every sweet curve of her was outlined in nice, tight black.

“You can’t learn basketball from a book,” he said stubbornly, trying to keep his mind off the way she looked. “That book is about basketball, isn’t it? Some sort of in-ten-easy-lessons kind of thing? Basketball for dummies?”

“It’s very informative.” Molly sniffed. “And I can learn anything from reading. For instance, I learned a great deal from reading your crime file.”

“You read my file? I told you to stop digging up dirt on me! Damn it, stop bouncing!” She was jiggling in place. Oh, yeah, she definitely jiggled.

“I just warmed up. I want to stay that way.” She thrust her chin toward him. “Warming up is important. The book says so. I want to stay loose.”

“You’re loose as a goose. And you don’t need to be. This is my basketball team.”

“Are you guys talking about his record or our game?” Cia called out from behind Molly.

“We’re talking about his record,” Molly said.

“We’re talking about her bouncing,” Danny said.

“Oh, man, I want to up my ante,” said Fisk.

Danny stalked over to the library book and snatched it up off the floor. “This is a joke.”

“Why didn’t you defend yourself when they brought you in for questioning?” she countered. “Why didn’t you call a lawyer?”

“It wouldn’t have done me a damned bit of good. Get off my court.”

“No. Not until you explain.” She grabbed the book back from his hand.

“What’s it to you?”

“Maybe I just want leverage to use against you.”

If it meant he could part ways with that spandex, then Danny thought it might be worth it. He couldn’t look at her like this. Couldn’t. She was a cop. “Come with me,” he said shortly.

“Where?”

“To Ron’s office.”

“Why?”

“Stop with the questions for once, will you? Follow me. You want to talk? Fine. We’ll do it in private.” He was damned if he was going to give the kids more of a show.

He was halfway across the court before he sensed rather than saw her fall into step behind him. He stalked angrily through the vestibule and waited by the office door. When she passed through it, he slammed it shut behind her and went to the other side of the desk to keep space between them.

“We have a serious power struggle going on here,” he said.

Molly leaned her back against the door. “I was here first.”

“You’re not going to get rid of me. I don’t care how many times you tow my car. Regardless of my parole terms, it was my decision to be here.”

Somewhere along the line, she had started to realize that, and it made Molly feel small.