The relief of it felt like a roller coaster as it squeezed the air out of Cade to make room for a breathless delight. He took a step forward, ready to forget about everyone else there and drag Marlow into a probably inappropriate hug. Then a second realization grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him up short.
Marlow was alive, and the little bastard had let Cade think he’d killed him.
It hurt.
Cade hadn’t expected that. Anger, sure, or frustration at the incompetence of it all. Instead, his chest ached uncomfortably with old adolescent vulnerability.
He hated it. The guilt had been better.
Luckily, it didn’t last. Or it wouldn’t. One thing Cade had learned over the years was act like you didn’t care enough and eventually it would be true. Indifference could be a shield. Or a weapon.
He took the cup out of Marlow’s hand.
“Dinner and conversation,” he drawled. “You’d think this was a date.”
The chill in his voice seemed to register as Marlow gave him a curious look. Maybe he’d have asked, but O’Hara was already at his shoulder.
“Marlow told me what happened last night,” O’Hara said. He waved them toward an empty stretch of railing opposite the stairs that led down to the street. Cade let himself be herded in that direction. “But he didn’t see the accident itself.”
Cade leaned back against the railing, one arm braced on the metal rod. He sipped the broth—thick enough with salt it had the tang of blood—and studied O’Hara.
“That’s because it wasn’t an accident,” he said.
“I told him that much,” Marlow said dryly.
Cade ignored him. He sipped his broth and watched the people milling around them over O’Hara’s shoulder. The Night Shift hadn’t been the only cops that Piper had in his pocket, and they weren’t the only people in San Diego he could ask a favor of. Even from prison.
“One of your men tried to kill us,” he told O’Hara.
“You sure about that?”
Cade raised his eyebrows. “Maybe not,” he said. “It was someone in SDPD gear, behind the wheel of a Bearcat. I guess it could have been anybody. Maybe you should ask your friends at the TV station to put the word out and find them?”
A muscle ticked in O’Hara’s cheek, and his mouth tightened in annoyance. Cade had been wrong. This was satisfying, after all.
“The SDPD was not responsible for that leak,” O’Hara said.
“Please,” Cade said with a sneer. “You don’t even know which of your officers are corrupt. Yet Cold Winds takes the flak for Haley’s death while you and the Night Shift stay above reproach? That leak worked out well for you, didn’t it?”
O’Hara stared at him for a moment and then tossed what was left of his broth into the shrubbery. He’d caught on. This wasn’t a friendly conversation anymore. A lizard appeared from the roots to lick at the greasy sheen on the leaves.
“I’ll give your attitude a pass, after what happened,”
“It’s the same attitude I always have,” Cade said.
“I’ve noticed,” O’Hara said bluntly. “Mr. Deacon, if the SDPD are involved—“
“If?”
“—they’ll be dealt with. The same way Piper was.”
“What? Too late?”
Marlow snorted at that jab. He shrugged when O’Hara turned to scowl at him. For a moment, it was hard to remember why Cade was angry with him. Then Cade thought of the greasy knots of half-digested meat as they slipped out of his throat, and it all came back to him.
“But let us handle the investigation,” O’Hara said flatly. “The SDPD appreciate your help on Haley’s case, but that’s where it ends. Stay out of the case, keep a low profile, and as soon as we can, the SDPD will make sure that the press have the full truth about Haley’s death. More than that, we’ll make sure Cold Winds comes out of this looking good.”
“And what if I don’t do that?”
