Crossroads

I PLANNED TO BEAT EVERYONE INTO THE OFFICE ON Monday morning. Check telephone messages, the calendar, pull notices from the fax and, if no jobs presented themselves, sneak away before David showed up.



Well, I did beat David.



But not our other partner, Tracey.



She's already at work behind the desk, pencil in hand, scanning fugitive posters hot off the fax. She's sitting in David's seat and looks up when I come in.



She's pretty in a "don't fuck with me" kind of way. Big eyes, big smile she can switch to a just-as-big scowl. She uses both to her advantage. She wears very little makeup, and I've never seen her long auburn hair in anything but a ponytail. She's wearing a Chargers sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed to her elbows. I can't see anything else, but I'd be willing to bet there are jeans on those long legs under the desk. She and I could share the same work wardrobe if she wasn't four inches taller.



"Heard from David?" I ask, plopping into my chair.



She nods. "He's not coming in today unless we need him. Personal business."



My shoulders relax. I can imagine what that "personal business" is. Not many doctor's offices or clinics open on Sunday.



I pick up one of the flyers she's already set aside. "Ang for us?"



Tracey puts the rest of the flyers down, lays her pencil on the desk. "Not in this stuff. But I have something if you're willing to help me with it."



I look up. "Go on."



"It's not a paying gig."



I lift my shoulders in a "so what?" gesture.



She presses her lips together. Her expression says she's not sure now how to proceed.



Unusual for Tracey. Speaking her mind has never been a problem.



I sit and wait for her to decide. I'm in no hurry. And if I end up with the day off, so much the better. I'll go see Culebra. I have a bone to pick with him. My instincts were right. He knew what Max wanted. So why didn't he simply tell me? It would have saved all three of us-



"My sister is in trouble."



Tracey's voice cuts into my head, pulling me back from my irritation with Culebra and into the present. "Your sister?"



Tracey releases a breath. "She filed a restraining order against her ex. So far, he's evaded being served. I told her I'd do it. I need backup."



Coming from Tracey, this is surprising. She's an ex-cop who got hurt single-handedly taking down an armed bank robber. She didn't get shot. She got hurt tackling the guy who outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. Saved a room full of hostages but the back injury developed into spinal nerve injury and she was forced to retire from the force.



Hardly bothers her now. And I've seen her in action. That she thinks she needs backup to serve papers must mean this guy is one mean son of a bitch.



She's watching me and from the look on her face, reads my expression as clearly as if I'd spoken it aloud.



"He is," she says. "He's been in jail three times for spousal abuse and always gets away with a slap on the wrist. He's got money and a good lawyer on his side. My sister has me. I want to get this son of a bitch out of her life. If he violates a restraining order, it won't be so easy for him to beat the rap. But he has to be served first."



"Do you know where to find him?"



"I do. He follows my sister the minute she leaves the house for work. He hangs around the parking lot outside, always in sight, then follows her home. He won't let a stranger approach him, but he knows me. He'll think I'm there to warn him to stay away. Again. But this time . . ." Her eyes flick away briefly, settle back on mine. "I'll make sure he takes those papers."



I have no doubt. "So what do you need me for?"



Tracey lets a tiny smile touch the corners of her mouth. "He's been making threats. Tells my sister if she doesn't come back to him, he'll kill her. He has a weapon. He's never showed it to me, but Miriam says she's seen it. Something he picked up at a gun show. Miriam doesn't know about guns, it's evidently a rifle of some sort. But she's scared."



Tracey stands up, pulls the sweatshirt over her head. She has a T-shirt on underneath, and a .38 police special in a holster on her belt. "If the bastard tries anything, I want a witness."



My kind of girl.



This is exactly the kind of diversion I need.



I unlock a dk drawer and pull out my own .38.



"So, when do we leave?"