Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (12 page)

“Barone—the captain wants to see ya—
now
!” One of the new crop of freshly scrubbed officers stuck his head in the interrogation room where Nick and his partner were a hair’s breadth away from coercing Jimmy O’Toole to rat on a friend.

Nick glanced over his shoulder with a scowl. “Tell him I’m busy on the Dead Man’s Alley homicide and I’ll be there when I’m done.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant, but the captain said this can’t wait.”

Venting with a near growl, Nick gouged the bridge of his nose with blunt fingers before pushing away from the table, the wooden chair groaning in protest. Blast it all, Friday afternoons were hard enough in the Barbary precinct with a week of felonies and misdemeanors piled high and a weekend of carousing looming ahead. He sure didn’t need the captain pulling rank this close to cinching a case. He rose and snatched his jacket off the back of the chair, tone as threatening as the look he gave the pimple-faced punk slouched with his head in his hands. “I’m out of patience, slimeball. If you haven’t spilled what you know by the time I get back, we’ll toss your sorry hide in the cage and book you for manslaughter, you got it?”

Nick banged the chair in with a grunt. “You can waste your time if you want, Flynn, but the punk’s yellow and I’m through pussyfootin’. I’ll have the paperwork to toss him in the cage when I get back.” He stalked out of the room and slammed the door. The show of temper was no act as he stormed down the hall to the captain’s office, bumping the shoulder of some baby-faced recruit he passed who looked younger than O’Toole. Not bothering to knock, Nick hurled the captain’s door open, quivering the wood and opaque glass frame as it ricocheted off the wall. “What’s the all-fire hurry, Harm?” he said, taking advantage of their friendship. “I thought Dead Man’s Alley was a priority.” He glared at his superior, not giving a whit about the bigwig in a tailored charcoal morning coat in one of the captain’s worn leather chairs.

Lips compressed in the barest of smiles, Captain Harmon Peel assessed Nick with the same patient air as always when his top detective came crashing through his door. Easily fifteen years Nick’s senior, Harmon Peel had proven to be not only an honest and able police official, but a good friend as well, one of the few Nick could trust in a precinct where cops on the take were as
common as fleas in the jail. Despite a black handlebar moustache and stocky build, hints of Miss Penny’s features could be seen in blue eyes that sported an abundance of wrinkles. The smattering of gray at his temples seemed to have grown since Nick joined the precinct a year ago, but that was to be expected in a district where prostitution, gambling, drugs, and alcohol were primary modes of survival. Harmon waved a hand at an empty chair in front of his scarred wooden desk. “Close the door and take a load off, Nick, I have a proposition for you.”

“No thanks, Captain—the only proposition I’m interested in is stringing up the lowlife who snuffed out Sadie Merton’s life.”

The planes of Captain Peel’s affable face hardened into a tight smile as taut as his tone. “It wasn’t a request, Barone, it was an order.
Sit
.”

Nipping the colorful retort straining on the tip of his tongue, Nick heaved the door closed, vibrating both the glass and the wall this time before he dropped in the leather chair next to the dandy already seated. Exhaling a noisy breath, he gave no more than a cursory glance at the man beside him, but it was more than enough. He shot to his feet, knuckles white and palms flat as he slanted forward on Harmon’s desk. “A proposition with
him
? Not on your life, Harm—I want nothing to do with a high-rolling board member who votes with his bank account.”

Harmon Peel silently rose like impending doom, the flicker in his jaw matching the one in Nick’s cheek. His voice was lethal and low, a level he usually reserved for the baby-fuzz patrolman fresh on the beat. “Another word and you’ll be directing traffic and policing cable cars for pickpockets, Barone, right after a stint in the cooler, is that clear?”

Grinding a stinging retort into his tongue, Nick chose rigid silence over vaulting the desk.

“I said—is-that-clear?”

Nick’s temple was throbbing so hard, it could have been Morse code.
“Yes,”
he bit out, the word sounding more like a curse than a response.

“Now sit down and shut up, Nick, and listen for once instead of going off half-cocked like a loaded gun in the hands of one of those squeaky-voiced goggle-eyes I just hired.”

Twitch in his cheek, Nick made him wait before he finally dropped back in the chair.

Harmon drew in a deep breath and released it again. He slowly reclaimed his seat with a steel-edged authority as sharp as the cold knife of threat Nick felt lodged in his back. “Logan McClare is not only a presiding member of this city’s top government authority but one of my closest friends, in addition to being a highly respected member of this community. In the future, Detective Barone, you will address him as ‘Supervisor McClare’ in a tone worthy of his status, understood?” He paused, obviously expecting Nick’s consent, which came in the form of a grunt.

“Good.” Huffing out a weary sigh, the captain leaned back with a squeal of his chair. “Sorry about that, Logan, but he hails from Lower Manhattan—Little Italy—where civil discourse is apparently extinct.” He folded his hands on a barrel chest, ignoring Nick as if he weren’t singeing him with a glare two feet away. “Hired him as a favor to a friend of a friend a year ago, but for all his surly disposition, he’s the best and toughest cop in this precinct.”

“Only after you, Harm,” Logan said with a warmth Nick didn’t know the man possessed. “I just hope you’re tougher than he is because we’ll need something to keep him in line.”

A nerve pulsed in Nick’s face. “Excuse me,
sir
, but I’m not deaf, dumb, and blind.”

Harm’s gaze finally veered to Nick with a smile. “Well, not
deaf anyway,” he said with a chuckle. He turned back to McClare. “Yeah, I’m tougher than him, but only because he needs to eat. But I gotta be honest, Logan, I hate to lose him as a detective even for a short time. He’s first-rate and has solved more crimes in the last year than the rest of my staff put together. But if you can overlook his crotchety manner, well, then I guess he’s your man.”

Logan shifted in his chair to face him, and his cool smile told Nick he was enjoying the upper hand despite the hard line of his sculpted jaw. With a casual confidence that got on Nick’s nerves, he appeared to be the ultimate solicitor, inside the courtroom or out, unruffled and in control. Not a strand was out of place on thick dark hair peppered with gray at the temples, and the near-cavernous cleft in his chin and easy good looks explained his reputation as one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Nick’s facial muscles stretched taut. Yeah, that and the fact he was filthy rich and politically connected.

He assessed Nick through cool eyes the color of iced pewter. “I’d like to commission your services, Mr. Barone.”

Nick slid him a sideways sneer. “To put a leash on your scatterbrained niece so she doesn’t get in trouble again?”

“Barone . . .” Harmon’s tone held a warning. “One more slur and your next paycheck is mine.”

Better
than working for an arrogant blue blood.
The tendons in his neck felt ready to snap. “Yes, sir.”

A faint smile played on Logan’s lips as he relaxed in his chair with arms folded across a meticulous silk waistcoat and crisp linen shirt. “You’re more astute than you appear, Detective, although I prefer the term ‘high-spirited and adventurous’ when it comes to my niece.” Genuine affection flickered on his face for a split second while slate-colored eyes trailed into a faraway stare, his eyes as soft as his tone. “Allison is a remarkably rare young woman.”

Nick buried a grunt.
And it’s a good thing, the way she
wields a stick.

“But,” he said with a lift of his chin, a counselor in control once again, “your disdain for me and my niece is exactly why I believe you’re the perfect candidate for what I have in mind.”

Candidate??
Nick gritted his teeth to contain all further insults.
“Victim” is more apt if your niece
is involved.
He felt the captain’s stare drill a hole in the side of his head, forcing his words past the clench of his teeth. “If I may be so bold,
sir
, perfect candidate for what?”

Logan grinned as if what he was about to say gave him great satisfaction. “Why, the perfect guardian, teacher, and handyman for the Hand of Hope School, Mr. Barone.”

Nick stared, jaw slacking into stupor mode. “In case it’s slipped your notice,
Supervisor McClare
, I already have a job.”

The grin faded into a formidable smile. “Yes, Mr. Barone, I know—working for me.”

Nick shot to his feet, palms strained flat on Harmon’s desk once again. “What’s he talking about, Captain?”

“Sit down, Nick,” Harmon said with more patience than Nick would possess in a lifetime. He nodded to Nick’s chair and waited for him to comply. “After the incident where the supervisor’s niece was accosted, I’m sure you understand his concern to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yeah, but the solution is so simple, a moron could figure it out.” Nick cocked his head. “Tell her to stay inside after dark on the Barbary Coast,
Supervisor McClare
, all cozy-comfy and safe.”

A chuckle parted from Logan’s lips as he absently scratched the back of his neck, gaze on the floor. “Well, I’m afraid nothing is ‘simple’ when it comes to my niece, Mr. Barone, or with her mother, for that matter.” He glanced up, affection lacing his
smile once again. “Beautiful women both, but cut from different cloth than most. Fragile hearts and hard heads, independent and stubborn to the point of feisty, but as soft and gentle as newborn kittens.” The grin was back. “But you’ll want to steer clear of the claws if you step on their tails.”

One side of Nick’s lip angled up. “Yeah, and I got the scars to prove it.”

“Well now, see there, Nick?” Logan reached to slap him on the shoulder with a low chuckle, an action meant to disarm him, no doubt. And it was working—a realization that steeled Nick’s jaw all the more. “You and I have something in common after all, eh?” He sat back, arms on the chair and eyes squinted in calculation. “So . . . I came to see the captain today because I need a watchman and handyman for the school until Mr. Bigley returns.”

Nick’s gaze flicked to Harm and back, forehead bunched in annoyance. “No offense, Supervisor McClare, but why me? Any officer with a firearm can provide protection and most are handy enough. Some might actually enjoy working with a time bomb like your niece.”

Logan chuckled. “Yes, any officer can supply armed protection and handle odd jobs, I suppose, not to mention jump at the chance to double his salary working with beautiful women for a brief span. And who knows—maybe even aspire to snag the heart of a wealthy young girl in the process.” He crossed his arms, then propped one fist to his mouth, assessing Nick through pensive eyes. “But Captain Peel assures me no one but you possesses the unique skills I need to ensure my niece’s physical and emotional safety as well as my peace of mind.”

Nick quirked a brow. “The ability to step on her tail?”

A slow smile inched across Logan’s face. “Partially.”

“Come again?” Nick’s gaze thinned.

“You just made the point yourself, Nick. You can’t abide my niece and she can’t abide you. It only took thirty seconds to see the discord between you two, which is exactly what I need.” A granite-like hardness settled over the supervisor’s features, marking him as a formidable foe—obviously out of the courtroom as well as in. “Or what
Allison
needs, actually, at least right now. Regrettably the girl’s had her heart stomped on more times than I care to admit, and I’m looking for someone with no interest in either her or her money.”

Nick grunted. “Well, that shoe certainly fits.”

“Yes, it does, Mr. Barone, but the most important reason I want to hire you makes you the perfect fit all around, head to toe.”

“And what would that be, Supervisor?” Nick said with a stiff smile, playing nice before he told him what he could do with his high-priced patsy job.

“I want you to teach my niece jiu-jitsu.”

Nick blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Jiu-jitsu, Nick,” he said with an easy stretch of his arm over the back of the chair. “Harm tells me you picked it up in the war and have trained several of the officers here.”

Nick actually smiled.
Teach a woman? Jiu-jitsu? The
man is out of his mind.
He shook his head, certain McClare was as loony as his cockamamie niece.
Runs
in the family, apparently, probably from generations of intermarriage.
He cleared his throat. “Uh . . . I appreciate your confidence in me, sir, but I don’t teach women jiu-jitsu.”

Challenge gleamed bright in Logan McClare’s eyes like new-minted money. “Not even for triple your salary?”

Nick bolted up, teeth clenched so hard, he had to pry them open just to bite out the words. “Not-even-for-triple-
your
-salary,
sir.
” He stood to his full six-foot-four height, once again infuri
ated at the gall of wealthy men like McClare who thought they could buy people to do their bidding. Like ex-Governor Gage and Mayor Schmitz obviously bought the Board of Supervisors with the Chinatown quarantine, ultimately costing his friend Ming Chao the life of his grandson. He singed Logan with a withering glare. “Unlike some people, Supervisor, I can’t be bought.”

“Okay, Barone, that’s a week’s salary to the police fund,” the captain snapped. He arched a brow. “Care to make it two?”

Nick gritted a response through his teeth. “No.”

“Good, because I’m not giving you a choice here, Nick—it’s either commit to working for the supervisor or turn in your badge—it’s as simple as that.”

Nick gaped, facial muscles slack. “You wouldn’t do that, Harm.”

The captain scratched the front of his neck, expression steeped in regret. “Wouldn’t want to, but this precinct owes Supervisor McClare a debt of gratitude. He’s our biggest ally—”