The first bullet grazed him high on the thigh. He ignored the bite of pain and pushed forward, shooting as he sped toward his partner. His Glock jumped in his hand, the muzzle flash bright in the dark night. The metallic smell of his blood and sulfury gunpowder filled his nostrils while the sharp retort of his weapon echoed in his ears.

  Two men dropped as his shots struck home. Before he could take cover, another gunshot caught him high on the shoulder. It jerked him back for a moment and slowed his race to his partner.

  One of the attackers rushed to where Trey had seen Doug fall. One, two, three shots rang out. The sound reverberated against the metal of the containers.

  Trey screamed in anguish, fired and loaded a new magazine, but the man was already running back toward his compatriots and shouting out instructions for them to clear out. Mindlessly Trey dashed toward his partner. Motion came from behind a container. He turned to confront the man and a bullet tore across his ribs. It drove him to his knees, but not before he got off a shot and took down his attacker.

  Eyesight failing, he fell forward, but somehow garnered the strength to crawl toward his partner, who sat immobile against the wall of a storage container. Doug’s eyes were wide-open and staring at the night sky. Blossoms of red spread across his chest and midsection.

  Trey pulled Doug into his arms and cradled him close. The wet of his tears mingled with blood and sweat. His. Doug’s. Vision fading, Trey silently pleaded for his partner’s life. Prayed for his own as a chill settled into his midsection and slowly spread.

  Dios, por favor, he thought, peering at a bright Miami moon that dimmed as he grew faint from blood loss. But then the sounds of sirens screeched into the night.

  Trey sucked in a rough breath, fighting to hold on. Help was on its way. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Hold on just a little longer. Maybe then he’d be able to ask his partner why he’d raced out into almost certain death. Had it been the woman’s scream or something else?

  With cold settling into his gut, Trey tightened his arms around his partner as if by doing so he could keep him in this world. Maybe then he’d know the answer to the questions that chased him into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Two

  Trey woke to a world of hurt.

  Pain came at him from all sides, but he drove it out of his consciousness and focused on other things. The pinch and pull of the IV in his arm. The slight nip in the room and rough hospital sheets beneath his body. The warm gentle touch of a hand. His mother’s hand, he knew, without even opening his eyes. He grabbed hold tight.

  “Mi’jo,” she said, her tones soft and laced with a different kind of pain.

  He cracked his eyes open and met his mother’s worried gaze. But he could see in her eyes something more. Fear. “Doug?”

  “I’m sorry, mi’jo.”

  Trey sucked in a breath to fight back the tears but grimaced as another wave of pain buffeted his body.

  “Easy, Trey,” he heard another voice say and glanced toward the door where his father stood. Deep lines etched his forehead and bracketed his mouth. Dark smudges beneath his eyes, like charcoal smoothed across paper, made his skin sickly pale.

  His father took a spot beside his mother, hand resting on her shoulder. As Trey gazed at them, it occurred to him that his parents seemed to have aged decades since the last time he’d seen them barely a week earlier. Which made him wonder how long he’d been out of it since he’d been shot.

  “What day is it?” he asked, voice rusty from disuse and the tubes they had likely shoved down his throat.

  “Sunday,” his mother said.

  He and his partner Doug had been investigating a lead on Friday night when the barrage of bullets had cut them down. Which meant Doug had been dead for two days.

  “He shouldn’t have run out. I should have stopped him,” he said as guilt erupted again at the thought of Doug’s young wife and the two toddlers who would never know their father.

  “Then it might have been you that’s dead, mi’jo,” his father said with none of his mother’s tenderness, but the worry and love were still there. Along with something else that he knew was coming: his father’s hope that Trey would leave the police department and join the family business.

  “Por favor, papi. Not now,” he said and closed his eyes, his strength quickly fading, drained by both his emotions and injuries.

  As his mother’s soft touch came against his hand once more, he centered on that loving caress and let himself slip away so he could heal. The faster he healed, the faster he could find out why his partner hadn’t waited for backup. Find out who had murdered Doug.

  * * *

  RONI STOOD BEHIND the Twins as they showered Trey with hugs and kisses.

  “Hermanito, you had us so worried,” Mia said and hugged her older brother. Carolina playfully elbowed Mia out of the way to drop a quick kiss on her cousin’s cheek. “Totally worried,” Carolina said.

  Trey glanced her way and offered a pained and slightly weak smile, but his color was good and he’d managed to sit upright in bed without any help. “Thank you all for coming by, but I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice raspy.

  If you could consider being shot in three different places fine, Roni thought, but he seemed stronger than after his operation two days earlier. After losing her suspect when he’d raced out of the club, she’d headed to another bar in the hopes of finding him, but she’d had no luck. She had returned to the bar to make sure her friends were fine. That was when Trey’s parents had called Mia to tell her about the shooting.

  At that moment, her heart had stopped in her chest and the only thing she could think was, Not Trey.

  “You better be fine, Gonzalez,” Roni said, trying to keep her tone upbeat. Two nights ago, when she’d driven the Twins to the hospital, it had been too scary to see him unconscious and in pain.

  Trey nodded and said, “I will be. Bet on it.”

  Knowing Trey, she wouldn’t bet against him. And knowing Trey, he’d be determined to find out who had murdered his partner. She was just as determined to find the suspect who had been talking to Doug that night and discover what had been his relationship to Trey’s partner. Worry niggled in her gut that it hadn’t been anything aboveboard.

  Shooting a glance at her watch, she said, “I should get going. My partner is probably wondering where I am this morning.”

  “Thanks for coming,” Trey said and jerked his chin up in a bro-kind of goodbye. No hugs and kisses for her and disappointment flared before she tamped it down.

  “Sure. See you.” She was tempted for a moment, a too-brief moment, to go over and give him a hug or a kiss. But she was afraid it might reveal too much, especially with the Twins watching. They were well aware of her crush and would be only too happy to play matchmaker.

  She hurried from the room, eager to return to the station house and brief her new partner on what she’d seen the night of Trey’s shooting. Her partner had been undercover at a different club, keeping an eye on things there. They hadn’t had a chance to really chat since they’d been caught up with processing the human trafficking victims and reviewing the initial evidence from the shooting as well as coordinating with Miami-Dade on the case.

  Traffic was light on the way from the hospital to Miami Beach. Her partner was at his desk when she entered, but she had barely taken a few steps into the station house when her captain called out to her.

  “Detective Lopez, I need you ASAP,” he said from the door of his office.

  She shot a quick look at her partner, sitting at his desk, but he only gave her a “who knows” shrug.

  But when she entered, she found two of the department’s internal affairs detectives standing to one side of her captain’s office.

  “Detective Lopez,” the first IAD detective said. Ramirez was an older, former football player whose size was imposing, but who was also starting to spread around the middle.

  His sidekick, Detective Anderson, was years younger, with blond surfer boy looks and a lean muscular body. Anderson tilted his head up in greeting as her captain gestured in the direction of the chair in front of his desk. Once she sat, he closed the door behind her.

  “Captain Rogers?” she asked, but he said nothing, just settled into his chair and glared at the IAD men. His face was set in harsh lines, his brown skin taut against the sharp line of his jaw. Mahogany brown eyes glittered with anger and his hands were folded over his midsection, fingers laced together tightly.

  “We understand that you and Detective Gonzalez are quite friendly,” Ramirez said, and she didn’t fail to miss the insinuation in his tone.

  “His sister and cousin are my best friends, and our families are close. We’ve basically grown up together,” she said to clear up any misconceptions about the nature of their relationship.

  Ramirez and Anderson shared a look that caused a frisson of fear to race down Roni’s spine and worry tightened her gut into a knot.

  “How well do you know Detective Gonzalez?” Anderson said.

  “As I said, we’ve grown up together,” she said and risked a quick glance at her captain, whose position and demeanor had only gotten more agitated, matching her own growing disquiet.

  “What’s this about?” Roni asked, cutting to the chase.

  The two IAD detectives glanced at each other once more before Ramirez said, “We have reason to believe that Detective Adams was involved in something that might be responsible for what happened two nights ago.”

  The image of Doug speaking with her possible suspect flashed through her brain.

  “Detective?” Anderson said, clearly picking up on her unease.

  “I don’t believe it could be something criminal,” she said, even as doubt tangled with the worry in her gut.

  Ramirez had been holding a manila folder and at her response, he opened it, yanked out some papers and handed them to her. “You understand that as soon as an officer is murdered under certain circumstances, we have to review every aspect of their cases and private lives as necessary.”

  Roni scrutinized what appeared to be printouts from Doug’s bank accounts. There were two large deposits into the accounts just a couple of days before the shooting. Just too much coincidence and way too condemning. She shook her head and said, “There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. This has to be a mistake.”

  “No mistake, Lopez. Adams was being paid off, for what we don’t know, but we intend to find out. We want you to help us,” Anderson said, his tone brusque.

  Help them prove that Trey’s partner was dirty? That whatever he was doing was responsible for not only his death, but Trey’s shooting? Did they think Trey was also dirty?

  “Detective?” Ramirez pressed, leaning his big body toward her in challenge.

  Despite the papers she was staring at, it was still hard for her to believe that Trey’s partner had done anything illegal. There had to be a reasonable explanation for the money in the bank accounts. Something that would explain the shooting. Anything that she could use to make sense of why Doug Adams had been talking to the man who might be responsible for the disappearance of her two missing college students and possibly other women.

  “Do you think Trey...Detective Gonzalez...was aware of what his partner was doing?” she said and handed the papers back to the IAD detectives.

  “We don’t have any evidence at this time that would suggest that,” Ramirez said as he slipped the printouts back into his folder.

  “There isn’t any evidence because Trey isn’t dirty and I can’t believe Doug was either,” Roni insisted, loyal to a man who was like family, and his partner. A man she cared about more than she should.

  Anderson shook his head, as if in disbelief. “Put up or shut up, Lopez. If we’re wrong, prove it, but if we’re not...”

  She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they weren’t wrong. How it would impact Trey, but more importantly, Doug’s wife and the two young children he had left behind.

  But the seeds of doubt had been sown about Trey’s partner. And if all of that was tied to her own missing persons case, all the more reason to assist IAD as much as she might hate the thought. Or as much as Trey might see it as a betrayal.

  “Captain,” she said, to draw the other man’s attention. He swiveled in his chair and turned his dark gaze on her, conflicting emotions evident there. “Are you on board with me assisting in this investigation?”

  He laid his intertwined hands on his desk and bounced them up and down. “I am. We need to know what really happened that night. And as far as I’m concerned, we need to clear our officer’s name because I do not believe Adams was involved in anything criminal.”

  With a nod, Roni returned her attention to the two IAD detectives. “What do you want me to do?”

  * * *

  “YOU’RE CRAZY, HERMANITO. You’re in no shape to go to the funeral today,” his younger sister Mia said as Trey swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

  “For sure, Trey,” echoed his cousin Carolina, who shot a worried look at Mia. Today the Twins were both dressed in staid black dresses, so different from their usual flamboyant colors and outfits.

  “Chicas, I’m fine,” he said, even though his head spun from the simplest of movements and little beads of sweat broke out across his top lip.

  A second later his brother Ricardo hurried in, Trey’s dress uniform draped across his arm. As his younger brother peered at Trey, he shook his head. “Loco, completamente loco.”

  “Give it a rest and help me, Ricky,” he complained and held out his hand for the uniform.

  Ricky, Mia and Carolina shared a concerned glance, but then Ricky shrugged and said, “You can’t stop crazy. I’ll help him. We’ll see you later.”

  The Twins dropped quick kisses on Trey’s cheek and hurried out of the room to let Trey dress.

  Every movement brought renewed pain, even with his brother Ricky helping him into his clothes the way a mother would assist a clumsy toddler. By the time they were done, a chill sweat covered his body, and his muscles trembled. Despite his best intentions, Trey wasn’t sure he could even stand, but then his father and grandfather walked in, likewise outfitted in their old dress uniforms. Right behind them came Roni Lopez, surprising him, but the Twins had probably told her of his intent to attend Doug’s funeral. Like the men, she was in her dress uniform, her hat tucked under her arm. She rolled in a wheelchair and his mind rebelled at the thought of being pushed around like a baby.

  He was about to protest when she said, “Save yourself for the funeral, Gonzalez. It won’t do anyone any good if you face plant before you even get there.”

  He met her hazel-eyed gaze and was struck by how beautiful she was. Even in cop clothes. And bossy, he realized as she motioned to the chair and said, “Move it. We don’t have all day.”

  Trey skipped a glance at his father and grandfather, who only shrugged. Their faces were set in serious lines, but as he stood and wavered, worry swept over their features. His brother Ricky quickly offered his arm for support as Trey dropped heavily into the wheelchair.

  “We’re off,” Roni said and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder before she wheeled him from the room.

  Trey reached up and smoothed his hand over hers, drawing comfort from that gentle touch, yet bracing himself for what was going to be a difficult day. Grateful for the support of his family and Roni.

  Roni. She’d intrigued him forever, even as an awkward and too-shy teen. She’d always hung out with the Twins, so much so he had jokingly said they should be called the Triplets. Always there, but always more circumspect than his flamboyant sister and cousin.

  As she’d grown up before his eyes, it had been ever harder not to notice the dangerous Cuban curves that had erupted on her slender body. And her face. Almost gamine, but beautifully different. Her eyes, hazel shot through with gold and filled with intelligence and caring.

  He risked a glance at her and that compelling gaze melded with his, providing solace along with the touch of her hand on his shoulder once more. It was as if to say, “You can do it,” and he would.

  He had to say goodbye to the partner he had failed and comfort the family left behind by his death.

  After, he would find out who had done this and mete out justice for Doug.

  Chapter Three

  Police officers, family members, politicians and citizens intent on honoring a fallen hero jammed the church for the funeral and spilled out into the gardens in front of the bayfront cathedral dedicated to Cuba’s patron saint. The police officers were from all over the state and beyond, their dress uniforms a sea of different blues and blacks in the crowd.

  As they entered the church, Trey leaned heavily on the cane his grandfather had insisted he take when Trey had balked at using the wheelchair. Trey hadn’t argued with him because he never won an argument with his grandfather. He might be 87, but the founder of South Beach Security remained formidable.

  Trey was grateful for the cane since every step brought agony in each of the spots where he’d been shot. His leg burned with the movement and the pull of stitches along his ribcage and shoulder warned him not to exert himself, no matter how much he wanted to get to Doug’s family to offer his condolences.

  When he stumbled at one point, Roni was at his side, providing support, and he offered her a grateful look.

  At the front of the church, Roni peeled away to sit in a row with other officers from their precinct. Trey stopped in front of the pew holding Doug’s young wife, children and other family members. Doug’s wife rose and reached for him across the top of the wooden pew.