“Yeah.” Why that put a radioactive turn in the pit of his stomach, he had no idea. They were just playing it for the moment, nothing more.
“Why?” Rocco asked.
“What does it matter?” Defensive? Him? Yeah, he sure the hell was.
Rocco sat back in his chair, his face settled into a you-owe-us-five-Gs glower. “She likes you.”
“Yeah.” Ford took a gulp of beer.
“You like her?” Paul asked.
He downed another drink but refused to think about his answer before the truth came out. “Yeah.”
The Luca brothers turned to each other. Something passed between them, one of those silent conversations a person could only have with someone they’d known forever. Finally, Paul shrugged and Rocco shook his head.
“Don’t fuck it up, then,” Paul said. “And everything will be fine.”
“Your turn, Ford,” Gina called out from her spot by the ball return, close enough to watch them with curiosity but not so near that she could overhear what they were saying as the balls crashed into pins on the other lanes.
Without a word to her brothers, he got up and went over to retrieve his ball.
“Are they giving you a hard time?” she asked, giving him a soft hip check.
Yeah, that wasn’t something someone with any testosterone would ever admit. “Why would you say that?”
“Because my brothers are as overprotective as they are predictable,” she said, amusement giving her words a light lilt. “Take throwing this game, for instance. They’ve been doing it for years, as if I didn’t realize they play in a league and could wipe the floor with me.”
And so much for Gina not realizing what he and her brothers were up to. Really, he should have known better. “So why do you go along with it?”
“It makes them happy.” She shrugged. “We do weird things when we care about people. You know?”
Yeah, he did.
And this time when his ball landed in the gutter, it wasn’t on purpose. It was because he glanced over at Gina before letting go and she pursed those pink lips of hers and blew him a kiss, punctuated with a wink.
Turns out it was easy to send a bowling ball into the gutter when his mind was already there.
…
Almost a week after his suspension, Ford walked into the squad room. Everything looked the same—the burned coffee, the surly suspect handcuffed to a desk, the tower of paperwork in his inbox—except for Gallo’s face with its large purple bruise that was the same size as Ford’s fist.
Gallo gave his version of the stink eye as Ford walked by on his way to the captain’s office. What was he supposed to do? Fall down on his knees and beg for forgiveness? Not fucking likely. He stopped at the corner of Gallo’s desk, picked up the crumpled paper towel sitting next to the detective’s coffee mug, and handed it to him.
“You got a little something right there.” Ford made a wiping motion on his own chin right where Gallo’s bruise was.
Gallo dropped the paper towel and flipped him off.
He slapped his palm over his heart. “Oh man, does that mean we’re not forever besties anymore?”
Ignoring the curious looks and occasional glares from the others in the squad, he walked over to the captain’s office and knocked on the door.
“Enter,” came the captain’s gruff response.
Ford walked in and closed the door behind him. The captain didn’t look up from the report he was reading. It wasn’t an unusual move. The man liked to make people cool their heels, wondering what kind of hell was about to get rained down on them. It had never worked on Ford, but he’d grown up with Kate Hartigan bringing down the heat, so it would take a whole lot to make him sweat in his shoes.
Hands clasped behind his back, he stared straight ahead. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“You’ve been seen with Gina Luca,” he said, eyes still on the report. “Do I need to remind you that your operation was terminated and that it is a serious violation to go rogue?”
He gritted his teeth. Cops were some gossipy assholes sometimes. “No sir.”
The captain still wasn’t looking at him. Instead he took out a red pen from his top drawer, uncapped it, and started to circle and cross out various words on the report. “Are you sure? I can’t have a detective going wild on me—especially when the whole thing looks as suspicious as this does.”
“I’m not tracking, sir.”
“You aren’t known for picking the runt of the litter to date, Hartigan.” The captain capped his red pen, set it down next to the now-bloody report, and gave Ford a hard look. “Gina Luca is so far off your usual radar that you’d need the Hubble Telescope to find her.”
For a second, all Ford could hear was white noise. Was this what it was like for Gina? Being judged every day, before she’d even opened her mouth, about what kind of person she was based on how she looked? An angry burn ignited in his stomach at the absolute unfairness of it all and at himself for never really grasping it before. She’d tried to tell him, and he’d just played it off, telling her she wasn’t ugly, as if that declaration was enough. She wasn’t. Not to him. But others? How she looked was all they saw.
“There are no regulations against a detective having a personal life,” Ford bit out.
“Yet there are against fraternization with undesirables.”
“Gina is a small business owner and respected member of the community.”
“And…” The captain paused dramatically. “A Luca.”
If he hadn’t made the same argument to himself not a week ago, he would have been more pissed. As it was, he had to go with the facts. “There is nothing in regulation three hundred forty point six that forbids a personal relationship with a citizen in good standing, no matter their last name.”
“True, but if she crosses even one tiny line, that’s going to reflect poorly on you, which will reflect poorly on the task force, which will reflect poorly on me, and then you and I are going to have a real problem. Do I make myself clear, detective?”
“Crystal,” Ford said, feeling as if he was eating a few shards of it. This whole meeting was bullshit. He was a good detective. He’d never let personal feelings interfere with a case. Ever.
“Good, because the only thing keeping me from busting you back down to the street is the fact that you’re a good detective who always follows the rules. Don’t make me regret my generosity.” The captain turned his attention back to the report and uncapped his red pen. “Now get out of here until Monday. I suggest you spend the time between now and then figuring out how to show Rodriguez that you’re not a hotheaded Hartigan like your brothers.”
“Rodriguez?”
The captain let out a put-upon sigh. “Evelyn Rodriguez is coming in from the one-four to take over the task force in preparation for the Espositos’ heroin shipment this Friday.”
Now that was the first bit of good news he’d heard since he walked into the squad room. Rodriguez had a reputation as someone who got results the right way.
“Gallo and Ruggiero?” he asked.
“Moving to white collar.” The captain started circling and crossing out again. “Now get out of here.”
Ford did, driving not to his house but back to Gina’s. He parked in the driveway of her Victorian and looked up at the behemoth. Most of the inside work that needed to be done was near completion, and now Juan’s crew was erecting the scaffolding that would be used to repair and paint the outside. The fact that he even knew that should weird him out. This wasn’t his house. He didn’t live here.
No, Hartigan, you just spend almost every night here and act as a handyman for free.
The voice in the back of his head wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t been back to his house for a week now. He had clothes hanging in the closet and a shaving kit under the sink. He wasn’t sure how that happened. There hadn’t been a plan. There hadn’t been a talk. There hadn’t been a list of house rules written and agreed to. He’d just accidentally moved in. What in the hell was he doing?
“Hey,” Gina called out from an open window in the front room. “You coming in or what?”
Yeah, he realized. He was. And he was staying.