When I'm With You: Part VII by Beth Kery Page A

of his television set forty-five minutes ago.
    Oily little weasel to the finish, wriggling free of the snare he’d caught himself in like the coward that he was. Shane seethed.
    Mays had been the linchpin to the FBI’s continued investigations into corruption at the CPD. The man was slimier than the stuff that got stuck to the bottom of your shoe in a sleazy dive’s john. Except Mays was worse because he was handsome enough to appear on the front of a men’s magazine and just as slick as the glossy cover.
    Shane suspected that Mays would have spilled names to save his own neck, and his instinct was rarely wrong in such matters. He had hoped that he’d sing one name loud and clear—that of the current chief of the Organized Crime Division of the CPD, Randall Moody.
    “Did they tell you that Huey left a note?” he asked Laura. He’d spoken to the commander in charge of the precinct where Huey’s body had been found and knew the basic details of the case.
    “Yes,” she replied.
    He took in her unruffled composure. Shane sighed, ineffectively venting an almost fourteen-year-long frustration at the sight.
    “His body will still be examined by one of the Bureau’s agents at the crime lab, but as long as everything checks out with their report and the note is genuine, there won’t be a formal investigation. It’ll be ruled a clear-cut case of suicide. Picking you up on the street just now wasn’t official business. It was a spur of the moment thing,” he mumbled after a few seconds when he saw her smooth brow wrinkle in puzzlement. “I saw the media charging you. I spend half my life escaping from those jackals.”
    A small smile tilted her full lips. “Still saving me from the bad guys, Shane?”
    “That would require you
allowing
me to save you, wouldn’t it? You’ve swum way too deep now, sweetheart,” he snarled.
    He paused when he noticed the glaze of shock in her wide eyes. He inhaled slowly and fixed his stare on the road. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him?
    “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Not tonight.” He felt her gaze on him, making his skin prickle, but she didn’t speak for several moments. Finally she cleared her throat.
    “I suppose they would have told you that he . . . he did it in his car?” she asked. “Another police officer found him. Huey had parked in a deserted area near the Cal-Sag Channel. The police officer thought the car had been abandoned and went to investigate. Huey was still alive but unconscious. He never woke up.”
    “Who was the officer?”
    “Josh Hannigan, from the Sixth Precinct.”
    “Do you know him?”
    Laura shook her head.
    He peered at her suspiciously through the darkness. Laura came from a family of cops. Her uncle Derrick—her guardian—had been a twice-decorated sergeant. Her older brother, Joey, was a vice detective.
    And, of course, her husband had been a cop—though Huey’d made a mockery of the title. Now it looked as if Joey might be entangled in the whole affair as well.
    And Laura sat in the midst of it all, silent and inexplicable. Who was she protecting with her aloofness? Her husband? Joey?
    Herself?
    He blinked to clear the blurriness from his sleep-deprived eyes and took stock of his surroundings. He realized he’d been driving south on Lake Shore Drive without a clue as to where he was going. He got over into the right lane and narrowly made the closest exit.
    Joey Vasquez might be a person of interest in the CPD theft ring case, but he also was an important part of Shane’s history and Laura’s only living immediate family. Joey and he hadn’t seen much of each other since Shane had returned to his hometown, this time to head up the Chicago offices of the FBI. Still, he knew that Joey lived in Hyde Park. He ducked his head and tried to make out the street sign as he passed to get his bearings.
    “You shouldn’t be alone right now. I’ll take you over to Joey’s,” he muttered.
    “No, not to Joey’s. Take