Windy City Heat

Chapter One

The sun began its daily dip over the west side of Chicago, yet the temperature stayed right where it was—too damn hot. It was mid-September and it still felt like mid-July.

At the corner of Sixteenth and Hamlin in front of Westend Food and Liquors, Darius Washington paced as if he were waiting for a tardy bus. Buses had come and gone, yet he hadn’t bothered getting on any of them. Washington appeared unaffected by the unseasonable heat, except for a betraying line of sweat that ran down his face from beneath the red Bulls cap he wore, prominently tilted left. Every so often, he’d hunch up one shoulder and swipe at it before it reached his chin.

In the basement of an abandoned building on the opposite corner, Chicago police officer Gina Aletti kept surveillance on Washington through a pair of binoculars. She had noticed sweat on his cheek some time ago.

The sound of tiny clawed feet skittering across the cement floor broke the tense silence.

What was that? Gina’s partner, Ray Lopez, whispered. That sounded like a rat to me.

Another rat, or maybe the same rat, scurried by so close that Gina felt debris near the back of her legs move.

"What the hell!"

Ramon Ray Lopez was a seriously muscled former marine, a product of the tough neighborhood they patrolled. While Ray scoured the floor for additional vermin, Gina rolled her aching shoulders. The rats didn’t bother her. The constant inactivity did. She’d been in the same position for the past hour, her elbows dug into the cement ledge of a glass block window, binoculars settled against her eyes as she watched Washington through one busted-out block.

Darius Washington had a rap sheet several pages long and a reputation for running from the police. Over the course of the day, Gina had learned his MO: where his security was positioned, where he’d hidden his stash of dope, and how he handed the ridiculous cash he was making over to his money holder.

"Let’s just do this." A sheen of sweat covered Ray’s face. His black hair was matted to his head, and his dark eyes were a tad wild. Nothing ever fazed Ray Lopez. He was Gina’s rock of Gibraltar—tough, loyal, and consistent. Until he encountered a rat.

Just one more and we roll, she promised. Drink some water. I think you’re getting heat exhaustion.

As Ray chugged from his water bottle, Gina observed the fourth buy. A late model SUV slowed to a stop in front of the drug dealer. Washington bent into the passenger window, his body shielding most of the action. But Gina saw enough—the exchange of drugs for money was so quick, the untrained eye would miss it.

And there it is. Gina pulled the binoculars over her head and shoved them into the case slung over her shoulder.

Ray took the hand-held radio from its holder on his belt and waited for an opening to cut into the busy police chatter. Ten-Sixty-Three-Charlie.

Go Charlie, the dispatcher responded.

We’re throwing a stop on a subject for suspected distribution, Ray said. Sixteenth and Hamlin. He’s got help out here, so if there’s a car nearby, we could use an assist.

Gina heard the dispatcher put Ray’s request for an assist on the radio, and her stomach fluttered, its regular preamble to making a bust.

They jogged to their gray Crown Vic parked nearby in a litter-crusted lot. Ray unlocked the doors, and once Gina was in, he reversed into the alley.

Ten-Sixty-Three-Charlie? The voice of the female dispatcher broke the charged silence in the car.

Charlie. Gina said into the radio.

Ten-Sixty is coming to assist you.

Ten-four. Ray glanced at Gina; his dark brows curved in. Ten-Sixty? I thought the new lieutenant wasn’t expected till November?

Me too. I wonder why he’s here early?

Their former lieutenant had retired a few months back. Though he had come up through the ranks during an era when women were still youth officers and jail matrons, Bob Wasninski had never treated Gina differently than her male partners. Gina and Ray’s stats were above average, so he’d asked them to come to the tactical team—even though his most senior sergeant, Rusty Miller, was against it, just because he didn’t want a female on the team.

Rusty seemed to have political connections on the department that reached far and wide. If one of those connections was the new lieutenant, Gina knew she’d be back on the watch pushing a beat car in the blink of an eye. Or if the new lieutenant felt the same as Rusty did about female cops, then the new lieutenant would have the power to make her life miserable—so miserable, she would be tempted to quit the team and go back to the beat voluntarily.

Whatever, she concluded her thought process out loud. I’ll take my uniforms to the cleaners just in case.

Take mine too, Ray laughed. Extra starch.

Gina forced a smile. To hell with the new boss. Let’s go get this drug-dealing, gang-banging miscreant.

Ray drove across Sixteenth Street and up to the curb where Washington stood. When Washington saw them, a look of shock and recognition crossed over his face.

Gina lunged from the car before Ray put it into park. She grabbed the back of Washington’s jeans in a tight grip.

He squirmed and pushed at her hand with his. "Damn, Office, why you touchin’ me?"

Put your hands behind your back, Gina told him.

With a sudden, hard twist, Washington escaped Gina’s grip and bolted north down Hamlin. Gina took off after him.

Call it in! Gina yelled.

She heard a car door slamming and tires squealing. She threw her full speed at Washington, knowing Ray would follow her in the squad car.

Washington flew past his two security people, their mouths dropping open. People on the sidewalk quickly moved out of his way. Washington was fast, but Gina gained on him. Experience told her he’d give it his all for about five blocks and then begin to lose steam. Running from the police was the extent of his daily workout. She lifted weights and ran five miles nearly every day.

Washington darted left into a gangway between two apartment buildings. Using the building for cover, Gina stopped just short of the gangway and bobbed her head forward. In that split second of time, she saw him turn north into the alley. She sprinted after him, her running shoes slapping hard on the cement.

Gina yanked her radio from the holder at her waist and advised the dispatcher and responding units of her change in direction.

The alley ended at Roosevelt Road. One block east at Hamlin was the Abraham Lincoln housing development—known on the street as the Abe El. Washington dealt drugs for the Vice Lords, and they controlled the Abe El. Gina knew he was heading to his home turf, and she trusted Ray would come to the same conclusion. She didn’t relish following Washington into the jets alone. Then again, he was a bad guy and she was the police; end of story.

Washington sprinted across four lanes of Roosevelt as if there were no traffic. Angry horns and squealing tires marked his progress. Gina slowed to gauge the traffic and, when it was clear, ran after him.

Three high-rise buildings in a weary tan brick formed a half circle behind a cement courtyard. A ten-foot wrought iron fence enclosed both the yard and the buildings. Washington ran through the open front gate with Gina several steps behind.

Washington ran across the cracked and uneven cement courtyard, dodging around a group of playing children, and headed to a side door in the middle building. Gina prayed it was locked, as it should be. No such luck. He wrenched the steel door open and charged in. Seconds later, Gina did the same.

Running from the bright sunlight into the darkened hallway, she was momentarily blinded. Stifling odors greeted her: urine, cigarette smoke, and the rotting garbage scent of crack-cocaine.

Washington struggled to climb the stairs. She was a few steps behind. At the fourth floor, he staggered across the cement landing to the door. Gina lunged, snagging him around the waist and knocking both of them to the floor.

Gina heard the distinct sound of hard metal hitting the cement and skittering across the dark landing. She knew it was a gun.

The butt of her pistol pressed into her rib cage just under her right arm. So it was his.

But where was it? A few feet away? Or scant inches from his hand?

Gina wrenched her right arm out and lifted it high. A hard jab with the heel of her hand to the back of his head would stun him long enough to get him into cuffs. Before he reached his gun.

Suddenly, Gina was airborne, lifted by strong hands and tossed aside as if weightless. She landed hard on the cement floor, and the air in her lungs whooshed out with an oomph. Pain shot through her body. In her peripheral vision, she saw her rescuer lift Washington just as easily and push him face first against the wall.

Rolling onto her hands and knees, Gina searched the floor with her hand for Washington’s gun. It was gone. She scrambled to her feet, squinting in the dim lighting. Her rescuer had Washington in cuffs and the dealer’s fallen gun shoved into the back of his pants—camouflage pants.

You have the right to remain silent. His voice was deep. You have the right to an attorney.

He walked toward the stairs. With her arrest. As if she wasn’t even there. He continued, If you can’t afford an attorney, the state will be happy to provide one for you. Do you understand your rights as I have stated them to you?

Hello? Gina tried to get his attention. He had to be a cop. She didn’t think the National Guard gave Miranda warnings. So what was with the desert camos?

I’m cool, Office, Washington said. I got those rights.

Hey, Gina said from behind them. I appreciate the help. But just so we’re clear, this is my arrest.

Footsteps pounding up the stairs interrupted them. It’s over, the mystery cop said. Someone call for a transport. The rest of you can go back down.

My partner— Gina heard Ray’s voice.

Is right behind me. She’ll meet you outside. GI Joe’s authoritative tone stacked points on her list of reasons to dislike him. The urge to shove him down the stairs nearly undid her. Gina gritted her teeth and trudged behind him.

Dwindling daylight seeped into the entryway. A number of cops, some in civilian dress and some in uniform, stood around outside. She watched GI Joe hand Washington over to a uniformed officer for transport.

Gina. Her sergeant, Mike Olsen, approached with Ray right behind him. You good?

Of course, she said.

"Because I followed you in there. She recognized the deep voice of her camouflaged rescuer. Why the hell would you chase an armed offender into the Abe El without backup?"

Gina turned to confront him. But her hot temper and acid words died a quick death.

The man was an eye-popping, breath-robbing, sexy beast.

She’d guess he stood well over six feet and every inch was hard muscle. His hair was jet black and shaved in a tight military crew cut. A square jaw led to a sensual mouth, and his lean cheeks were dusted with a five o’clock shadow. Gina looked up and into opaque gray eyes framed in thick, dark lashes. She was absolutely punch-drunk at how good-looking he was.

Do I need to repeat that in simpler language? he drawled.

He may as well have thrown ice water in her face; it broke the spell. Gina moved in, nudging the tips of her running shoes against the toes of his tan combat boots.

Who the hell do you think you are? Gina pushed her pointer into his hard chest. Stealing my arrest and questioning me?

A smile eased over his dark shadowed jaw. Lieutenant Sean O’Connor, Tenth District TAC. I believe that makes me your boss.

Chapter Two

When Gina and Ray walked into the Tactical office to process Darius Washington, the TAC secretary, Pete Morris, said, New boss wants to see you two. Now.

Gina took at seat at a conference table outside the Lieutenant’s door with her chin cupped in her hands. Ray sat across from her, guzzling a bottle of cola and munching on chips, untroubled as always. Gina felt like a truant waiting to see the principal.

She’d grudgingly apologized to her new Lieutenant at the Abe El. Apparently it hadn’t soothed his anger. She’d dealt with arrogant and sexist male cops her whole career and never backed down. If he hadn’t talked to her like she was a fumbling recruit, she wouldn’t have mouthed off.

What am I, psychic? she said out loud. How was I supposed to know he was the new lieutenant?

And knowing that would’ve kept you lip-zipped? Ray snorted. You’ll be headfirst down a greased slide into hell and tellin’ the devil off.

It didn’t take long for the entire district to get wind of Gina’s encounter with O’Connor. Every cop in the station found a reason to come up to the second floor to smirk or make some stupid comment.

Isn’t he too young to be a lieutenant? Gina said.

Thirty-two, Pete offered. According to personnel, he’s the youngest.

Gina frowned at Pete, who sat at his desk staring anxiously at the phone. He had worked their TAC team for years until a mild heart attack had ended his street career. Lieutenant Wasninski had brought Pete in as his secretary, and since then, Pete had become the team’s honorary father. Gina loved him. She fussed over him, and he fussed over her. Pete’s stressed expression made Gina even angrier.

Why is he dressed like some extremist-group-wacko? she asked.

He just got off a plane from Afghanistan, Pete said. He was there a year. Special Operations, Pete whispered, as if simply sharing that little tidbit required government clearance. Since he’s Army, I’d guess Delta Force or Rangers. He didn’t say.

He couldn’t take five minutes to change his damn clothes? she groused. What a loser.

Like a ghost, the Lieutenant materialized in his office doorway. Heat flooded her cheeks. She had no doubt he’d heard her comment.

Come into my office, Aletti.

With a loud exasperated sigh, Gina followed him into his office, stopping between two chairs in front of his desk. She crossed her arms over her bulletproof vest.

He sat behind his desk. Have a seat.

I’m good.

His eyes narrowed. Please.

She plopped into one of the chairs. On his desk was a manila folder, and on the folder, a small blue book. The folder probably contained a printout of her work history. The book was a mystery.

Lieutenant O’Connor leaned back in his chair, and his tan T-shirt strained against his chest and arms. She’d catch herself studying his build and look away. But her stupid eyes returned of their own free will. Gina shifted her gaze: no gawking at the enemy’s muscles.

You’re a little scratched up, he said. Do you need medical attention?

No.

He opened the manila folder and seemed to study it. Gina rolled her eyes. Like he hadn’t already looked it over? I see you have five years on the job. How long on TAC?

Three.

You’ve completed the carbine training?

Yes.

Narcotics surveillance, detection, and identification training?

Yes.

Foot pursuit, building entry, and search warrant training?

Yep. She smiled sweetly. And I’m housebroken and have all my shots, too.

He finally looked up at her, but his face was calm. So when you pull a tactically unsafe stunt like running into a known gang-controlled building alone, His voice was low and impersonal. It isn’t because you haven’t had the proper training, correct?

Uh, wait a sec… Gina shifted in her seat. That’s like a trick question.

With a twist of his wrist, he tossed the little blue book across the aged and dented wood desk. The book slid and landed on the floor at Gina’s feet—the Chicago Police Department’s rules and regulations.

Page fourteen, section four, item 3B. He evidently knew the book by heart. Foot chase procedure. When involved in a foot chase of a suspected offender, uniformed and civilian-dressed personnel will not enter an unsecured area alone without assistance, regardless of the offense, unless the situation threatens life or limb.

Lieutenant O’Connor leaned over the desk. "Here’s the bottom line, officer. The city of Chicago is done with renegade cops who put themselves and others in danger by not using safe tactics. The city trains and can then justify disciplining, suspending, or terminating an officer who acts contrary to training and department directives…as you did today. He paused. Is this clear so far?"

Sure is, sir. What a pompous, overblown, arrogant jerk. She had to get out of there before she did or said something that would really piss him off. Thanks for the rehash on foot chases. She stood. Am I dismissed?

No. His gaze was disturbingly steady and clear. Consider yourself on disciplinary action.

The air in her chest whooshed out. "What?"

O’Connor calmly slid a form across the desk. "Understand that one more violation of department policy, the law, or anything I determine, and you’ll be suspended and removed from this team."

Gina’s mouth formed into a little o.

You will sign this form indicating you understand you’re under disciplinary action.

You can’t do this…

Yes, I can, he said. I just did.

It was a good pinch. She struggled to keep her voice subdued. My partner and I have been on Washington for days, we put a lot of work into—

This isn’t about the quality of your arrest, Officer. He cut her off. This is about your conduct in the performance of that arrest.

I have a perfect disciplinary record!

Then Commander O’Leary won’t suspend you.

Suddenly, his intentions were clear. Hadn’t this very scenario crossed her mind earlier when she heard the new boss had arrived? He wanted her off his team. First order of business? Dump the chick.

You aren’t going to suspend me for doing good police work. You want my star, Lieutenant? She yanked her star from where it was hooked on her belt. Here. You can have it. With a twist of her wrist, she whipped her star across O’Connor’s desk, where it plopped with a dull thunk in his lap. It perched like a crown on his family jewels.

O’Connor’s face was a director’s dream. It went from cool to disbelief to confusion to rage in a matter of microseconds. The tiny sensible part of Gina knew she’d stepped over an invisible line of propriety big-time. But it was too late. With her head held high and her knees knocking out a mambo, she walked out of her lieutenant’s office.

Once she’d cleared the doorway, she ran. Pete’s mouth fell open, and Ray sprang from his chair. Gina ran to the women’s locker room and went directly into a toilet stall, locking the door behind her.

She leaned against the door, breathless, her heart racing from fear, not from the run.

There wasn’t much she could do to top launching her badge onto the boss’s crotch. Tears stung her eyes and she angrily blinked them away. She hadn’t shed a tear since the day she found her husband in their bed with her best friend. Since that day, she had vowed no one would make her cry again. Especially not a man.

Good one, Gina. Her voice echoed with condemnation. You really did it this time.

A hard rap rattled the door. Are you talkin’ to yourself in there? It was Ray.

Are you in the women’s locker room? Gina opened the door and faced her partner.

You really pissed off the new guy. He wants you back in his office, pronto.

He can go to hell.

Yeah, well, you might beat him there. Ray took her upper arm and gently steered her out. You know what you gotta’ do, Ginita. I know you’re not afraid of him.

She wasn’t afraid of many men. She was a little intimidated by O’Connor, but she’d never admit that to Ray. They left the locker room and walked toward the TAC office. She would face O’Connor, but she wouldn’t back down.

I threw my star at him, she said.

What the hell did you do that for? Ray said.

He wanted it.

He wanted your star?

Well, not exactly. He SPARRED me.

Damn. Really? A Summary Punishment Action Request? Ray was stunned for a half-second, and then a knowing look came over his face. Gina. Please tell me you didn’t hit him when you threw your star at him?

I did. She felt heat crawl up her neck and spread across her cheeks. It landed on his er...you know, manly parts.

"Damn! Ray groaned. Why can’t you do anything halfway?"

Why do anything if you’re only gonna do it halfway?

Chapter Three

For a few seconds, Sean resisted a crazy urge to run after her. But how would that look? The new TAC Lieutenant chasing a female officer through the district. He decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. Not on his first day, at any rate.

On top of Gina Aletti’s personnel file was her star. He looked at it and smiled. He had expected problems in his new job, but the encounter with Officer Aletti wasn’t even in the ballpark.

When he actually got a good look at her at the Abe El, he’d been nearly struck dumb. She was a little over five feet, with a well-toned body that gave civilian dress a whole new definition. Her dark blond hair was twisted into a braid that fell over one shoulder and ended with a curl. The curl sat mid-breast and made it difficult for Sean to keep his eyes where they belonged.

But it was her face that did him in.

She had big, wide-set chocolate brown eyes with long, gold-tipped lashes. When he met those eyes straight on, he didn’t hear half of what she said to him. He’d studied each of her features as if he’d never seen a woman before. She had high cheekbones dusted with freckles and a small, well-formed nose. Her full lips dipped into a heart-stopping pout. There was no other way to describe her but adorable. He had been tempted to ask her if she was old enough to carry a gun. Now that he’d experienced her temper, he was glad he hadn’t.

The SPAR was a hard disciplinary step. But Sean had gone over Aletti’s personnel file and knew when he’d filled out the SPAR form that she wouldn’t be suspended, because her record was squeaky clean. Clearly, Gina Aletti was tough and didn’t scare easy. But he didn’t tolerate rogue actions by his officers. Period. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He dropped his crossed feet from the desk, sat back in his chair, and took a deep breath, bracing himself for another round with the five-foot-nothing toughie.

Come in, he called. Door’s unlocked.

The door opened, and District Commander O’Leary walked in.

There’s something wrong in this department when a District Commander has to go and greet his new TAC Lieutenant and not the other way around.

Tall and fit at fifty-two, Bill O’Leary wore his Commander’s uniform like he had been born wearing it.

Sean started to stand, but the D.C. waved him back down.

Sit down, son. O’Leary sat in one of the armchairs in front of Sean’s desk. Is it true you were already on the street?

It’s true. I wanted to get a feel for the area.

You got off a plane from Afghanistan and came to work? The Commander chuckled. That’s exactly why I wanted you here running my TAC team, O’Connor.

I should’ve stopped in to see you first, sir, to thank you for requesting me.

No thanks necessary. I had to fight off quite a few contenders. You’re hot property, son. Casey wanted you back in narcotics, and a few others wanted you running a watch. But I won. He chuckled. By the way, did your father ever mention he and I were in the same Academy class?

Sean fought a frown. Yes, sir, he did.

Outstanding police officer, your father. They just don’t make them like him anymore. O’Leary’s gaze was intent. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Do you believe that?

I’d like to think I’m as good a cop as he is, if not better. Sean returned the Commander’s direct look. But I don’t necessarily think and act like him.

O’Leary’s peppered eyebrows rose slightly. Is that right?

Deputy O’Connor—my father—doesn’t approve of me coming to Ten. He feels I should work at headquarters. Working inside isn’t my style—definitely not working at headquarters. I’m telling you this because I know you’ll see him at the monthly exempt meetings, and my father isn’t one to keep his opinions to himself.

Your father and I have already discussed you working for me. O’Leary shook his head. It pains me to be at odds with a police officer I personally admire. I told him you’d do a better job for the department by running a TAC team and cleaning scum off the street. He didn’t agree.

He can be stubborn. That was putting it lightly. His father could be rude, overbearing, and dictatorial. Sean wondered how the old man had talked to O’Leary, who was his peer.

I understand, The Commander smiled. He’s a father and he’s trying to protect his son.

Sean clamped his teeth together to keep from commenting.

Speaking of fatherly obligations. O’Leary gave Sean a meaningful look. Have you seen my daughter yet? She drove her mother and me crazy waiting for your return this past year.

Sean shifted in the chair. We have plans for dinner tonight.

Wonderful. I couldn’t have hand-picked a better man for my Kelly. O’Leary leaned forward in the chair, a serious expression on his face. I do need to discuss a problem with you. I know it’s your first day, and you have your hands full learning the ropes, but we’ve got serious problems on the north end of the district.

Sean was much more comfortable talking about the job, rather than the D.C.’s daughter. When Sean left, his relationship with Kelly was over. He was surprised when, on the way to the district from the airport, she called and asked him to dinner that evening. His gut instinct was to turn her down, but his libido wouldn’t let him. I’m listening, sir.

Shootings. Three Gangster Disciples shot and killed, another in critical condition, all in one week. Last week, a school kid was caught in the crossfire. He’s alive, but no eight-year-old should walk home from school in the middle of a gun fight.

Is it the usual rivalry? Sean asked. The Gangster Disciples and the Vice Lords were the two main street gangs terrorizing the north end of the Tenth District. They’d been bitter rivals since the early sixties, when they fought just to say they owned a particular block. Now the warfare centered on drug trafficking that spanned the city, suburbs, and even the nation.

The Commander sighed. That would be my guess. No arrests so far and the victims aren’t talking. Two were drive-bys. The third was gunned down in front of his mother’s house. There was a party two houses away, several people drinking in front, but no one saw a thing.

They never do.

I’ve had seven different community leaders in my office in the last week complaining about it. One was the alderman, and another was Reverend Harolds—and you know what a pain in the ass he is. O’Leary shook his head. This job can be very political, son, but I’m sure you know that.

It was his first, official day as a lieutenant. So he hadn’t experienced the political side of his job yet, but he wasn’t blind. One of the drawbacks of climbing the supervisory ladder in a big city police department was dealing with the political bullshit. Sean wasn’t good at ass kissing, so he figured he was going to have a problem puckering up when the time came.

I’ll put a couple of two-man teams on it today.

The D.C. held up his hand. I’m looking for a bigger show of force than a couple of two-man teams. I want you to assign both the A and C teams north of Cermak, and the north end only.

Two teams?

With two teams saturating the north end, the gun battles will end. The B team, Rusty Miller’s team, can handle the south end. They’re more familiar with the Latino gangs there.

The Commander stood, indicating the matter was a done deal. I’d like those changes made this week. The sooner we get on it, the sooner I’ll get these community leaders off my ass.

Sean would do what the Commander ordered, but he decided he would analyze the situation, gather some intel, and see if he couldn’t come up with additional strategies. Saturation tactics were a temporary fix. When the heat lifted, the problem resurfaced.

Consider it done, Sean said. Pete is contacting my three Sergeants for an introductory meeting tomorrow, and I’ll let them know then.

Very good.

"Sir, before you go, there is a matter I need to discuss with