“Trading favors with Eb Scott.” Rourke grinned. “We’re bodyguards. Well, not anymore. Not now that you have those three jackals in custody.”
Marquez moved a step closer to him. “How about telling Chet that he’s not allowed to smoke here?”
“Why don’t you tell him?” Rourke asked, surprised.
“Too many windows overlook my apartment,” came the amused reply. “He might not be able to resist the temptation to get even.”
“Good point. I’ll just pass that along. About the smoking!” Rourke added quickly. “Anyway, he wouldn’t shoot you. He’s not sanctioned.”
“Yet,” Marquez enunciated.
Rourke shrugged, grinned and went to find his partner.
“They really were great,” Cappie told the detective. “I’ve never felt safer. Well, until tonight.”
“We let you walk into the trap,” Marquez replied quietly. “It was the only way we could guarantee a case against Bartlett that he couldn’t escape. His sort doesn’t give up.”
“Yes, but he could get out again…”
“He won’t,” Marquez said curtly. “I promise you that. See that guy I was standing with? He’s the assistant D.A. who put Frank away in the first place.”
“I thought he looked familiar,” Cappie returned.
“He cursed a blue streak because the judge gave him such an easy sentence. He’s been working behind the scenes to get depositions in case Frank slipped.” He grinned. “And did Frank ever slip! In front of all these witnesses, too.” He indicated the uniformed officer, and two others who’d joined him, who were questioning bystanders. “Frank is going back in jail for a long time.”
“What about his friends?” Cappie asked.
“I know what they helped him do to your brother. We couldn’t have proved it, before, but I’m betting one of them will be happy to turn state’s evidence in return for a reduced sentence.”
“Meanwhile,” Bentley said, sliding an affectionate arm around Cappie, “we’re going to have a nice Christmas celebration with Kell in the hospital and then plan a wedding.”
“A wedding?” Marquez sighed. “I used to think I’d find a nice woman someday who liked cops and opera, who’d love to marry me. But, I’m really happy to be single. I mean, I have all sorts of free time, and I get to watch whatever television programs I like, and TV dinners are just wonderful. In fact, I think I might like to do commercials for them.” He smiled.
“They have psychiatrists in there, don’t they?” Bentley asked, nodding toward the hospital.
Marquez glared at him. “I’m happy, I said! I love living alone! I never want my private life messed up by some sweet, loving woman who can cook!”
“Anybody got a straitjacket?” Bentley asked.
Marquez threw up his hands and walked away.
Cappie felt her face begin to throb. Tears stung her eyes. “Could we go back inside and find the emergency room, you think?” she asked Bentley.
“Right this minute,” he said with obvious concern.
Marquez followed them inside. “I’ve got my digital camera with me,” he said, suddenly all business. “We want to get photos, to make sure a jury sees what Frank did to you.”
“Be my guest,” Cappie replied. “But then I want aspirin and an ice pack!”
“You can come down to my office in the morning to give me a statement. For now, we’ll get the photos and have a doctor look at your face. After that, you can even have a beer if you like, and I’ll buy,” Marquez promised.
She made a face. “Sorry, but I’d rather have the ice pack.”
Bentley’s arm contracted. “Then we have to find some way to keep Kell from seeing your poor face, until he’s through the worst of his own ordeal.”
“Yes, we do,” she said. “That isn’t going to be easy.”
Marquez, seeing the bruising increase by the second, had to agree. And she didn’t know yet how it was going to look a day later. But he did.