Free Dangerous by Diana Palmer Page B

was all for bailing us out. Our father, however, was an FBI agent,” he added quietly. “He told her that rushing to our defense might make us think we could get away with anything and we might end up in more serious straits. So he left us there for several days and let us sweat it.”
    “Ouch,” Rick said, wincing.
    “We were a lot less inclined to make trouble after that and I only recall getting drunk and going on a bender once in my adult life.” That had been after he found his wife and child dead, but he didn’t elaborate. “Of course, we were really mad at Dad. But now, looking back at it, I’m sure he did the right thing.”
    “Life teaches hard lessons,” Rick agreed.
    Kilraven nodded. “And one of those lessons is that we don’t go alone to a meeting with a potential informer. Ever.”
    Rick flushed. “First time it ever came down like that,” he said, defending himself.
    “There’s always a first time. When I was just a kid, during my first month with San Antonio P.D., one of the detectives went to a covert meeting with a crime boss and ended up in the morgue. He was a friend of my father’s.”
    “It does happen. But if we don’t take chances from time to time, we don’t get clues.”
    “True enough.”
    “Not that I mind the company—I’m going stir crazy down here—but why are you here?”

    Kilraven glanced down at the coffee cup. “Two reasons. First, I want to know if you got a look at your attackers.”
    “They blindsided me,” Rick said with disgust. “I don’t even know if it was one guy or two. I woke up in the hospital.” He raised his eyebrows. “Second reason?”
    “I want to know what you know about Senator Will Sanders’s brother, Hank.”
    “Him.” Rick sat back in the chair. “He was a navy SEAL. Decorated, in Operation Desert Storm,” he said, surprising Kilraven. “Since he got out, however, he’s made real strides in taking over mob territory in San Antonio. But his brother, the senator, is the real weird one.”
    “Weird, how?”
    Rick’s dark eyes twinkled. “Well, he’s about one beer short of a six-pack.”
    “Crazy?”
    Rick shook his head. “Stupid,” he corrected. “He doesn’t seem to be malicious, but he’s protective of his younger brother and it’s always a frame. The police don’t like Hank, that’s why they keep arresting him for things he didn’t do.”
    “Give me a break!”
    “From what I gather, the senator uses his brother for menial tasks like intimidating other politicians or enticing teenage girls to his house to meet the senator. The amazing thing is that he’s never been charged with anything,” he added, “except the one statutory rape offense, which was dropped.”
    “Jon told me about that one. How is it that he hasn’t become a media feeding frenzy?”
    “The senator employs an older former gangster who, in turn, employs professional bouncers. One was sent to make veiled threats about the journalists’ families.”
    “That’s low,” Kilraven said coldly.
    “Sure is, but it works. We’ve tried to cooperate with journalists to catch the guy at it, but it’s hard to find a journalist who’s willing to risk his family in order to put the senator’s right-hand man away. You might notice just recently what happened to that young woman who worked for Senator Fowler when she divulged information to Alice Jones about the Jacobsville murder victim. Nobody’s been charged in that case yet, and probably won’t be.”
    “I heard that Senator Sanders was at that party at Senator Fowler’s house when Alice Jones asked the questions,” Kilraven said. “He probably figured what was going on. He may be stupid, but he’s also shrewd.”
    “Most politicians are. I think we’re going to find that Senator Sanders’s younger brother is up to his ears in this case, somehow. What I don’t know, yet, is exactly how.”
    “Winnie Sinclair’s late uncle has been mentioned as having some peripheral