The man ran into an Indian food market, located in a strip mall. He tipped over a display of spices. Boxes and containers scattered over the floor. Jocelyn jumped over most of the mess but smashed one of the boxes in her chase. Trevor cleared the spices in one easy leap. The man ran down an aisle, pushing a shopping cart and the woman behind it. She bumped back against the shelf of jars, knocking some of those, one breaking when it fell. At the end of the aisle, the man twisted and fired haphazardly. Jocelyn shot back, not aiming to kill. She wanted to talk to him as much as Trevor did. But she missed.
Bursting through swinging double doors, the man ran into the back of the store. Jocelyn and Trevor followed.
Trevor put his hand on Jocelyn’s arm to make her stop. He peered around the wall and ducked back in time to avoid being shot. Shouts of workers echoed as they scurried to get out of harm’s way.
Peeking around the wall, Trevor saw the man running for the open overhead door, where workers had stopped unloading a delivery truck. The truck still ran.
Jocelyn must have thought of the same thing, because she headed for the driver’s side.
Trevor reached the side of the truck just as the man opened the truck door. He would try to get away in the delivery truck. Hauling the driver out, the man climbed up into the truck while the driver sprawled to the ground.
Seeing the gunman turn and aim his weapon at Jocelyn, Trevor felt another moment of dread. Jocelyn would be shot!
He dived for her. Tackling her to the ground, he heard the bullet ping a nearby Dumpster. The gunman shut the truck door.
Trevor shot at the front and rear tires as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the driver’s door.
“Out of the truck! Now!” Trevor had the man’s head in aim.
The man looked from Trevor’s gun to his face, his own gun not raised enough to fire with any accuracy. His hands had been occupied trying to drive away, and now he was caught. Trevor knew it. The gunman knew it.
After a brief stare-down, the man held up his hands, making sure Trevor saw that his fingers were off the trigger. Trevor stepped forward and opened the door.
“Step out of there,” he said. “Nice and easy.”
He backed up as the man complied.
“I didn’t do it.”
“Nobody said you did.”
Jocelyn appeared next to him with cuffs. “Turn around and put your hands on your head.”
The man did.
“You’re under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon,” Jocelyn said. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand?”
“I didn’t kill my wife.”
“Nobody said you did,” Trevor said again.
The man turned his head and looked at him over his shoulder. “Then why are you arresting me?”
“You ran from us after we approached you and then shot a gun at us. Is there anything about that you find questionable?” Jocelyn asked, her sarcasm shining through.
“I knew what you’d think. Everyone always thinks the husband did it.”
“Let’s talk about that at the station.” Jocelyn took him by the arm and guided him back toward the store.
“I want an attorney.”
Trevor followed them back through the store, past several people recovering from fear, stepping back and out of the way. He called in the arrest. A few minutes later, a car arrived in front of the store and two other officers took the gunman away.
Now standing on the sidewalk with a crowd of onlookers, Trevor turned to Jocelyn. “Don’t ever do that again.”
She faced him in genuine question. “Do what again?”
She really didn’t know? “Go after somebody who has a gun.”
“I had a gun.” She held up hers in front of him, barrel up as she flipped on the safety.
“You were almost shot back there.”
With an indignant twirl, she started up the street beneath the watching crowd. Ignoring them, he caught up to her. Obviously she didn’t take criticism well, not about her detective work. He always found that intriguing. There had to be a reason.
“What made you join the FBI, anyway?” He let himself enjoy another look down her body, lingering on the glimpses of her perky breasts moving with each of her steps. “You aren’t the type. I mean, you’re tomboyish enough, but...”
She glanced over and caught him admiring her breasts.
“Stop while you still can, Agent Colton.”
Stop getting personal, she meant. He ignored her comment. “Why not get married and raise kids?”
“I seem like the housewife type to you?”
He looked straight ahead because looking at her while they talked like this would get him in trouble. “Not the way you’re thinking.”
She gave him an indignant look. “You’re talking personal.”
He ignored her again, preferring not to analyze that right now. He was getting personal, going against his rule. But one thing nagged him.
She wouldn’t make a good housewife. She’d make a great wife. A man wouldn’t be able to get enough of her. He’d have lots of kids with her because of that. And that filled him with both fantasies and foreboding. The foreboding had him shoving the thoughts back.
They reached his SUV. Facing her with his hand on the handle, he watched her angle her head with lifted eyebrows. Why was she so touchy about this?
“No wonder you’re still single,” she said.
Had he managed to rile her? “Because I treat women chivalrously?” He opened the door for her and stepped aside.
“No.” She fought back a smile as she got into the SUV.
The almost-smile didn’t throw him off. He watched her profile a few seconds before going around to the other side of the SUV. Something about being treated like a woman bothered her. What could that be? Maybe it wasn’t so much how a man treated her that bothered. Maybe it was him doing the treating.
* * *
“I don’t feel like going home.” Jocelyn looked over at Trevor, dreading her quiet condo. “Let’s go grab something to eat.”
Trevor looked surprised. “It’s three o’clock.” And not in the afternoon.
“We haven’t eaten yet. We got that call at seven.” Dinner hadn’t mattered with the issues of the day, but that wasn’t her reason for wanting to eat out.
“Let’s just grab something and go to your place. It’s closer than mine.”
“My place?” Why her place? Had she not imagined his earlier flirtation? No, surely she had.
“We’ve been working together long enough. Come on. It’s late. I don’t want to be in public. I’m tired. And I probably smell by now.” He lifted his arm for a mock sniff.
For such a serious man, he did show signs of a sense of humor. What harm would it be to let him stay? They’d had a long day and night. Besides, she didn’t want to be alone. His crack about her cat kind of drove home that point. She loved her cat, but the animal only needed her for food and shelter.
Entering her two-story condo felt strange with a man, especially Trevor. Tall, dark-haired and lean, he took on a new persona now that they weren’t working. She saw him the way she repressed herself from seeing him—as a great-looking man with intense, smart dark eyes and thick lashes.
Leaving the entry, she led him into her open living room, aware of how he surveyed her big-screen TV across from a gray sofa with yellow-and-white throw pillows. Varying shades of stacked gray rock with a few yellow for accent made up the wall behind the sofa, and a vase of yellow lilies on the coffee table tied the room together. Top-down, bottom-up window
coverings were set halfway up for privacy on a row of three tall square windows.
Her black cat meowed, walking leisurely toward her.
“Sigmund, meet Trevor Colton. Trevor, this is Sigmund.”
Sigmund lifted green eyes to her and then Trevor.
“Sigmund, it’s a pleasure.” He crouched as the animal moved toward him. When he began to pet him, Sigmund let him.
Jocelyn dropped her jaw. “Wow. He doesn’t let just anyone pet him. He likes you.” Sigmund had a keen judge of character. She looked up at Trevor as he straightened, amazed and awed, seeing him even more as a man—an attractive man. That disconcerted her a bit. She didn’t mingle with sexy coworkers who didn’t want to get personal with her.
“I had a dog growing up.”
That announcement appealed to her awe, kept it going. “Of course. Boy.” She covered her mouth, widening her eyes in exaggeration, reminding him of their earlier banter.
He chuckled. “Plato. I named him.”
That sobered her. “You were into Plato as a child?”
“No. I thought his name was cool. You were into Sigmund?”
“No way.” She walked toward the kitchen, remodeled with light gray tile, stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.
“Nice place.”
She smiled as she saw him look over her vaulted ceiling open concept living room and kitchen. “Thanks. I did all the work myself.” She’d painted the kitchen cabinet white and installed the brushed chrome hardware.
“I can see the tomboy in you here,” Trevor said.
Astonished, she looked where he had, trying to see what he saw.
“Other than the lilies, there are no personal touches. No pictures. No candles...”
She’d allowed the architecture to provide the ambience. But now that he’d mentioned it, she had to agree. She had no decorative touches, another product of her upbringing, she supposed.
“Do you like Mexican?” She went to her refrigerator.
“I like anything right now.”
“Have a seat.”
He sat at her kitchen island and she went to work reheating a green chili and beef mixture. Moments later, she had steaming burritos ready, depositing the plates on the island.
She went to a wine cooler tucked neatly into her kitchen cabinetry. “I like a glass of wine after nights like tonight. It helps me sleep. Want one?”
“No, go ahead.”
She sat and began eating, too aware of him and glad for the lulling effect of the wine.
“You never talk about your family,” he said.
Why was he curious? Her lack of pictures? Putting her fork down, she contended with the weight of his question.
“I don’t have family anymore. My dad and brother both died in the line of duty.” She hoped he wouldn’t dwell on it.
“Really?” He leaned forward, his forearms on the counter as he looked closer at her. “They were cops?”
She nodded. “Both of them. Narcotics.” She averted her face, the reminder of that time gripping her.
“My God, Jocelyn. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” He reached over and put his hand over hers.
She looked down at his bigger, masculine hand touching her so tenderly and then lifted her gaze to meet genuine sympathy.
“When did that happen?”
“They died two years ago. When I was in college.” She looked away, not wanting to talk about this now. She never liked talking about it. Their faces came to mind as vividly as if they were still here, and the painful knowledge that they never would be again crushed her.
“What was your major?”
She turned back to him. “Hmm?”
“Your major in college? What was it?”
Why did that matter? Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he’d just changed the subject. For her.
Her heart warmed. “It was education. I was going to be a schoolteacher.”
“And then you changed your major.”
“Yes.” She eyed him, wondering why he probed there. Maybe he hadn’t changed the subject.
“Now I understand why you do what you do,” he said.
He’d ruined a nice moment. Snatching her hand out from under his, she snapped, “You say that as if I don’t belong on your team.”
“I didn’t mean that. I think you carry a torch you don’t need to carry.” He breathed an ironic laugh. “I always thought you crusaded more than necessary for the job. I couldn’t put my finger on why or even what struck me as off about you.”
Did he have to be so insulting? “You’re not making this better.”
“Are you going to sit there and tell me this is what you want for the rest of your life?”
How the hell had he gotten to know her so well? They never talked about personal things. Now, all of the sudden, they were.
She stared across her kitchen. Lately she had been thinking her line of work was getting to her. Living alone, working long hours, spending so much time with other agents, all of it had begun to take its toll on her. Before her dad and Nathan had been killed, she’d dreamed of finding a nice man to marry, raise two or three kids and have birthday parties and barbecues. Teaching junior high kids would give her a good schedule.
“How did they die?” Trevor asked.
He had on his investigator hat now.
“A drug raid went bad and my dad was shot. My brother was shot trying to help him out of the building.”
Sympathy darkened his eyes. “That’s terrible. Are their killers in prison?”
“For the rest of their worthless lives.” Jocelyn drank a hefty sip of her wine.
“Maybe it’s time you let them go,” he said. “Do what you want to do with your life. Do it for you, not them.”
“Why are you so interested in what I want? Do I not do a good job?”
“You’re one of the best. But I can see your heart isn’t all the way in it. It’s my job to analyze. Don’t take any of this personally. It’s just an observation, that’s all.”
“What do you want out of your life? Why are you an agent?” If he could ask her all of these things, he’d better be willing to share his side. “Was it because of your father?”
“All of us do what we do because of Matthew Colton. I consider it a privilege to work on homicide cases. It’s my honor and my duty to protect people from monsters like him.”
“Then we have that in common, Agent Colton. It’s my honor and my duty to protect my fellow officers from monsters like the ones who killed my dad and brother.”
He met her gaze, a deep discovery of kinship warming the energy between them.
“What would you have done with your life had your father not murdered your mother?”
She knew all about his past because of the case. The serial killer copied his father’s technique.
“I don’t know. Justice is all I’ve ever craved.”
Craved. One of the sexiest things about him was his drive and determination, his ambition to catch killers and his finesse in doing so. She’d learned a lot from him.
Had she just thought the word sexy about him? And then she realized the word had come up before now. She eyed her near-empty glass of wine in suspicion.
“A family of my own would be nice someday.”
He shocked her with that announcement, so mirroring what she’d left unspoken.
“But I think that’s a dream and not a reality, not for me,” he added.
“Why do you say that?” She felt the same way sometimes. Her life would never settle down. The hours and demands of her days took too much out of her. But most of the time, the rewards outweighed the regrets.
“I think you know.”
His intelligence and smooth, friendly way of talking tickled her sof
ter senses. She’d never felt more drawn to him. There had always been an underlying attraction, a physical one. This meeting of minds had only occurred on the job.
“I’m thinking about making it my reality,” she said.
Never had she revealed this to anyone. Why Trevor? Why now? Sure, she talked about babies, but they were always other people’s babies.
She sat close to him, with his dark eyes giving her a rare glimpse of a softer man behind a hardened exterior. Did he want what she wanted but think he couldn’t have it?
The fantasy of having a more peaceful, happy life fell over her. She let it engulf her, no darkness interfering, only light and joy. The excitement in entertaining the possibility of drastic, pleasing change gave her temptation. With none of the restraints of work in the way, her new knowledge of him warmed an intimate place in her heart. His handsome face captivated her. She allowed herself the luxury of taking in every detail.
She leaned closer, propping her chin in her hand. “Who would have thought that a family man lurked behind the dark eyes of the great, intimidating Agent Colton?”
“You like to tease me.”
She smiled, intoxicated with attraction. “You think I’m teasing?”
“When you talk like a poet, yes.”
“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Pleasantly.”
His eyes lowered, bestowing her lips an invisible caress. When his gaze lifted, she felt heat roar to life.
Not giving it a second thought, Jocelyn stood from her chair and swiveled him to face her before taking his face between her hands and pressing her mouth to his.
Copyright © 2016 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781488005008
Cavanaugh Cold Case
Copyright © 2016 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
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