She knew those times had been hard on him, but she would have given anything if things could have continued that way. It was the last time she’d felt secure. Safe. “I used to sit at the window, waiting for him to come home.” She could almost see it in her mind’s eye. “Every night, he’d come up that walk, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. But the second he walked into the house, out came that thousand-watt smile. He really loved my mother a great deal, would have done anything for her.”
Sorrow threatened to overpower her. Moira struggled to stay one step ahead of it, divorcing herself from her past, pretending it was only a character she was talking about, not her father, not someone who mattered the world to her.
“Broke his heart when he lost her. He sold the house, sold everything that reminded him of her.”
“How did you go to school?”
The question only made her smile widen as memories returned to her. “For the most part, at the University of Daddy.” She could see that the answer didn’t sit well with Shaw. “When the time came,” she assured him, “I took an equivalency test. Passed with flying colors, too.” He looked surprised. She realized that she liked surprising him. “Like I said, my father was very, very smart.” There was still skepticism in his eyes. “Ask me anything.”
He wasn’t about to play a lightning round of Jeopardy with her. In his experience, people didn’t put out challenges like that unless they could live up to them. Besides, there was something else he wanted to know about her. “What made you get into acting?”
It wasn’t the question she’d expected. She thought he’d take special pleasure in trying to find a question she couldn’t answer. “Natural transition, I guess. I was used to pretending.”
He came to the only conclusion he could. “Your father used you in his scams?”
He made it sound so sordid. It hadn’t been anything of the kind. They’d lived in some of the best hotels, and she and Carrie had never wanted for anything. Except, maybe for the traditional life they’d lost.
In response, she shook her head. The maternal feelings that had her looking after her father as well as her sister kept her from answering his question.
“See, I told you you were too much of a policeman to hear this. It wasn’t your jurisdiction, Detective. No sense in getting worked up.” She nodded at his empty plate. “So, how was it?”
He glanced down at the plate and raised a shoulder in a half shrug. “Not bad.”
Moira splayed her hand across her chest and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, please, sir, you flatter me too much.”
He didn’t know whether to be irritated or amused. He settled for a mixture of both. “Okay, good. It was good. Satisfied?”
“It’ll do. For now.” Rising, she picked up both cups and the dish. Instead of depositing them in the sink and leaving them there the way he would have, Shaw watched her wash the cups and plate, then set them on the rack to dry. Since there was no dish towel available, she dried her hands off on the back of her jeans, then turned around to face him.
“Now what do you do?”
He frowned, aware that he’d watched her—a bit too intently—wipe her hands off. “Wonder how the hell I got myself into this.”
She stood over him. Cutting into his space. “Besides that.”
He glanced at his watch. Instead of answering, he got up and strode to the phone. He flipped open the small phone book he had beside it. Finding his brother’s new number, he tapped it out on the cordless receiver, then waited for Clay to pick up.
He got the answering machine instead.
“Damn,” he muttered, hanging up. So much for shooting hoops. He’d waited too long to call. Clay was probably already on his way to the house.
Moira came up behind him. “Anything I can help with?”
He spoke before he could censor himself. “Not unless you know how to play basketball.”
The moment the words were out, he saw her smiling broadly at him. What?
“This is your lucky day,” she informed him.
Right. She could play competitively. There was more to basketball than pretending to be a player. “You’re only, what, five-two?”
Moira drew herself up a little. “Five-four and a half.” She saw that the increased height had no effect on him. “One stick of dynamite can do a lot more damage than a charging rhino.”
What was that supposed to mean? “Neither of which is known for its skill with a basketball,” he pointed out. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “You expect me to believe you play basketball?”
“No, I expect you to come to that conclusion after we do a little one-on-one. That was what you were trying to do, wasn’t it, find someone to shoot a few hoops with you?” she guessed, then spread her arms out wide. “Well, here I am.”
Yes, here she was, he thought darkly. A five-foot-four-and-a-half blond thorn in his side. He supposed the best way to get her to stop was to play her. “Okay, you’re on.”
He led the way to the door. “Want to make a little wager on the side to make it interesting?” she asked as they walked out of the apartment.
About to shut the door behind them, Shaw stopped dead and looked at her. “Is that how you did it?”
He’d lost her. “Did what?”
“Rope people in for one of your father’s con games?”
Though she was protective of her father, she took no offense. “My father never hustled basketball,” she informed him. Then she added, “Times were tough. He hustled pool, but never basketball.”
As if that made everything all right. Shaw shook his head. “I’ll consider myself forewarned.”
She was as good as her word.
Bringing her to a local park, Shaw lost no time in getting started. He figured that at least he’d get a workout and burn a few calories. He didn’t expect her to play well enough to give him a run for his money.
She didn’t play basketball. She owned the game. For a small woman, he quickly discovered, Moira McCormick had more moves than a team of semi-pros. She stunned him by being all over the court and making him work for every point he scored.
He’d begun by trying to take it easy on her. After all, that was what males did with females, he reasoned. They went easy on them. He’d learned a long time ago that the average woman was nothing like one of his sisters. The average woman wasn’t competitive and she wasn’t incredibly athletic.
But, he quickly learned, Moira McCormick was not the average woman. Certainly not the average movie star.
She was good.
She was better than good.
She took his breath away—and the ball—whenever possible. Which was often.
Time melted away as they played. All he could focus on was the game.
And the woman.
“Had enough?” she asked, panting as she made another basket.
The sound of her breathing heavily was getting to him. And it had nothing to do with his spirit of competition. It was evoking a completely different scenario in his head. One he was trying desperately not to acknowledge.
Besides, it was getting late. If he was going to get to the precinct on time, he had to stop now and start getting ready.
Still, he didn’t want to call it off. Not when he was losing. Shaw looked at her grudgingly. “Game’s not over.”
With a quick nod of her head, Moira assumed a ready stance, her legs spread apart, her body poised. “Fine with me.”
Desire, strong, red-blooded and able, roared through his veins with a speed that astounded him. He needed another shower, a colder one this time. Not that he really thought it would help. This was going to take a little mind over matter.
Maybe more than a little mind over matter, he silently amended.
He looked at his watch again. He really had to get going. “Rest of the game has to be postponed,” he informed her. “I’m due at work.”
“We’re due at work,” Moira corrected. She blew out a breath, then drew another one
in.
He found himself watching, fascinated, as her lungs expanded. The glimmer of a grin on her lips told him that he’d been caught at it.
“Good game,” she commented. They started walking back to his apartment.
It was one of his better ones, but it still hadn’t been good enough. “I was a little off.”
“Yes, I noticed.” He looked at her sharply. She laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t kid around much, do you?”
He didn’t like the way she seemed to think she could read his mind. “With my friends.”
He lengthened his stride. She followed suit, stretching to keep up. “How long does it take to get into this exclusive club?”
He spared her one glance that was meant to cut her off at the knees. Whatever game she was playing, he wanted no part of.
“Why would you want to be my friend?”
“Why not?” she countered, refusing to be intimidated. Better men than he had tried their hand at that and she had never flinched. Part of the education she’d sustained at her father’s knee. “I’ve always found it’s nicer to have friends than to go it alone in life.”
“So you can fleece them?”
She stopped walking. He found himself turning around even as he told himself to keep going. “Don’t make me regret being honest with you, Shaw. I don’t like having regrets.”
“Welcome to the club,” he muttered. Then he added, “Sorry, that was uncalled for.” He normally didn’t take cheap shots like that. What was getting into him?
They’d reached his complex. He looked around, but didn’t see anything that might have passed for the kind of car he figured a celebrity of her status would drive. “Where’s your car?”
“At the hotel where I’m staying. I had a driver drop me off. I figured you’d do the honors.”
“Would have been nice to have been asked.”
If she’d asked ahead of time, she knew what the answer would have been. And it would have interfered with her goal to grow on him. So, instead, she got into his face now and batted her eyelashes at him in silent-screen-star fashion. “Would you?”
“A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Better late than never.”
“C’mon,” he growled, waving her toward his car.
Moira didn’t wait for a second invitation. She prided herself on being able to read people, and Detective Cavanaugh of the vice squad had all the signs of a man who, given half a chance, could take off without her.
She wasn’t about to give him that chance.
Chapter Five
The silence in the car was far from comfortable. Waiting for Shaw to say the first word was tantamount to waiting for snow to make an appearance in the desert. It just wasn’t going to happen.
She wondered what it would take for him to feel more relaxed around her. Having basketball in common certainly hadn’t done it for him.
Studying his rigid profile for a moment, Moira played another card. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Shaw spared her a quick glance as he drove through the intersection. “I’m a little young for Alzheimer’s,” he retorted sarcastically, then stated the obvious. “You’re the woman from the movies, the one who got lucky on the basketball court.”
She laughed and it bothered him that the sound got under his skin, irritating him because it seemed so inviting.
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” she told him glibly. “Skill, however, did. But I’m not talking about any of that. Think back.”
Shaw frowned. He had never liked games. “How far back?”
“Tenth grade. Half of tenth grade, actually.” She could see that he wasn’t buying into this. “Mrs. Alma Brickman’s Speech class.”
His eyes narrowed. How the hell did she know his teacher’s name? This wasn’t some lucky guess on her part. You didn’t pluck a name like Alma Brickman out of the air. As far as he knew, that kind of information wasn’t readily available.
“What do you know about Mrs. Brickman?”
She closed her eyes for a second, summoning the woman’s image. It helped to be gifted with total recall. Her father certainly had gloried in her gift. “Short, gray hair, kindly voice.” Moira opened her eyes again to see how he was taking this in. “She had us act out scenes from plays. Shakespeare, mostly. I noticed by the videos on your shelf, she got you at least partially hooked.”
The light turned red. He stepped on the brake and turned to stare at her. She’d described his speech teacher to a T. As far as he knew, there was only one way she could have known.
“You were in my class?”
Moira nodded, satisfied that she had managed to shake him up a little. “All of five months.”
At this point, most of high school was a haze. He tried to summon her face out of the crowd and failed. It had to be a put-on. But if it was, how had she known about his teacher?
“I don’t remember you.”
Small wonder there. She’d been a late bloomer. His girlfriend, however, hadn’t been. “That’s because at the time you were going with Monica Zale.” Her mouth curved. “A cheerleader who always brought along her own set of pom-poms.”
Monica Zale. The name took him back. He hadn’t thought of Monica in years. The perky brunette had been the best-endowed girl in the tenth grade. Or any other grade for that matter. They’d gone together for a year and a half until he realized that looks were definitely not enough. He needed someone with a brain to talk to. That someone hadn’t turned out to be Monica.
The light turned green. And then he remembered. “I thought you said you were homeschooled.”
“For the most part,” she allowed. “I begged my father to let me enroll in a regular school.” When he’d finally agreed, she’d thought the wandering was behind them. “I thought that maybe he was finally going to settle down.” And for a time, he had. Until the lure of another con got the better of him. “But things got a little warm and we had to pick up stakes and go.” There’d been arguments then. Real arguments. They weren’t little kids anymore, she and her sister, willingly being led from place to place as if it was all a big adventure. She shook her head, remembering. “Carrie was really teed-off at him.”
He turned off the main thoroughfare. “Carrie?”
“My sister.” She stopped, trying to remember. “Did I not mention her?”
He shrugged carelessly. “Maybe you did and I wasn’t listening.” But he knew she hadn’t. Even against his will, he took in all information that came his way and processed it. And Moira had sent a lot of information his way. “Anyone else in your family?”
“No, just the three of us. My sister, Carrie, is a year younger than me.” Although at times, it felt as if she were a whole generation older. Carrie had been like their father, accustomed to getting her own way, never really growing up to take on the responsibilities of an adult. More than once, Moira had felt as if she were mother to both of them. “She took off for parts unknown about a year before Dad and I came to a parting of the ways.” A fond, sad smile played along her lips. “Carrie was always the stubborn one.”
Shaw thought of Rayne, of the grief she’d given their father before finally settling down. The comment came out before he could think to stop it. “Got one of those myself.”
He was sharing. She wondered if he realized that. “I’d like to meet her sometime.”
Shaw nodded, but made no commitment. Besides, they were here, at the precinct. And his day, he thought with a heavy, inward sigh, was just beginning.
As he pulled into the parking lot, he thought he saw his partner. At first, he thought something was up, but then he realized the man was just being impatient.
Reese leaned against the hood of his car, his head moving slowly from side to side like some kind of searchlight. The moment his head turned in their direction and he saw them, Reese came to attention. He immediately made his way over to them.
Shaw barely got a chance to pull into his parking space before Reese was opening up
Moira’s door. His attention was completely focused on the celebrity.
“Here’s your fan club,” Shaw muttered.
“I think he’s sweet,” she told him, flashing her brilliant smile at Reese.
Shaw pulled up the hand brake. “That’s Reese,” he growled. “Sweet.”
“Hi.” Extending his hand, Reese helped her out of the passenger side. As far as Shaw was concerned, his partner was smiling at her like a lovesick puppy. “I was afraid that yesterday was just a wistful dream.”
Shaw closed his own door. “No such luck,” he muttered.
Reese continued holding her hand, obviously mesmerized by her appearance even though she’d tried to play down her looks. “Are you ready to get started, Ms. McCormick? Or would you like to go inside to freshen up first?”
“It’s Moira,” she corrected.
“Moira.” Reese sighed the name.
Shaw clutched his stomach like a man trying not to throw up. “Too bad we’ve only got shower stalls available or you could draw her a bath, too.”
Reese frowned at his partner. Belatedly, he released Moira’s hand, then fell into step beside her as the three of them headed for the front steps of the building. “Don’t pay any attention to him, he’s a barbarian.”
In a way, the description fit, she thought. Shaw Cavanaugh did have a little of the barbarian in him. And it was damn sexy at that. “I know all about Shaw Cavanaugh.”
“Oh?” Surprised, Reese looked from Moira to Shaw. “Did I miss something?”
Moira gave Shaw first chance to say something. When he didn’t, she was more than happy to fill the other detective in. “I went to school here for five months. Shaw was in my class.”
Reese looked accusingly at Shaw. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Shaw yanked the door open. He didn’t bother looking at Reese. “I didn’t know.”
Thunderstruck, Reese could only stare at Moira. “How could you not know?”
Shaw walked into the building ahead of the other two. This had the makings of a very long day. “Can we just get started?” he growled.
Reese inclined his head conspiratorially toward Moira. “My partner’s kind of grumpy until he has his morning coffee.”
Cavanaugh’s Woman Page 5