He supposed it wouldn’t do any harm to go. Especially if his uncle was attending. He knew without being told that Brian would expect him to put in an appearance at the party if he was asked. And he’d been asked.
With a shrug that was the sheer definition of careless, Shaw raised his voice and looked back at Moira. “All right. Where and when?”
She crossed to him, pleased. “Wow, I didn’t expect it to be this easy.” She beamed at Reese, knowing he’d been behind it. “Jonathan’s reserved the Green Ballroom at the hotel.”
The name meant nothing to him. Was it supposed to? “Jonathan?”
“Jonathan Daley.” She realized that still had no meaning for him. “Sorry. He’s the producer.”
“Why are you sorry?”
Moira dragged her hand through her hair. She wanted a bath—a long, lovely, hot bath—but she’d settle for a shower. Time was short. “Because I just did what I swore I’d never been guilty of doing.” She saw his blank expression. Any second now, it would be chased away by impatience. “Name-dropping,” she explained. “It’s just that it’s hard not to….”
Moira let her voice trail off, knowing there was no good way to end this sentence. There were times she wished she had her father’s glib tongue. Matthew McCormick could always explain his way out of things.
That was just the problem. The more time that went by, the more certain she became that her father was using up his supply of luck and that someday, when it ran out, terrible things would happen to him. But he’d only laugh and tease her about worrying like an old woman. Eventually, not wanting to be there for the fateful day when it finally found him, she’d left.
Right now, she decided to concentrate on her minor victory. “Would you like me to send a car for you?” She looked from one man to the other.
Reese nodded, but Shaw wasn’t so easily led along. “Why? Something wrong with my car?”
Why did he always gravitate to the negative side? “No. I just thought you might want to impress someone with a limo.”
“There’s no one to impress,” he told her flatly.
Okay, so maybe she was digging. He obviously didn’t live with anyone, but that didn’t mean that Mr. Sunshine wasn’t involved with someone. She cocked her head. “No one?”
“No one.”
She tried to sound innocent as she regained ground. “Then you’ll be driving in on your own?”
“Been driving since I was sixteen. See no reason to suddenly stop now just because I’ve got an invitation to a crew party.”
“Precast party,” she corrected automatically. “Then I’ll see you there.” She made an effort to look at both of them, and even to smile at Reese, but her attention was clearly on the taller of the two men. “Oh—” she realized that she’d told them the where, but not the when “—it’s at eight.”
“We’ll be there with bells on,” Reese promised. Turning away as Moira left, he let out a low whistle. “Man, do I wish I was you right now.”
“Why?” He began to head back to his desk. There was a report to file before he could leave tonight. “You’re invited, too. The only reason I’m going is because you want me to.”
Reese trailed after him, a dreamy, puppy-dog expression on his face. “Yeah, but she didn’t look at me the way she looked at you.”
In the squad room, Shaw headed straight for his desk, avoiding making eye contact. He wasn’t in the mood for questions. “And what way would that be?”
“Like she’s got a yen for corn beef and you’re the last corn-beef sandwich on the shelf.”
Sinking down in his seat, he looked at his partner incredulously. “Where the hell do you get these thoughts from?”
Reese loosened his tie. “Doesn’t matter where I get them from. What matters is that she looks like she’s got a thing for you.”
Shaw snorted. “She’s an actress. They get a ‘thing’ for anyone.”
The explanation obviously did not seem to deter Reese. “Maybe, but she got it for you.”
He found that his patience was severely limited tonight. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and if you keep on talking, I’m not going.”
Reese held his hands up in surrender. For all of five seconds, his computer commanded his attention. And then he looked up across the two desks that were butted up against each other. “Hey, Cavanaugh?”
“Now what?” Raising his eyes, Shaw gave him his most malevolent look.
“What are you gonna be wearing tonight?”
He clamped down on the temptation to use a ripe curse. Instead “Clothes” was all he said as he looked back down at his work, shaking his head.
Two hours later, on his way out the door of his small apartment, Shaw paused for a moment, his eyes on the wall phone.
He debated all of six seconds.
And then he was dialing, tapping out the familiar numbers to his sister Callie’s apartment rather than his father’s house.
She picked up on the third ring. One more and he knew he would have gotten the answering machine, which would have been his cue to hang up. Other than using them for undercover work, he had no patience for recording devices.
“Callie?”
“Shaw? What’s wrong?”
He knew she was asking because he rarely called.
“Nothing. I just wanted to know how it was going. With Dad and—her,” he tacked on.
They both knew who he was referring to. “Why don’t you call him yourself?”
“Because I’m calling you, that’s why.”
Callie’s voice indicated that she took no offense at his attitude. “You know, big brother, someday you’re going to find out you can’t just carry around your emotions in a neatly labeled package. Dad would appreciate hearing from you. He needs all the moral support he can get right now.”
If he didn’t like to be watched, he liked being analyzed even less, even by a woman he dearly loved. “Why? He was right. He found her. What’s the problem?”
Callie’s sigh almost screamed, Boy, men can be so dumb. “You know why. The ‘why’ is the reason you’re calling and asking how things were going. The problem is that she’s not whole. Because something happened to her to make her drive off that bridge.”
“They had an argument.”
“Lots of people have arguments. They don’t drive off bridges into the river. Mom wasn’t some flighty woman. She was stable.”
He could only guess at the direction her mind was heading. “And you think if all that, the argument and her storming out of the house, was out in the open, she’d have her memory back?”
Callie sighed. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell,” she admitted. “I just know this is eating Dad up. He has her but he doesn’t have her. Until her memory comes back, she’s like some stranger with Mom’s face.”
He noticed that Callie had said “until.” There was a hopeful ring in her voice. Though grounded in common sense, she was definitely the more upbeat of the two of them. He envied her that. That and a whole lot more, including her happiness. He hoped that this time it would really work out for her.
“If anyone can make her remember, it’s Dad.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if she was debating something. He certainly hadn’t said anything very profound, he thought. Just as he was about say goodbye and hang up, he heard her.
“Shaw?”
“What?”
“Come by the house tomorrow.”
He knew she meant that it would be a show of support. Their father had always been there for them, no matter what. Even when Rayne gave him so much trouble, he never turned his back on her, never gave up. And he needed them all now in his corner.
It was the right thing to do and he knew it. “Yeah.” And then he hung up.
He had a party hanging over his head like some double-edged sword, and if he didn’t show up, he knew he’d never hear the end of it from Reese. With a sigh, he left.
He felt like an out
sider looking in.
The sensation descended over him the moment he walked in. The festively decorated ballroom was filled with people, all of whom seemed to know one another. Which left him out.
When faced with what he knew had been a similar situation at the precinct, Moira had waltzed into the middle of it and held court. But she was outgoing, gregarious. He wasn’t; he never had been. They were a world apart in every way.
Looking around, he saw Reese. His partner was clearly in his element and loving it. He was in the middle of a group of very young, very nubile-looking women. Scanning the faces, Shaw found that he didn’t recognize any of them, but that didn’t mean anything. He’d hardly recognized Moira at first.
As he looked around the ballroom, he saw his uncle, standing not too far from Reese, engaged in a conversation with an earnest-looking older man. His uncle seemed to be enjoying himself.
Shaw wondered how long he would have to stay before he could leave.
“Wine, sir?”
He glanced to his side and saw a waitress standing there, holding a tray filled with wineglasses and waiting for him to make a selection. There appeared to be three different kinds of wines to choose from.
“If you’d prefer something a little stronger, there’s an open bar.”
The suggestion came from behind him. One day in her presence and he already recognized her voice.
Moira.
“Wine’s fine,” he told her, making an arbitrary selection.
He wasn’t much for wine, but it would give him something to do with his hands. Anything stronger might go straight to his head. He hadn’t had much to eat today. The last thing he wanted was to feel intoxicated and make a fool of himself around her.
He was feeling damn awkward as it was. Searching for something to say, Shaw turned around. The moment he looked at her, he found that his tongue had been nailed to the roof of his mouth.
When he finally managed to pry it loose, he mumbled, “Dressmaker run out of material?”
Moira had on a hot pink, shimmery two-piece outfit. The top ended before it came to her waist, exposing a midriff that was taut, firm and tempting. The slightly flared skirt began somewhere below her navel and came halfway down her thighs, enough to cover everything, not enough to keep most men from a meltdown. The bottom of the skirt moved invitingly from side to side with each step she took. Her strapless sandals sported four-inch heels.
Looking down at her legs—just how long were they?—he couldn’t decide whether she was wearing stockings, or if her legs were bare and incredibly tanned.
He knew he wanted to find out.
He was holding his wineglass a little too tightly, he realized. It was in self-defense. There was a sudden desire to run his hands along her legs so that he could make the final analysis himself.
She turned around in front of him slowly, flattered and amused by the look she saw in his eyes. Was he aware that there was raw desire there? “You think this is too much skin?”
He took a long sip before he answered, keeping his voice distant, disinterested. “Not if you’re a nudist.”
“You’re a prude, Detective Cavanaugh,” she said with a wide grin. “I would have never thought that.”
“Just making an observation.” He shrugged. “What you wear—or don’t wear—is your business.”
“Yes, it is,” she said congenially, then artfully turned the conversation in another, noncombative direction. “I didn’t think you’d show up.”
He felt just the slightest bit resentful, as if he were some trained monkey, expected to perform tricks at the behest of the princess.
“I didn’t think so, either.” Finishing the wine, he set the empty glass down on a side table. “But it’s a command performance.”
She heard the resentment in his voice. “I didn’t order you to come.”
“I wasn’t thinking about you.” He looked toward his uncle.
She followed his line of vision, then smiled. “Lovely man, your uncle. Remind me to thank him.” Before he could say anything in response, she hooked her arm through his. “Well, now that you’re here, let me introduce you around.”
He’d always preferred remaining anonymous. “Do you have to?”
“Can’t tell the players without a score card. Besides, they don’t bite.” An amused expression curved her lips as she cocked her head. “Do you?”
“I’ve been known to on occasion.”
“Then I’ll steer you clear of Janice Shields,” she decided out loud, mentioned her older costar, a woman known for her insatiable appetite when it came to good-looking men. “That’ll only excite her.”
He couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not, but he saw no reason to doubt her. “Anyone ever tell you that these people you’re around are a little crazy?”
“The word has been bandied about.” She nodded at a group of people she knew, but decided to hold off with introductions. He’d probably do better on a full stomach. “I find it helps to be a little crazy in order to stay in this business.”
She was steering him toward the buffet table first. Food he could deal with, he thought. “Then why stay?”
“Because it’s the best game in town.” Taking a plate, she handed the first to him, then helped herself to another. “Because I get paid for playing dress-up.” She took a small serving of the salad, then offered him the ladle. “And I get to meet fascinating people, like you. What more could I want?”
That was easy. “Something more normal?” Bypassing the salad, he went straight to the roast beef.
“Not interested.” Their eyes met. “At least, not right now.”
He took that to be fair warning and found himself relaxing just a little, although he wouldn’t have been able to explain why.
Chapter Seven
She’d half expected Shaw to duck out of the party when her back was turned. That he didn’t both surprised and pleased her. She had to admit that the good-looking police detective corralled her attention more than she thought he should have. But then, most of the men she ran into these days were concerned with the camera getting their best side. Shaw had no such concerns.
Of course, the man did look good from all angles. After this morning, she could sincerely testify to that.
Excusing herself from one of the cast members who had gone on a little too long about getting in touch with her “true self” by being in Aurora, Moira made her way over to the corner that Shaw currently occupied. She noticed that he was sipping what looked to be ginger ale.
“You look like you’re in pain. That bad?”
The scent of her perfume, something potent and no doubt expensive as hell, preceded her. Shaw turned to look at her. The party had actually turned out to be better than he’d expected. “As far as evenings go, I’ve had worse ones.”
Joining him, Moira took off her long, dangling earrings and handed them to Shaw. “Hold these for a second, will you?” She massaged her earlobes one at a time. “They always give me a headache.”
Shrugging, he slipped them into his pocket. “Then why wear them?”
She winked at him. “We women suffer to look beautiful.”
“You don’t need earrings for that,” he told her. He looked as surprised as she was to hear the words out loud.
“What a lovely thing to say.”
“Yeah, well…” Shrugging, not knowing exactly how to respond, he let his voice trail off.
Still massaging, she gave him his reprieve and nodded toward Reese. Again, he was in the center of a bevy of extras slated to play strolling hostesses of the evening in the movie. Each woman was amply endowed. “Your partner looks as if he’s having a good time.”
Shaw laughed softly to himself. Reese looked as if he’d died and gone to heaven. Twice. “Reese doesn’t require much.”
She moved ever so slightly so that she could get a better look at his expression. “And you do?”
“Let me rephrase that. Reese likes being around beautiful women.”
She cocked her head, studying him. Amused. “And you don’t?”
He’d discovered that the most beautiful women were usually consumed with their own looks. He supposed that made her different than the rest. He hadn’t seen Moira stop to check out her reflection once all day, not out in the field, not tonight. But then, she seemed to be perfection itself, with amazing staying power. He had a feeling that dirty from the ground on up, she’d still managed to look beautiful.
“That’s not my primary requirement, no.”
“Then what is?”
“The company of people I like.” Which made him wish he were home now, kicking back with his father, or Clay and the girls. Where the clothing of choice was a pair of jeans and a shirt that had been through the spin cycle twelve times too many, instead of a suit that gave him a rash just by existing.
“And you don’t like very many people.”
“I don’t know. I never took a head count.” He frowned, draining his glass and looking around for a refill. There was none available. “Look, why are you asking all these questions?”
Moira lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. “Sorry. It’s just the nature of the beast, I guess. I have a tendency to take things apart, dissect them so that I can figure out what makes them tick.”
She looked as animated now as she had when she first popped up in his apartment. Didn’t the woman ever get tired? He was tired just watching her.
“Wrong word.”
“Which one?” She flashed a bright smile at him. “I used a lot of them.”
He figured she was fishing for a compliment, but for some reason, he was feeling rather magnanimous at the moment—maybe because he was contemplating his freedom with relish—so he let her have one.
“When you said beast, I take it you were referring to yourself.” He moved out of the way as two waiters brought in a huge fresh tray of food. He found himself standing closer to her. “The description hardly applies.”
Cavanaugh’s Woman Page 7