Aurora’s finest are back in action!
Why are too many healthy seniors dying in nursing homes? Vice detective Noelle O’Banyon can’t let the mystery go. And though she has no business working a homicide case, the love-shy single mom draws partner Duncan Cavanaugh into her rogue investigation. He’s a notorious player she thoroughly disdains—and the feeling’s mutual.
Duncan considers Noelle too straightlaced for his taste. But as they uncover the shocking scandal behind the mysterious deaths, the crime-fighting pair become closer—and passionately in sync. Now, before a killer stops their bliss, can he and Noelle prevent the next murder in Aurora?
“Well, rumor has it she’s been engaged twice.”
“She broke it off?” Duncan guessed.
Holloway shook his head, looking like the proverbial cat that had gotten into the cream. “Nope, she didn’t have to. They both died. She didn’t even get to walk up to the altar once.” Pausing dramatically, Holloway gave it to the count of two before adding, “The first one left her pregnant.”
Because he belonged to an extended family that could have easily acquired its own zip code, Duncan’s interest went up a notch. “She has kids?”
“Kid,” Holloway corrected, holding up his forefinger. “One.”
“A daughter. Her name’s Melinda. She’s almost six. Anything else you want to know?” a melodious low voice coming from directly behind him said, completing the picture.
Duncan turned his chair around a hundred and eighty degrees to face her. Up close the energy almost crackled between them. He would have to be dead not to notice.
Dear Reader,
I’m happy to have another Cavanaugh story for you. Noelle O’Banyon and Duncan Cavanaugh, both vice detectives, have been partnered a little over six months, and the usually exceedingly charming Duncan finds himself challenged to break down the very strong barriers around his partner, a single mom with a six-year-old and a past that has her very leery of ever entertaining the idea of entering a relationship again. Her past fiancés—there were two of them—each died before ever reaching the altar, thereby earning her the nickname of The Black Widow. The more determined she is to keep her partner at bay, the more intrigued Duncan becomes, ready and willing to breach those barriers.
When a close friend of her grandmother’s—the woman who stepped up and raised her—suddenly dies, Noelle is prevailed on to look into the matter. A simple investigation escalates to uncover a plot to cash in on insurance policies being issued to senior citizens who have no families. During the course of the investigation, Noelle finds that keeping her partner at a distance is less and less of an option. For both of them.
As always, thank you for coming back and reading another Cavanaugh saga, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.
All the best,
Marie Ferrarella
CAVANAUGH
STRONG
Marie Ferrarella
Books by Marie Ferrarella
Harlequin Romantic Suspense
Private Justice #1664
**The Doctor’s Guardian #1675
*A Cavanaugh Christmas #1683
Special Agent’s Perfect Cover #1688
*Cavanaugh’s Bodyguard #1699
*Cavanaugh Rules #1715
*Cavanaugh’s Surrender #1725
Colton Showdown #1732
A Widow’s Guilty Secret #1736
*Cavanaugh on Duty #1751
†The Colton Ransom #1760
*Mission: Cavanaugh Baby #1767
*Cavanaugh Hero #1788
*Cavanaugh Undercover #1799
*Cavanaugh Strong #1811
Harlequin Special Edition
A Match for the Doctor #2117
+What the Single Dad Wants… #2122
^The Baby Wore a Badge #2131
‡Fortune’s Valentine Bride #2167
+Once Upon a Matchmaker #2192
-Real Vintage Maverick #2210
+A Perfectly Imperfect Match #2240
***A Small Fortune #2246
+Ten Years Later… #2252
+Wish Upon a Matchmaker #2264
+Dating for Two #2342
Silhouette Special Edition
<>Diamond in the Rough #1910
<>The Bride with No Name #1917
<>Mistletoe and Miracles #1941
§Plain Jane and the Playboy #1946
<>Travis’s Appeal #1958
Loving the Right Brother #1977
The 39-Year-Old Virgin #1983
<>A Lawman for Christmas #2006
()Prescription for Romance #2017
+Doctoring the Single Dad #2031
+Fixed Up with Mr. Right? #2041
+Finding Happily-Ever-After #2060
+Unwrapping the Playboy #2084
ΔFortune’s Just Desserts #2107
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
**A Doctor’s Secret #1503
**Secret Agent Affair #1511
*Protecting His Witness #1515
Colton’s Secret Service #1528
The Heiress’s 2-Week Affair #1556
*Cavanaugh Pride #1571
*Becoming a Cavanaugh #1575
The Agent’s Secret Baby #1580
*The Cavanaugh Code #1587
*In Bed with the Badge #1596
*Cavanaugh Judgment #1612
Colton by Marriage #1616
*Cavanaugh Reunion #1623
**In His Protective Custody #1644
Harlequin American Romance
Pocketful of Rainbows #145
ΏThe Sheriff’s Christmas Surprise #1329
ΏRamona and the Renegade #1338
ΏThe Doctor’s Forever Family #1346
Montana Sheriff #1369
Holiday in a Stetson #1378
“The Sheriff Who Found Christmas”
ΏLassoing the Deputy #1402
ΏA Baby on the Ranch #1410
ΏA Forever Christmas #1426
ΏHis Forever Valentine #1462
*Cavanaugh Justice
**The Doctors Pulaski
<>Kate’s Boys
§The Fortunes of Texas: Return to Red Rock
()The Baby Chase
+Matchmaking Mamas
ΔThe Fortunes of Texas: Lost…and Found
ΏForever, Texas
^Montana Mavericks: The Texans Are Coming!
‡The Fortunes of Texas: Whirlwind Romance
-Montana Mavericks: Back in the Saddle
***The Fortunes of Texas: Southern Invasion
†The Coltons of Wyoming
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
MARIE FERRARELLA
This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author has written more than two hundred books for Harlequin, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.
To
Patience Bloom,
who lets me spin stories
and
makes my dreams come true
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapt
er 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Excerpt
Prologue
“C’mon, Henry, I know you’re in there. Did you forget about our lunch date?” Lucinda O’Banyon paused to press her ear against the door she’d just been knocking on, trying to ascertain if she heard any movement within the closed-off room. Though she was well into her seventies, her hearing was still good. “Open up, Henry. I can stand out here longer than you can play possum, old man. You know that.”
Lucy took a step back, keeping her eyes on the door.
It remained shut.
Lucy blew out a breath and frowned. This wasn’t like Henry.
She and Henry Robbins had an “unofficial” standing date for every other Thursday afternoon for several years now, ever since, in a fit of depression, her friend had sold his house and moved in to the Happy Senior Retirement Home.
As far as Lucy was concerned, the latter was a misnomer if she’d ever heard one.
“There’s nothing ‘happy’ about shoehorning a bunch of older people into tiny rooms and dictating every facet of their lives from here on in,” she had told Henry when she’d heard what he planned on doing.
Only a year older than she was, after one surgery had left him feeling weak and far from his old fit self, Henry had been advised by his doctor that he might be better off in a place where help was available 24/7. And even though Lucy had reminded her childhood friend several times that she was only a phone call away, Henry had sold his house and thus opted to “withdraw from life,” as she had phrased it.
After she had reconciled herself to his decision, she’d begun visiting him at The Home—and watched, to her horror, Henry become progressively more morose. Which was why she’d made up her mind that today, as tactfully as she could, she was going to suggest that Henry move in with her—strictly on a platonic basis. She intended to make sure he understood that part. They were friends, always had been. It had never gone beyond that.
A year ago, her stipulation would have gotten a wicked response from Henry who fancied himself to be somewhat of a ladies’ man. But he’d changed in the past year.
Blessed with incredible health and excellent eyesight, Lucy still had her driver’s license at seventy-eight and she made a point of driving Henry as far away as possible from this so-called “happy” home.
He still wasn’t opening the door. What was that man up to? she wondered.
“Henry, you leave me no choice. I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in,” Lucy announced, putting her hand on the doorknob.
“I wouldn’t do that,” a pleasant, albeit somewhat condescending and authoritative, voice behind her said before she could turn the doorknob and let herself into Henry’s room.
Surprised, Lucy turned around to see Amanda Wright. The rather attractive, statuesque dark-haired woman, who volunteered a couple of days a week at the home, was standing almost directly behind her.
“Henry likes his privacy,” Amanda told her.
Lucy’s back went up. She resented this woman, in her early fifties, presuming to know her lifelong friend better than she did.
For the sake of peace, Lucy took a breath in order to subdue her temper and then said, “Honey, Henry and I go way back. I knew him when he used to smile,” she added after a beat.
Amanda raised her chin. Taller by five inches, the woman gave the impression that she was looking down at her. “Henry told me that he wasn’t feeling well after breakfast. I suggest that you let him rest,” the volunteer told her. “Perhaps even come back later for your little visit.”
Lucy had a sudden urge to scratch the woman’s eyes out, but she didn’t. “And I suggest he tell me so himself,” she countered.
She might have been smaller than the younger woman, but Lucy was nothing if not full of sheer grit and determination. She’d come up the hard way and had triumphed over her circumstances. She was not about to allow this woman to dictate to her.
With a deliberate movement, Lucy turned her shoulders around and opened the door.
Fully dressed, appearing to have decided to take a quick nap, Henry was lying very still on his bed.
Too still, Lucy thought, a chill shimmying up and down her spine.
Until just a short time ago, before his surgery had taken place, her friend had been a rather robust and healthy man, especially given his age. However, he had always complained about his inability to sleep. Henry was a light sleeper at best, prone to waking up even if there was the least, inconsequential noise somewhere in the vicinity. That was the reason why she’d gotten him a set of earplugs as a housewarming gift when he had moved into The Home.
“See, he’s asleep. You need to leave,” Amanda told her, taking her by the arm. The woman looked as if she was ready to hustle her out of Henry’s room.
Shrugging out of the woman’s hold, Lucy silently counted to ten in an effort to rein in her temper. She’d had just about enough of this know-it-all woman.
“I’ll be the one who decides what I need or don’t need to do,” Lucy retorted.
Putting her hand on Henry’s shoulder, she was about to gently shake her friend awake when she suddenly froze. A coldness swept over her, initiated by the coolness of Henry’s skin. She could feel it beneath the thin light blue polo shirt he was wearing.
Fear began to do a soft-shoe through her. She did what she could to block it and the thoughts that were simultaneously being generated.
“Henry,” Lucy said, raising her voice. “Wake up. Henry?”
But even as she repeated his name, the sinking feeling inside her chest told her that no amount of calling was going to get her childhood friend to open his eyes.
Henry Robbins was dead.
That made two, she thought numbly.
Chapter 1
“Momma, Lucy’s late.”
Six-year-old Melinda O’Banyon’s knees were sinking into the sofa against the large bay window facing the front walk. The little girl, a miniversion of her mother down to her light red hair, was kneeling there, staring out onto the cul-de-sac street. Having made her announcement, Melinda leaned her forehead against the windowpane and continued to stare out at the semideserted area.
For the moment, no one was leaving or going anywhere.
Detective Noelle O’Banyon pushed thick red bangs out of her eyes and glanced at her watch. It was coming on to eight o’clock in the morning. If she was going to be at the precinct on time, she was going to have to be leaving soon.
Hurry up, Lucy.
“She’s not late yet. She has five minutes before she’s late,” she told her daughter.
Even as she reassured her daughter, a degree of concern slipped in and hovered along the perimeter of her mind. This wasn’t like Lucy. Her grandmother wasn’t just punctual, she was notoriously early. Always. For the woman to be on time was highly unusual. For her to be late was equal to the Second Coming: it hadn’t happened yet.
Noelle felt for her cell phone in her back pocket, debating giving the woman a call. She knew that Lucy would take it as an insult, a silent insinuation that she might have slipped and needed a keeper, but nonetheless, hearing Lucy’s voice would ease her mind.
Granted, her feisty, petite grandmother looked and acted not just years but decades younger than she was. Still, the fact of the matter was that the woman, who had insisted that Noelle refer to her as “Lucy” rather than any acceptable generic title befitting her station in the scheme of things, such as “Grandma,” “Nana” or, God forbid, “Granny,” was getting on in years—even if she refused to acknowledge it.
“Lucinda is my given name,” her grandmother had revealed, the first time their association took on a more permanent quality. “But you can call me Lucy. No one else does,” she had added by way of making that their own special
secret.
Her grandmother was then and continued to be now a live wire, with as much if not more energy as the six-year-old great-granddaughter she currently cared for whenever the need arose. And lately the need arose frequently because Noelle had been promoted to the rank of detective a scant six months ago.
That last development had Noelle thinking of taking another crack at trying to convince her grandmother to give up the apartment she was renting—the one she stayed in only approximately half the time—and just come live with her.
Her last attempt at convincing Lucy had been a failure.
“You’d save money and it’d be easier on you,” Noelle had coaxed, thinking the argument more or less made itself.
She’d thought wrong.
“I’m not interested in saving money or ‘easier.’ I’m interested in my independence,” Lucy had responded, cutting the discussion down before it had any time to take root. “I’m the one who taught you about that, remember?” she’d said.
Slipping on her shoes, Noelle glanced over toward her daughter. Melinda was still on the sofa, diligently keeping watch.
C’mon, Lucy, where are you? Noelle thought impatiently.
Though she didn’t like to dwell on it, the simple fact was that Lucy was in her late seventies and things had a tendency to happen to people at that age.
Lots of things, Noelle thought, biting her lower lip as she carried on a heated internal debate as to whether or not to call her grandmother.
“Whether” won.
Taking out her cell phone, Noelle began to press the series of numbers on the keypad that would successfully connect her to her grandmother’s smart phone.
She’d just pressed the last number and was waiting to hear the sound that would tell her the call had gone through when she saw Melinda suddenly jump up and down on the sofa.
“She’s here! She’s here!” Melinda declared in a triumphant voice.
Scrambling off the sofa, the redheaded pint-size dynamo made an instant beeline for the front door, apparently ready to throw it open.
“Melinda!” Noelle called after her sharply. She managed to stop her daughter in her tracks, just short of yanking open the front door. “What did I tell you about opening the front door?” she asked, crossing the room in a few quick steps.
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