Cavanaugh's Secret Delivery

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I don’t drink fancy coffees,” he informed her. He knew that wasn’t the trend, but he’d never been one to go along with the popular trends unless they suited him. “I prefer to take my coffee black.”

  “Yes,” she said, taking the lid off the container to show Dugan the opaque liquid that was inside of the cup. “I know.”

  He looked at the journalist quizzically. “How did you—”

  Toni smiled. “I watched you. You had coffee yesterday. Three times,” she recalled. “Each cup was blacker than the inside of an old-fashioned inkwell,” she told him. “The barista was disappointed when I ordered your coffee this morning, but on the plus side, he didn’t have to do anything to the coffee after he poured it.” She smiled, backing away. “The one I ordered for me, of course, made up for it.”

  “Thanks,” Dugan murmured. Taking the coffee container from her, he took a giant sip. And then another one. Only then did he nod toward the crowd that was just dispersing. Some of the detectives were still looking her way. “By the way, what was all that about?”

  About to have some of her coffee, Toni paused. “All what?”

  “That,” he repeated, this time swirling his finger around to indicate her desk and the detectives who had been gathered around it.

  “Oh, that.” Toni shrugged casually. “I was just spitballing, asking questions to gather information for possible future articles.”

  “Huh.” He turned that over in his mind for half a second. A thought occurred to him. He had a glimmer of hope as he asked her, “Maybe you’d rather go with one of them. I wouldn’t be insulted,” he added quickly, trying to be encouraging.

  He’d had a full night to think about this situation and he had come full circle, back to his initial position of not really wanting her tagging along if he could possibly help it. He didn’t want to be responsible for her.

  “But I would,” Toni told him, then asked, “Are you trying to get rid of me, Cavanaugh? After all the nice things I wrote about you?”

  “What nice things?” he asked, mystified. “And just where did you write them?” He regarded her rather skeptically. Had she already put something down in writing? Where? And, more importantly, would it jeopardize his operation?

  Toni laughed. “Relax, Cavanaugh. I was speaking hypothetically. I haven’t really written anything yet—except in my head. And I won’t write anything,” she added quickly, “until after you get who you’re after. I know the drill.”

  “Then maybe you’d better not plan on writing anything for a long time,” he warned her. “This operation could be over tomorrow—or, more likely, in another year.”

  “The first estimate is way too soon,” she told him. “But the second one is too pessimistic. I have faith in you, Cavanaugh. You’re the kind who gets whatever he’s after—and sooner than later.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, trying to decide if she was just talking and pulling his leg or if she actually had looked into his work. If it was the latter, he wasn’t used to that. He was the one who did the investigating, not the other way around.

  “Just exactly how much do you know about me?” he asked.

  “Enough,” was her vague answer. “Tell you what, if you’re worried, I won’t publish anything until you take a look at it and okay it for publication.”

  She wasn’t about to win him over that easily. “How do I know you won’t go back on your word?”

  “Ah, well, that’s where the trust part comes in. I’m trusting you to be honest with me—and you’re going to have to trust me.”

  Right now, he trusted her about as far as he could throw her and he had a feeling she knew that. But he was also saddled with her until she decided to call it a day—or the lieutenant decided that he didn’t want to make nice with the press any longer.

  Whatever else Dugan had been about to say on the matter was momentarily tabled when one of the other members of the Juarez Cartel task force looked into the room to deliver a message.

  “Hey, Cavanaugh, word is that Michael Oren was just spotted at the Eastmount Town Center Mall, just outside of Oakland. First actual sighting in a while,” the detective, Harry Everett, announced, pleased to be the bearer of good news. Oren was currently considered to be the number two man in the cartel since they had undergone restructuring last year. “This might be your only chance to get to him. Who knows, you might even wind up turning him,” Everett said needlessly.

  Dugan didn’t need anything more. He was on his feet, pulling on his jacket. Moving quickly, he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t alone until he got to the elevator and another hand reached out to push the down button.

  He looked at Toni, surprised. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Her expression was innocent. She looked unclear as to why he was even asking her something like that. “With you.”

  When the elevator didn’t arrive, he pushed the button himself, annoyed. “You do realize that this is dangerous. That if this turns ugly, there very well might be bullets flying.”

  Dugan waited, part of him expecting the journalist to back down. Whatever her job had been, she was a mother now and there was more to consider than there had been before.

  Toni merely nodded as she slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

  “I know,” she told him. “I signed all the papers saying I understood what I was getting into and that I absolved the police force of all blame and liability if I should get hurt—or killed,” she added so casually, he thought he’d misheard her for a moment.

  The elevator arrived, but he put his hand in the way, blocking her passage. “This isn’t some movie, Toni. These are the type of people you spend your life trying to avoid.”

  She raised her chin almost defiantly. But her expression remained the same. “You don’t.”

  “I’m a cop,” Dugan pointed out. “That means I can’t afford the luxury of ignoring them.”

  “And I’m a journalist,” she countered. “It’s my job to expose these kinds of things so that our kids’ll stay safe.”

  He was beginning to believe that she really meant those words she was saying, but that still didn’t change the bottom line. This was dangerous for her, especially up close.

  “Can’t you do that from a safe distance?” he asked.

  “Not nearly as effective,” she told him. “Besides, I’m not worried.” She flashed him a smile. “I have you to protect me.”

  “And if something happens to me?” he asked. His point was that if anything happened to him, she’d be dead—or worse—in less than a heartbeat. He really didn’t want her out in the field with him. But there was nothing he could do about it right now—except to get her to change her mind about tagging along.

  And that wasn’t going well.

  “Tell you what,” Toni suggested. “We’ll protect each other.”

  He tried again. “Look, this isn’t a game,” he told her roughly. “People die dealing with the wrong person every day.”

  She looked up into his eyes. She wasn’t nervous, he realized. Her gaze was unwavering. “I know that,” she said in a quiet, firm voice.

  He wanted to leave her here, at the precinct, where she was safe. He really did. But he had an uneasy feeling that if he tried to make her stay, she’d still follow him. In another vehicle, if she had to.

  He decided that his best bet was to have her come with him and hopefully get scared enough to leave on her own.

  “Okay, c’mon,” he told her, then added, “Maybe you’ll come in handy.”

  Dugan had her attention. “Care to elaborate on that?”

  An idea came to him. It wasn’t one he was going to put into action, but she didn’t know that. Maybe this was what he needed in order to scare her away.

  “Oren likes blondes,” he told her. “Maybe he’ll see you and be attracted.”

  “I’m
bait?” Toni asked as she got into the car. He didn’t know if she was horrified or just incredulous—but he had hope.

  “You want to bail?” he asked innocently as they pulled out of the lot.

  “Hell, no,” she told him. And just like that, his hopes were dashed.

  As a matter of fact, he could have sworn that she sounded as if she was actually looking forward to the experience.

  Didn’t the woman even have the sense she was born with?

  “Don’t get too excited, he might fly the coop altogether before we get there,” Dugan told her darkly, annoyed that his plan to have her beat a hasty retreat had backfired.

  Toni grinned. He could have sworn her eyes were sparkling. “I’ll try to contain my excitement,” she told him.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes. Unable to take it any longer, Dugan finally had to ask and satisfy his curiosity.

  “Why the hell would you volunteer for an assignment like this?”

  Toni read between the lines. “Are you asking me why I’m not writing about something more appealing, like the new fall line or a juicy tidbit about the latest popular celebrity, or maybe about an exciting island getaway? Or, better yet, some article about puppies and what to do with them.”

  She was ridiculing him because she thought he was undermining what she did for a living. He got that. But it still didn’t answer his initial question.

  “No, not those topics—exactly—but, well, something a little less threatening and life endangering than an article about bringing down a drug cartel.”

  “Series of articles,” she corrected, as if that was the only thing wrong with what he’d said and what she was ultimately doing.

  “All right, series of articles,” he ground out. When he looked at her, he saw that her expression was serious now. The cheerful young woman who had gotten into his car was temporarily gone.

  “Because celebrities, island getaways, fall lines and puppies don’t generally ruin people’s lives,” she told him. “Drugs do. Drugs can rob people of their futures, possibly their very lives. And for every addict that succumbs to the power of drugs, not just that person, but their husbands, their wives, their children and their parents are affected. They all suffer.” Her voice took on a certain power he hadn’t heard from her previously, not even when he was helping her deliver her baby. “Drug addiction and its consequences are a miserable scourge that destroys whole families, and if my article winds up saving just one person—and their family—then I’ve done something really good with my life.”

  Her impassioned words had caught him completely off guard. He looked at her now. “You really feel that way?” he asked.

  “Those were a lot of words to waste if I didn’t,” she told him. “So, yes, if there’s any doubt left in your mind, I do feel that way.” She paused for a moment, then because he wasn’t saying anything, she said, “Anything else you want to ask me?”

  “Who was it?”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. “Who was what?”

  “Who was it that you lost to drug addiction?” he asked.

  She looked at him, puzzled. “Who says I lost anyone?”

  “All right,” he said, regrouping, “then who did you almost lose?” he asked. “Come on, you couldn’t be this passionate about bringing down the drug cartel if this wasn’t personal to you.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you, Cavanaugh, but maybe it’s just a matter of me having a big heart. It could just be that I’m against drugs on a general principle.”

  She wasn’t about to tell Dugan about Lucinda. That was Lucy’s story to tell, if and when she wanted to tell it, not hers.

  “Uh-huh.”

  His very tone told her that he wasn’t buying her words. “What, you don’t believe me?”

  “Didn’t say that,” he answered loftily, moving back and forth through traffic, squeaking through lights before the traffic got too heavy.

  “But you don’t?” she guessed. His very body language gave Toni her answer.

  He found that keeping her guessing was better than making an admission one way or another. “We’ll see, Toni O’Keefe. We’ll see.”

  They’d reached their destination and Dugan pulled up at the far end of mall. Getting out herself, she scanned the area.

  It appeared to be an upscale mall, from what she could see, although it wasn’t exactly what she was used to, but then, before Heather had come into her life, she’d traveled all around the globe, following stories from one locale to another and looking to see just where she ultimately fit in.

  Eventually, she’d decided that her best fit was closer to home. She was familiar with it the way she wasn’t with other places. And, ultimately, this was where she wanted to do some good.

  “So where is he?” she asked Dugan.

  Dugan’s phone rang just then. He answered it rather than her. “Cavanaugh. Talk to me.”

  “I think you just missed him,” Everett told him.

  “You sure?” Dugan looked around. There were more cars parked in the area than a weekday warranted. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the south end of the mall,” the voice on the other end of Dugan’s cell said. “Oren just got into his car.”

  “Was he going left or right?” Dugan asked, looking around.

  “He was going right.”

  “Maybe Oren just pulled over to the other side of the mall. You know, taking the lazy man’s route instead of walking,” Dugan told him. “It’s safer that way. Was he alone when you saw him?”

  “He was when I saw him, but there might be someone in the car,” the other detective warned him. “I couldn’t get a good look without giving myself away.”

  “Duly noted.” Continuing to scan the area, Dugan stopped when he saw something familiar. “Hold it. Is Oren is still driving that dark blue Mercedes?”

  “One and the same,” Everett confirmed. “At least our guy’s got some class. But I only got a partial plate.”

  “Partial is better than nothing. Give it to me,” Dugan ordered.

  “7JUU. He was moving too fast for me to get the rest,” Everett apologized.

  The man they were hunting had a habit of changing cars and switching out license plates, so this could very well not even be the car Oren was currently using, Dugan thought. However, a possible something was better than a definite nothing.

  Dugan continued watching.

  “I think I was right. Oren just pulled up on the north side of the mall.” Dugan held his breath, waiting. “He’s parking,” Dugan told the other detective. “Now all we’ve got to do is see where he goes and close in on the bastard—without attracting any attention.”

  Standing next to him, Toni finally spoke up. “School’s out for a holiday today. The mall’s bound to be full of students,” she pointed out. “Won’t surrounding the guy be kind of dangerous in these circumstances—to others, I mean?”

  “I don’t make the circumstances,” he told her. Disregarding the journalist, he told the other detective, “Look, Everett, I’m going to see if I can get close to him. Stick close by. Maybe we can—”

  Dugan stopped when he suddenly realized that Toni was no longer next to him by the car. Looking around, he scanned the immediate area, trying to locate her. “Where the hell did she go?”

  “Where the hell did who go, Cavanaugh?” Everett asked.

  “That journalist that the lieutenant wanted me to babysit. O’Keefe—”

  And then he saw her. Toni had made her way across the parking lot and from where he was standing, it looked as if she was walking right toward Michael Oren.

  “Oh, hell.”

  “What?” Everett demanded. “I’m flying blind, here, Cavanaugh. What’s happening?” he asked. “Talk to me!”

  Dugan blew out a breath. His first instinct was to run after
Toni, but it was too late. And if Oren saw someone running in his direction, the man was liable to shoot first and ask questions later—if he even thought to do that at all before he barreled away in his souped-up vehicle.

  “Lois Lane just went after her story,” Dugan said angrily.

  “What? English, Cavanaugh, speak English,” Everett demanded. “Who’s Lois Lane?”

  “The journalist,” Dugan said in disgust. “And I am speaking English.”

  “Then make sense, damn it,” the other man cried, obviously confused.

  “I only wish I could. The journalist just flew the coop and she’s flapping her way over to Oren.”

  That caught the other detective’s attention. “What the hell is she doing?”

  Dugan sighed, recalling what he’d said to her just a few minutes earlier. “I think she’s playing bait.”

  Chapter 9

  Dugan couldn’t get the image of a train wreck out of his head. Just like witnessing an actual train wreck, he was unable to look away. He also couldn’t second-guess the outcome.

  Although Toni was walking in Oren’s direction, she appeared to be completely unaware of the man. Dugan held his breath. And just as she was about to pass Oren—which meant that she would actually be in the clear—he saw her suddenly trip, less than a foot away from the drug lord.

  As he watched, he thought that Toni would actually fall flat on her face—and then, suddenly, Oren made a grab for her and caught her.

  Damn it, Dugan thought, he should have put a bug on the woman right from the start just on principle.

  * * *

  Toni’s heart was pounding hard and she really didn’t have to fake her distress. What she did have to fake was the expression of relief on her face when she looked at the man who had caught her. However, she thought she managed to carry it off rather well.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, apologizing profusely and with just the right amount of embarrassment. She glanced ruefully down at her shoes. “These are new shoes and, to be honest, they’re higher than I’m used to.” She shook her head. “I should have never worn them to go shopping.”