Cavanaugh Pride

by Marie Ferrarella

  “No,” Julianne finally said flatly.

  Riley looked at her, puzzled. “But you’re a Navajo, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Riley searched for the right words, not wanting to give any offense. Afraid of treading on feelings that already seemed rather raw. “But isn’t the tribe supposed to—”

  “Be my family?” Julianne guessed where her partner was going with this. “Ideally. But it doesn’t always turn out that way.”

  Riley was quiet for a long moment, taking advantage of another red light to look at the woman seated next to her. The light changed and she shifted her foot back to the gas pedal.

  “Uncle Andrew’s going to want to see you,” she finally said to Julianne.

  “Uncle Andrew?” Julianne echoed. She’d heard several of the Cavanaughs referring to the man last night with more than a little respect. “Is that anything like Marlon Brando in The Godfather?”

  Riley laughed. “Not hardly. And for the record, he’s not really my uncle, although it feels nice to call him that. I did sort of inherited him when my mother married Brian.” She slowed down to merge into the next lane, allowing an SUV to pass first. “I’m talking about Andrew Cavanaugh. He used to be the chief of police in Aurora until he retired early to raise his kids.” Glancing at Julianne, she noticed that she had the detective’s full attention. “His wife disappeared, leaving him with five kids.”

  Julianne immediately thought of her mother. “She walked out on the family?”

  “No, she left for the store and just didn’t come back. Actually they thought she was dead. They found her car in the lake. Everything pointed to her accidentally driving off the road.”

  “But it was murder?” Julianne guessed, picking up on Riley’s phrasing.

  “No, turns out she actually survived the accident. Rose dragged herself out of the lake, but she’d hit her head and couldn’t remember who she was.” Even talking about it brought a chill down her back. She didn’t know what she’d do if that had been her mother. “A Good Samaritan traveling north took her to a hospital. For the next eleven years, she was someone else, a waitress who worked in a diner up north. Andrew was the only one who didn’t think she was dead. He used every spare minute he had to go over and over the evidence.”

  “Did he ever find her?” Stupid question, Julianne admonished herself. Of course he had, otherwise how would Riley have known the woman had amnesia or where she was all that time.

  Riley grinned. “You can meet her at breakfast tomorrow.”

  Riley was taking an awful lot for granted here. “I can’t just barge in—”

  Riley stopped her before she could get any further with her protest. “That’s just it, you wouldn’t be. Uncle Andrew likes to have family over for breakfasts. His family refers to it as ‘command performances.’ He has this industrial-type stove and is able to make breakfast for veritable legions of people. There’re always people at his table and he likes it that way,” she concluded as if that was the end of the discussion.

  “I’m not family,” Julianne pointed out.

  “You’re a cop, that’s family enough for him.” She slanted another glance in her direction. “It might make you feel better.”

  “Thanks, I’ll think about it.” She had no intention of either thinking about it, or showing up, but it seemed like a polite way to end the conversation.

  She’d underestimated her partner.

  “I can swing by in the morning, pick you up,” Riley volunteered, convinced that the woman would do well to interact with Andrew. “Or Frank can…”

  “I’ll give you a call if I decide to go,” Julianne told her, keeping her tone friendly but firm. She had no desire to mingle with anyone. She wanted to mourn her cousin’s passing, find her killer and go back to where she came from. Where people knew not to intrude into other people’s lives unless invited.

  Frank pushed himself away from his desk. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled them back, stretching muscles that had gotten cramped as he’d hunched over his keyboard. No doubt he would find the serial killer way before he learned how to type quickly.

  There was definitely too much paperwork that went with this position. It had been bad enough when he was one of the regular detectives. Now he was drowning in it.

  This leader of the pack had more cons than pros, he thought.

  He was the last one left again, he noted, looking out at the squad room through the glass partition. And then he stopped.

  Someone else was in the squad room.

  The lights had dimmed and he’d almost missed her. White Bear. Typing something on the keyboard.

  He put his computer to bed and got up. Leaving the tiny cubicle that served as his office, he crossed over to her desk. She was so intent on what she was doing, she didn’t seem to hear him.

  “So you do know how to use the computer.”

  Julianne’s head jerked up. Frank stood over her desk. Again. Didn’t the man have anything better to do? She’d heard that he was quite the ladies’ man. Didn’t he have any ladies to impress?

  “Didn’t say I didn’t know how to use it,” she answered, lowering her eyes back to the keyboard. “I just don’t like using it.”

  So why was she still here? “The shift’s over,” he told her. “You can go home.”

  Julianne didn’t bother looking up. She went on typing. Faster than he could, he noted. “It’s a hotel room.”

  So, it was like that, was it? He could play along. “Okay, you can go to your hotel room. Or better yet, Rafferty’s if you don’t want to think. There’s enough noise there to freeze your brain.”

  Julianne raised her eyes to his and he caught himself thinking how beautiful she was.

  Her voice was low and devoid of emotion. “What makes you think I don’t want to think?”

  It amazed him that the woman wasn’t stoop-shouldered from the weight of the chip she carried around with her. They both knew the answer to that question. If he had lost a cousin—his only family—he wouldn’t want any free time to think, either. Not until he could handle the grief.

  Frank debated saying as much, then decided that it wouldn’t do any good. The only thing that possibly would could be summarized in two words.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Julianne shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “You didn’t say anything that—”

  “I’m sorry about your cousin.”

  Julianne lapsed into silence as myriad sensations and emotions warred within her. Her first inclination was just to snap at him, to tell him that she didn’t need his pity or whatever it was he was offering, and neither did Mary.

  But that would have been wrong. McIntyre was just trying to be nice. Julianne sighed. She supposed she should give him points for that. She was just too thin-skinned lately and would have to adjust.

  “Yeah, me, too,” she answered quietly. Pressing her lips together, she tried to keep the words back. But maybe, just this once, it wouldn’t hurt to share things. For Mary’s sake. She didn’t want him thinking of her as just some ignorant little runaway who turned tricks to get by. “I wish you could have seen her when she was little. She was always so happy. Always tagging after me.” A sad smile played on her lips. She could feel the tears gathering in her eyes. Talking was a mistake. “She thought of me as her big sister, I guess.”

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see she was beating herself up about her cousin’s death. “You’re not responsible for what happened to her.”

  “Yes I am,” she shouted back, her temper cracking. “All I thought about was me. About making some kind of life for myself. About not winding up like my father. I didn’t think about her and what she was going through, didn’t even consider the possibility that she might have been living in some kind of hell.” Julianne stopped then, covering her mouth with her hands before more words came spilling out. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

  He waved his hand at the apology, as if the fact that
it was unnecessary was a given.

  “Beating yourself up isn’t going to change anything,” he told her. “It’s not going to bring her back.” He looked at her meaningfully. “And it’s not going to help you catch the killer.”

  She looked away. Seeing Mary in her mind’s eye. “No,” she agreed in a hoarse whisper, “it’s not.”

  “Shut down your computer, White Bear,” he ordered abruptly, making a decision. After all, he was responsible for the welfare of his task force, and this newest member was in serious need of an intervention. “I’m taking you out for a drink.”

  “I don’t drink,” she told him flatly. There was no need for the man to do anything. She was responsible for herself.

  Rather than come up with alternatives the way his sister had done, Frank looked at the woman before him incredulously. Everyone he knew drank. Not to the point where they were a danger to themselves and others, but everyone liked to unwind by imbibing something with a kick, however minor.

  “But I saw you at Rafferty’s last night,” he protested.

  “And I was drinking a ginger ale,” Julianne informed him.

  He’d seen the color of her drink and had assumed it was a beer, his sister’s beverage of choice at Rafferty’s. Apparently he was wrong. “Okay, your secret’s safe with me. You can have another ginger ale.”

  Julianne remained where she was. “What is it about your family that makes you all want to pull people out of their nice, dark corners and drag them into loud, noisy places?”

  “We’re all terminally social,” he said matter-of-factly without missing a beat. Deliberately reaching over her desk, he closed the folder that lay open. “Serial killers, though, tend to be loners.”

  So now he was equating her to a serial killer in waiting? “Not all loners are serial killers.”

  “No,” he agreed amiably, “but all loners run a greater risk of becoming serial killers. They lack the skills for successful interaction with people.”

  She glanced at the bulletin board as she finally rose from her desk. “I don’t know about that. I think our killer has skills. Skills that help him get his victims to lower their guard. Either that, or they all knew the killer.”

  He turned around and scrutinized the bulletin board, trying to see what made her think so. “What makes you say that?”

  She recalled the medical examiner’s reports she’d read. “None of the victims had any skin under their nails. There were no defensive wounds. No one fought for their life. The most we have is a frozen look of surprise on a couple of the victims’ faces.”

  He put his hand on her back, gently guiding her out the door. She felt small and delicate under his hand. And she’d probably carve his heart out with some kind of an ancient Navajo ceremonial knife if he said that out loud.

  “You’re going to have to come up with something more than that to wiggle out of going to Rafferty’s,” he told her.

  “What if I tell you I just don’t want to go?” she challenged.

  “Overruled, White Bear,” he said glibly. “I’m team leader and I say you need to.” He eyed her sternly. “Remember, I have the power to have you removed.”

  She blew out a breath as she crossed the threshold. “Blackmail. Nice.”

  Frank grinned as he shut off the lights and closed the door. “I thought so.”

  Chapter 6

  “You weren’t at your hotel room when I swung by this morning.”

  Completely lost in the files on her desk, it was all Julianne could do to keep from jumping at the unexpected sound of Frank’s voice.

  He was just walking into the room.

  Julianne stifled a sigh. Miscalculated again. She’d hoped to buy herself a little time alone before anyone showed up in the office. It was a lot easier for her to think when there were no distractions. And although she hated to admit it, McIntyre was proving to be a major distraction. Sanchez and Hill usually strolled in on time, if not late. And this morning, because he’d talked about it yesterday, she’d assumed that both McIntyre and his sister would be busy attending a command breakfast with Andrew Cavanaugh and their wildly extended family.

  So much for the best laid plans of mice, men and one struggling police detective trying to catch a break. Or find one, she added silently.

  “No, I wasn’t. I was here,” she answered, pointing out the obvious. Then, because her comment sounded a little sarcastic, even to her own ear, she added, “I thought I’d get an early start.” And then, just like that, his words replayed themselves in her head. “Wait, you know where I’m staying?” She didn’t remember telling him the name of the hotel. She eyed Frank suspiciously, hating her privacy invaded. The city was littered with hotels and motels. Knowing which one was hers hadn’t been just a case of pure luck. “How?”

  “I’m team leader. I know everything,” he cracked.

  She raised her chin. Okay, she’d let the fact that he snooped into her life pass. This was only a minor infraction.

  “If you know everything, then you have to know that I prefer taking my breakfast alone.”

  He gave her a tolerant smile. “Just because I know doesn’t mean I agree.”

  Which meant that he still thought it was a good idea to socialize her and he fully intended to. In their off hours. For now, he nodded at the folders spread out all over her desk. It didn’t take a genius to guess that she was searching for the common thread. They all were.

  “Find anything?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” she admitted grudgingly. “Re-creating these women’s last day doesn’t point us in any common direction.” Her expression was grim. She hated being stumped. Granted, she’d never been involved in anything of this magnitude before, but that didn’t change the ground rules. She needed to resolve this. “They didn’t all pass by the same place, didn’t do anything alike from what I can see. Not to mention that the career professionals had absolutely nothing in common with the street vendors.”

  Frank’s dark brows drew together. “Street vendors?” he echoed, puzzled.

  “I’m having a little difficulty calling them what they were, considering that Mary was one of them. I can’t picture her letting anyone touch her, not after…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away. Her shoulders lifted and lowered in a defensive, careless shrug.

  It didn’t take much for Frank to understand what she was going through. If a member of his family had been reduced to Mary’s tragic circumstances, he would have handled the situation with a great deal less calm than White Bear appeared to be doing.

  “Say the word and you can be off this case.”

  She began to understand him a little. It was an offer tendered in kindness, not because of some rules and regulations written down in a book. She knew that, heard that, and yet, she couldn’t control the way her answer came out.

  “No!” Julianne snapped.

  He really hadn’t expected her to say anything else, he just wanted her to know there was no shame in bowing out.

  “Then if you want to do Mary and all these other dead women any good—” he waved a hand in the general direction of the bulletin boards “—you’re going to have to handle it and her murder like anything else you’ve come across.”

  He saw Julianne square her shoulders. The thought that she looked like a warrior princess about to go out into the field crossed his mind. So did the word magnificent.

  “Won’t happen again,” she promised stoically.

  “What? You being human?” Because that was what her reaction was like, pure and simple. “I’m not asking you to be a robot, White Bear, just to keep your personal feelings out of it.” Without intending to, he moved in a little closer. So close that there was less than space enough for a deep breath between them. “Save them for something else,” he told her, his eyes holding hers. Frank lowered his voice. “Something important.”

  Damn, but the woman was just too attractive. It hit him sometimes, as if it was a new perception on his part instead of something he’d already
noted more than once and, basically, right from the start. If he’d run into her anywhere else but on his own task force, there was more than a strong possibility that by now, he would have worn down her barriers and gotten to know the real Julianne White Bear. The one hidden behind all that barbed wire and harsh rhetoric.

  It was something that he was looking forward to. Later.

  Julianne let out a long, slow breath. Working in this office would be a great deal smoother if McIntyre was old and balding. Or at the very least, married with six kids and battling a bad case of terminal halitosis.

  Didn’t matter what he looked like, or that, at this distance, the very breath he exhaled drew her in. She was entirely focused on finding Mary’s killer….

  And yet, if she were being honest with herself—and she had to be—there was something that was going on here, a strong undercurrent of—what?—she wasn’t sure.

  With steely resolve, she replied, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Keep what in mind?” Riley asked, walking into the squad room.

  Surprised, Frank turned to her. “I thought you’d be here later.” She couldn’t have already eaten. Even toast at Andrew’s table took time. Conversations engulfed people like quicksand. No one got out in under half an hour. “Didn’t you stop by Andrew’s?”

  “Got up late,” Riley explained. “If I went by Andrew’s, there’s no telling how late I would be.” She draped her jacket over the back of her chair and dropped her purse into her drawer. “Besides, there are always so many people there, I don’t think he’d notice if I didn’t show up.”

  Frank gave her a dubious look. “From what I hear, Andrew notices everything, including who isn’t there. Story has it that the man’s got one of these minds that records everything and plays it back at will.”

  Unfazed, Riley countered, “He was also a cop. He understands being consumed by a case that just won’t open up.” She looked from her brother to Julianne. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Saved me from something, actually,” Julianne answered quickly. “The ‘team leader’ was in the middle of giving me a lecture.”