Internal Affair

by Marie Ferrarella

  Maggi knew the right thing to do was to have herself removed from the case, but she refused to go that route. She wanted to clear Patrick’s name. Every fiber of her being told her he was innocent of the charges lodged against him. At the very least, she owed him that much.

  Patrick stood by the coffeemaker, staring at the back of her head as she returned to her cubicle. The best thing for him to do was go along with what she’d said. He didn’t want ties and she was telling him that there weren’t any.

  So why did he feel so damn unsettled? So damn insulted?

  Was it a matter of wanting what he couldn’t have, or was it something else? But he’d never been like that before, never felt drawn to secure acquisitions. That just wasn’t him.

  But even as his mind counseled him to move along, to take the opportunity she’d offered him and forget this had ever happened, he felt himself resisting. Last night had been incredible. Since she didn’t want anything permanent, what would it hurt to explore things a little further? To see if last night had been a fluke?

  After a beat, he wandered over to her desk and perched on the edge of it. Her fingers flew madly across the keyboard. They moved even more wildly the second he sat down.

  “Any faster and you’re liable to melt them.”

  “They’re heat resistant.” He wasn’t moving. She raised her eyes from the screen only because she dared herself to. “What’s up?”

  “I thought I’d do some nosing around, see if I can pick anything up.” She knew he referred to looking further into Ramirez’s dealings. “I want you to cover for me in case the captain comes looking around for me—”

  “Why don’t we just go to the local hangout after work? We’re bound to hear more there. We’re not in the middle of an investigation. It’d be kind of hard to explain where you are,” she pointed out.

  After a moment, Patrick nodded his agreement. Starting to rise, he stopped.

  “Anything else on your mind?” Maggi asked.

  About to say no, he changed his mind. Something was going on here, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to or not. He figured if he could see how all this felt against a backdrop comprised of the people who meant something to him, then maybe he could make up his mind.

  “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Christmas Eve? Wrapping a few last-minute presents, why?”

  “My uncle Andrew has this Christmas party he’s throwing. I thought maybe if you didn’t have any other place to be…”

  She wasn’t sure just who was more stunned to hear the words, him or her. “Are you asking me out?”

  “In,” he corrected tersely. “I’m asking you in. Specifically, into my uncle’s house. If you don’t want to come—”

  She cut him off. “I didn’t say that.” She’d heard about the parties Andrew Cavanaugh liked to throw. Boisterous, friendly. Warm. “Are you sure he wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not Uncle Andrew.” He was willing to make book on that. His uncle was always after the next generation to settle down with someone. If he walked in with a woman, Andrew would be rendered speechless. At the moment, because of the improbability of the situation, the idea tickled Patrick. “He always says the more people, the better.”

  She gave up trying to concentrate on what she was doing and pushed the keyboard away. “So you’re trying to fill a quota?”

  “Yes, no.” She was getting him all tangled up again. He shouldn’t have gone with impulse. Impulse wasn’t his forte. “Damn it, woman, I’m inviting you to a Christmas party. You can come or not come—your choice.”

  Disgusted with himself and the way he was suddenly tripping over his own tongue, he began to walk away.

  “Okay,” she called after him.

  Patrick stopped and slowly turned around. “Okay what?”

  Because she didn’t want anyone else listening, she got up and crossed to him. “Okay, I’ll come. Do you want to give me the time and directions?”

  She made it sound as if they were meeting a witness or going undercover. “Eight o’clock. And I’ll pick you up.”

  “You don’t have to….”

  He blew out a breath. “I said I’ll pick you up so I’ll pick you up.” He pinned her with a look. “Are you always this difficult?”

  “No.” Her mouth curved. “Not always.” She searched his face for a clue. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I wouldn’t have invited you if I wasn’t. I don’t do or say things I don’t want to.”

  Her grin grew wider as a warm feeling filtered through her. Telling herself that going to a party at Andrew Cavanaugh’s was all in the line of duty, that maybe she would get more insight into Patrick that way, was a crock and she knew it. The upshot of the matter was that she was asking for trouble, but she couldn’t help it. The temptation of seeing him surrounded by relatives was just too great.

  “Okay, then.”

  “Cavanaugh, McKenna,” the captain called out. Standing in the doorway of his office and holding a piece of paper aloft, he waved them over. “We’ve got another body.”

  Back to reality. Maggi sighed. There was something extra sad about having to deal with murder around the holidays.

  “Whatever happened to ‘’Tis the season to be jolly’?” Maggi asked.

  “Some people have different ways of getting jolly,” Patrick speculated.

  She was already on her way to the captain’s office. “That’s got to be it.”

  Maggi’s room looked as if a fashion tornado had been through it. Every dress she owned had been taken out and tried on in front of her mirror before joining the heap. Some had been unearthed three times before being permanently discarded.

  In the end, she’d settled on her first choice. A curve-hugging electric blue velvet dress that came down to her ankle and was slit up the front well past her knees. It had a high collar, was cut to show off her arms and plunged beguilingly almost to her waist in the back. Her hair was down and her morale up as she surveyed the end result in the mirror.

  She’d just slipped on her four-inch heels when she heard the doorbell. It took her longer than she was happy about to get to the door. But it was worth it once she opened it.

  Patrick look one look at her and whatever he’d been about to say apparently vanished.

  She grinned at the silent compliment. “Your mouth is hanging open, Cavanaugh.”

  He could feel the itch starting again. The one that had her name all over it. Walking in, he did a complete three-sixty around her. “You clean up good.”

  “There’s that silver tongue again.” She could feel herself beaming and told herself she was behaving like an idiot. “Thanks.”

  Walking in, he looked around. “Hey, it doesn’t look like a toy factory exploded in here anymore.”

  Picking up her coat, she started to slip it on. “That’s because I took all the toys in after work last night.”

  Patrick moved behind her, helping her with her coat when one of the sleeves got stuck. She looked up at him in surprise.

  “How did you get started with that, collecting toys?” he clarified.

  She’d been doing it for three years now. First up in San Francisco, then here. “I needed something to help balance out what I saw going on in the streets.” She picked up her small clutch purse and headed for the front door. “There’s a lot of reaffirmation to be found in the eyes of a child hugging a toy that they never expected to have even in their wildest dreams.” She paused to lock the door. “It reminds me that there are more good guys than bad in this world.”

  He surprised her by taking her arm. “I wouldn’t have thought you needed reminding.”

  “Even Pollyanna needs her batteries recharged once in a while.”

  “Pollyanna?”

  He’d parked in the last spot available in guest parking. As they walked, the wind played with the ends of her hair, whipping them around. “Disney movie about a chirpy kid who only saw the good in everything.”

  Patrick opened the passen
ger side for her. “And you didn’t star in it?”

  “The part went to Hayley Mills.” She didn’t bother adding that it had been made before she was born.

  “Who?”

  She laughed and shook her head as she got in. “Never mind.”

  Patrick rounded the hood and got in on his side. “Just how much trivia is lodged in that brain of yours?”

  Hiking her dress up in order to get comfortable, she noticed that Patrick made an effort not to look at the bit of thigh she’d accidentally flashed. It made her smile inside. “You really don’t want to know.”

  The trouble was, Patrick thought as he started the car, he did.

  Chapter 17

  There were cars parked all up and down both sides of the cul-de-sac as well as two blocks in either direction. It was obvious to anyone who drove by that a party was in progress somewhere close by.

  The site for the party wasn’t difficult to pinpoint. Every light was on in the house in the middle of the block.

  The sounds of muffled laughter emanated through the closed windows and door, beckoning them as they approached. A glance toward one of the windows on either side of the wreath-decorated door showed that the front room, and very probably the whole house, was filled to capacity and then some with celebrating people.

  “Are you sure there’s room for two more?” Maggi asked dubiously as Patrick knocked on the door.

  The front door opened just then. The dark-haired man in the doorway must have heard her. “Always room for more,” he assured.

  The man was tall and thin, and flecks of gray shot through his thick mane. So this was what Cavanaugh might look like in another two decades, Maggi thought. The man wore a light blue sweater that brought out his intense blue eyes. He was quick to take her hand, enveloping it in a strong, warm handshake.

  “Andrew Cavanaugh,” he introduced himself. “And you must be Maggi McKenna.”

  “Must be,” she murmured as she eyed Patrick with no small surprise. “You mentioned me?”

  Patrick shook his head. If anything, he was a shade more surprised than she at his uncle’s greeting. “Not a word.”

  Andrew laughed, always tickled when he could still flex his detecting muscles. “Hey, just because I don’t clock in every day at the station house anymore doesn’t mean I don’t still have my ways of finding things out.”

  As he spoke, he moved behind Maggi and began to help her with her coat. When the coat slipped off, he raised his eyes to his nephew’s face and smiled his approval.

  Andrew folded the coat over his arm and confided, “You have the honor of being the first woman Patrick’s ever brought with him to a family function.”

  Tinged in long-suffering annoyance, Patrick’s exhale was fairly audible.

  “I think Uncle Brian’s looking for you.” He pointed to another man in the distance.

  “We’re going to have a nice long talk, you and me,” Andrew promised Maggi before he slipped away with her coat.

  The din around them was warm and comforting. She’d always wished she was part of a large family and when she’d fantasized what holidays would be like, they’d been exactly like this.

  “I like him.”

  Patrick lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah, he’s a great guy. Talks too much sometimes.”

  She gazed up at him, smiling. A collection of feelings danced through her. She let them dance. For now. “Not like some people.”

  He wasn’t about to get drawn into any kind of discussion about his so-called shortcomings. He’d brought her here for one reason. To talk himself out of what he was starting to feel. He wanted to find lasting fault with her. So far, his uncle wasn’t helping.

  “Want something to drink?”

  “Sounds good to me.” As he turned to walk to the kitchen, she was quick to follow in his wake.

  The kitchen proved to be currently the only room in the house that didn’t look as if it was about to burst at the seams. She watched Patrick rummage through the refrigerator with no hesitation. He seemed more relaxed here than she’d ever seen him.

  “You look at home here.”

  “I am.” Taking out a fresh tray of ice cubes, he deposited them into the depleted bowl on the table, then refilled the tray with water before putting it back into the freezer. “I liked staying here better than in my own house. There was laughter here.” Realizing he was exposing too much, he abruptly stopped talking. Instead, he nodded at the array of bottles on the table beside the bowl of ice cubes. “What’ll you have?”

  “White wine’ll be fine.”

  He poured a glass for her, then selected red wine for himself.

  Maggi smiled as she brought the wine to her lips. “What, no beer?”

  “Beer’s for everyday.” He studied her as he spoke, wondering if this had ultimately been a mistake, bringing her here. “Wine’s for special occasions.”

  “And whiskey’s for drowning your sorrows.” The statement came out of nowhere and she really had no idea why she said it. Or why he suddenly looked so annoyed, so distant.

  “I don’t drink whiskey.”

  She’d obviously stumbled into a sensitive area. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said ruefully. There’d been no call for his harsh tone. She was just talking. No way could she have known what his life had been like, growing up with a functioning alcoholic for a father. “Didn’t mean to snap at you. My father drank whiskey.” A sense of self-preservation had him avoiding her eyes as he spoke. If he saw pity there, he didn’t know if he could trust his reaction. “It was his oblivion of choice, which would have been fine if it had obliterated him. But a lot of times, getting drunk would just set him off. Some men get silly when they drink. Some get mean.”

  It wasn’t hard to read between the lines. “And your father was the latter.”

  “Yeah.” Even after all this time, it was a difficult thing for him to admit.

  He didn’t have to draw her a map. The subject was painful for him. Maggi abandoned it.

  “So, was your uncle right?” He looked at her, puzzled. “Am I your first?”

  He thought about the other night. She couldn’t be talking about that. “What?”

  “Am I the first one you ever brought to a family gathering?” she enunciated slowly.

  He made an impatient face. “I don’t keep track of those kind of things.”

  Yes you do, but you don’t want to admit it. The warm feeling that slid over her was partially blocked by the specter of guilt that cast a shadow over everything in her life. None of this could go forward, she reminded herself. Because it was rooted in lies. Her lies.

  Maggi jumped subjects again. She looked toward the threshold. Several people entered the kitchen. Someone had made a joke in the next room and a volley of laughter was heard. “Lot of people here. They’re not all relatives, are they?”

  He knew that to Uncle Andrew, sometimes it felt that way. “Hardly.” Taking her arm to move her out of the way as more people came in search of libation, he ushered her into the living room. “There are eleven Cavanaugh cousins, counting my sister and me, and of course there’s Uncle Andrew and Uncle Brian. The rest are assorted friends, mostly from the police force, but there’re a few judges and people from the D.A.’s office. My cousin Janelle is an assistant D.A.”

  She tried to recall if she’d ever heard the name Janelle Cavanaugh. “Is she the only one who isn’t on the police force?”

  “Just her and Patience. Patience is a vet.”

  “Really? I love animals.” Maggi looked around at the sea of people in the living room and the section of the family room she was privy to. She tried to find a woman who looked like a female version of Patrick. “Is she here?”

  His brows drew together. “Yeah, she’s here.”

  God, but he sounded guarded. What did he think she was going to do, pump the woman for childhood stories about him?

  “Do I get to meet her, or are you going to shove me into a
box if she comes close?”

  He made no effort to locate his sibling for her. Instead, he downed the rest of his drink, then set the glass on a nearby table. “What do you want to meet my sister for?”

  “Because I’m your partner.” Maybe fair exchange was the way to get him to relax. “I’ll introduce you to my father if you drop by tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know—”

  The moment she’d said it, she knew she wanted him to come. No matter what the end result of all this was going to be, she wanted him to spend Christmas with her. “Tit for tat, Cavanaugh. I came to your family gathering, you can come to mine. Only difference is there’ll be a lot more elbow room.” Sold on the idea, Maggi was not about to take no for an answer. “Three o’clock. Bring your sister. I’m making a turkey and you can help us have fewer leftovers.”

  He didn’t feel like standing in the middle of his uncle’s house arguing with her. Things could be worked out later, when there was less than half the town within earshot.

  “Okay, maybe. If she’s not busy,” he qualified.

  “If she is, you can come by yourself. Unless you’ve made other plans.” She looked up at him.

  His uncle always made Christmas dinner, but he knew Uncle Andrew would understand if he went to Maggi’s for Christmas. “No, no other plans.”

  “Patrick? Patrick, is that you?” Maggi turned around to see a petite young woman with Patrick’s mouth approaching them. She had flame-red hair and her green eyes were wide with surprise. “I didn’t recognize you with a woman standing next to you.” Her eyes making a quick assessment, she smiled broadly as she put out her hand to Maggi. “Hi, I’m this big lug’s younger, more attractive sister, Patience.”

  “I’m Maggi McKenna, his—”

  “Partner,” Patience completed in surprise. Her grin widened into one of glee. “Yes, I know.” Her eyes shifted to her brother. “She doesn’t look like a pain in the butt, Patrick,” she observed innocently.