Cavanaugh Heat

by Marie Ferrarella

  His face appeared unreadable to her as he asked, "How often?"

  She wasn't going to bore him with numbers, even though she had counted. It might make him think she was obsessing over nothing. "Often."

  His eyes never left her face. "When did the calls start?"

  She thought for a minute. "About five, six weeks ago. Always late at night," she added before he could ask. Why did things that happened in the night always seem so much more threatening? What was it about the lack of sunlight that made almost the simplest of things so unnerving?

  "Some pervert?" Brian suggested.

  "Possibly," Lila allowed, but he could tell by her tone that she didn't believe it. "There's no heavy breathing or anything. Just silence. But I know someone's there."

  "Have you thought of changing your phone number?"

  He saw her unconsciously square her shoulders. That was the Lila he knew, he thought, pleased to see her emerge. "That would be running."

  "And you don't run." It wasn't a question. He knew that from experience.

  "No, I don't." Lila frowned. "Look, it's my house. This—this person is invading it and I don't know why."

  He asked the next logical question. "Have you told your kids about these phone calls?"

  Her back was ramrod-straight, like a cadet coming to attention. "No. And you won't, either." Realizing that sounded as if she was ordering him around, Lila sighed and leaned back. She gave her own interpretation to his question. "You're right. I'm making too big a deal out of this. It probably is some pervert. Just because he doesn't breathe like someone who's just run across the finish line of the Los Angeles Marathon doesn't immediately exonerate him from being a weirdo." She was on her feet again. "Sorry I bothered you."

  This time Brian stood up and moved in front of her, blocking her exit. "Is this a private conversation, or can anyone get in?"

  Instead of laughing at the familiar assessment of her rapid-fire way of talking, for the first time since he'd known her, Lila Mclntyre seemed flustered.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  It's all that emptiness," Lila finally said after a long pause.

  He'd been waiting for a response, but this didn't seem to connect with anything. Brian resisted the urge to put his arm around her waist and guide her back to the chair she'd just vacated. Lila always balked at being controlled, at least when they had been partnered together.

  "Excuse me?" he asked.

  Brian probably thought she sounded scattered, she thought. Hell, there were times when she felt scattered. Lila did her best to explain.

  "The house is empty. Except for Duchess," she qualified. But although she loved the animal dearly, it just wasn't the same as having someone around to talk to, someone's presence to feel. She missed that, missed it something awful. People always talked about getting their lives back once their children moved out. But it just didn't seem like a fair trade-off to her. Having her kids around was her life. "The kids are on their own." She tried to make light of it. "Doesn't bother me so much during the day, but in the middle of the night..." Her voice trailed off as she shrugged.

  She was trying to dismiss it. But he wasn't buying it. Lila wasn't the kind of woman to be afraid of things that went bump in the night. "You don't imagine the phone ringing."

  Her eyes met his. "No," she replied quietly, "I don't."

  "Then someone is calling you." Maybe she'd be more inclined to talk about it away from here, where everything felt so official. "Listen, do you want to get a cup of coffee?"

  The question caught her by surprise. Eight years ago she would have merely nodded her head. Back then, grabbing a cup of coffee with Brian was as natural as breathing. But in the last eight years, by her own design, their paths had not crossed with any regularity. She felt a bit awkward just coming to him like this. It was as if she were trying to open up a part of her past that was supposed to have remained closed.

  So instead of saying yes, she tried to demur. "You don't have to go out of your way."

  Brian wasn't about to take no for an answer. As he'd told her a few minutes ago, there was nothing waiting for him at home and she made him curious. He'd always felt protective toward her, even though he knew there was a time when she would have skinned him alive if he would have voiced that out loud.

  "I'm on my feet anyway, might as well walk toward the door." He did just that as he spoke. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he waited for her to follow. "The coffee shop isn't that far off."

  Her mouth quirked as fragments of memories swirled through her head. "Neither is O'Malley's."

  O'Malley's was where most of the detectives and uniforms at the station went to unwind and wash away some of the stench generated by the things they were forced to deal with. They did it so that they wouldn't bring the job home with them.

  Brian inclined his head and grinned. It had been a while since he'd been to the watering hole. "Even better."

  * * * * *

  At that hour of the evening, O'Malley's was fairly unpopulated. One shift was gone and the next had not gotten off work yet. Only those from the previous shift, who had no one to go home to, could be found nursing a beer or trying to beat the odds at a game of pool. For them, O'Malley's was like a second home. At times, even better than the first.

  Despite the lack of patrons and the dim lighting, Lila felt there was a cheerfulness about O'Malley's. When she walked through the door, the bar seemed like an old friend who was happy to see her.

  It had been a long while since she'd been here. The last time was when some of her friends had held an impromptu party, welcoming her back to the force. Against Ben's wishes, she'd gone back to work five years ago, when Frank graduated high school. But the focus of their lives, hers and her friends, was different now. She spent her day behind a desk, fighting a paper war while the people she'd known ever since her academy days were still on the streets in one capacity or another, either as uniformed patrol or detectives. They no longer had that much in common. But she'd kept her rank even though the work she did now didn't require the experience of a seasoned detective. At times she couldn't help wondering if pity had played any part in her retaining her rank.

  "Still looks the same," Lila observed, more to herself than to the man beside her.

  "That's why Shawn keeps the lights down low." As with the face of an old friend, Brian was so familiar with the place that, even after long absences, when he walked in, he really didn't see it. "Table or bar?" he asked, shutting the door behind them.

  "Table."

  "Table it is."

  His hand to the small of her back, Brian steered his ex-partner toward a booth near the back of the room. He sensed she wanted privacy. Otherwise, she would have opted for a stool at the bar, the way she used to do when they frequented the place together.

  "Beer?" he asked her as she slid into the booth.

  Nodding, Lila slipped her purse from her shoulder. "Sounds good."

  He caught himself watching as she took her seat. The woman still had the shapeliest legs he'd ever seen.

  "Be right back," he promised.

  She watched Brian as he walked over to the bar and placed their order with the man who methodically passed a cloth over one glass and then another. The glasses were lined up like crystal soldiers before him along the bar. He had a few more pounds on him than she remembered, but Lila recognized him immediately. Shawn O'Malley. His hair had some gray in it now, but he still looked powerful enough to take on any three rowdy customers with ease. An ex-cop, he retired early when a bullet sealed itself into his hip, defying excision. O'Malley's was his pride and joy, and he ruled the place like a benevolent king. He decided when someone had had enough. And everyone knew better than to argue with him.

  Looking in her direction in response to something Brian said to him, Shawn raised one beefy hand in greeting, smiling his crooked smile at her. For just a second Lila felt as if no time at all had passed. In that second, the years melted away and
she was a rookie again, a rookie eager to prove her worth and make the world a better, safer place because she was in it.

  Where had the time gone? How could she possibly have gone from her twenties to her forties so damn fast? She didn't feel any older, she just was.

  Shawn filled first one mug, then another, placing them on the bar. White foam topped off each serving, standing at attention even as he picked up one in each hand.

  "Hi, stranger," Shawn called, rounding the bar and heading in her direction. His gait was just a bit lopsided in deference to the wound that had brought him to this place.

  Brian walked beside the bartender. Reaching the booth, he slid in, taking the seat opposite her. Shawn placed the two mugs of beer on the table. He flashed her another wide smile as he presented her with her beer. "So where've you been keeping yourself all this time?"

  She'd always liked talking to Shawn. He was like a cuddly bear. "I've been working at the precinct. Desk job," she added, watching his expression. She knew the man had no use for desk jobs. They'd offered him one after he'd been wounded and he had turned them down flat.

  But Shawn merely nodded his shaggy head. "Can't hold that against you. Come by more often. We've missed that smile of yours." Straightening, he wiped his hands and winked as he nodded toward the mug in front of her. "It's on the house. Yours," he emphasized, then turned toward Brian. "Not yours. Your puss I get enough of."

  Brian laughed. "If I'd have known that, I would have played more hard to get," he said before he took a sip of his beer.

  "I'll leave you two to talk over old times. You get tired of Mr. Authority here—" Shawn jerked a thumb at Brian "—you know where to find me." The bartender began walking away and then he stopped. "Oh." He said the word as if a thought had suddenly found him. Or an afterthought. "I was sorry to hear about Ben."

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what Shawn was sorry about hearing, that Ben was a suspect in the drug cartel debacle or that he had died much too soon. But that stirred up old wounds and she was in no frame of mind for that tonight. So she merely nodded.

  "Thanks."

  To curtail further conversation on that topic, Lila raised the mug to her lips and took a long sip of the bitter brew. The bartender crossed back to the bar and returned to polishing his glasses.

  She was tense, Brian thought. He could see it in the corners of her mouth, in the slight furrow of the brow beneath her wispy bangs.

  "You don't come by here anymore?" Brian asked mildly.

  "I feel out of place. These are all real cops, out there fighting the good fight."

  He knew there was more to it than that. There were people who thought that Ben had been turned, that he was a dirty cop who paid the ultimate penalty. By not coming here, Lila was avoiding those people. But they were in the minority, she had to know that. And even so, she wasn't to blame for what her husband had done. And neither were her kids.

  Brian thought of pointing that out, then decided that he didn't want to open any wounds. Not until she indicated that she was ready for that.

  "Those also serve who push paper around," he quipped. "Besides," he went on, growing serious, "you did more than your part. A little more to the right and you wouldn't be here right now."

  A cold shiver slithered down her spine the way it always did whenever she thought of that incident. Brian referred to the bullet that had ended her active career. How like him to take himself out of the equation when it came to taking credit.

  "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here," she corrected. "You're the one who saved my life, Brian." Her eyes shifted to the hands that were wrapped around his beer mug. A fond smile played on her lips. "You and those big hands of yours."

  Brian glanced down at them as if he'd just now noticed that they were a part of him. The incident vividly came back to him. He'd never been so scared before in his life. Without any effort at all, he could almost feel her warm blood pouring out of the hole, the hole he frantically pressed his fingers against. Waiting for the paramedics to arrive had been the longest ten minutes of his life.

  "Susan used to say they were too big, too clumsy."

  "Susan never appreciated what she had." Before the words were out, Lila regretted them. It wasn't her place to criticize the man's wife, especially now that she was gone. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

  "Because she killed herself?" There, he thought, he laid it out in the open. Now they could get past it. "We all have our demons."

  "Amen to that," she said softly.

  She kept glancing around, he noticed. As if she expected someone to turn up. Someone she knew. Was she worried that one of her sons or daughters would walk in and see her? What difference would it make?

  Very carefully, Brian took the mug of beer from her and placed it off to the side on the table, then took her hands in his. Her expression never changed, but he could feel her tensing.

  "There's nobody here who knows you. Except Shawn, and he always had a soft spot for you. Not Ben," he allowed truthfully, "but you."

  He didn't add that the reason for that didn't have anything to do with the rumors about Ben selling out. It was because both he and Shawn, as well as a few others, were privy to the fact that Ben had stepped out on Lila more than once. Handsome to a fault, Ben Mclntyre took advantage of the fact that he attracted women like a rock star attracted adoring fans.

  Realizing that he was still holding her hands, Brian released them. Questions kept cropping up in his head, so many questions. He didn't even know where to start. But he knew he needed to put her at ease if he hoped to get any answers. For the moment, he pushed aside the reason she'd sought him out. There was time enough for that later. Brian already knew what he was going to do about her problem.

  Leaning over the table, his eyes on hers, he asked in the friendliest voice he could generate, "So how have you been?"

  Lonely. "Busy," she told him out loud. "I actually do like the work, although not as much as being out in the field," she qualified honestly. "Wayne Langtree's wife just had a baby and he took off some time to be with his new family, so we're pretty swamped."

  Brian smiled to himself as he shook his head in wonder. "Maternity leave for men. Who would have thought it? There's a whole new world out there now, Lila. It was a hell of a lot different when we first came on the job." For one thing, he thought, there hadn't been all that many women in uniform, much less carrying a detective's shield. Lila had a lot to be proud of. "The world is really changing, Lila." He thought of all the bureaucracy that had come into existence, bureaucracy that at times got in the way of honest cops doing their jobs. He shook his head. "Sometimes I don't know if that's good or bad."

  That made two of them, Lila thought. "Some things don't change," she reminded him. She saw him raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. "There are still bad guys out there for you to catch."

  "Not me," he said, and she was certain she heard more than a slight note of regret.

  The same sort of regret she felt, watching her children suit up for work while she went in to spend her days behind a desk. What she did was necessary, but there was nothing like the rush that came from knowing you'd saved someone's life or that you'd stopped a murderer from killing again.

  "That's for the others to do." His eyes met hers. He could see his former partner in there. The one he'd shared so many thoughts with. "You know, sometimes I really miss the old days."

  Something almost electrical zipped through her.

  Lila cleared her throat, looking away. Who would have thought, after all this time, that she would still feel this pull, this magnetism dancing between them? This "thing" that went beyond the friendship she and he had forged over the six-year course of their working relationship?

  After everything that she had been through, it was still there, still alive.

  Maybe for you, but what about him?

  She wasn't prepared to find out.

  "Me, too," she agreed. Did he suspect? Did part of him know how she'd o
nce felt about him? How she probably still felt about him? Banking down her thoughts, she took refuge in her children. It was a safe move. "I miss having the kids all living at home—I even miss the arguments."

  "Not sure I'd go that far." Brian laughed. "But I do miss the sound of someone breathing in the house besides me."

  About to take another sip of her beer, she stopped and nodded vigorously. "Oh God, yes. Of course the dog's there, but it's not the same thing. I love her dearly, but she just doesn't hold her own in a conversation." Brian laughed. She'd forgotten how much she liked the sound of his laughter. It was warm and rich and deep. And disarming. She heard herself saying, "You know what's the worst? When I wake up from a nightmare and still think they're living at home. When the realization sinks in that they're not, it's just awful."

  "I know exactly what you mean." He paused for a moment, debating whether or not to ask and if she'd considered it prying. He assuaged his conscience by telling himself that friends didn't pry, they expressed concern. "You have nightmares?"

  Maybe she shouldn't have said that. He was going to think she'd become a drama queen. Like his wife. Too late now, she thought. He was obviously waiting for her to elaborate.

  "Sometimes," she finally admitted.

  "About anything in particular?"

  Yes, about Ben. About the way he looked when he washed up on shore. But out loud, she said, "About that night." It wasn't a lie. Sometimes she had nightmares about that. But not nearly as often as the other. "It never quite leaves me."

  Life had changed quickly after that night. They had never really had a chance to talk about it. Ben was always standing guard, limiting his access to Lila. And then she'd left the force and he'd gone on to become the chief of detectives. And a widower.

  "Maybe you should have gone to the department shrink," he suggested tactfully, knowing it wasn't what she wanted to hear, but maybe it was something she needed to hear. He saw her closing up before his eyes.

  "Ben didn't have any use for shrinks."