Cavanaugh Rules: Cavanaugh RulesCavanaugh Reunion

by Marie Ferrarella

  A “few minutes” had knitted themselves into an hour, and then more. She was still here.

  But there was nothing waiting for her at home, and she felt far too wired to actually get any sleep, so she reasoned that she might as well stay and work. At least if she was working, she wouldn’t be tempted to call Ethan, suggesting a really late dinner. That was, at best, thinly veiled code for what she knew would happen.

  It wasn’t the thought of dinner that aroused her. It was the thought of sitting opposite Ethan in a setting where she didn’t have to remain the consummate professional. Where, mentally, she would count off the minutes before he would reach for her and they would make love again.

  After that first night together, there had been several more evenings that had ended with their clothes being left in a heap on the floor and their bodies gloriously entwined.

  And with each time that they made love, she found that instead of finally becoming sated, she just wanted more.

  Always more.

  At least if she was here, embroiled in what was beginning to look like a futile hunt, she couldn’t do anything about getting together with Ethan. Superman or not, the man did need his sleep.

  As for her, Kansas thought, she needed to be vindicated, to prove to herself that she hadn’t all but destroyed her hard-won career with the fire department on a baseless hunch.

  She was right, Kansas silently insisted. She could feel it in her bones. She just needed to find something, that one elusive, tiny trace of something or other that would finally lead her to the person who was responsible for setting the fires.

  But so far, it didn’t look as if she was going to get anywhere. All the firefighters who had responded to the various alarms seemed to be above reproach. There were no citations, no disciplinary actions of any kind in their personal files.

  The only unusual notation that she’d come across was the one in Nathan Bonner’s folder. He was the firefighter who had come on the job after she was no longer an active member of the team. The captain had inserted a handwritten note that said the man was almost too eager, too ready to give 110 percent each and every time. The captain was afraid he was going to burn himself out before his time. Otherwise, he was excellent.

  She sighed, leaning back in her chair, staring at the screen and the database that she’d been using. Her methodical review had been eliminating suspects one by one until, instead of at least a few left standing, there was no one. From all indications, this was a sterling group of men.

  They probably didn’t even cheat on their taxes, she thought, disgruntled. Too bad. When all else failed, the authorities caught racketeers and career criminals by scrutinizing their taxes. Income tax evasion was the way the FBI had brought down the infamous Al Capone. Her mouth curved at the irony in that. When in doubt, check out their tax forms.

  She sat up, straight as an arrow, as the thought registered.

  Why not?

  She’d tried every other avenue. Maybe she could find something in their income tax forms that she could use. At this point, Kansas was desperate enough to try anything.

  Pressing her lips together, she stared at the screen, thinking. Trying her best to remember. When she was in college, before she’d thought that the world began and ended with Grant, she’d gone out with a Joe Balanchine. Joe had an ingrained knack for making computers do whatever he needed them to do. Trying to impress her, he’d taught her a few things, like how easy it was to hack into files that were supposedly beyond hacking.

  “Here’s hoping I can remember what you taught me, Joe,” she murmured.

  * * *

  It took her several unsuccessful tries before she finally managed to scale the electronic cyberspace walls and hack into the system. When it finally opened up, allowing her to access federal and state income tax data, Kansas felt almost giddy with triumph.

  She realized that she should have taken that as a sign that maybe it was time for her to go home and get some sleep, approaching this from a fresh perspective tomorrow morning. But again, she was far too wired to even contemplate going to bed. If she went home now, she’d spend the night staring at the ceiling.

  Or calling Ethan.

  The latter thought had her chewing on her lower lip. When had that become the norm for her? When had sharing moments large and small with Ethan become something she looked forward to? This was dangerous ground she was traversing, and she knew it.

  But right now, she was far too happy with this latest success to care.

  With the firefighters’ Social Security numbers at her fingertips, she arranged them in ascending numerical order. That done, she quickly went from one file to another, using the seven-year window that had once been the standard number of years an audit could go back and hold the taxpayer culpable for any errors, unintentional or not.

  Employing a general overview, she went from one firefighter’s file to another.

  And one by one, she struck out.

  She couldn’t find a single suspicious notation, a single red flag that an auditor had questioned. There weren’t even any random audits.

  The euphoria she’d previously experienced faded as dejection took hold. Her eyes swept over the tax forms of the second-to-last firefighter, the numbers hardly penetrating.

  This had been her last hope. Her last...

  “Hello,” she murmured to herself, sitting up. “What’s this?”

  Blinking a few times to make sure she wasn’t seeing something that wasn’t there—or rather, not seeing something that was, she focused on Nathan Bonner’s file.

  “So you do have a skeleton in your closet,” she said to the screen, addressing it as if she were talking to Bonner. The likeable firefighter’s returns went back only three years. The same amount of time he’d been with the Aurora fire department.

  According to the form he’d filled out when he joined the department, he had transferred from a firehouse in Providence, Rhode Island. She recalled seeing copies of glowing letters of recommendation in his file. But if that were the case, he would have had to have worked at the firehouse there. And earned a living. Which necessitated filing a tax form.

  And he hadn’t.

  Kansas went through the records a second time. And then a third. There were no returns filed from that period.

  Maybe it wasn’t Rhode Island. Maybe it was somewhere else. She did a search, using just his name and inputting it into each state, one by one. A Nathan Bonner, with his Social Security number, finally turned up in New York City. With a death certificate.

  She sat back, staring at the information. Nathan Bonner died in a car accident in January of 2001. He was seventy-five years old at the time. The Social Security number and month and date of birth all matched the ones that Bonner had claimed were his.

  Wow.

  “Nathan Bonner” was a fraud, she thought, her heart launching into double time. This was it, this was what she was looking for. Bonner was their firebug. He had to be. She didn’t know why he’d gone through this elaborate charade or what else he was up to, but he was their man. She was sure of it.

  Excited, she grabbed the phone receiver and was inputting Ethan’s cell phone number. He had to hear this.

  The phone on the other end rang four times and then Kansas heard it being picked up. She was almost breathless as she started talking. “Ethan, it’s Kansas. Listen, I think that—”

  “You’ve reached Ethan O’Brien’s cell phone. I can’t talk right now, but if you leave your—”

  “Damn it!” Impatience ate away at Kansas. Was he sound asleep? She heard the tone ring in her ear. “Ethan, it’s Kansas. If you get this message, call me. I think I found our man.” Why hadn’t she gotten the number of his landline? At least when she left a message, if he was anywhere in the area, she stood a good chance of waking him up by talking loudly.

  Biting off an oath, she hung up.

  She contemplated her next move. Everyone liked Bonner. He was friendly and outgoing and appeared to take an interest in
everyone around him. He was always willing to listen, always willing to go catch a beer at the end of the day—or lend money to tide a brother firefighter over to the next paycheck.

  If she suggested that he was behind the fires, the rest of the house would demand her head on a platter. There was no way anyone was going to believe her without proof.

  Okay, if it’s proof they wanted, proof they were going to get. She hit the print button, printing everything she’d just read. She’d need it to back her up.

  Once that was done and she had collected the pages from the mouth of the printer, she tried calling Ethan again. With the same results. She hung up just before his voice mail picked up.

  Frustrated, she deposited the papers she’d just printed into a folder. She wanted Ethan to see this. The sooner the better. He was, as he’d claimed, her partner, and he needed to see proof that she was right. That he hadn’t just backed her up only to have her take a dive off a cliff.

  Humming, she got her things together and left the squad room.

  * * *

  She barely remembered the trip to Ethan’s apartment. She’d been there only twice before. Once to return his cell phone that first night—and once when he’d brought her to his place after taking her out for dinner and a movie.

  Her mouth curved. Just like two normal people. That night they’d made love until they’d fallen asleep, exhausted, in each other’s arms.

  Excitement raced through her veins, and it was hard to say what was more responsible for her getting to that state—the fact that she was convinced that she’d found their firebug or that she was going to Ethan’s apartment to see him.

  By her calculation, Ethan had gotten about two hours’ sleep if he’d gone right home and straight to bed. A person could go far on two hours if he had to, she reasoned. God knew she had. More than once.

  And she knew Ethan wouldn’t want her to wait until morning with this.

  Pulling up directly in front of his apartment, taking a slot that she knew had to belong to someone else who, conveniently, was gone at the moment, she jumped out of her car. She didn’t even bother locking the doors. She’d move the car later, but right now she had to see him.

  Kansas headed straight for his door. It took everything she had to keep from pounding on it. Instead, she just knocked on his door as if this were nothing more than just a social visit instead of one that ultimately was a matter of life and death. They needed to catch Bonner before he set off another device.

  When no one answered her knock, she knocked again, harder this time. Hard enough to hurt her knuckles.

  “C’mon, c’mon. Wake up, Ethan,” she called, raising her voice and hoping that it carried through the door. Just as she was about to try to call him on her cell again, thinking that the combination of pounding and ringing phone would finally wake him, the door to his apartment opened.

  “Well, it’s about time that yo—”

  The rest of the sentence froze on her tongue. She wasn’t looking at Ethan. She was looking at a woman. A gorgeous blonde with hypnotic eyes.

  She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Just the way she’d felt when she’d walked in on Grant and the hotel receptionist.

  Stunned speechless, Kansas took a step back. “I’m sorry, I must have made—”

  That was when she saw Ethan approaching from the rear of the apartment. Where the bedroom was located. He was barefoot and wearing the bottom half of a pair of navy blue pajamas. The ones he kept at the foot of his bed in case he had to throw something on to answer the door at night, he’d told her.

  “—a mistake,” she concluded. “I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she told the woman coldly. Kansas turned on her heel and hurried away, leaving the woman in the doorway looking after her, confused.

  She heard Ethan call her name, but she refused to stop, refused to turn around. She was too angry. At him. At herself.

  And too full of pain.

  Damn it, it had happened again. She’d let it happen again. How could she have been naive enough, stupid enough to think that Ethan was different? That he could actually be someone who was faithful? It was inherently against a man’s religion to be faithful, and she should have her head examined for thinking it was remotely possible.

  Getting into the car, she didn’t even bother securing her seat belt. She just started the car and put it into Drive.

  Kansas felt her eyes stinging and she blinked several times, trying to push back her tears, fiercely telling herself that she wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t worth tears.

  No strings, remember? You promised yourself no strings. Strings just trip you up, she told herself. What the hell happened?

  “Kansas, stop!” Ethan called after her.

  She deliberately shut his voice out. All she wanted to do was get away.

  Now.

  She should have never come here—no, she amended, she should have. Otherwise, how would she have ever found out that he was just like all the rest? Deceitful and a cheat. Better now than later when she—

  Kansas swallowed a scream. Keen reflexes had her swerving to the left at the last minute to avoid hitting him. Ethan had raced after her and had managed, via some shortcut he must have taken, to get right in front of her. He had his hand on her hood in an instant, using himself as a human roadblock.

  Her heart pounded so wildly it was hurting her chest. Had she gone an instant quicker, been driving an instant faster, she wouldn’t have been able to swerve away in time.

  Angry as she was at him, she didn’t want to think about that.

  Had it not been so late, she would have leaned on her horn. Instead, she rolled down her window and shouted, “Get out of the way.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you,” he ground out between teeth that were clenched together to keep from giving her a piece of his mind.

  “Nothing anymore,” she declared, lifting her chin in what he’d come to know as sheer defiance. “Now get the hell out of the way or I’ll run you over. I swear I will,” she threatened.

  A movement in her rearview mirror caught her eye. The woman who’d opened the door was hurrying toward them. Great, that was all she needed. To see the two of them together.

  “Your girlfriend’s coming,” she informed him, icicles clinging to every syllable. “Go and talk to her.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Ethan demanded. “What girlfriend?”

  Did he think that if he denied any involvement, she’d fall into his arms like a newly returned puppy? “The one who opened the door.”

  He looked at her as if he was trying to decide if she’d lost her mind—or he had. Glancing behind the car for confirmation, he told her, “That’s Greer.”

  Was that supposed to make her feel as if they were all friends? “I don’t care what her name is. Just go to her and get out of my way.” She gripped the steering wheel as if she intended to go, one way or another.

  The woman he’d just referred to as Greer peered into the passenger-side window. In contrast to Ethan, she looked calm and serene. And she had the audacity to smile at her.

  The next moment, she was extending her hand to her through the opened window. “Hi, we haven’t met yet. I’m Greer. Ethan’s sister.”

  Had her whole body not been rigid with tension, her jaw would have dropped in her lap. “His what?”

  “Sister,” Ethan repeated for her benefit. “I told you I had one.”

  A sense of embarrassment was beginning to shimmer just on the perimeter of her consciousness. She valiantly held it at bay, but the feeling of having acted like a fool was blowing holes in her shield.

  “You said you were triplets,” Kansas protested. “She’s a blonde. She doesn’t look like you—”

  “And I thank God every day for that,” Greer interjected with a very wide grin. A grin that made her resemble Ethan, Kansas thought, chagrined. “I’m going to go, Ethan. Thanks for the pep talk, I really appreciate it.�
�� She looked from the woman behind the wheel to her barefoot brother. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologized. About to walk away, she stopped and added, “By the way, you’re right,” she told her brother, amusement in her eyes. “She really is something.” And then she nodded at her. “Hope to see you again, Kansas.”

  For a second, Kansas was silent, watching the other woman walk to her car. “She knows my name?” she asked Ethan.

  “Yeah.” His expression gave nothing away.

  There was only one reason for that as far as Kansas knew. “You told her about me.”

  Ethan shrugged carelessly. “Your name might have come up.” And then a smattering of anger returned. “What the hell is all this about?” he wanted to know.

  As embarrassing and revealing as it was, Kansas told him the truth. She owed him that much for having acted the way she had. But it wasn’t easy. Baring her soul never was.

  “For a minute, I thought I was reliving a scene from my past,” she confessed.

  His eyes narrowed. “Involving your husband, the idiot?”

  Kansas pressed her lips together before nodding. “Yes.”

  “I’m not him, Kansas.” He wondered if he would ever get that through to her. And what it would do to their relationship if he couldn’t.

  It wasn’t in her nature to say she was sorry. For the first time, she caught herself wishing that it was. But the words wouldn’t come no matter how much she willed them to. Saying “I know” was the best she could do.

  “Good. Now go park your car and come back inside.” He looked down at the pajama bottoms. “I’m going to go in before someone calls the police to complain about a half-naked man running around in the parking lot, playing dodgeball with a car.”

  The moon was out and rays of moonlight seemed to highlight the definition of his muscles. The term “magnificent beast” came to mind. “I don’t think they’d be complaining if they actually saw you,” she told him.

  His eyes met hers. Again, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking—or feeling. “It’s going to take more than a few words of flattery to make up for this.”