Cover Me

by Margaret Watson

  His mouth curved into a smile. "Never would have taken you for a grease monkey."

  "Exactly what I am." Her shoulders relaxed. As if she'd been afraid he would make fun of her. "Anyway, my father wasn't home much, but the drama always was. My mom's sister leaned on her. Aunt Jessie's husband was a cop. Joe Ferrell. A good one, I think. I loved his stories about being a cop, about his cases, about catching the bad guys." She glanced over at him. "That's probably why I became a cop."

  As he drove past the Loop and the museum campus, he listened to Cilla and drank in all these insights about her life. She was revealing pieces of herself, and he'd bet she didn't share this with many people. Pieces he wanted to know. Badly.

  "Uncle Joe was a good cop, but a really bad husband. I found out later that he cheated on my aunt pretty much their whole marriage. He didn't spend much time with his family because he preferred hanging out in a cop bar with his buddies. And the badge bunnies."

  She slanted another glance at him. "So my mom was busy dealing with my aunt. My father was busy at work. My sister and brother and I had to take care of ourselves."

  "And you became the fixer of messes," he murmured. It explained why her brother called about a speeding ticket. Why her sister called so much. Why Cilla had rushed to help her fix the problem with her boyfriend.

  Maybe why she was so guarded. So careful. She didn't want to become anyone else's fixer.

  "Yeah. I was the go-to person. Olivia had a finely honed sense of right and wrong, and she didn't bother to sugar coat it. So she got into trouble for mouthing off to her teachers. Got into trouble with her friends." Cilla shook her head. "Do you have any idea how petty and mean teen-aged girls can be? Dad was at work, Mom was at Aunt Jessie's. I had to fix a lot of her messes."

  "What about your brother?"

  She smiled. "He was Dennis the Menace. Thank God he found baseball. It focused him. Kept him too busy to screw up. When he did, I was the one who figured out what to do."

  "And they're still calling you." He kept the judgment out of his voice.

  "Yeah. My mom calls, too."

  He tapped out a restless rhythm on the steering wheel. "You know you're not doing them any favors. Right?"

  "Yeah," she sighed. "I do. Hard habit to break, though."

  "I know." He'd learned that the hard way. But he'd save the story of his family for another time. He glanced over at her. "You're a good sister, Cilla. A good daughter."

  "Thanks. But you're right. I have to stop being the family fixer."

  "Maybe you could fix something for me?"

  She stilled. "I'm out of the fixing business."

  He mentally kicked himself. He should have realized she wasn't in the mood for jokes.

  Fumbling his phone out of the cup holder, he handed it to her. "I was talking about our route. Can you get directions to Welle's house? We're getting close."

  She exhaled. Actually smiled. "Yeah. That I can do."

  He was glad he'd gotten her to talk about her family. Her leg wasn't bouncing anymore, and her hands weren't curled into fists on her thighs. It was temporary, but she'd forgotten what happened earlier. Brendan would call that a win.

  Fifteen minutes after exiting the Dan Ryan Expressway, they pulled to the curb on a quiet, dark street lined with beautiful old homes. They were set far back from the street and were well-cared for, with tidy yards and thoughtful landscaping.

  "Nice neighborhood," Cilla said, scanning the area. Brendan kept the car running. "Looks like they have alleys. Maybe we should park behind Welles's house."

  "Too suspicious," Brendan said at once. "Who parks in an alley at this time of night? Only people up to no good."

  He watched her study Welles's house. It was a colonial. Red brick with white trim. Professionally landscaped. The plantings had a paint-by-number feel, as if they were some landscapers go-to bushes and flowers and trees. Welles probably paid someone to maintain it and mow the lawn.

  The porch light was burning. The yellow glow from the back of the house meant there were lights there, too.

  He could feel the nervous energy pouring off Cilla. "Let's go take a look," she said, her fist closing around the door handle.

  "We're not parking here." Brendan shifted into gear and began driving away. "People in this neighborhood know when a car doesn't belong. We passed a big park a couple of blocks back. We'll leave the car there and walk."

  He glanced over at her. "You sure you want to wander around his property? You know we don't have a legitimate reason for being there."

  A tiny alarm had been ringing insistently in his brain. They were police officers, but that didn't mean they could trespass. It wouldn't be good for Cilla's case against Welles if they were caught.

  "I just want to take a look." She glanced at him, and he saw the knowledge in her eyes – she knew they'd be trespassing. And didn't care. "You don't have to come. You can wait in the car."

  "No. I can't." He pulled into the deserted parking lot at the park and parked in a spot behind the field house. Shoved the door open a little too hard and climbed out. Closed it more carefully. Slamming doors meant bad things this time of night. "We're gonna make this quick, Cilla. Down and dirty and out of here."

  "Of course." She took his hand, twined their fingers together as they jogged back to Welles's house. "I know you don't want to do this," she said softly. "But you're doing it anyway. Thank you."

  He'd do anything for her when she looked at him like that. Soft. Open. Letting him see parts of her that not many people saw. "You're welcome."

  He glanced at her. She'd changed her clothes at her place. Dark pants, dark shirt, dark hat covering her caramel-colored hair. "Looks like you've done this once or twice."

  A tiny laugh bubbled out of her throat. "Played a lot of Night Games when I was a kid. I learned early to wear dark clothes if I didn't want to get caught."

  Did she realize she was revealing so much of herself tonight? His hand tightened on hers. "This isn't a game."

  Her smile disappeared. "I know."

  As they approached the house, she let go of his hand. Thick bushes separated Welles's house from the ones on either side, he noted. Good cover if something went wrong.

  Cilla avoided them as she peered into a window. Brendan stepped up, as well. It was a living room. Couch, a couple of chairs, big flat-screen TV. A few bookcases on the walls. Three paintings. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  They circled the house, keeping in the shadows, looking in all the windows. By the time they reached the front of the house on the opposite side, Brendan's nerves were jumping. Time to go.

  As they looked in at what appeared to be an office, they heard footsteps scuffing on the concrete front porch. Brendan froze. Grabbed Cilla's hand and tugged her close to the wall. Thank God for their dark clothes.

  The front door opened. The sound of footsteps vibrated through the window. A light went on in the office. As they crouched in the darkness, the footsteps inside the house approached the window.

  Chapter 22

  Cilla listened to the sounds coming from the room at her back – the rolling wheels of a desk chair. The slide of a drawer opening. The rustling of paper. The cold, rough bricks of Welles's house pressed into her back through her black sweatshirt. Her fingers gripped the sharp edges of the bricks, her nails scraping against the mortar.

  On the other side of the window, Brendan was moving. Making a run for it?

  No. He was leaning toward the window. As if he was going to look in.

  She wanted to shout no. Yell at him to stay hidden. But she couldn't speak. The window was open a crack. If she could hear the rustling of papers in the room, whoever was in there would be able to hear her voice.

  Brendan hadn't wanted to do this, and he'd been right. It was risky. Dangerous. Now they were inches away from being spotted.

  She should have used her revved up, twitchy energy for something else. She glanced at Brendan. Something a lot more fun than standing outside Welles's hou
se, hoping they wouldn't be seen.

  Now Brendan was caught up in her idiocy. Trying to see who was in that room. Taking stupid chances. For her.

  She wanted to leap for him. To drag him behind the thick, heavy shrubbery that separated Welles's house from the one next door. To keep him safe until whoever was in that room was gone.

  "Take this shit out to the car." The crinkle of a paper bag sounded as loud as a gunshot in the quiet of the night. "Then come back. I'll get the rest of the stuff."

  Brendan lifted his head above the windowsill. Stared inside for a few seconds, then slid to the side again. A handful of heartbeats later, the front door opened. Footsteps retreated, becoming faint before they disappeared. Cilla leaned away from the wall and watched a tall man cross the street to a dark, late model car parked two houses down. He popped the trunk, tossed a bag inside, then shut it carefully. Clearly trying to muffle the sound.

  She flattened herself against the wall again, turning her head as the footsteps got closer. Hiding the pale oval of her face from whoever he was.

  As soon as she heard the house door close, she sprinted for the street. Brendan sucked in a breath as she started to run, but she ignored it. She needed that license plate number. Needed to see if the guy had left the trunk unlatched.

  Her footsteps were almost soundless on the concrete as she dived behind the car. She listened for a few seconds, and when no one shouted, no footsteps pounded closer, she exhaled slowly. Steadied herself.

  She peered around the back of the car. Brendan was still at the window. Staring inside again. The two men were still in the office.

  She crept around the car and tugged on the trunk. Locked. Tugged again, just to be sure. Then she crouched to see the license plate. Smiled grimly. The guy had a vanity plate. Made it easier to remember.

  ATTYNO 1. Attorney number one. Had to be Welles's personal attorney.

  What the hell was he taking out of Welles's house?

  An owl hooted close by. She lifted her head, listening, and saw Brendan gesturing frantically. They were coming out of the house.

  She duck-walked as fast as she could across the grass to a clump of greenery in front of the house across from Welles's. She threw herself behind it just as Welles's front door closed. The juniper bush had prickles, and they scratched her hands as she separated the branches to get a better view.

  She didn't recognize the man in front. He was older, dressed in a suit with an open overcoat flapping as he walked. He carried a paper bag with the Trader Joe's logo.

  As he reached the car, he handed the bag to the guy behind him, turned and got into the car. She sucked in a breath, then slapped her hand over her mouth.

  Derek Johnstone. The cop from the pub tonight. Sobieski's partner.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Johnstone opened the trunk, tossed in the second bag, then got into the front seat. Moments later, all that was left was the red glow from the tail lights of the BMW, disappearing around a corner.

  Brendan had been watching, too. As soon as the car disappeared, he sprinted across the street. As she stepped away from the bushes, he grabbed her hand and ran toward the park.

  Just before she stepped off the curb, Cilla stumbled over a circle of rocks around the base of a tree. Brendan tightened his grip on her, but he didn't slow down. Didn't look over his shoulder at her.

  He let go of her hand and slowed to a jog once they rounded the corner. Their cover, she realized. A couple out for a jog late at night. A little odd, but not suspicious.

  When the reached the darkened field house in the park, Brendan trotted past his car. Stopped in the playground, and she stopped beside him.

  His jaw worked and he didn't look at her. Without speaking, he headed for the seesaw. Sat on one side, his legs braced to keep the plank of wood level.

  She swung her leg over the other seat. Brendan stared down the length of the seesaw at her. Even in the darkness, she saw the wildness in his eyes.

  "Jesus!" He dropped to the ground, making her rise with a whoosh. Her legs dangling in the air, she tightened her hands on the grips, knowing she was at his mercy. He was a lot bigger than her. She'd stay in the air until he let her come down.

  "My God, Cilla." His face was shiny with sweat. From fear, she realized, a greasy lump of shame expanding in her stomach. "What the hell were you thinking to run at his car like that?"

  "I was thinking we needed to see that license plate." She cleared her throat of the moisture that had collected. "And see if the trunk was unlocked."

  "So you could grab the papers he took out of the house? Damn it, Cilla." His fingers flexed around the seesaw grips. "I got a look at him. We could have figured out who he was. You didn't have to do anything so stupid and reckless."

  He pushed off the wood chips covering the playground, bringing her side of the seesaw slamming into the ground with a hard thump. "What if they'd seen you? What would you have done?"

  Her instinct was to defend herself. Tell him she would have handled it. But she knew he was right. "Sorry, Brendan. It was a stupid, reckless thing to do. I wasn't being a good partner. I shouldn't have run off and left you alone."

  "You think that's what's bothering me?" He stared at her, his eyes glittering in the darkness. "That you left me alone?" He dropped, sending her flying high again. Only her tight grip on the handles kept her from being launched into the air.

  Staring at her, his eyes flashing in the darkness, he said, "They weren't going to see me. But they sure as hell were going to see you. Do you have any idea how I felt when they headed for the front door? While you were crouched behind their car, trying to pry the trunk open?"

  "I..." she began, but Brendan continued as if she hadn't said a thing.

  "Johnstone is a cop. He could have shot you and said you attacked him. Made up some kind of bullshit story. Internal Affairs would have investigated, but who cares? You would be dead." He let her drop to the ground again, then set her flying. "I thought I was going to watch you die, Cilla."

  He stepped off the seesaw, sending her to the ground with a teeth-rattling thump. "Let's get out of here."

  She followed him to the car and slid into the passenger's seat. Brendan turned on the ignition with a vicious twist of his wrist, then slammed the car into gear. The transmission jerked as he pulled into the street, and the engine rumbled as he drove too fast to the intersection.

  His tires squealed as he rounded the traffic circle and burst onto a busier street.

  "You shouldn't be driving when you're angry," she said quietly.

  "No shit. But how do you suggest we get out of this neighborhood?" His fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "Because I don't want to be anywhere near Beverly right now. Don't want to take any chance that Johnstone spots us."

  He rolled to a stop at a red light, leaned across the console, grabbed her face in his hands. Kissed her. Hard. All tongue and teeth and anger. "You scared the shit out of me tonight."

  "Yeah. I can tell. I'm sorry."

  "Not sure sorry's gonna cut it."

  When the light turned green, he pulled away. Flexed the fingers of one hand, then the other. Took a deep breath. Let it out slowly, then took another careful breath.

  By the time they were back on the Dan Ryan, his shoulders had loosened. Hers had tightened.

  God! What had she been thinking?

  Whatever it was, she hadn't been thinking about Brendan. About him standing next to the house, watching her, knowing the two men would be coming out the door any moment.

  "I'm sorry, Brendan," she said, her voice quiet in the rumble of the tires on the expressway. "I was so focused on getting that license plate, finding out what Johnstone had put in the trunk, that I didn't think about you. And that's inexcusable. You're my partner. I can't do boneheaded things without talking them through with you."

  He didn't look at her, but his knuckles got white again. "I'm more than your partner, Cilla. I'm the guy who..." he swal
lowed. "The guy you're sleeping with. What would you have done if I'd run out there? If you knew they were leaving and had no way to tell me?"

  She reached over and wrapped her hand around his wrist. Felt his pulse pounding beneath her fingertips. "I would be just as pissed as you are. Just as terrified. Brendan, I...I care about you." She swallowed. Facing Welles tonight had been easier than trying to tell Brendan what he meant to her. So much easier than getting the words out of her suddenly thick throat. "I...you...I've never felt like this about anyone. And it's scary. Makes my brain nervous. Turns me into an idiot. So, I'm sorry. I won't do anything like that again."

  "Damn straight you won't. Because we are joined at the hip until this case is over. You understand? You're not out of my sight. I won't let you risk yourself like that again."

  Warmth at his concern battled with prickliness at his words. "I don't need a keeper, Brendan. Just a partner."

  He shot her a quick glare. "Then be a partner. Make plans with me, not by yourself. Don't throw yourself off a cliff and make me watch." He shoved his hand through his hair again. "Jesus! You scared ten years off my life."

  She tightened her hand on his wrist. "And just for the record, I'm not complaining about the joined at the hip part. We need to figure out this case ASAP. And I..." She gulped. "I want to be with you, too."

  He headed down the ramp to Belmont for the second time that night. Stopped at the light at the bottom. Sighed. "Okay. I'm sorry I lost it."

  "You had a right to lose it," she conceded. "Thanks for yelling at me instead of stewing about it."

  He glanced over at her and for the first time, she saw a tiny smile in his eyes. "I'm a yeller, not a stewer. Glad that works for you."

  It worked really well for her. There had been way too much moodiness when she was growing up. "It does. Takes too much energy to brood and stew."

  A car honked behind them, and she raised one eyebrow at him. "Green light. Guess I'm really falling down on the job tonight. Not being a good partner. Not being a good green light spotter. I don't know why you put up with me."