Cavanaugh Encounter

by Marie Ferrarella

  “And finishing it takes longer,” she said. She was onto O’Bannon, Frankie thought, and saving money had nothing to do with it.

  Luke made no effort to deny what he took to be her accusation. Instead, he grinned as if she’d caught him. “There’s that, too,” Luke agreed. “C’mon, DeMarco, kick back. Relax. We’re all friends here.”

  “We’re coworkers,” she corrected him pointedly. “We’re not friends.”

  “We can be,” he countered. And then he became serious. “What’s so wrong with having friends, Frankie?” he asked.

  She looked at O’Bannon sharply. This had to be the first time he’d used her first name. She wasn’t altogether sure how she felt about that, despite the warm ripple that had just corkscrewed through her stomach.

  Because she could see that O’Bannon was still waiting for an answer, she came up with one for him.

  “In order to be friends, you have to talk to someone, exchange personal information with them, get close to them.” None of which was acceptable to her, she added silently. “And then get hurt if something happens to that person.”

  “Speaking from experience?” he asked her. He’d been intently listening to her, studying every movement as Frankie spoke. Her body language said far more than she did.

  “Just conjecturing.”

  Luke knew he should just let this slide, but she had inadvertently given him the perfect opening he’d been looking for. He needed to get this matter out in the open and sooner was always better than later—for both their sakes.

  “The serial killer’s latest victim,” he began slowly, “The one you brought to us.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Frankie was instantly on her guard. “What about her?”

  “What’s the story behind that?”

  “I already told you,” Frankie reminded him impatiently. “I know the—the victim’s roommate casually and she called me when she saw her friend on the floor and panicked.”

  “So you said,” Luke recalled. And he wasn’t buying it. “Now, what’s the real story?”

  “That is the real story.”

  “Okay.” Luke was willing to buy that she had given him some of the details—just not the ones that mattered. “What’s the rest of the story? And before you sink deeper into this lie, Valri found photos on Kristin Andrews’s laptop. Photos of the two of you.”

  Frankie shrugged, looking away. “Kris was always taking pictures. She must have taken those when I dropped by to see Amanda,” she said, trying to sound uninterested.

  “I thought you and Amanda weren’t close,” Luke reminded her.

  She felt as if he was tightening a noose around her. The man was really beginning to annoy her. “Well, we weren’t complete strangers. Kristin was always snapping selfies. She must have snapped that picture you saw when I was at the apartment.”

  His expression was unreadable. “How long did you say they were roommates?”

  At least here she didn’t have to lie, Frankie thought, feeling relieved. “Two years.”

  He nodded, taking the information in. “Then why is the photo dated five years ago?”

  Damn! Frankie thought. “Probably a glitch in the software.” She shrugged off his words.

  “You’re quick on your feet,” Luke noted with a touch of admiration. “You’ve got an answer for everything.”

  Not trusting herself to meet his gaze, Frankie deliberately looked away. “Just answering your questions,” she told him. Setting down the mug, she began to get up from the table. “Look, I really should be going home—”

  His next words stopped her cold. “She’s your cousin, isn’t she?”

  Frankie struggled to compose herself before turning to look at him. “Amanda?”

  “Kristin.”

  Frankie’s mouth went dry, but she did what she could to try to brazen the moment out. “I think you’ve made a mistake,” she informed him coldly.

  “I’m capable of mistakes from time to time,” he admitted. “But not this time. I did a little digging after Valri found the photos—there was more than one, by the way.” The wary expression entering her eyes told him that he was on the right path. “Your mother and Kristin’s mother were sisters,” he told her. “I believe that makes you her cousin.”

  There was a sinking feeling in her stomach even as she narrowed her eyes, giving him a steely look. Denying what he’d just said was futile. She had no doubt that O’Bannon was thorough and had the proof he needed to back up what he was saying.

  “So, now what?” Frankie demanded, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “You’re going to tell Handel? Or have you already told him and you thought you’d buy me a beer before giving me the bum’s rush?” she asked.

  Instead of answering her, he asked Frankie a question. “Why did you lie? Why didn’t you just tell me that you were the victim’s cousin when you first came to me?”

  Frankie glared at him. He knew the answer to that. Why was he torturing her like this?

  “Because I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the case if I said that and you know it. My being related to the victim would be considered a conflict of interest or some such bull,” she retorted.

  He was well aware of that rule. He was also aware of other factors. “And you didn’t think it was worth the effort to try to convince me to let you work the case with us?”

  What was he trying to prove with all this? “I wasn’t about to grovel if I knew all along what the answer would be.”

  “You’re that sure?” Luke asked pointedly as he continued probing.

  O’Bannon was just messing with her mind, trying to create doubt. “You don’t know me from Adam,” she began, but got no further.

  He laughed at that. “Oh, trust me, I know a few Adams and none of them look a thing like you,” he guaranteed, allowing a note of appreciation to slip into his voice.

  Impatience was making her very short-tempered. “What I meant,” she tried again—he was forcing her to jump through hoops and this wasn’t going to lead anywhere, she fumed, “was that I didn’t think I stood a chance of convincing you to let me in on the case. There are rules on the books against this kind of thing.”

  The expression on his face was completely unreadable. “I know.”

  “So why are you playing this elaborate game of cat and mouse with me?” she asked angrily.

  Frankie began to get up from the table again, but this time he caught her by the wrist, keeping her in place.

  She yanked, trying to get her wrist free, but he continued holding it fast.

  “Sit down, DeMarco,” he ordered her in an even voice. “The last thing you want to do is to make a scene.”

  Still fuming and biting back a few choice words, she sat down.

  “You don’t know what I want,” she informed him heatedly.

  “Oh, don’t be so sure of that,” he told her. “You want in on this case. You want to catch whoever cut your cousin’s life short. You don’t want to be a spectator or stay on the sidelines, you want to be right there in the thick of the investigation and eventually take the bastard down.”

  “Yes,” she answered between gritted teeth. “But I’m not about to sleep with you to get you to keep my secret,” she told him, guessing at the price he was about to exact from her in exchange for allowing her to remain on the case.

  Luke surprised her by laughing as he released her wrist.

  “If I wanted to sleep with you, I wouldn’t need to use your secret as leverage,” he assured her. Before she could make any sort of a retort, Luke became serious and continued. “She was your cousin and someone killed her. In your place I would want exactly what you want—to catch the bastard who did this to one of my own.

  “I’ve got a really big family,” he told her, “and I’d go to hell and back for each and every on
e of them. If someone hurt—or killed—one of them, I wouldn’t let protocol shackle me.”

  He made it sound like a vow.

  Frankie stared at him. She was afraid to allow her hopes to be raised. Hopes that were raised could be dashed, hard.

  But at this point, Frankie realized that hope was all she had left.

  “So, what are you telling me?” Frankie asked, lowering her voice to a steely whisper. “That you’ll let me stay on the team?”

  “We need the extra help,” he told her matter-of-factly. “And you need the closure. From where I’m standing, it’s a win-win situation.”

  “And what happens if Handel winds up finding out that Kristin was my cousin?” Frankie asked him. “And that you knew all along and didn’t tell him or bar me from the case?”

  “Why should he?” Luke challenged seriously. “It’s not as if you’re planning on taking out a front-page ad in the local paper proclaiming your connection to the latest victim.”

  “And you’re not going to tell anyone?”

  He looked at her incredulously. She really was paranoid. He did what he could to reassure her. “Why would I? Your relationship to her doesn’t have any bearing on the case. It certainly doesn’t bring us one step closer to the serial killer’s identity,” Luke pointed out.

  Frankie relaxed by degrees as relief slowly slid through her veins, taking root. And then suspicion suddenly raised its head again. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Luke asked her innocently. “I’m a really nice guy.”

  Frankie blew out a breath. She didn’t know if she would go that far, but for all intents and purposes, O’Bannon was being extremely nice to her. And understanding. She was beginning to believe him when he told her how he felt about his own family.

  In a way, she supposed that gave them a connection and allowed him to understand how she felt about Kristin’s murder, about her need to bring the person who killed her to justice.

  She owed him.

  “I guess I should say thank you,” Frankie said in a low voice.

  “Only if you want to,” he responded with a careless shrug.

  She just couldn’t figure him out. But then, she supposed that she didn’t have to. All she needed was to have him let her remain as an active member on the team.

  Frankie raised her beer mug—which was still three-quarters full—in a silent salute to the man sitting opposite her. Looking directly into his eyes, she said, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Luke responded. “Hey—” he sounded pleased “—you’re starting to relax. Knew coming to Malone’s was a good idea for you.”

  It wasn’t the beer or the establishment that had gotten her to relax. It was being allowed to share the burden that she was carrying around with someone who understood.

  But if O’Bannon chose to believe what he had just said about Malone’s, who was she to dispute it? “I guess you were right,” she conceded, with just the smallest hint of a smile.

  Her admission pleased him.

  “Yeah,” he replied with an understanding expression. “I was.”

  “You were right about what?” White Hawk asked, finally coming over to join them.

  Turning to look at the taller man, Frankie couldn’t help wondering if it was just a coincidence that the detective had been absent while she and O’Bannon had had it out. She had never believed in coincidences, but White Hawk had a completely innocent expression on his face as he asked the question and looked from her to O’Bannon and back again.

  “Most everything,” Luke answered with a glib smile on his lips.

  “Well, I’d love to stay and listen to some more of this ego fest of yours, O’Bannon, but Linda just texted me.” White Hawk patted the pocket where he kept his cellphone. “She wanted to know if I was ever coming home again.”

  “Linda?” Frankie asked, looking at White Hawk. It wasn’t like her to ask even remotely personal questions. But evidently the rules were changing.

  “His better half,” Luke told her, and then he grinned. “His way better half,” he emphasized.

  “I’ll tell her you said so. Might make her overlook that you dragged me to Malone’s and that I’m coming home smelling of beer.”

  “Probably not,” Luke predicted. “Give her my love anyway.”

  White Hawk laughed dryly. “The hell I will. You’ve got enough women without poaching mine.” He turned toward Frankie and nodded at her. “See you tomorrow, DeMarco. Really glad you’re on the team.”

  He sounded as if he genuinely meant what he’d just said, Frankie thought. She smiled back at him, pleased about the way the day had gone, despite all her initial concerns.

  “Between the two of us,” White Hawk continued, “maybe we can keep O’Bannon on an even keel.”

  “You’re going to need more than a feisty Major Crimes detective to do that,” Luke told his partner.

  “A man can dream,” White Hawk responded, winking at the new member of their team.

  With that, both Frankie and O’Bannon looked on as White Hawk walked out of Malone’s.

  Chapter 9

  “How close were you to your cousin?” Luke asked.

  Frankie stared at him. The question had come out of the blue and caught her totally off guard. She’d just turned away from the entrance and wasn’t sure why O’Bannon was asking her that or how she should respond.

  “Close,” she finally answered stoically. “She was my only family and I was her only family. That kind of thing tends to make you closer. Why?” she asked. She saw no reason for Luke to be poking around in her private life.

  Luke toyed with his beer. “Would you know if there was a jealous boyfriend in the picture? Or maybe an ex-boyfriend who didn’t like her dating anyone else?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “There wasn’t, or you don’t know?” he asked.

  “There wasn’t,” she told him.

  “You sound pretty sure of that,” he observed. The noise level was rising at Malone’s and he was forced to lean in so that she could hear him without his having to raise his voice.

  Frankie’s first reaction was to pull away, but she didn’t want to make it look as if she was causing a scene. So she remained where she was, trying to ignore the fact that she could feel his breath on her face when he spoke.

  “I am,” she told him. “Kristin didn’t date. She was too busy with her career. She had just gone to work for Aurora General Hospital six months ago, and she was working really hard to make a good impression. She intended to become a head nurse some day and she wanted to make up for lost time.”

  He looked at Frankie skeptically. “I saw your cousin’s picture. She was way too pretty not to be dating.”

  Frankie shook her head. Typical male reaction. “Looks don’t mean anything. Dating is a mind-set. I don’t date.”

  “You’re putting me on.”

  “Why would I do that?” Frankie asked.

  Luke stared at her, trying to wrap his head around what she was telling him. If she’d said that she was going out every night, that she was beating off men with a stick, that he would have readily believed. But this? It just didn’t make any sense to him.

  “You don’t date?” he asked incredulously.

  Frankie took another sip of her ale before answering. “I don’t have the time. I’m a detective. I get wrapped up in my work.” She shrugged as if the fact was commonplace in her job and no big deal. “You know how it is.”

  “Actually,” he told her, “I don’t. You know that old saying, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy? Well, it applies to guys named Luke, too.” He was allowing himself to stray off the topic, Luke admonished himself. “Anyway, the reason I asked you about your cousin’s dating habits is becaus
e I thought if she had some unreasonable boyfriend in the background, he might turn out to be a person of interest.”

  Things were rarely that simple or easy, she thought. “Well, there was no one like that in the picture as far as I know. I mean, Kris talked about wanting to date. She wanted to have kids someday.” Frankie stopped for a moment, struggling to get control over her emotions. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in public, especially in front of O’Bannon. Taking a breath, she said, “But Kris was shy, and despite her looks, she really didn’t have much confidence in herself.”

  He could see that Frankie was having a hard time with the subject and he didn’t want to press, but these were questions that needed answering and she would be in the best position to provide those answers.

  “How about enemies?” he asked. “Did your cousin have any enemies?”

  She looked at him, stunned. The idea was totally ludicrous. “Kris? She was the sweetest person you’d ever want to meet. Everyone loved her.”

  And I’m going to miss her like crazy. She was still having a really hard time dealing with this. It just didn’t seem real to her, even though she had seen Kris’s body.

  Luke frowned as he looked down at what was left in the bottom of his mug. “Obviously not everyone,” he said, more or less to himself.

  From the way Frankie straightened rigidly, he knew she had overheard him despite the din in the bar.

  “Maybe she was just a random choice,” she suggested. “Kris opened the door to the wrong person.”

  “It wasn’t random,” he told her. Luke took the last sip of ale and put his mug down on the table. “This had to be someone your cousin knew, at least, to some degree.”

  “Why would you say that?” she asked.

  He drew even closer, knowing she wouldn’t want this fact advertised. “You mentioned that your cousin had a drug problem.”

  She looked at him sharply. Kris had a great many attributes and good qualities. She didn’t want her cousin’s former drug addiction to be the first thing that came up when her name was mentioned.

  “Emphasis on had,” Frankie reminded him crisply. “Kristin beat her addiction. She was clean. I would swear to that on a dozen bibles, if you like.”