“My point is that the person who killed her knew that about your cousin. Knew that she’d been involved with drugs,” he emphasized. “That’s why the killer made it look like a drug overdose.”
She recalled the photos of the other women on the bulletin board. “Just like he did with the other women he murdered.”
“Exactly,” Luke agreed.
“That means he had to have gotten that information from somewhere.” She started reviewing the various ways that sort of information could be obtained. “Maybe they went to the same Narcotics Anonymous meetings.” It was the first thing that came to her mind.
It seemed unlikely to him that all the victims had attended the same meetings, but he wasn’t about to discount that possibility yet.
“That’s a long shot, but it’s worth looking into,” he agreed.
He could see what Frankie was thinking. She appeared ready to go back to the squad room and do another search through the files and online records.
“Tomorrow,” he told her in no uncertain terms.
Preoccupied, she heard his voice only belatedly. Looking up, she forced herself to focus. He’d just said something to her, but she couldn’t summon up what it was.
“What?”
For her benefit, Luke put it into a whole sentence. “We’ll look into that angle tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow might be too late,” she protested, going back to her old argument. “What if the killer’s out there, killing someone right now and we could have stopped him if we’d only found his name sooner?”
It was the what-ifs that could undermine and destroy a detective, Luke thought. He’d seen it happen more than once.
“You think like that, you’ll make yourself crazy,” he told her. “Even if we did burn the midnight oil, there’s no guarantee we’re going to find this guy tonight. Odds are against it,” he told her calmly. “And burning the candle at both ends means that whatever’s left is no good to anyone. The only place you’re going from here is home,” he said with finality. “And that’s a direct order.”
Frankie felt her back going up. “I think you should know that I’m not very good at taking orders.”
Leaning in even closer, he had one word for her. “Learn.”
The hell she would. This was her cousin they were talking about, not one of his. “Yeah, okay, fine,” she told him, standing up.
“Hold on,” he instructed, the sheer force of his voice stopping her. “I don’t trust you to go home,” Luke told her.
She fisted her hands on her waist and glared at him—but she didn’t move. “So, what do you plan to do, strap me to the roof of your car and take me home yourself?” she challenged.
“Tempting, but I left my rope at home. What I plan to do is follow you, DeMarco, and make sure that you get home.”
Frankie stared at him. Was he serious? He was treating her like a child.
“You’re kidding,” she said in disbelief, unable to imagine O’Bannon actually carrying out his threat and going out of his way like this.
“I’ve been known to kid,” he agreed. “But not this time. I’m serious.” He pulled on her elbow, bringing her back down to her seat so he could issue his warning without having anyone else overhear. “You want me to keep your secret, you play by my rules—and don’t say you’re kidding again, because at this point, you know damn well I’m not.” His eyes held hers. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” she ground out between clenched teeth. Frankie pulled her elbow away. “And here I thought you were actually a nice guy.”
He rose to his feet. “I am a nice guy,” Luke told her. He gestured for her to walk out of the bar with him. “I want you to go on living.” He watched Frankie grudgingly walk out of the bar ahead of him. “Sleepy people get sloppy. Sloppy people run the risk of getting themselves killed—or getting their partners killed.”
They walked over to her car. “I am not your partner,” she reminded him. That honor belonged to White Hawk.
“Let’s just say that you’ve got the role of sub-partner,” Luke quipped. He nodded at her vehicle. “Now get into your car and wait until I pull up near you.”
She frowned at him, doing her best to banish the feel of his breath on her face. He was too close again. “You are really bossy, you know that?”
“Comes with the territory” he answered. “And I wouldn’t have to be if you knew how to take orders,” he pointed out.
Getting into her vehicle, Frankie fumed as she waited until she saw his car pull up parallel to the one next to her.
She’d been tempted, just for a moment, to just take off the moment she was behind the wheel, just like the cars in one of the Fast and Furious movies that Kris had loved to watch. But she had no doubt that O’Bannon would make good on his threat to talk to his lieutenant, thereby getting her kicked off the case.
So she waited until she saw Luke’s car in her rearview mirror and then she pulled out of her parking space. She made her way out of the lot more slowly than she was happy about.
He kept up with her, shadowing her every move and never more than approximately three feet behind her car.
The more she was aware of O’Bannon, the more annoyed she grew.
But not annoyed enough to test him and peel out away from him.
* * *
True to his word, Luke followed her all the way home. She expected him to pull away once she’d pulled in to her apartment complex, but he didn’t. Instead, he parked his sedan two spaces away from hers.
Getting out, she crossed to him and looked at Luke reprovingly. “That space belongs to the apartment above me,” she told him. “Guest parking is all the way over there,” she said, pointing toward it.
He made no effort to get back into his car and move it.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to be here long enough to cause a problem—unless your neighbor comes home in the next ten minutes or less.”
That seemed like an odd choice. Why would he need ten minutes to watch her? She wasn’t that far from her apartment.
“Why ten minutes?” she asked.
He had an answer all ready for her. “Because that’s approximately how long I need to make sure you’re safe inside your apartment.”
“Are you worried about my safety?” she questioned.
She might be the serial killer’s type, but there was no history of a substance abuse problem in her past so she definitely didn’t qualify as someone the killer would want for his next victim.
“No, I’m worried about you living up to your word,” he said simply.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’d rat me out, wouldn’t you?” Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer.
“In a heartbeat,” he said without hesitation. “If I can’t trust you to keep your word, I can’t work with you.”
A few choice words rose to Frankie’s lips, but she didn’t utter them. She supposed she could see his side of it. Not the part about her being too tired to be of any use if she didn’t get her sleep, just the part about not trusting her if she went back on her word.
“You can trust me, O’Bannon,” she told him grudgingly. With that, she went to her door and unlocked it.
“Good,” Luke said, coming right up behind her. “Because I’d really hate to have to have you kicked off the case.”
She turned the doorknob and opened her door, then turned around to face him. Again, he was standing closer than she felt comfortable about. The man just kept invading her space.
“You can go home now,” she told him. “You have officially delivered me to my doorstep.”
“You delivered yourself,” he corrected. “I just wanted to make sure you got in,” he told her.
He was stalling and he knew it. There was no reason for him to still be here in front
of her apartment like this, no reason not to turn on his heel and go back to his car.
And definitely no reason to linger, watching the way the moon seemed to play off her skin, making it a gold hue. Caressing it.
The way he was sorely tempted to do.
* * *
Her eyes met his and Frankie felt that odd pull again. The one that made no sense to her, given the circumstances—and the person it involved.
There was also no reason her breath suddenly caught in her throat, she thought, then decided that it was undoubtedly the result of her anger over being treated just like a five-year-old who had to be herded to her room.
Loosen up, Frankie. He’s letting you stay on the case. There’s no one making him do that. You’re the one behaving like a little brat, she told herself.
Frankie squared her shoulders.
“O’Bannon,” she said, just as he was about to walk away.
He looked at her. “Yes?”
There was just the slightest hint of a smile beginning to curve the corners of her mouth. “Thanks.”
Confusion entered his eyes. “For what?”
“For the...beer,” Frankie said haltingly, then forced herself to add, “and for letting me stay on.”
He laughed shortly. “Yeah. Don’t mention it,” he muttered. “The beer or the other stuff,” he added.
If he didn’t leave now, he was in danger of doing something stupid. Something that would really compromise everything.
With effort, Luke shut down the attraction that had suddenly washed over him, drawing him to this detective with the fiery tongue.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he told her.
For one sliver of a moment, Frankie had the feeling that he was going to lean in and kiss her—which was ridiculous, because he’d given no indication that he was the least bit drawn to her.
Maybe it was all that talk about dating that was responsible for making her think like this. Or maybe he saw her as some kind of a challenge because she said she didn’t date. Despite what she’d said in Malone’s, she was well aware of O’Bannon’s reputation. He went through women like most men went through clean socks.
Other than the fact that he seemed to be close to his family, they had nothing in common.
This was all probably just her imagination, anyway.
“Yeah, see you in the morning,” she echoed, then slipped inside her apartment and closed the door.
“Don’t forget the lock,” he told her, still standing on her doorstep.
Luke smiled to himself. He could almost hear her scowling.
“I’m not a child, O’Bannon,” she retorted.
He raised his voice just a little bit. “If you were a child, DeMarco, you wouldn’t be living in an apartment by yourself and I wouldn’t need to tell you to lock the door.”
He heard her utter a muffled scream, followed by the sound of a lock being flipped. Smiling to himself, he walked away from her door and back to where he had parked his vehicle.
Frankie went to the window that faced the parking area and cracked the blinds just enough to watch O’Bannon head back to his car. She supposed that part of her didn’t really believe he was actually going to drive away. But he did get into his car.
After a moment, he started it up and slowly pulled out of the spot. As he drove past her apartment on his way out, he waved at her.
She pulled her fingers away from the blinds, letting them close quickly.
Damn him, he’d known she was watching him. O’Bannon seemed to be one step ahead of her no matter what she did, Frankie thought, irritated.
So what? All that matters here is that you’re still part of the investigation. Focus on that—and not those hypnotic green eyes!
Easier said than done, she thought grudgingly as she went into her bedroom.
Chapter 10
Luke turned down the radio in his vehicle as he approached the cul-de-sac in the development where he lived. Focusing, he could make out a gleaming red sports car that was parked in his driveway. Since it was the middle of the week, he wasn’t sure exactly who to expect.
Certainly not the only person he knew who drove a red sports car.
But as he drew closer, he saw that he was right. He knew who it belonged to. Parking next to it, he got out and circled around to the driver’s side. The window was rolled down.
Peering into the car, Luke asked, “What are you doing in my driveway, Mom?” just before he opened her car door for her.
He would have helped her out, but he knew that would irritate her. She was exceedingly independent, and even now Maeve Cavanaugh O’Bannon had more spring to her step than any of her five children. She maintained that it was because she refused to retire and still, on occasion, drove one of the ambulances that she was now in charge of at the fire station if they turned out to be shorthanded.
“I’m waiting for you, Lukkas,” Maeve answered, getting out. She paused to lock her car. “Are you sure that you’re a detective, dear?” the lively woman with the expressive green eyes deadpanned.
Luke smiled tolerantly at his mother as he led the way to his front door. For as long as he could remember, the petite woman who looked years younger than her age had always struck him as being a dynamo. “You could have waited for me inside, you know. You would have been a lot more comfortable. Did you forget your key?” he asked.
He, like the rest of his siblings, had given his mother a key to his house to use in case of any emergencies.
Maeve shook her head. “I don’t feel right just letting myself in like that.”
They’d gone over this before. Maeve had instilled a keen sense of privacy within each of her children, and he appreciated her toeing the line herself, but she did have a habit of carrying things too far. He had nothing to hide from her and had said as much more than once.
Luke shook his head as he unlocked his door. “I guess you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Hey, watch that old stuff,” Maeve warned him, following her son into his house. “I can still take you over my knee.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he told her. Closing his door again, he flipped the lock then turned around to face her. “So, to what do I owe this surprise visit?”
She cleared her throat as if she didn’t know how to start. “Well, I won’t keep you—” she began.
“That’s not what I asked, Mom.” He looked at her more closely, searching her face. She wasn’t in the habit of just turning up on any of their doorsteps. “Something wrong?”
Rather than meet his gaze head-on, Maeve looked away. “Not exactly...”
That just made him more concerned. This wasn’t like her. “Mom,” he said, a touch more sternly. “Level with me. What’s going on?”
Maeve pulled back her shoulders, making her stand a shade taller—which brought her all the way up to five foot three—as she searched for the right words. Still not sure if she had them, she forged ahead anyway.
“I need some advice.”
That really surprised him. In all the years that he had known her, his mother was always the decisive one. Widowed shortly after she had given birth to her fifth child, rather than turn to her three brothers for help, she had shouldered the responsibility of providing for her children right from the very beginning.
She was their rock, the one everyone else turned to—including, on occasion, his uncles.
For his mother to show up now, asking for advice, was completely out of character. He wasn’t sure just how he was supposed to respond.
“I’m flattered,” he told her.
“Don’t be flattered, just be thoughtful,” Maeve requested.
“Okay.” He gestured toward the sofa. “Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me what’s going on? Take your time,”
he told her, thinking that this thing—whatever it was—was undoubtedly difficult for her to talk about.
Maeve folded her hands gracefully in her lap and looked into her son’s eyes. “Craig Carlyle just asked me out.”
For the second time that evening, Luke was completely stunned. To his knowledge, the only time his mother went out was to attend one of the many family get-togethers that Andrew Cavanaugh, the former chief of police, had a fondness for throwing. She never took anyone with her who wasn’t directly related to her.
Looking at his mother now, he couldn’t gauge whether or not she was happy about being asked out by the fire chief, or if she was searching for a way to let him down easily.
Still watching his mother’s face, he asked, “What did you tell him?”
He noticed that her fingers seemed to tighten around one another before she answered. The topic definitely made her uncomfortable.
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Maeve said. “I said that I’d get back to him.”
Luke laughed softly. “You romantic little vixen, you know just how to get to a man’s heart, don’t you?”
She frowned at him, not sharing his sense of humor about this. “Lukkas, I’m serious,” Maeve stressed. “What do I tell him?”
“Isn’t this something that you should be asking Ronan?” Luke told her, referring to his oldest brother. “Or better yet, his fiancée, Sierra. I mean, she does just happen to be Chief Carlyle’s daughter,” he pointed out. “She’s got more at stake in this.”
“Exactly,” Maeve agreed. “I came to you because you have no skin in the game,” she told him.
“You do know how to turn a phrase, Mom,” Luke marveled. He slid forward on the sofa, getting closer to his mother as he looked into her eyes. “What do you want to do?”
She sighed and shook her head, lost. “I don’t know...”
He wasn’t buying that. “Yes, you do, Mom. You’re the most organized person I know. You’ve always had an answer for everything. What’s your answer to this? Do you want to go out with Chief Carlyle?”
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