Internal Affair

Using a handkerchief, she stooped down and picked up the man’s weapon by the butt. Nothing fancy. She wondered if this was the man’s first time. He’d certainly behaved that way.

“Next time you want money from a bank, do it right. Use a withdrawal slip.” She tucked the gun in at her belt for the time being, then looked at Patrick. “Want me to call for backup?”

Patrick gave the cuffs a good tug, making sure they were secure. “You mean you’re not going to fly off with him to the precinct?”

Maggi lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “My cape’s at the dry cleaners.”

Separating herself from the others, she took out her cell phone and put in a call for a squad car. The second she closed the phone, the bank manager was on her, telling her how grateful he was to her and her partner and asking if there was anything he could do to show his deep appreciation.

“Other than giving away a five-pound box of tens to charity, I’d say hire a security guard. The next time you might not be so lucky.”

The man was still thanking her profusely as she crossed back to Patrick and the prisoner. It was hard to say which of the two men glared at her harder.

She didn’t do recrimination well. “What’s your problem?”

Patrick made the prisoner face the wall as they waited for the squad car to arrive. His voice was cold. “I don’t like showboating.”

“So I won’t invite you to a boat show the next time there’s one at the marina. Anything else?”

“Yes, did it ever occur to you that you could have gotten your head blown off?”

“Frankly, I didn’t have time to think things through to their grisly end.” Maggi moved her head from side to side. “See? It’s still attached and in good working order.”

“Just barely.” The last thing he wanted was to lose another partner in the line of duty. He’d had enough department funerals to last a lifetime.

“That’s all that counts.” She kept her voice cheerful as approaching sirens grew louder. The cavalry had arrived. “Ah, that’s always such a comforting sound.” She looked at the prisoner. “Bet you don’t think so, do you?”

“Bitch,” the bank robber spit out. The next moment, he found himself spun around and held up an inch off the ground. The man’s feet came in contact with air as Patrick yanked him up.

“What’s your name?” Patrick growled at the man.

The bank robber fought for oxygen and against numbing panic. “Joe. Joe Wellington.”

“Well, Joe, Joe Wellington, talk nice to the lady or the next time it won’t be soap you’ll be tasting in your mouth.” Patrick’s look was dark, malevolent. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Clear,” the bank robber gasped out. His eyes were glassy as they regarded Patrick.

Filled with disgust, Patrick all but threw him down. He then became aware that Maggi was grinning at him like some damn Cheshire cat.

“And just when I thought you didn’t like me,” she said.

“I don’t like you,” he replied tersely. She didn’t stop grinning. To say it got on his nerves gave new meaning to the word understatement. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You defended my honor. I’m flattered.”

He didn’t want her making anything out of it. It had been purely reflexive reaction. “I did it to defend the honor of the badge. It wasn’t done to flatter you.”

“Call it a side effect.”

He had no time to retort. The backup she’d summoned arrived that moment.

It was just as well, he decided. The sooner they got back to the precinct, the sooner things would get back to normal. Whatever that was.

“Buy you lunch?”

It was a little more than an hour later and the would-be bank robber had been sent to be processed through the system. Cavanaugh was writing up the report, annoyed at the time this took away from the homicide they were supposed to investigate.

He waved his hand at Maggi as if she were an annoying fruit fly buzzing around his head.

Maggi held up a twenty almost in front of his nose. “Now that I’ve had a chance to cash my check, I can afford to splurge a little. I feel like celebrating. Join me,” she coaxed. She knew how dangerous the situation could have gotten, despite her earlier disclaimer to him. The fact that it hadn’t gone badly, that she and everyone else were able to walk away, was a fantastic high she wasn’t close to coming down from.

He ignored her and the bill she held up. “Not interested.”

“Don’t you eat?” She bent down until her face was level with his. The ends of her hair brushed against some of his files. “Can I buy you a can of oil?”

Patrick finally looked up. “Is that supposed to be cute?”

“Relatively speaking.” She wasn’t going to let him rob her of her moment. So little of what she did these days felt this good. The positive reactions she dealt with all squared themselves away on paper. That never produced a high. “C’mon, Cavanaugh, lighten up. We’ve still got the rest of the day to face together. It goes better on a full stomach.” When he made no attempt to get up, she added, “My dad always says you can’t trust a man who won’t eat with you.”

He laughed shortly. “I take it your father never saw The Godfather.”

Perched on the edge of his desk now, she hooted. “You are a movie buff.”

He didn’t like giving her points, didn’t like her feeling as if she knew something about him. The less you knew about each other, the less likely you were to get close.

“I told you, that’s my sister’s department. You can’t help picking up a few things if it’s always playing in the background.”

That was the second time he’d mentioned his sister. She paused to study him for a moment. “Are you close, you and your sister?” And then she answered her own questions. “Silly question, I guess.”

The computer network was down, temporarily halting the exchange of information that would allow him to get the name of the owner of the dead woman’s sports car. Sometimes progress created nothing but stumbling blocks, he thought with annoyance. He didn’t bother sparing Maggi a glance. “Only if you think that I’m going to give you an answer.”

“So what are you, like, the Lone Ranger?”

It became obvious to him that subtlety was lost on her. She was probably the kind who had to be dislodged with a two-by-four or a crowbar. “The position of Tonto is not open.”

Since he didn’t look up, Maggi found herself staring at the top of his head. He had deep, straight black hair, the kind that tempted a woman to touch, to feather her fingers through it. She purposely slipped her hands under her as she sat.

“That’s okay, I don’t do sidekicks—I do partners.”

He finally looked up. “Aside from catching bullets with your bare teeth?” The expression on his face grew darker. “What the hell were you thinking at the bank?”

Another wisecrack was on the tip of her tongue, but then, she decided to tell him the truth. She’d acted because she was afraid.

“That he was going to fire on you if you drew your weapon the way you were planning to.” And then, because it was getting too serious, she added, “I didn’t want to lose a partner before I won you over with my sparkling personality.”

“How did you know what I was going to do?”

“I saw it in your eyes,” she said simply. “Sometimes, you can’t go in like the Lone Ranger. Sometimes you have to go in like Fay Wray.”

He stared at her. “Come again?”

“Fay Wray. The woman in King Kong.” There was still no recognition in his face. “The screamer.”

“You didn’t scream.”

“No, but I got properly hysterical. Enough to throw him off and get the drop on him.” Because it was obviously causing friction, she didn’t want to continue talking about the foiled bank robbery. “Anyway, it’s over. C’mon, Cavanaugh.” Playfully she tugged on his arm. “My stomach’s rumbling.”

He shrugged her off. “No one’s stopping you from going to lunch.”

“I hate to eat alone.” She would have pouted prettily if she’d thought it would work, but she knew it wouldn’t. Cavanaugh wasn’t the type to go out of his way to please a woman.

He glanced at her before going back to his report. “Go to a crowded restaurant.”

“I’d rather go to lunch with my partner.” She didn’t like being ignored and he was doing a royal job of it. This time, when she tugged on his arm, it was a hard jerk to get him to look at her again. “Hey, you owe me.”

Her words more than her action earned his attention. He raised his head, his eyes penetrating her inner layers. “I owe you?”

She could see how he could make someone squirm. She felt like squirming and she wasn’t the one who was supposed to be sitting on the hot seat.

“Sure, I told you I’d have your back and I did. Only it turned out to be your front, but—” she shrugged “—same difference. Now, are you going to come with me or do I push that chair of yours all the way to the elevator and make you come with me?”

He didn’t have time for stupidity. He didn’t know why he was bothering to answer her or even acknowledge her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She grinned, her eyes gaining a mischievous glint he found oddly arousing. The blow to his gut came out of nowhere. He sent it back to the same address.

“Cavanaugh,” she informed him, “I was the kid who never walked away from a dare.”

He snorted. “You must have made your parents very proud.”

“No, just gray.” Maggi’s eyes shifted down to the chair he was sitting in, then back to his face. “Your chair’s got wheels and I know how to use them.”

Patrick had every intention of continuing to say no, but the woman had the tendencies of an annoying gnat. He knew damn well that she’d keep after him until he either really snapped at her or gave in. And he had to admit the truth: he was hungry.

“Okay.” Hitting the save button on the keyboard, he rose to his feet. “But you’ve got to stop sounding as if someone put your mouth in the fast forward mode.” If it ever stopped moving, it might prove to be a tempting target.

Her mouth was quick to curve. “Deal.”

Yeah, he thought, with the devil.

As he followed her out the door, he remembered reading a passage that said something about the devil having the ability to assume a very pleasing shape. He watched the rhythmic sway of her hips.

Looked like the devil had definitely outdone himself this time.

Maggi offered him his choice of places. He picked a pizzeria that had more seats outside than in. She ate three slices with the December wind chilling her food. He seemed more interested in observing the people on the street than in listening to anything she said.

It was a power play, she knew that. She had invaded his territory and he was suspicious of her. He had no idea how suspicious he should have been, she thought. Or maybe he knew. The worst thing in the world was to underestimate your opponent. And he was that. Her opponent, her assignment. Not her partner. This kept life interesting. And damn complicated.

“You’ve got a healthy appetite,” he commented when she reached for her fourth piece.

“He speaks. Wow.”

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, please, now that the floodgates have opened up, continue.” When he made no comment, she shook her head. “You keep this up and I’m going to be forced to practice my ventriloquist act on you.”

“Your what?”

“That’s when the sane person makes the wooden creation beside her talk. In other words, putting words into your mouth. Like ‘Thanks for the lunch, Maggi. Remind me to return the favor.”’

Patrick stared at her. She’d done a fair imitation of his voice, all without moving her lips.

“Want me to continue?” she offered.

“No, you made your point.” He rose, passing a ten in her direction. “You’re crazy.”

“I said lunch was on me.” She was on her feet, striding after him to the car. Catching up, she pushed the money back into his pocket. “Do we have to argue about this, too?”

He felt her hand as she withdrew it from his pants pocket. The tightening in his loins was purely instinctive. And annoying. As was she.

“Why not? You seem to like it.”

She pulled open the door on her side and got in. “I’d like a little agreement better.” Buckling her seat belt, she sighed. “Tell you what, I’ll let you yell at me some more if you want to.”

About to start the car, he paused to look at her. “I don’t yell.”

“Okay, growl. Lip-synch, something. Just talk. Say something, anything.”

“Why?” Starting the car, he pulled out of the parking area.

“Because I want to get to know you. Partners should know something about each other and I really don’t know anything about you, other than what I’ve heard and the fact that if these were Roman times, your scowl would put Zeus to shame.”

He came to a stop at a red light. “Jupiter.”

“What?”

The light turned green again and he stepped on the accelerator. “Zeus was a Greek god, Jupiter was the Roman equivalent.”

So he knew something beyond police procedure. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who knew mythology. “Impressive. I’ll still go with Zeus. You look more like a Greek god than a Roman god anyway.”

She was flirting with him, he thought, but when he shot her a look, McKenna’s expression was totally guileless. Was she putting him on? Didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to last long enough for that to become a problem.

“You were damn lucky today that things turned out the way they did and no one was hurt. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”

“I’ve always been pretty lucky.” His profile hardened even more. “Hey, don’t underestimate the part luck plays when it comes to our line of work.” She thought of the wound that had put her out of commission for a month a couple of years back. She’d kept that bit of information from her father. The man had enough on his mind. Thinking of it, she patted the region several inches below her shoulder. “Two inches to the left and this scar might have been the last one I ever got instead of just one of many.”

“Scars? You’re talking about scars?” What kind of a woman was she? As far as he knew, women didn’t exactly go out of their way to draw attention to something that was considered to be a blemish.

“Sure. Don’t you have any?”

“I have enough.”

“Where?” she asked innocently.

“Out of the light of day.”

For just the slightest second, she caught herself wondering just where on his very hard anatomy those scars were located. The next moment, she roused herself, hauling her mind back into focus. “Then you know what I’m talking about. About luck, I mean.”

Turning right, he shook his head. “Mary Margaret, I’m beginning to think I don’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about most of the time.”

She wished he wouldn’t use her name, but she knew if she said anything, he would only do it more often. “The subject is luck. The visual aids are scars.” Grabbing her jacket and blouse, she undid some buttons and pulled both articles back. “Like this one.”

Patrick glanced in her direction and almost forgot to look back at the road. He’d only caught a glimpse, but that provided more than enough fodder. He swerved to avoid rear-ending the car in front of him.

“Damn it, Mary Margaret, you always go exposing your breasts to people you hardly know?”

All she’d shown him was a little more skin than had already been evident. “It’s called cleavage and I’m not exposing myself, I’m showing you a scar that’s well above the bad-taste line. If I was into exposing, there are other scars I could show you.”

Patrick didn’t have to look at her to know she was grinning. He heard it in her voice. He was about to ask her just where on her anatomy they were situated, but he didn’t need to go there. The interior of the car was warm enough as it was.

Maggi moved the fabric back into place. “Anyway, my point is that luck has everything to do with it. And I’ve been luckier than most.”

She not only had hair like a Barbie doll, but the intelligence of one as well, Patrick thought darkly.

“Luck has a nasty habit of running out when you least expect it.”

“God, but you are Mr. Sunshine, aren’t you?”

“Sunshine was never my department.” This time, he took on the yellow light, making it through the intersection before it had a chance to turn red. The faster he got this annoying woman back to the precinct, the better. “That’s the realm of cockeyed optimists.”

“Would it help you to know that I can back up my cockeyed optimism?”

“How? A Ouija board?”

She glanced at her watch. They’d eaten lunch in less than twenty-five minutes. “We’ve got a little time left. Take me to the firing range.”

“We’ve still got a homicide to solve,” he reminded her.

“This’ll only take a few minutes and it might make you feel a whole lot better.”

What would make him feel a whole lot better, he thought, was finding out that she was just part of another one of his bad dreams.

Growling an oath under his breath, Patrick turned the car around.

Chapter 4

The fiftyish, barrel-chested man behind the desk at the firing range smiled warmly the moment he saw her walking in, transforming his round face from intimidating to surprisingly boyish in appearance. “Hey, back for more, Annie Oakley?”

Reaching behind his desk, the officer, Miles Baker, produced a box of ammunition before Maggi could make a formal request and slid it across the counter toward her.

Inclining her head, Maggi took the box from him. “Just here to see if my edge hasn’t dulled.”

Baker laughed. “Even dulled, you’d still be better than the rest of us.” His deep-set brown eyes shifted toward Patrick. Since the other detective made no request for shells, he left a second box where it was. “Hey, you ever seen this lady in action?”

Against his will, Patrick thought about the incident at the bank. At the time, he’d been sure she’d lost her nerve. To be honest, McKenna had pulled her weapon out pretty quickly.

He looked at Maggi. “Depends on what you mean by action.” He noted that she had the good grace to look just a shade uncomfortable.

Baker raised hamlike hands, warding off any stray thoughts. “Hey, I don’t go there.”

His denial was a bit too vehement. Patrick was willing to bet the man had had a sensual thought or two about the woman he was grinning at. Baker wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t. Besides, Patrick had seen the way the man had brightened the second he’d recognized her.

“I’m talking about with a gun in her hand.” Baker kissed the tips of his fingers before spreading them wide again as if to release the phantom kiss into the air. “Thing of beauty to watch.”

Patrick still wasn’t sure if the officer was referring to the way she shot or just McKenna in general. He supposed, if pinned down, he’d have to agree to the latter. But beauty had little to do with their line of work. If anything, it got in the way.

“Apparently that’s why I’m here.” Resigned, Patrick looked at what he hoped was his temporary partner expectantly. “Okay, you want to show me something, show me.”

Though his expression remained impassive, she knew Cavanaugh was challenging her. Ordinarily she didn’t go out of her way to prove anything about herself to anyone. She figured people who did were braggarts.

But this wasn’t a case of bragging or showing off. This was a case of proving herself to the man she’d supposedly been partnered with. This was showing him that she could be trusted to at least cover his back when the time called for it. And, in her experience, one trust usually led to another.

At least, that was what she was counting on.

“All right.” She turned on her heel to lead the way to the firing range. “Let’s go.”

“Hey, don’t forget these.” Leaning over the counter, Baker held up two sets of earphones. “Don’t want to go around the rest of the day deaf, do you?”

Patrick doubled back and took both pairs from the officer. He handed one set to Maggi.

“All right, Mary Margaret,” he said gamely, “impress me.”

No pressure there. Going to the rear, Maggi chose a slot, then donned the earphones before pressing a button that sent her paper target flying down the field away from her.

Patrick watched as the blackened target became smaller and smaller. The woman with the gun made no effort to halt its progress. Just how far was she sending it?

“You planning on stopping that thing anytime soon? Nobody expects you to shoot at a perp fleeing the scene in Nevada.”

The target still hadn’t gone as far as she could shoot, but Maggi pressed the button to oblige Patrick. The paper target looked little bigger than a suspended stray piece of confetti.

Closing one eye, she took careful aim and fired.

Curious, Patrick didn’t wait for her to discharge the weapon again. Holding his hand up to stop her from firing, he pressed the button to retrieve the target. When it came back, he saw that she’d hit it dead center. He felt he had to assume that it was just a freakish coincidence, but for argument’s sake, he gave her the benefit of the doubt.

“Not bad,” he conceded, releasing the target, “if you’ve got the time to line up your shot.”

Maggi said nothing. Instead, reaching over him, she pressed the button again, sending the target back even farther away than before. This time, Patrick made no comment about the target’s proximity but waited until she stopped it herself. And then, just when the target had reached the end of its run, she pressed for its return.

Once the line was activated again, Maggi began firing, sending off five rounds before the paper target came back to its place of origin.

Without a word, Patrick examined the target. She’d sent all five rounds into the same vicinity as the first. Two of the shots were almost on top of each other, the rest close enough to make the hole bigger.

Staring at it, Patrick had to admit to himself that she was impressive. But he’d never admit this to her.

“Not bad,” he said again, “if the perp is running in a straight line and not firing back.”

He was doing it to annoy her, Maggi thought. He wasn’t the first man she’d had to prove herself to, and losing her temper wasn’t part of the deal. She loaded a fresh clip into her weapon.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait for the right occasion,” she told him calmly.

“I guess. We done here?”

She squared her shoulders, feeling a slow boil begin. She could have gone on firing, but obviously it didn’t prove anything to this lug. “We’re done.”

“Good.” Patrick took off his earphones and walked back to the front desk.

He was a hard man, Maggi thought, but then she already knew that. And she also knew that she’d made her point. Taking a deep breath, she hurried back to the front desk and handed in the remainder of the box of ammunition to Baker, as well as the earphones.

Baker looked surprised that she had cut her time so short.

“Fun time’s over, Baker,” she explained. “We’ve got to get back to the station.”

The officer put the earphones away. “See you around, Annie Oakley,” he chuckled.

Patrick stood at the door, waiting for her. “He knows you.”

She walked out first. “We’ve talked.”

He had a feeling she talked to everyone and everything, living or not. “So, how long have you had this supervision?”

It was a backhanded compliment. Nevertheless, she accepted it gladly. She barely suppressed the smile that rose to her lips, but Maggi knew he’d think she was preening. She walked briskly beside him to the car.

“I don’t. What I had was a father who was on the job for twenty-two years. He put a gun in my hand when I was old enough to hold one and took me out to the firing range.” She still remembered the first time. The weapon had weighed a ton, but she’d been far too proud to say anything.

“Some people would frown on that.” He passed no judgments himself. People were free to live their lives any way they saw fit, as long as it didn’t impinge on others. Or him.