Cavanaugh's Bodyguard

With that, the lieutenant turned on the heel of his Italian leather, three-hundred-dollar shoes, and marched back into his office, confident that he had made a dramatic impact on not just the two detectives but the rest of the squad room as well.

Josh glanced over toward Bridget and saw the way her hand closed over the stapler on her desk—like she was debating hurling it.

He put his hand over hers, keeping the stapler where it was. “Not worth it, partner,” he murmured.

She took a deep breath and nodded, doing her best to ignore the momentary warm feeling that zipped through her and then vanished the second Josh removed his hand from hers.

Chapter 2

“His record,” Bridget bit off angrily, struggling not to raise her voice loud enough for the retreating lieutenant to hear her. “That jerk couldn’t clear a case if it was lying on the floor and he had a broom in his hands. We’re the ones who clear cases,” she declared hotly, referring not just to herself and Josh, but to the other detectives who were in their division as well. They were the ones who did all the work, not Howard. He turned up at the press conferences to grab the recognition, but he was never there for the hard work.

“Don’t work yourself up,” Josh advised mildly. “Like I said, it’s not worth it. And, while you’re at it,” he continued, leaning in so that his voice was even lower than it was a moment ago, “don’t raise your voice.”

She glared at Josh. How could he remain so calm around that preening peacock? “It isn’t raised,” she insisted.

“No,” he agreed. Her eyes narrowed into blue slits of suppressed fire that he found arousing. “But it will be,” he pointed out. “And this headache is still killing me.”

Bridget looked over her shoulder toward Howard’s office and at the man inside the glass enclosure. He was watching them. It just made her temper rise to a dangerous level.

“Speaking of killing …”

On his feet, Josh came up behind his partner and placed both hands on her back. With a gentle push, he guided her toward the doorway. “Let’s go, Cavelli, before I suddenly find myself having to break in a brand-new partner. You know how much I’d hate that.”

Forcing herself to calm down, Bridget spared Josh an amused glance as she doubled back to get her jacket. He really did look out for her, and she appreciated it. He was a hell of a lot more thoughtful than some of the guys she’d dated.

Too bad circumstances weren’t different, she mused as she deposited something into her pocket before slipping on her light gray jacket.

“Breaking in a new partner,” she echoed. “Who are you kidding?” she asked. “Nobody would be able to put up with you and your quirks for more than a week.”

“And I’d find myself missing that unabashed, ever-flowing flattery of yours,” Josh cracked as he led the way to the elevator. “By the way …” He turned toward her. “Exactly where are we supposed to be going?”

She’d stuffed the details of this year’s first murder into her jacket and pulled it out now as they waited for the elevator to arrive. Pointing to the pertinent addresses, she held the sheet up for her partner to see.

“We can either go to the scene of the crime or go to break the news to the victim’s boyfriend. Take your pick.” Folding the sheets again, she slipped them back into her pocket. “I’m guessing that the ME hasn’t had a chance to do the autopsy yet, otherwise, that would be my first pick.”

Josh made his choice. As he saw it, it was the lesser of two evils. “Scene of the crime,” he said as they stepped into the elevator. After a beat, he made a confession, which was rare for him. “I absolutely hate breaking that kind of news to people. They’re never the same after that.”

Bridget laughed shortly. “Haven’t found anyone yet who didn’t mind it, never mind enjoyed it.” She clearly remembered each time she’d had to go to a loved one to break the tragic news. The experience never became routine. Her heart hurt every time. “Okay, scene of the crime it is.” She leaned forward and pressed for the ground floor. “You realize that putting it off doesn’t make telling the boyfriend any easier.”

He knew that, but he was hoping for another option. “And nobody else caught this case?” he asked just before the doors opened again on the ground floor.

Bridget made an elaborate show of searching the small aluminum-walled enclosure. “You see anyone else here?”

“Nope,” he answered, resigning himself to the fact that they were working the gruesome case solo as they got off. “But that’s only because you’re so dynamic you make everyone else fade into the background.”

Bridget stopped just short of the rear doors that exited out onto the parking lot. Turning, she looked at Josh quizzically. “What’s with you this morning?” she asked.

Wide shoulders rose and fell in a noncommittal shrug. Since she wasn’t going through the doors, he did. And then he held them open for her.

“Nothing,” he responded dismissively.

Bridget slipped through the doors quickly. She wasn’t about to give up that easily.

“Yes, there is,” she insisted. They were on the same wavelength, she and Josh. Something was off. She could feel her protective side being roused. “Now spill it. Your latest main squeeze hounding you for a commitment?” she guessed, deliberately keeping her voice upbeat and light. The idea of her partner committing to a single woman was as far-fetched as Prince Charming actually turning out to be a skilled day laborer. And, if she were being utterly honest with herself, she rather liked it that way.

Why should that matter? she silently upbraided herself. The guy’s your partner, not your lover, remember?

It annoyed her that the word “lover” had even popped into her head in reference to Josh. What was with her lately?

Josh paused, gazing out on the parking lot. He wasn’t looking for his car—he knew where that was—he was looking for his patience, which seemed to be in short supply this morning.

“No, not her,” he finally said.

Bridget heard things in his voice that he was leaving unsaid.

Not for long, she thought.

“Then who is?” she asked. Josh merely frowned in response and went down the cement steps, heading toward the vehicle they were using for the day. Bridget followed quickly.

But, getting into the passenger seat, she paused for a second and offered to switch places with him. Whether hungover, coming down with something or disturbed, he wasn’t himself today.

“You want me to drive?” she asked.

“Nope.” Josh buckled up. “I’m not ready to die today,” he told her.

Bridget was quiet for a moment, trying to get to the bottom of what was eating at him. And then it hit her. Belatedly, she finally buckled up.

“It’s your mother, isn’t it?” she guessed just as he turned the key in the ignition. The car came to life and he slowly backed out of his space.

“It’s my mother what?” he asked shortly, straightening out the wheel and then heading out onto the main thoroughfare.

She ignored the shortness of Josh’s response. “It’s your mother who’s hounding you to make a commitment, isn’t it?”

Damn it, he thought irritably, the woman was like a pit bull once she latched onto something. She just wouldn’t let go. “Not sure how things are done in your world, Cavelli, but in this state, mothers and sons can’t get married.”

She was right, Bridget thought. She could tell by the set of his jaw. “You know damn well what I’m saying, Youngblood.” This wasn’t the first time his mother, a really affable woman, had been on his case. “Your mother’s after you to settle down, isn’t she?”

He gave up trying to get her to back off. “Grand-kids,” he declared, annoyed. He really loved his mother. They had gotten extremely close after his father had been killed in the line of duty and as far as mothers went, she was rather sharp and with it—except for this one annoying flaw. “She says she wants grandkids. I told her she was too young for that.”

“Flattery.” She nodded her approval. “Nice. Did it work?”

He laughed shortly and shook his head. “Nope. She says there’re a lot of young grandmothers around these days. According to her, she’s the only one of her friends whose kid is still single.”

“She’s lonely,” Bridget guessed, feeling for the woman. She’d met Eva Youngblood a number of times and found her to be extremely affable. They got along really well. The woman would make someone a really nice mother-in-law someday. “That’s what you get for being an only child.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault,” Josh pointed out. “After my dad died, lots of his buddies on the force came around to make sure we were all right. They took turns bringing me to ball games, coaching my team, helping me study. They did what they could to be there for her, too. I know that more than one of them really wanted to get serious with her.”

He frowned, remembering what it was like, hearing his mother cry late at night when she thought he was asleep. It broke his heart and made him promise to himself that he would never love someone so much that he couldn’t breathe right without them.

“But Mom swore up and down that Dad had been the love of her life and she was not looking to get married again. Ever. And even if she was, it wouldn’t be to another policeman. She said she couldn’t go through that kind of pain again. Couldn’t stand there and be on the receiving end of a condolence call.”

Bridget supposed she could understand that. Once hurt, twice leery. “So, instead of building a second life,” she surmised, “your mother is after you to finally build yours.”

He sighed. “That’s about it.”

Parents, she knew, could be exceedingly stubborn when it came to their kids. Her father was laid-back, thank God, but her late mother had been fairly intense. Looking back, she realized it was all out of love, but at the time it had driven her crazy.

“So, what are you going to do?” Bridget asked, slanting a glance in his direction.

He’d already looked into this solution. “I’m going to get her a dog.”

Bridget laughed, pretending to study his profile for a moment. “I can see the resemblance, but I really don’t think that’s what your mother actually has in mind.”

Whether she did or not, this was the plan for now. He was stalling for time until something better occurred to him. “I’ll tell her it’s just a placeholder until I find the girl of my dreams.”

Surprised, Bridget shifted in her seat. This was a side of Josh she hadn’t expected. In the three years they’d been partnered, Josh had only gotten serious about their work, not about any of the myriad women he’d gone out with in that time.

She caught herself holding her breath as she asked, “You actually have a dream girl?”

“Yeah.” Josh spared her a quick, meaningful look. “One who doesn’t ask me any questions or make any demands of me.”

For a minute there, she’d thought he was serious. She should have known better. Bridget laughed, shaking her head. Feeling relieved more than she thought she should. “Then I’m afraid that you’re doomed to being alone, Youngblood.”

“I’m not going to be alone,” he told her. They came to a stop at a light. He took the opportunity to turn toward her and flashed a wide, brilliant grin. “I have you.”

The very first time she’d seen that smile, it had gotten to her. She hadn’t grown immune to its effects, but at this point she knew that he meant nothing by it. He was just charming. And while she caught herself wondering what it would be like to be with Josh, really be with Josh, who could have been the living, breathing poster child for the words “drop dead gorgeous,” she told herself that she didn’t want to ruin a good thing. She and Josh worked well together, anticipated one another and for the most part, thought alike.

At times they wound up completing one another; what one lacked, the other supplied. Partnerships like that were exceedingly rare, not worth sacrificing in order to scratch an itch.

She’d been quiet too long, she realized. To deflect any kind of suspicions or possible questions on Josh’s end, she got back to the reason they were out here in the first place. “Yeah, well, if we don’t come up with some kind of answers for the narcissistic fool they made our acting lieutenant, Howard might wind up splitting us up out of spite.”

He sincerely doubted that would ever happen. When they had first been paired, all he saw was what one of his late father’s friends had described as a “hot babe.” It didn’t take Bridget very long to set him straight. She might have killer looks, but it was her brain power that he actually found sexy. The fact that she didn’t trade on her looks was another plus in her favor.

It also allowed him the freedom to tease her now. “You could always go and complain about Howard to your ‘Uncle Brian.’”

Bridget sat up a little straighter as she gave him a withering look. “Hello, possibly we haven’t been introduced yet. My name’s Bridget Cavelli and I fight my own battles.”

“So, you’re keeping it?” Josh asked, picking up on the name she’d used. “You’re not changing it?”

“Changing what?”

“Your last name. Technically, you are a Cavanaugh, you know. You have no real ties to that moniker you’ve been sporting around for the last thirty years—”

“Twenty-eight,” she corrected tersely. “I’m twenty-eight.”

He knew exactly how old she was—knew a great many other things about her as well—but he liked getting under her skin. It helped to keep things light. It also helped him deflect other feelings he was having. Feelings that had no place on the job and would only get in the way of a working relationship.

“And you don’t look a day over twenty-seven and a half,” he deadpanned.

Bridget sighed and settled back in her seat. It was going to be a very long morning, she thought. She could tell.

“Andrew, are you all right? You look a little pale,” Rose Cavanaugh said to her husband, stopping short.

She’d just walked into the state-of-the-art kitchen to get a glass of juice. This was where the former chief of police and the love of her life spent a great deal of his time each day. He could be found here creating or re-creating meals for any one of a vast number of relatives who had a standing invitation to drop by whenever the occasion allowed, or they were in the neighborhood. She’d never known anyone who loved cooking—and family—as much as Andrew did.

But it was obvious that right now, he had more on his mind than cooking. Like the person he’d just finished talking to.

“Who was on the phone?” she asked him as Andrew hung up the receiver.

He tried to offer his wife a smile, but he was still sorting out the news he’d just received. “That was my father.”

The family patriarch, Seamus Cavanaugh, was the first of the family to join the police department and work his way through the ranks, back when Aurora was unincorporated and considered an off-shoot of Sacramento. For the last dozen years or so the retired police chief had been living in Miami Beach, Florida, enjoying the company of some of his old friends from the force who had also migrated there.

Rose smiled fondly. Her father-in-law liked to check in from time to time. He did it in order to keep his sons from worrying, although he insisted that he was perfectly capable of looking after himself.

“What’s he up to?” she asked, wondering what had prompted this particular call. If she knew Seamus, the man was probably in love—again—and asking Andrew what he thought about getting a new “mother.”

“About thirty thousand feet,” Andrew answered matter-of-factly.

Rose cocked her head, trying to make sense out of what her husband was saying. “Come again?”

“He is,” Andrew confirmed. “Coming back again.” After taking a fresh cup from the cabinet next to the sink, Andrew poured himself some of the coffee he’d just brewed right before the phone had rung. Holding the cup in both hands, he sat down before he attempted to clarify his statement. “Dad’s flying back to Aurora right now, even as we’re having this conversation.”

Sitting down opposite him, Rose placed her hand on top of her husband’s in a mute display of unity.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned. They had been trying to get Seamus to come back out for a visit for years now. But he had always been very adamant about not flying. Because of that, the senior Cavanaugh had missed out on a host of weddings and births.

He’d even passed on what Andrew felt had been a major event in his life: finding Rose again after his wife had gone missing and had been presumed by everyone—everyone but him—to be dead. He never gave up working the case, never gave up looking for the mother of his five children. And eventually, his persistence had paid off. The only thing that remotely came close to spoiling the event for him was that his father had sent his hearty congratulations instead of turning up to celebrate with the rest of the family.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Andrew told her. “He said he suddenly just got tired of doing nothing with the rest of his life but shooting the breeze with a bunch of old men who were living in the past. He’s decided to turn over a new leaf. Part of that involves flying out here. And, I suspect that he’s anxious to meet his new son.”

Rose smiled. “At his age, Sean can’t exactly be called ‘new,’” she pointed out, amusement curving the generous corners of her mouth.

He looked at it in another way. “Considering the fact that Dad’s never seen him, I think the word ‘new’ could be applied in this case.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Pushing aside the empty juice glass, Rose got to her feet. “Well, I’d better get myself to the store,” she announced. She caught her husband arching his eyebrow in a silent query, which surprised her. “If there’s going to be another one of Andrew Cavanaugh’s famous parties in the very near future, I’ve got a lot of grocery shopping to do. Do you have a list ready for me?”

Instead of producing one, Andrew caught her hand and pulled her over to him, stopping his wife from leaving the room.

“No, no list and no famous party,” he told her. “I think that this time around, Dad meeting his son for the first time will be a private occasion.”

He could have knocked her over with a feather. “Really?” she asked incredulously.

In all the years that she had been part of Andrew’s life, she’d found that absolutely everything was an excuse for a family get-together and a party. “One for all and all for one” wasn’t just a famous phrase written by Alexander Dumas in The Three Musketeers, it was a mantra that she strongly suspected her husband believed in and lived by.

“Dad’s got a pretty tight rein on his emotions,” Andrew explained. Friendly and seemingly outgoing, there was still a part of Seamus Cavanaugh that he kept walled in, strictly to himself. That part grieved over loss and mourned over victims who couldn’t be saved in time. “But this kind of thing can just blow a man right out of the water. If, once he meets Sean, Dad loses it, he definitely won’t appreciate it happening in front of a room full of witnesses.”

Rose laughed. “Since when have we ever been able to fit all our relatives into just a room?” she asked.

“All right, I stand corrected. A house full of witnesses,” Andrew amended. “This is definitely one case of the less people being around for the grand reunion, the better.”

Rose pretended to be disappointed—but the hint of a grin gave her away. “And here I was, planning to sell tickets.”

“C’mere, woman.” Andrew laughed.

He gave her hand a quick tug and swept her onto his lap. He liked having her there just fine. In his mind, because he’d been given a second chance after doggedly searching for her all those years she’d had amnesia and been missing without realizing it, he still felt like a newlywed.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a fresh mouth?” he asked Rose, doing his best to sound serious.

Rose laced her fingers together behind his neck as she made herself comfortable in her favorite “chair.” “Not that I recall,” she answered with a straight face. “Why? Do you want to sample it?”

The former chief of police grinned and looked every bit the boy whom she had first fallen in love with in second-period American English all those very many years ago.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said just before he kissed her and rocked her world.

Again.

Chapter 3

The good-looking man behind the bar whose biceps were more impressive than his brain cells frowned as he stared at the photograph Josh had placed on the counter in front of him. It was a photograph of the woman who had been found in the alley behind the club where he worked and even though the more gruesome aspects of the murder weren’t detailed, it was obvious that the woman was dead.

Shaking his head, the bartender, who claimed his name was Simon Quest, looked up at the two detectives.

“I’m a lot better with regulars,” he protested. “But yeah, I think she was here last night.”

My kingdom for a witness who actually witnessed something, Josh thought. The bartender sounded far from convincing. For now, he left the photograph on the bar, hoping that it still might jog Quest’s memory.

“Was anyone bothering her?” Josh asked the other man.

Quest shrugged, as if to dismiss the question, but then he stopped abruptly and pulled the photo over to study it.

Josh’s hope sank when he shook his head. “Not that I can recall. It was a happy crowd last night.”

Bridget glanced at the victim’s pale face. “I know at least one of them who didn’t stay that way,” she commented grimly.

“Can you remember anything at all about this woman?” Josh prodded Quest one last time. “Was she the life of the party? Was she in a corner, drinking by herself? Anything at all?” he stressed.

The bartender thought for a long moment; then his expression brightened. “I saw her talking to the people around her. They acted as if they all knew each other.” Pausing, he appeared as if he was trying to remember something.

When the silence went on too long, Bridget urged the man on. “What?”

“There was this one guy,” Simon responded slowly, as if he was envisioning the scene again. “He just kept staring at her.”

“Did he come up and talk to her?” Bridget asked eagerly.

Quest shook his head helplessly. “Not that I saw. It was big crowd,” he explained, then added, “and we were shorthanded last night.”

“What else can you remember about this guy?” Josh asked, hoping they could finally get something to go on.

“Nothing.” The bartender went back to drying the shot glasses that were all lined up in front of him like tiny, transparent soldiers. “He left.”

Maybe they could get a time frame, Bridget thought. “When?”

Quest set down another glass, then shrugged again. “I dunno. Around midnight. Maybe one o’clock. I remember she was gone when we closed down,” he volunteered, then ruined it by adding, “Can’t say when, though.”

This was getting them nowhere, Bridget thought. “Did she leave with anyone?”

The look on Quest’s face said he had no idea if the victim did or not. He lifted his wide shoulders and then let them drop again. “She was just gone.”

Ever hopeful, Bridget tried another approach. “This guy, the one who was staring at her, what did he look like?”

Quest exhaled a frustrated breath. It was obvious that he was regretting he’d ever mentioned the starer. “Just an average guy. Looked like he hadn’t cracked a smile in a real long time.”

Josh tried his hand at getting some kind of useful information out of the vacant-headed bartender. “Was he young, old, fat, skinny, long-haired, bald, white, black—polka dot,” he finally bit off in exasperation when the bartender made no indication that anything was ringing a bell.

“Just average,” Quest repeated. “Maybe he was forty, maybe not. He did have hair,” he recalled. “Kinda messy, like he was trying to look cool but he didn’t know how. And he was a white guy. He wasn’t a regular,” Simon emphasized proudly. “Or I would’ve recognized him.”