Cavanaugh Watch (2 page)

As was usually the case, the D.A’s office had come by their information purely by accident. Vice had busted a minor player who’d managed to land a decent public defender who’d finessed a deal for him. Sammy Martine, aka Sam Martinez, a two-bit criminal facing a third conviction and a lifetime of prison, had offered up Tony’s name in exchange for a more lenient sentence that still had parole attached to it. The search warrant had turned up more than a kilo of cocaine in Tony’s apartment. Vice had been waiting for Tony when he’d gotten home from classes and had arrested him. The case seemed airtight. A slam dunk that would put a feather in the hat of the D.A. and anyone else associated with the case.

Now that she’d had a couple of minutes to reflect, with the good Samaritan’s deep voice echoing in her head, she knew that this could have been a warning from Tony’s father to back off. To do whatever had to be done on their part to get the charges against Anthony dropped so that his son could once more be out on the street, a free man.

Not damn likely,
Janelle silently vowed. It was going to take more than a few bullets fired into the air to intimidate anyone at the D.A.’s office, even Stephen Woods. For one thing, the district attorney was a seasoned war veteran who had actually seen combat as a young man. More than anything, he relished a good fight. And this was a good fight. And as for Woods, he saw it as his moment to shine.

Suddenly, Janelle could have sworn she saw a light dawning in Dax’s eyes.

Oh damn, he knew.

She should have known better than to hope that word about the Wayne case wouldn’t spread. It was almost a given. Apparently there was no such thing as secrets in the law-enforcement world. Somehow, things always managed to leak out, at least to their own, despite the best precautions. Wedded to the courts the way law enforcement was, there always seemed to be an overlap of information. In the interest of keeping the informant alive, the D.A.’s office had tried to keep the case under wraps until it actually came to trial.

By the look on Dax’s face, they’d failed. But she had a feeling that her brother still might be in the dark about who was going to be second chair on the case.

The position was hers.

She’d earned it. Not by coasting on her father’s name, the way some in the D.A.’s office—those who didn’t know her—maintained. But by working twice as hard as anyone else in her position. It was the same kind of situation her brothers all had faced. And her cousins, as well. While she and her brothers were the children of the current chief of detectives, five of her cousins were the offspring of the former chief of police.

Only Patrick and Patience hadn’t had to struggle out from beneath that sort of heavy mantle because their late father had never risen up through the ranks. Officer Michael Cavanaugh had been killed in the line of duty while still a uniformed patrolman. Even so, Patrick had still, on occasion, been accused of riding on his uncle’s coattails. Only Patience had eluded that insult altogether. A veterinarian, Patience was the only one of them who had a “civilian” career. The only contact she had with the police department, other than at the table or with her husband, was when she cared for the force’s K-9 squad.

Janelle had been given the position of second chair on the Wayne case a little more than two weeks ago as a reward for all the long hours and extensive work she’d put in since she had come to the D.A.’s office.

When Stephen Woods had called her into his office to tell her the news her first impulse had been to call home. To tell her father, her brothers, her cousins that she was finally getting somewhere.

Her second impulse had to do with family, as well. It had to do with shielding them because, even though they were all on the force, they tended to worry about one another. Because they all knew what could happen, knew all the ins and outs, all the chances that were taken and the odds of coming out unscathed.

It made surviving within the framework of the family difficult sometimes, especially as a female. But she knew she would rather struggle within that framework than live tranquilly outside of it. Being a Cavanaugh, living up to the family’s standards, was of paramount importance to her. It always had been.

Dax frowned. “This is all about the Wayne case, isn’t it?” It was a rhetorical question, posed to the A.D.A. rather than to her.

“Might be,” Woods allowed.

“Or it might be an argument that got out of hand. Some guy getting even with someone who stole his girl,” Janelle offered quickly, hoping to throw her brother off. “You won’t know until you question everyone here.” To make her point, she indicated the vehicle that her so-called protector was just about to enter. The dark blue sports car was old, but a classic. And small. From where she stood, getting into it didn’t look as if it would be easy for him. Well over six feet tall, the man seemed almost as big as the car. “Including the guy who’s just getting into that awful heap.”

Chapter 2

S
hifting slightly, Dax looked to where his sister pointed. He grinned and he shook his head.

“That’s one person I wouldn’t need to question in connection with this shooting if I were the investigating officer.”

In the distance, the sound of sirens was heard. Obviously someone had already called 911.

There went lunch, Janelle thought, resigned.

She glanced at Dax, curious. What did he know that she didn’t? It had always been that way between her and her siblings. Each always wanted to get a jump on the others, be the first to know, to do, to win. A sense of competition pulsated within all of them. And none so much as her.

“Why wouldn’t you question him?” she asked.

Dax looked at the man finally getting into the vintage muscle car. “Because if he thought the shots were meant for him, he wouldn’t be looking that complacent.”

Janelle turned around and shaded her eyes, squinting as she peered into the parking lot and tried to make out his face. She’d seen more expression on the surface of a cut-glass vase.

She laughed shortly. “That’s complacent?”

“Yeah.”

She dropped her hand to her side and turned back to her brother. A squad car pulled up at the front of the courtyard and two uniformed officers emerged. Woods dropped back to speak to them.

And the questioning begins,
she thought. Out loud she asked, “You know him?”

There’d been something about the man when she’d initially looked at him, an aura of danger mixed with an edginess close to the surface. She could readily believe that he was part of the same criminal network as Marco Wayne. But her brother didn’t actually know anyone like that any more than she “knew” Tony Wayne. She had only met him once, at his arraignment. He’d looked like a scared kid and she’d almost felt sorry for him.

Dax nodded to one of the officers who looked his way as he answered his sister’s question. “I know him. By sight and by reputation.”

She tried not to let her impatience get the better of her. Dax didn’t make it easy. “By reputation?” she echoed. “What is he, Zorro?”

He was doing this on purpose, she thought, dispensing information at the breakneck speed of an arthritic snail. When they’d been kids, this would have ended up with her bringing him down and sitting on him until he told her what she wanted to know. She doubted if Woods or the two officers would be very understanding if she tackled her brother on the steps of the county courthouse.

He laughed. “You hit closer than you think.”

“Dax—” There was a warning note in her voice.

“That’s Sawyer Boone.” She looked at him blankly. The name meant nothing to her. “Detective Sawyer Boone,” Dax elaborated. “He used to work undercover—like Zorro.” He laughed to himself. “First time I’ve ever seen him clean-shaven.”

“Detective,” Janelle repeated. “As in, the police force and not a P.I.?” Her brother nodded. “That would explain it.”

“Explain what?”

She unconsciously rotated her shoulder. It felt a little sore. She had no doubt that by tomorrow, it would feel a lot sore. As probably would other parts of her anatomy. “When the shooting started, he threw himself on top of me.”

Dax nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “He might have saved your life.” They wouldn’t know until the crime scene investigators determined where all the bullets had ultimately landed.

“He might have broken my neck,” she countered. The man had been heavy. And quick. “Let’s just call it a draw.” She saw Dax shake his head at her. “What?” she asked.

“Someday you’re going to have to admit that you can’t single-handedly conquer everything.”

Janelle patted his face several times with a hand that grew progressively heavier. “I’ll let you know when that someday comes. You can bring the noisemakers and the party hats.”

He laughed. “Count on it.” As he spoke to her, Dax watched the officers take down information from the people who had been caught in the hail of bullets. “You’re going to need protection.”

The statement had come out of nowhere. Janelle refused to entertain the words seriously. “From Detective Boone?”

Dax wasn’t smiling now. “From Wayne and his organization.”

Oh no, don’t you start worrying on me.
It was bad enough she knew that their father was concerned about the element of people she dealt with. She didn’t need this from her brother.

“We still haven’t proven that he was even behind this,” she insisted.

“Better to err on the side of caution—”

Caution
was the last word she would have associated with Dax. When he was nine, he’d wanted to leap off the roof with a blue towel tied around his neck to see if he could fly. She’d been the one to run off to get their father before Dax could turn his dream into a reality.

“Since when?” she scoffed.

“Since I found out that the application form for getting a new sister was ten pages long,” he cracked. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Besides, I don’t want a new sister. I’ve spent too much time breaking you in. You’re one of a kind, Nelle. They don’t make them like you anymore. Thank God.” Hooking his arm around her neck, he kissed the top of her head. “You need a bodyguard,” he told her simply. “You and Woods as well as the witness he has stashed away.”

So he knew about that, too. God, was nothing sacred? She supposed that most of the department had to know by now. And since, Internal Affairs would readily tell her, not every single member could be counted on to take the Boy Scout oath in complete sincerity, that meant that the so-called “secret” about bringing Tony Wayne to trial was an open one.

Had to happen sooner or later. She was just hoping for later.

Janelle pressed her lips together. As with everything else, she’d make the best of it. What other choice did she have?

But a bodyguard, well, that was another matter. She was not about to readily accept that as her fate. Not without a fight.

She glanced over toward the bottom of the concrete steps and saw that Woods was finished giving his statement to the officer. Her turn next, she supposed.

“If worst comes to worst, you and the family can all hold hands and rally around me,” she quipped. “Until then, I have a case to prepare for.” Which would happen right after she gave her statement, Janelle thought. She paused just long enough to tug on his sleeve in order to bring him down to her level. As he inclined his head, she kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, big brother. See you around.”

“See you around,” he echoed.

About to walk toward the officer closest to her, Janelle stopped in her tracks and turned back to look at Dax. She didn’t like his tone. She’d been around him far too long not to be able to pick up on the nuances in her brother’s voice. There was an underlying promise in it that she knew she wasn’t going to be happy about. Did he plan on being her bodyguard? Or was he somehow going to be instrumental in finding a bodyguard for her?

Rather than call him on it, she let it go. Maybe if she ignored the threat, it would go away.

The next few minutes were spent telling the tall officer, Liam O’Hara, what she’d seen right before the shots. She had little to offer because she’d been engaged in conversation with the A.D.A. just before the gunman or gunmen had started shooting.

Officer O’Hara smiled politely as he made notations, then let her go. She almost flew down the steps to join Woods. She had a lot to do today before she could lock up her desk and drag her weary and progressively sorer body home tonight. If they were going to nail Tony Wayne for the crimes he was accused of, she had to make sure the nails were all straight and still available. Neither Woods nor their boss, D.A. Kleinmann, wanted any surprises at the trial once it got underway.

Ezra Kleinmann was the kind of man everyone noticed the moment he entered a room. There was nothing meek, nothing quiet about him. His mere presence spoke volumes even if he didn’t utter a word. He had a bearing about him that proclaimed he was someone to be reckoned with. And never to be underestimated or crossed.

For one thing, he stood six foot five. For another, he carried a formidable amount of weight on that frame. For the most part, this weight was evenly distributed, but no one was ever going to think of the once-famed criminal lawyer as being undernourished. When he spoke, it was with a booming voice and authority. And no one, if they wanted to advance within the offices of the district attorney, disregarded what he had to say. Ever.

But the moment she walked into his office and saw the look on Kleinmann’s face, a part of Janelle began to rebel, expecting the worst. She knew something was coming. Something she wasn’t going to like. Obviously someone—she was betting on Dax—had called the district attorney and informed him of the shooting incident before they had ever reached their destination. The moment she and Woods had returned to the building where the government offices were housed, they’d been immediately summoned to Kleinmann’s office.

Sitting at the custom-made desk he’d brought with him when he’d first assumed office more than eighteen years ago, Kleinmann placed his wide palms on the edge of the blotter and leaned forward. His small, dark eyes managed to pin both of them at the same time. Daring them to speak anything but the truth.

“I heard there was a shooting.”

“A drive-by,” Janelle interjected, speaking up before Woods could confirm the D.A.’s statement and add his own dramatic embellishments.

Woods’s eyes shifted toward her. “That’s what they usually do when they drive by—unless they’re tourists.”

Kleinmann’s thin lips just barely folded themselves into a smile. Playing the moment out, he steepled his fingers, then looked over them at the two people he had in his office. To the casual observer, he appeared calm. Janelle had learned by experience that nothing could be further from the truth. He was worried about them, she thought. God, she hoped he wasn’t going to take her off the case. He was a Southern gentleman down to the bone and just politically incorrect enough to do it “for her own good.”

After a moment, he made his ruling. “You two need bodyguards.”

Woods nodded, looking relieved as he smiled. Janelle felt relieved, but for a different reason. At least this was better than being taken off the case. But she was far from happy about the turn of events. She hated nothing more than having her space invaded without an invitation.

She did her best to divorce the distress and annoyance she felt from her voice. “Is that really necessary, sir?”

Everyone knew that Kleinmann viewed himself as always being fair. They also knew he didn’t like having his wishes questioned. “I believe it is.”

The battle lines were drawn and she was on the other side. Janelle softly blew out a breath, knowing that she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Haiti of winning this if it turned into any sort of debate.

“All right, I could probably get one of my brothers to…” But Kleinmann was shaking his large, sparsely haired head. His eyes were firmly fixed on her face, as if he were waiting for her to stop talking. Janelle backtracked. “What?”

The D.A. was well acquainted with her pedigree, knew most of her relatives by name and reputation. “You need someone around all the time,” Kleinmann told her matter-of-factly. “Your brothers all have their jobs to do within their different departments. Besides, they’re too close to you. You’d probably find a way to wrap them around your little finger.” He forced a smile to his lips. On the whole, smiles did not arrive there naturally. “Don’t worry, Ms. Cavanaugh, I’ve already got this covered.”

Which was precisely why she
was
worried, Janelle thought. She did her best to keep her thoughts from her face. “So fast?”

“You don’t get to be district attorney by sitting on your duff, waiting for your shoe polish to dry,” he informed her tersely. His eyes shifted to include Woods as he continued. “And I don’t want word getting around that the D.A.’s office can’t take care of their own.” His reasoning was simple. “If we let our own people become walking targets, how does that look if we tell a witness they have nothing to fear? That we’ll protect them? Our credibility will go down the drain and we’ll be out of business in no time. I have no desire to go back to private practice,” he informed them glibly. His voice echoed about the spacious office, an office that was more than twice the size of any other on the floor. “I’m too old to start all over again.”

As if he believed that, Janelle thought. She made the obligatory protest, knowing the D.A. expected it. “You’re not too old, Ezra.”

Kleinmann paused for a moment, as if enjoying the banter. “And you’re not too subtle, Janelle.” His eyes grew serious as he got back to business. “You’re getting bodyguards, both of you,” he underscored, looking at Janelle. “Along with Martinez or Matine, or whatever he wants to call himself. I’ve already put the requisition in.”

Going through channels would take time. Janelle felt a ray of hope. “The wheels of justice grind slowly.”

With any luck, she thought, by the time the bodyguards were assigned, the D.A. would change his mind about their necessity. She absolutely hated the idea of having a shadow dogging her every movement. Pointing things out to her that even a hopeless simpleton would know.

She found herself wishing that one of her brothers
could
be given the assignment. But now that she thought of it, neither Dax nor Troy nor Jared handled that kind of thing. Her father would have to be brought into this in order to make the arrangements.

God, that was the
last
thing she wanted, to bring her father into this. He’d want to wrap her in a six-foot cocoon.

Like a man engaged in a mental game of chess, one that he was winning, Kleinmann permitted himself a fleeting smug look. “Not this time.” The smug look widened to resemble a smile. “Not when you know who to call.”

And she had no doubt that the D.A. knew exactly who to call. And how to get someone to do what he wanted when he wanted it. A great many people in Aurora owed him favors. She knew damn well that any kind of protest voiced on her part was useless and might even work against her. You didn’t go far in this office if you got on D.A. Ezra Kleinmann’s bad side. And you got there one of two ways. By consistently losing cases or by going up against him.