Cavanaugh Watch (4 page)

“I did,” he answered simply. Sawyer led the way to her office on the other end of the building. He obviously already knew the layout of their floor, she thought. “I got overridden.”

“That makes two of us,” she told him. Sawyer looked at her and she could have sworn she detected a hint of surprise in his eyes. “I guess then,” she continued, “this is something we both will just have to suffer through.”

Sawyer said nothing. He barely nodded in response to her last statement, hiding his surprise that someone he’d just naturally assumed had been spoiled within an inch of her life would balk at being offered protection from the “bad guys.”

Unless something wasn’t kosher here. Maybe this was a publicity stunt on her part to attract attention to the case. Maybe she was after a change of venue and this sort of thing could just do it. Not unheard of.

“For the record,” she said as they reached her office door, “I don’t want you here as much as you don’t want to be here.”

For the first time since he’d rescued her, the corners of his mouth curved up just a fraction. “I really doubt that, Cavanaugh.”

Without making a comment, Janelle opened the door and walked into the office she affectionately called her
cubbyhole.
It was no more crammed and cluttered now than it had been before she’d left for the courthouse this morning. But somehow having an extra body with her cut down on her space. She hadn’t minded when Woods had given the tiny office to her. She didn’t require much.

But there was hardly any room within the enclosure to stuff in another book, much less a warm body that was larger than hers by a long shot.

She glanced around, trying to see the area through his eyes. “I really don’t know where you’re going to hang around,” she finally said.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of me. And you,” he added after a slight pause.

She felt as if she were being put on notice. And she didn’t like it. Didn’t like not feeling in charge. Control was a very, very important thing to her, something she had had to fight for ever since she could remember. That, and respect. It had been awarded within her household, but not automatically. You received respect when you earned it. This new speed bump in her life was going to be one hell of a challenge to surmount.

She indicated a chair that was against the wall. “I guess you can sit there.”

Sawyer grabbed the top of the chair, swinging it over to the side of the desk without saying a word. He planted the chair, not himself.

Just then, the phone rang and she almost sighed with relief. Something to draw her attention away from how very crammed and how very close the lack of space within the room made everything feel.

Hand on the receiver, she cleared her throat before raising it to her ear. Her voice was crisp when she spoke. “Cavanaugh.”

There was silence on the other end. For a minute, she thought whoever was calling had dialed a wrong number. But there was no hurried hang-up, no muttered apology, no uncertain voice asking to speak to someone she’d never heard of.

She tried again. “Hello?”

This time, someone did speak. “Is this Janelle Cavanaugh?”

The deep resonant voice vibrated against her ear. She listened closely, wondering if this was one of her brothers or male cousins, playing a trick on her. “Yes, this is Janelle Cavanaugh.”

There was another pause, as if whoever it was on the other end of the line was absorbing her voice. “He’s innocent.”

She frowned, definitely not in the mood to play along. “Who is this?” she demanded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sawyer become alert.

“This is Marco Wayne,” the man on the other end informed her. His voice was strong, but laced with emotion. That surprised her. “My son is innocent.”

“Mr. Wayne—” The moment she said her caller’s name, Sawyer drew closer to her. The look on his face was hard, as if he expected a bomb to be transmitted across the telephone wires. Annoyed by the lack of privacy, she turned her body away from him, only to have him circle in front of her.

Great, she thought, there was no getting away from him. This was
not
going to work.

“Mr. Wayne,” she repeated, “this is highly inappropriate. You can’t be calling me about this. About anything,” she added quickly before he could protest.

If she meant to cut him off, she failed. “I’m calling because you’re involved in this trial and I want you to understand that my son had nothing to do with what he is accused of.”

“If he didn’t do it,” she said for form’s sake, because everything they had pointed to Tony’s guilt, “he’ll be proven innocent.”

“Not with the evidence that was planted against him,” Wayne countered. “He was framed.”

She wasn’t about to stand here, arguing with the man. “I’m hanging up now, Mr. Wayne.”

There was an urgency resonating in the voice against her ear. “I just want what every father wants for his son—a fair chance.”

Janelle pressed her lips together. She knew damn well that she should be disconnecting the call. Every rule demanded it. This was highly unprofessional and unethical. But although she willed it, her hand did not replace the receiver in the cradle, did not disconnect the call. She couldn’t seem to help herself.

The man sounded sincere.

She supposed that was why he’d gotten as far as he had, being able to get to people, to bend them to his will. One way or another.

She tried once more. “And you’ll get it. The D.A.’s office has no intentions of railroading anyone, Mr. Wayne. You son is going to be given a fair trial. You have my word on it.”

The man on the other end was not finished. “Talk to that scum of a witness again. He’s lying. If you offer him a deal, he’ll say anything you want him to.” There was a pause. “Tell him that Marco Wayne will make sure he burns in hell if his son is harmed.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “I’m not a conduit for your threats, Mr. Wayne.”

It was the last thing she said to the man before Sawyer disconnected her.

Chapter 4

F
or a second, everything seemed to freeze around her. Janelle didn’t believe what had just happened, what she was seeing. Sawyer with his finger pressed on the black telephone cradle, pushing the button down flat. Disconnecting her from the man she’d been speaking to.

Who the hell did this jerk think he was?

It didn’t matter that she was about to terminate the call herself, that she hadn’t wanted to talk to Wayne in the first place. All that mattered was that this so-called bodyguard she neither wanted nor felt she needed had decided to take it upon himself to exercise his will over hers.

He had a lot to learn about dealing with a Cavanaugh.

It was all Janelle could do to keep from throwing the receiver she was holding at his head. Instead, she threw it down hard into the cradle. The impact caused it to bounce back out. She glared as Sawyer replaced it. He was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

She swung around to face him. There were less than two inches of viable space between them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Maybe it was his imagination, but he could almost feel the heat sizzling between them. This was one angry woman. Not to mention reckless.

“Saving you from improper conduct charges,” Sawyer replied mildly. He paused, as if thinking the matter over. “Maybe even saving your butt.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I can take care of my own butt, thank you,” she informed him icily. “The only thing your job calls for is blending in with the scenery and, on the off chance that some time during our hopefully short association there might be a bullet hurtling toward me, throwing yourself in front of me so that the bullet gets you and not me. However, until that bullet does come hurtling toward me, I would be grateful if you just find a way to fade into the shadows—and keep your hands at your sides.”

Stripping off his sports jacket, he hung it over the back of his newly acquired chair. The muscles on his chest and arms seemed to have a life of their own as they rippled and flexed. Janelle tried not to notice, but they were even more impressive than the holster and weapon he wore strapped to his upper torso.

“You through?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

Janelle lifted her chin, a fighter not about to give an inch. “For now.”

“Talking to Wayne like that is enough to get you thrown off the case and most likely out of the D.A.’s office if anyone finds out—unless ‘Daddy’ can pull some mighty strong strings for you.”

The smug bastard. Right about now, she found herself wishing that her father was able to pull a noose, not a string. Tightly.

Janelle blew out a breath, refusing to lose it and let this cocky detective think he got to her.

“For the record,” she told him evenly, her voice flat in order to retain control over it, “‘Daddy’ has got nothing to do with my career, how far I advance or
don’t
advance. We happen to share the same last name and the same genes. He did not get me here and he cannot keep me here if Kleinmann is unhappy with my work.” She raised her head and unconsciously rolled forward on her toes because, even in her four-inch heels, she was at least a half foot shorter than Sawyer was and it galled her. “Do I make myself clear?”

He let his eyes wash over her slowly, thoroughly, before saying, “Yes.”

The man was mocking her, Janelle thought, but she couldn’t very well say that without sounding as if she were just this side of crazy. A Neanderthal like Boone would probably say something about it being her time of the month rather than the fact that he was an insufferable jerk.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she added, her tone deceptively calm.

About to sit down, Sawyer looked her way and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

She did her best not to raise her voice. There was a knock on the door, but she ignored it until she finished making her point. “Don’t you ever,
ever
do something like that again.”

“And if I do?”

“I’ll cut off your hand.”

Tough, he thought, appraising the petite woman before him. He wondered if that was because of her last name or because it was inherent in her nature. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Janelle could literally feel her back going up. Damn, what had she done to have this jackass thrust into her life?

“Do that.” Whoever was on the other side of her door knocked again, just as timidly as the first time. “What?” Janelle shouted before she could catch herself.

The next moment, the door opened slowly, as if the person on the other side wasn’t sure if it was safe to come in.

Mariel Collins stuck her head in. Appointed to the A.D.A. six months ago, the tall, dark-haired young woman walked into the room as if she were literally treading on eggshells, afraid of damaging even one of them.

Her brown eyes looked down at the papers she was holding before she extended them to Janelle.

“Um, this just came in for you. I thought you might want to see it.” There was no conviction in her voice, just an appeal for understanding.

In her hand, Mariel held one of the dreaded blue-bound notices. Once unfolded, they were always found to contain motions to suppress inside of them. Everyone at the D.A.’s office hated the sight of them because they always moved to suppress evidence crucial to making a case.

Blue, once her favorite color, was swiftly becoming her least favorite, Janelle thought. With a sigh, she crossed to Mariel, who had still not gone any farther than the threshold, and took the folded papers from her.

Opening them, Janelle scanned the papers quickly. “Damn.”

“Bad news?” Mariel asked nervously. Her mouth twitched in a sickly smile as her attempt at conversation fell flat.

Janelle squelched the urge to crush the papers in her hand. Instead, she tossed them on top of her desk. “Wayne’s lawyer is moving to suppress his client’s BlackBerry.”

Mariel looked at her, perplexed. “Suppress his cell phone?”

“No, his handheld PC,” Janelle corrected. Damn it, she should have known things were going too well. The BlackBerry contained a detailed journal that confirmed their informant’s information. “That had all the names of Tony’s customers on it. It helped tie him up with a big red bow.” She frowned as she perused the legal document again. The words refused to change. “He’s calling it inadmissible evidence.”

“How did you obtain it?”

The question came from Sawyer. She looked at him over her shoulder. She knew what he was thinking.

“Not by tossing the apartment.” That was probably the way he operated, but not the detectives who had brought Wayne in. “The arresting detective said it was cold outside and that when he made the arrest, Wayne asked for his jacket. It was on a chair next to his desk. When the detective got it for him, the BlackBerry fell out of one of the pockets.”

“And right at his feet.” Sawyer smirked. “Convenient.”

She felt a surge of anger. “Are you accusing the arresting detective of something?”

Her eyes flashed when she was angry, he noted. And they turned from a medium green to a darker shade that was almost emerald. Didn’t take much to get her going. “Why?” he asked mildly. “Are you related to the arresting detective?”

She didn’t like what he was implying. And she didn’t much like him. “No. But I happen to believe in the integrity of the Aurora police department.”

Being part of a team had never interested him. If you relied on people, they generally let you down. Usually when you needed them most. Like his parents had, divorcing and deserting him before his seventh birthday. “I’d guess you’d have to, wouldn’t you?”

She had had just about enough of this man’s veiled comments and cryptic words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering right away, Sawyer swung the chair with his jacket on it around so that the back faced her. He straddled it. “Judging from the evidence, you’re bright enough to put two and two together. I don’t think I have to explain it to you.”

Janelle realized that by now, Mariel had faded back across the threshold and was in the corridor. The next moment, the woman closed the door, sealing them in together.

They were alone. And that made her temper harder to hang on to. She did her best, clenching her hands at her sides so hard, she wound up digging her nails into her palms in an effort to sound calm.

“Try.” It wasn’t a request; it was an order.

After a beat, with a slight incline of his head, he obliged her. “With so many members of your family on the force, if there was dirt, it might rub off on one of them.” He made it sound elementary. “So you pretend there isn’t any.”

Janelle opened her mouth to retort, then shut it without saying a word. He was putting her on the defensive. One of the first lessons her father had ever taught her was to keep her opponent from backing her into a corner. The best way to do that was to go on the offensive. Growing up with her brothers and cousins had given her a great deal of practice.

She took a long, deep breath, then exhaled before asking, “How long have you had this dark view of the world, Detective Boone?”

If she meant to rattle him, she didn’t succeed. “Ever since I could remember.”

It was a lie, because he vaguely remembered a time when there had been hope. When the world had not come in dark colors. But then his parents had gone their separate ways and he’d been shipped off to his mother’s mother, a woman who was far more interested in strange men than in raising him. Except for the small space of time when Allison had been in his life, he’d been alone for a very long time.

Janelle studied him. He meant it, she realized. The thought almost made her shiver. The man had to be hollow inside. She would have felt sorry for him—if he didn’t make her so angry. “And you anticipate the worst.”

There was just the slightest nod of his head. “That way I’m never disappointed. And I’m not.”

What an awful way to face life. She wasn’t like her cousin Patience, who had this overwhelming desire to fix every hurt animal that limped across her line of vision. But she hated seeing a tortured soul and that was what she was looking at, Janelle thought. A soul that had been through torture. He’d said something about being this way ever since he could remember. There was only one reason for that.

“What kind of a childhood did you have, Detective Boone?” she asked him.

His eyes met hers. He bit off the inclination to tell her to mind her own business. Instead, he said, “I didn’t.”

She nodded, as pieces moved into place. “That would explain it.”

Janelle was surprised to see his mouth curve ever so slightly into a smile. But by no means was it a warm smile, nor did it involve any part of him other than the skin on his lips. His eyes didn’t smile. They remained detached, cold. Analytical.

Robots had eyes like that, she thought. In high-tech science-fiction movies. Intelligent, but without a soul, without compassion—because they had no frame of reference available against which to measure feelings. Was that the case with him?

The cold smile faded as if it had never existed. “Don’t try to analyze me, Cavanaugh. Your talents would be best used elsewhere.”

There was another knock on the door. A firm one this time. Before she extended an invitation to come in, the door was opened, bringing with it a smattering more air, not exactly fresh, but every little bit helped right now, she thought.

Janelle drew in a lungful, as if that would somehow help her deal with Sawyer and his all-encompassing disdain. She looked at the sensibly dressed young woman in the doorway. “Yes?”

Another one of the assistants. Marcia Croft had been there three weeks longer than Janelle had and was still trying to direct Stephen Woods’s attention over in her direction. It was no secret that she wanted him to view her not as an up-and-coming assistant, but as a wealthy graduate of Cornell University who had set her cap not so much on an illustrious career in the D.A.’s office as on the A.D.A.—seeing as how the D.A. was taken. To Marcia it was all about connections.

“Woods wants us all in the conference room,” she told Janelle. Belatedly, she seemed to take note of the fact that Janelle was not alone. “Well, hello,” she declared with more than a little feeling.

Marcia’s normally frosty delivery had warmed up several degrees. Obviously Sawyer brought out the best in someone, if not herself, Janelle thought. Marcia usually behaved as if she were entering a leper colony every time their paths crossed. The woman considered her an unworthy rival. Her dark eyes quickly swept over Sawyer’s impressive torso, coming to rest on the holster he wore. She rubbed her thumb over her fingers, as if vicariously feeling the leather.

“Packing heat, I see,” Marcia murmured appreciatively, raising her eyes to his. Her mouth curved. “And you have a gun, too.”

Janelle looked at Sawyer. His expression was unreadable. But if he was a typical male, she thought, he was probably eating this all up.

“Here’s a thought, why don’t you guard
her
body?” Janelle suggested. Not waiting for a response or comment, she grabbed her portable notebook and darted around Marcia as if she were a mere obstacle to be circumvented.

The latter smoothly shifted in order to block Sawyer’s exit. “Why don’t you?” she purred, looking up at him.

“Yours wasn’t the name I was given,” Sawyer replied simply. In no mood to exchange banter, he took hold of Marcia’s shoulders and physically moved the assistant to the side.

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” Marcia offered, raising her voice to be heard. She’d said the words to his back as he quickly strode down the corridor.

With a careless shrug, Marcia hurried to catch up to Janelle.

The meeting—
briefing
would have probably been a more apt description for it—was called to let the four score and plus people who worked for the D.A.’s office in on what was going on and to explain the presence of both Sawyer and the other detective.

The situation necessitating his having a bodyguard would just be temporary, Woods assured them. In response, Marcia made a small, disappointed sound, like a kitten anticipating being left out in the snow without food. The noise was audible only to the handful around her. But it included Janelle and Sawyer.