Cavanaugh Watch (5 page)

Janelle slanted at look toward him. It was her turn to smirk and she enjoyed it. “Well, it looks like you have a groupie.”

“A what?”

“A groupie,” she repeated. When there was no indication that he knew what she was talking about, she couldn’t help staring at him. “Don’t you know what a groupie is?”

He had a tendency not to retain things if they didn’t have a direct bearing on his work. “Not really, but I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.”

“A fan,” Janelle explained. “An
intense
fan. Usually female. You can track her by following the drool marks on the ground.” She paused for a moment, then put it in more familiar terms. “In a parallel universe, you might think of a groupie as a stalker.”

He snorted. “I don’t believe in a parallel universe,” he told her. “There’s too much garbage to deal with in this one.”

He had that right, she thought. And part of that garbage was standing right behind her in the conference room. It made her nostalgic for the “good old days” when all she’d had to contend with was an overwhelming workload.

There was more to the briefing than just the necessary introductions and a summary of events that had brought about the detectives’ presence in the D.A.’s office. Verbal progress reports were given. The various assistants discussed how far along they were in their individual cases and whether or not there was enough to indict the defendants.

Janelle found she had difficulty keeping her mind on the subject even though she was concentrating as hard as she could. She felt as if her thoughts were leaning in two different directions. Part of her mind was still on Wayne and the phone call. Although she hated to admit that Sawyer was right, the crime lieutenant could have compromised her position in the case just by calling.

Thinking, she chewed on her lower lip. Should she tell Woods, or take a risk that Sawyer would keep his mouth shut about this? After all, it wasn’t as if Wayne had offered her a bribe, or even hinted at one. And she certainly hadn’t done anything improper—other than not immediately hang up on him. Sawyer had taken care of that, she thought darkly.

What if Wayne had taped their conversation? she thought suddenly. He could have the tape altered, make it sound as if she’d said something she hadn’t. If he did that, he could get a mistrial. And she’d be out on her ear.

She needed advice, Janelle thought.

There was only one person she went to openly for advise. Her father. She decided to go see him tonight, even if just to use him as a sounding board. Maybe, if she was lucky, he could help her get this damn monkey off her back.

Which brought her to the other reason that her mind kept wandering. She was having a devil of a time concentrating. Knowing that Sawyer was standing right behind her chair for some reason kept her mind from moving forward. From taking in more than a few sound bites at a time as the A.D.A., or someone else at the conference table, was speaking. Part of the reason, she supposed, was that she was waiting for a sneak attack, the way she used to when she was a kid and one of her cousins or brothers was out to get her at any time, any place.

She had no idea why that feeling seemed so pertinent now.

Sawyer wasn’t here to attack her, she silently argued, he was here to protect her from an attack. While antagonizing her at every turn. Was that on purpose? Was he doing that to keep her at a distance?

That was it, she realized suddenly. Sawyer was being surly and off-putting to assure himself that she would remain at arm’s distance. That she wouldn’t get to know him, break through his steel reserve. For some reason, that seemed to bother him.

The good thing about having so many male relatives milling around, she thought, her mouth curving, was that the mystery of the male psyche was pretty much exposed to the light of day.

She glanced smugly over her shoulder toward her shadow just as Woods was winding up the impromptu meeting.

I have your number, Detective Sawyer Boone. And I’m pretty sure that I know how to use it.

Chapter 5

J
anelle glanced at her watch. She’d been at this a number of hours now. Since her office had no windows, she couldn’t identify the portion of the day by the sun’s position in the sky. But she could congratulate herself for being able, for the most part, to block out the man seated to the side. Pausing, she looked at him now. Sawyer was reading some paperback book he’d pulled out of his jacket earlier.

Probably something triple-X-rated, judging by the way it absorbed him, she mused. Tired, not making nearly enough headway, Janelle dropped her pen and rocked back in her chair, careful not to lean too far. The chair was somewhat unstable.

Sawyer seemed oblivious to his surroundings. Some bodyguard. “So, just what’s the plan here? You’re going to sit there all day, reading, while I work?”

He glanced over in her direction. Nothing had escaped him since they’d entered this oversize crayon box of a room. Ever on the alert without giving that impression, a burst of adrenaline was only half a heartbeat away.

Still, he managed to sound almost lazy as he said, “Pretty much.”

She would have thought a man like him would be going stir-crazy by now. But then it occurred to her that everything she knew about him was just supposition on her part. Beyond what her brother had mentioned earlier, no one had given her Sawyer’s credentials. Something she was going to have to look into the first chance she got, Janelle promised herself.

Until then, she went on instinct, picturing one of her brothers in this same situation. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Since the conversation didn’t appear to be ending, he closed the book he was reading, marking his place with his index finger. His eyes swept over her. “You have no idea.”

She leaned forward a little, wanting suddenly to distract him. “Then why didn’t you protest?”

He lifted one wide shoulder in a careless, dismissive manner. As far as battles went, his were chosen carefully. And they had already had this conversation. “I did. It wouldn’t do any good.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who just goes along with the flow. More like someone who swims upstream, defying gravity and tides.”

Her words evoked something akin to a smile. Whether it was at her expense or just amusement, she couldn’t quite say. “If you’re trying to flatter me into going away, it won’t work. You’re my assignment,” he told her stoically, “until I get liberated.”

“So guarding me is your idea of being in prison.”

He regarded her for a long moment. “Pretty much.”

Janelle felt that she’d just caught him in a contradiction. A feeling of satisfaction began to bubble up inside of her.

“You threw yourself over me in front of the courthouse,” she pointed out. If he had no desire to protect her, why had he risked his life then?

He looked unfazed, and she felt satisfaction slipping away. “That was different.”

Janelle tried to make sense of the man. “Why? Because no one told you to do it?” That kind of a feeling was the stuff action movies were made of. Real life, however, was different. “You draw a paycheck, Detective, you follow rules.”

She saw his eyes pass over her again. Slowly. So slowly that she could almost feel them as they passed. Feel them assessing her. Touching her. She found it hard not to squirm.

“You follow rules?” he asked, his voice close to expressionless.

“Whenever possible.” Okay, it was a lie, but he didn’t have to know that. But the look on his face told her he didn’t believe her simple statement. It rankled her even though he was right, or maybe because he was right. She didn’t want him to feel as if he were privy to secret information about her.

Janelle followed rules when she felt they were right, or when she had no other choice. But there was a whole gray area that came up between those two points, an area where rules were bent when they needed to be—and when she felt she could get away with it. The trouble was, she believed in honor and justice, but there were times when the two turned out to be mutually exclusive. And then her choice was clear.

Sawyer was still studying her face. “Define possible.”

It was a challenge. How did this man manage to get under her skin so fast, especially when she’d been so confident that she could handle him? That she had his number and could put him in his place?

Obviously, she was wrong.

She sighed. This was going nowhere. “I’d love to continue this philosophical conversation with you, Detective Boone, but one of us has work to do and it’s obviously not you.”

If she meant the last as a little dig, it didn’t get the desired results. Sawyer gestured toward her desk, indicating that she was free to get back to what she was doing. “Didn’t mean to keep you from it.”

The hell he didn’t, she thought. This man was angry, angry that he’d been ordered over here, to watch over her instead of doing whatever it was he normally did. And he was taking it out on the only person within firing range. Her.

She didn’t have the time to get distracted. Or to engage in some kind of mental duel. Swallowing an impatient sigh, she lowered her head and looked back at the three open reference volumes spread out before her. With effort, she blocked Sawyer out and resumed trying to find cases that would back up the points of law that she felt would be raised during the trial.

At times, the law was nothing more than a big chess game. It wasn’t about right and wrong so much as about thinking three moves ahead. About being able to outwit your opponent and block legal moves, like motions to suppress evidence that could clearly win the case for them if it was admitted. Justice and truth had a way of getting lost amid the logistics sometimes.

That was the part she hated about the legal system. That in protecting the rights of hypothetical citizens, criminals got off free and victims had no recourse, no feeling of being championed and vindicated. It was all for the ultimate greater good, but it certainly didn’t feel that way. Especially not to the victim or the victim’s family.

Janelle heard Sawyer shifting in his chair. She refused to look up, refused to let her thoughts stray in that direction.

She did her very best to concentrate on the case and shut out the very real, very distracting presence of her temporary bodyguard. The faster this case was resolved, the faster she would be allowed to cast her own shadow and not have someone provide it for her.

Despite her resolve, ignoring Detective Sawyer Boone was not easy. She only hoped that he wasn’t aware of just how “not easy” it was.

The crick was becoming worse. Raising her hand, Janelle spread her fingers out along the back of her neck and began to massage muscles that could have doubled as rocks. Still massaging, she rotated her head from side to side.

Time to call it a day, she thought. There was nothing to be gained by pushing when she felt this tired. Besides, she wanted to drop in on her father at a decent hour for a change.

When she felt hands suddenly on her shoulders, she immediately stiffened. Janelle tried to turn, but those same hands wouldn’t allow it. They held her firmly in place.

Sawyer had vacated his seat and was directly behind her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

Sawyer didn’t answer her immediately. When he finally did, it wasn’t a reply to her question. She was beginning to notice that her bodyguard had a nasty habit of never answering anything directly. He responded either with a question of his own or employed some sort of sideways logic. Like now.

“Nobody can give themselves a proper massage,” he told her matter-of-factly as he kneaded the knots along both sides of her neck.

Pain shot through the top of her head and fanned out along her shoulders, making its way down through her chest. The only part of her upper torso left unaffected was her waist.

Mercenaries probably tortured their enemies this way, Janelle thought. It was hard for her to take in a complete breath.

“And you’ve made a study of this?” she asked with effort, gritting her teeth together to keep from moaning out loud in pain. Maybe it was childish, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that this was hurting.

This time he responded with a question. “You always sarcastic?”

“Only…when…I’m being…tortured.” Was it her imagination, or did he just increase the pressure he was exerting? Each of his fingers felt as if it was forming a hole in her neck. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from wincing.

“This isn’t torture,” he told her, sounding almost cheerful. “I promise, you’ll know when I’m torturing you.”

“Not something I intend to find out,” she retorted. Shifting suddenly, she managed to surprise him and momentarily elude his grasp. Janelle was on her feet in less than a heartbeat, just in case he had any ideas of continuing to squeeze her shoulders with his hamlike pincers.

As the throbbing slowly faded away, so did the initial pain that had prompted her to begin the massage in the first place.

Coming around in front of her, Sawyer lowered his head until his eyes were level with hers. He put the question to her mildly.

“Better?” The expression on his face told her that he already had his answer and was only going through the motions to be polite.

“Better,” she allowed grudgingly.

Swiftly shutting down her computer, she butted her chair up against the desk and took out her purse. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sawyer pick up his jacket from the back of his chair, stuff the paperback book he’d been reading into one of the pockets and fall into step with her. She still wasn’t able to catch the title, but the front page didn’t appear too colorful.

“Walking me to my car?” she asked as she went down the corridor to the elevator.

“And places beyond,” he added.

Janelle stopped abruptly in front of the elevator. An uneasiness wafted over her as she punched the down button. She hadn’t thought about this part. Hadn’t thought about anything except how annoying it was to have this man assigned to following her around all day while she was at work. She had no doubts if she’d gone out for lunch instead of ordered in, Sawyer would have been right there beside her in the restaurant.

But for some reason, she had just assumed that when her workday ended, the detective would just fade into the woodwork.

He wasn’t fading.

“What parts?” she asked, more than a hint of suspicion in her voice.
Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.

Prayers weren’t always answered in the affirmative. She’d learned that long ago, but didn’t particularly like having it reaffirmed now.

“I’m supposed to go wherever you go.”

The elevator car arrived, its silver doors opening wide. Janelle stepped inside, never taking her eyes off him.

“And what?” she demanded heatedly. “You’re going to guard me 24-7?”

“That’s the deal.”

“How?” she asked, her voice rising since it was just the two of them in the elevator. “What are you, a robot? Don’t you sleep?”

He took no exception to her irritated tone. He didn’t have to. Although he didn’t want this assignment, he liked being told to get off it even less. “Don’t need much.”

Janelle nodded, taking his words in as if they were gospel. “Just an occasional can of oil,” she assumed sarcastically.

He didn’t so much as blink an eye. “Not even that,” he countered without cracking a smile.

This was really getting to be unacceptable, she thought. It was bad enough having him around all day. She refused to have him around after hours. “I’m going to go see my father.”

“All right.”

“Alone,” she underscored.

The elevator was going straight down to the first floor without making any other stops. For all she knew, she was going straight down to hell. It certainly felt that way.

Sawyer retracted his approval. “Not all right.”

As she turned toward him, her eyes were shooting daggers. He found it mildly diverting. “My father is the chief of detectives—”

The knowing expression on his face infuriated her. “Wondered when you’d get around to saying that to me. Just how much mileage do you figure you get off that little phrase, say, in a week’s time?”

She wondered if there was any place in the basement where a body could be hidden. “We’ve had that conversation, Detective Boone. And frankly, it’s getting a little old.
My point was,
he’s the chief of detectives, and someone would have to be pretty stupid to try to hurt me while I’m with him. So you don’t have to tag along,” she concluded.

“In my experience, people in organized crime aren’t generally card-carrying members of Mensa. They don’t even have to have double-digit IQ. They just have to know how to take orders and that there are consequences if they don’t carry them out.”

Janelle pressed her lips together. She wasn’t going to lose her temper, she wasn’t. She would remain calm—even if it killed her. Although she would have much preferred that it killed him instead.

“Okay,” she said as they walked out of the building. “You can come. But you’ll stay in the car.” She was going to stand firm on this point. What she had to say to her father was private and this walking annoyance was a stranger, even if he had been privy to the phone call she wanted to discuss with her father.

His expression gave nothing away. “As long as I get to crack a window.”

“Are we going in my car?” Even as she asked, she braced herself for an answer she wasn’t going to welcome.

But he surprised her. “I’ll follow you in mine,” he told her. “And if you’re thinking of losing me,” he added, “don’t. I’ve tailed the best.”

Just who exactly was this man? she wondered. Dax hadn’t given her much to go on. She needed to talk to him, find out more. Better yet, maybe her father knew him. Her father was more likely to give her a straight answer. She’d ask him—once she talked to him about Wayne’s phone call.

She walked ahead of Sawyer to her car. “So you say,” she responded. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see if that annoyed him, but she could hope.

She had ten miles. Ten miles in which to try to calm down. Ten miles in which to try to lose the source of her frustration.