Mission: Cavanaugh Baby (16 page)

She couldn’t begin to guess why he’d been looking for her the way he’d claimed he was when he walked into the office, an exasperated expression on his face.

Oh, she knew why she
wanted
him to be looking for her, but she was intelligent enough to know that she would be dealing in fantasy, not reality, when it came to that.

She realized she was holding her breath, waiting for him to say something.

Shane forced himself to look calm. After getting Andrew to throw together a party, he would have been utterly embarrassed if he couldn’t produce the person who the party was for. But she hadn’t picked up when he called her cell, and when he’d gone by her house, she hadn’t been there. Coming to the office had been his final attempt to find her. If she hadn’t been here, he wouldn’t have known where to look.

The tension within him began to abate. “That’s really commendable, but you might get further if you stopped for a while and recharged your batteries.”

“My batteries are just fine,” she informed him. “And if you’re worried about having to stay here with me, don’t be. You can go back to your Saturday. I’m a big girl, I don’t need a babysitter. I promise not to steal the silverware,” she quipped. “Or plastic ware, as the case may be,” she amended, thinking of what was available in the break room.

Rather than retreat, the way she thought Shane would, he moved around to the back of her chair and drew it—and her—away from the desk. Startled, she cried, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to take a break,” he told her. “Humor me.”

“Is that part of the job description, humoring you?” she asked, not knowing whether she was amused, intrigued or just plain annoyed. There was something about this man that threw her whole world off kilter, set it on its ear and just got to her the way no one else ever had.

“It is today,” he informed her cheerfully. “Weekends are for recharging and for getting different perspectives on things,” he told her.

“What kind of different perspectives?” She almost yelped as she was all but deposited on the floor when Shane tilted her chair forward. She grabbed the armrests just as she started to slide forward.

He loosened her grip on the armrests, forcing her to plant her feet firmly on the floor. It was either that, or have her butt meet said floor. “Come with me and you’ll see.”

Left with no other choice, Ashley grabbed her bag. Less than a second later, Shane was steering her toward the doorway.

“Does insanity run in your family?” she demanded as she was being hustled out.

“Lots of things run in my family,” he informed her calmly.

“Terrific,” she muttered.

But he heard her and spared her a glance just before they headed out.

“Yeah,” he told her. “Actually, it is.”

“And just what’s that supposed to mean?”

He made no effort to enlighten her. Instead all he would tell her was, “You’ll see.”

A weary sigh slipped out. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Now you know that’s not true,” Shane contradicted. “You’re not afraid of anything.”

Despite the fact that she didn’t try to dispute what he’d just said, Ashley definitely
was
afraid of something.

She was afraid of what she was beginning to feel for him.

Chapter 15

“E
xactly where are we going?” Ashley asked, feeling herself growing restless and antsy in the passenger seat of his car.

Shane had talked her into leaving her car parked at the police station and going with him in the sedan rather than following him in her own small, close-to-ancient white Corolla. She had a feeling he’d insisted on taking her because he was afraid that she’d just make a U-turn somewhere along the line and head back to the precinct. This way he could control her.

She really didn’t care for the thought. She’d been in control of her life ever since she’d turned eighteen, and she liked the fact that she didn’t answer to anyone if she didn’t choose to.

Part of being in control was knowing where you were going, and she didn’t.

She glanced through the window. They appeared to be traveling through a residential area. Maybe Shane had changed his mind and decided she was right. They should work through the weekend, continuing to question more of the victim’s legion of customers. So far, they hadn’t had any luck, but there was always the hope that they might.

She’d never been an optimist by nature, but there was this small kernel within her, a tiny grain of hope that flowered on occasion. Sometimes it even mystified her that it did, but there was no denying its existence.

But if Shane
was
planning on doing more interviews, why wasn’t he telling her as much? What was with this big mysterious act?

Shane spared her a glance. “You’ll find out,” he promised with a smile.

The smile was making her crazy. “You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“And I still mean it,” he told her mildly. “Nothing’s changed except that fifteen minutes have gone by,” he pointed out cheerfully. “If you’re going to be a detective, Ashley, you’re going to have to learn how to be patient.”

“And if you want to go on breathing,” she informed him tersely, “you’ll stop playing games and answer my question.”

“I did answer your question,” he pointed out, completely unfazed by her tone. “I just didn’t give you the answer you were looking for.”

She frowned. Now he was just bandying words about. “You sound a hell of a lot more like a lawyer than a detective.”

“We’ve got a lawyer in the family,” he told her, thinking of the chief of detectives’ daughter, Janelle. “As well as a couple of judges.” Those had married into the family. “Maybe it rubs off.”

“Look, Cavanaugh,” she began, a warning throbbing in her voice.

“Hey, we’re here,” he announced. Pulling up at the first curb space he found, Shane glanced in her direction and said, “Maybe you’d better call me by my first name. You say Cavanaugh around here, and you’re bound to get a chorus of responses. That’ll set you back by a while, I suspect.”

Ashley looked around. He’d turned down a residential block. Considering the number of cars parked up and down both sides of the street, she was amazed that it was so silent in the area. Either the people who belonged to the cars had all been struck dumb, or this was the scene of some sort of macabre mass alien abduction. She wasn’t sure exactly which explanation she was rooting for.

“Where’s ‘here’?” she asked pointedly, her eyes pinning him to his seat.

Or so she thought.

Shane was out of the vehicle and gesturing toward a house halfway down the tree-lined block.

“Here,” he told her with a maddening emphasis that meant nothing to her.

Taking her arm, Shane began to usher her along the street and toward the house.

“And what is it we’re doing ‘here’?” She wanted to know. “And I swear, if you say ‘you’ll see’ to me one more time, I’m not going to be responsible for what I do to you.”

Their eyes met and held for a moment, and she could have sworn she both heard and felt a crackle of electricity so strong that for a moment she couldn’t speak. She did her best to press her lips together into a frown.

“Stop,” he teased. “You’re getting me all hot with anticipation.”

Now there was fire in her eyes as she all but shouted his name. “Cavanaugh!”

He stopped walking and raised his right index finger as if to caution her. “What did I tell you?” he asked as if he was speaking to a five-year-old. “What’s my name?”

Her teeth were clenched as she tried to hold her temper in check. Why was it that this man could make her so angry so quickly? She prided herself on her even approach to things, her ability to mask her reaction. Around Shane, it seemed like it all went out the window.

“Mud as far as I’m concerned, if I don’t get a few straight answers out of you soon,” she told him.

He resumed walking with her again, and in a minute they were on the doorstep of a large, rambling two-story house that seemed to literally exude warmth just by its very presence.

“Straight answers coming up,” Shane promised as he rapped on the front door.

The door was opened by a tall, well-built man in his late fifties, possibly early sixties. It occurred to her that he carried his age well. It also occurred to her that he had to be a Cavanaugh. He looked like one of them. The man was wearing casual clothing and a wide grin, the latter being the very first thing anyone ever noticed about Andrew Cavanaugh.

“The door’s open. You don’t have to knock,” Andrew told Shane, then added, “You made it.” The former chief sounded very pleased. “And this has to be the birthday celebrant,” he said, turning to look at her. He clasped her hand between his. Hers all but disappeared. “Pleased to meet you, Ashley. I’m Andrew Cavanaugh.”

She would have been lost in awe of meeting the man if the first words he’d said to her hadn’t left her completely bewildered.

“Birthday celebrant?” She threw Shane a perplexed took. “I think there’s been some kind of a mistake. It’s not my birthday.”

“Oh? Are you sure?” he challenged. “Then when is your birthday?” Andrew asked, the voice of utter studied innocence.

“I don’t know.”

Ashley hated the way that sounded, hated admitting that she didn’t know. It branded her as a person without a home, without a family to tell her the necessary things she ought to know. It made her feel like a rootless, homeless drifter.

“Well, if you don’t know,” Andrew began, “then how do you know it’s
not
today? It might be, right? There is that possibility.”

He had a point, she supposed. Still, she’d gone all these years without one—using July first, the day she’d been found near the burning vehicle, as the date she’d filled out on applications under date of birth, backdating the year by four because the first pediatrician that had checked her out had judged that she was in her fourth year.

But it wasn’t her birthday any more than any other date was.

“Yes, but—” she began to protest. She got no further with Andrew than she had with Shane. Apparently none of the Cavanaughs took no for an answer—or brooked any sort of resistance.

Andrew tucked his arm through hers and brought her into the foyer.

“I was talking to Shane here about how he liked working in Homicide, and he started telling me about the partner he was temporarily paired with. When he mentioned that you’d never had a birthday party, well, I just couldn’t let something like that slide.”

He looked at her, and she could have sworn the very room seemed to light up. The man had probably charmed all his prisoners into handcuffs back in the day, she thought.

“So, for at least the spate of this party, today is your birthday and this is your birthday party.” Andrew leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Everyone should have at least one birthday party they remember. Humor an old man,” he added with a wink as he straightened again.

Her mouth had gone dry because it felt as if all the moisture she had available had gathered into tears and were threatening to fall now.

“All right,” she managed to choke out in a whisper, agreeing to play along.

Andrew laughed, giving her a quick, one-armed warm hug.

“Atta girl.” He turned toward Shane. “I’ll leave the introductions to you. I’ve got a main course in the oven that requires my attention.” He surrounded her hand with both of his for a moment and said just before he retreated, “Enjoy yourself. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m able.”

She turned toward Shane. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?” It didn’t come out like an accusation exactly, but it was obvious that she had an opinion on what the answer was.

“I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about,” he answered innocently.

He eyed Ashley, wondering if she was going to be angry and accuse him of overstepping his boundaries or something along those lines. Instead, she surprised him by raising herself up on her toes and brushing a very soft, very light kiss along his cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her reaction left him utterly speechless for a moment. Then, collecting himself, he followed his uncle’s advice and began to introduce her to the veritable legions of people who were otherwise known as Cavanaughs and Cavanaugh relatives.

The introductions took a long time.

* * *

At certain times during the hours that followed, and throughout the stand-up lunch, Ashley found herself making eye contact with one member of the gathering or another. For a brief moment, there would be a sympathetic look in their eyes, as if they thought they knew exactly what she was experiencing. But although they were undoubtedly well intentioned, she was convinced that they
didn’t
know.

They couldn’t possibly.

She’d been so utterly on her own right from the beginning, from the time she had her first vague memory. There’d been no mother, no father, no grandparent to turn to or to remember.

This, she couldn’t help thinking, looking around at the various people on the premises, was something unique, something very special. What they had was something she had never had, and thus, they couldn’t understand what she was feeling right at this second.

Envy and wistfulness.

“They’re a great bunch of people,” a redheaded woman said as she came up behind her. “Until I met them, I thought people like this existed only in movies and books of fiction written for young teens.” There was a smile on the woman’s lips that softly whispered of genuine affection when she spoke of the people in the room. “They take you in, no questions asked, no judgments made. They just accept you, warts and all.” She laughed softly to herself. “After having a grandmother who tried to sell me not once but twice—at least, twice that I recall—for drug money, something like the affection these people have for one another—and for you when they take you in—is really something very special.”

Ashley stared at the young woman. More than the words, she absorbed the sentiment that the woman was conveying.

The woman’s green eyes sparkled as she smiled. Putting out her hand, she said, “Hi, we haven’t officially met yet. I’m Julianne White Bear Cavanaugh, the chief of D’s daughter-in-law and Frank’s wife,” she added to help Ashley position her in the family dynamics.

“Ashley St. James,” Ashley said mechanically, although she was rather certain that the woman already knew that. She tried to recall which Cavanaugh was “Frank” and whose son he was. These people should come with name tags. “White Bear, isn’t that—?”

“Navajo, yes.” Julianne nodded.

Ashley’s eyes immediately went up to Julianne’s flame-red hair. “But you have—”

“Red hair,” Julianne completed for her. “Yes, I know. Long story.” One that involved a kindhearted Native American police officer who rescued her from a life of hell. “I’ll tell it to you one day,” she promised. “Uh-oh, I think the chief’s ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what?” Ashley asked, confused.

She turned around to see what Julianne was looking at. She realized that the other woman made it sound as if she expected to see her again. Why would she think that? This was all temporary. She was temporarily Shane’s partner and temporarily stepping inside his world, a world he could enjoy anytime he wanted. But she could only visit by invitation, and once they weren’t working together, she was certain that the invitation would be rescinded. After all, why wouldn’t it be?

Still, she couldn’t help thinking that it was a really wonderful world.

“You’ll see.”

Surprised, she nearly jumped. The voice came from behind her. She swung around and saw that Shane was standing there, rejoining her after having stepped away for a few minutes.

Grinning, he repeated the line that earlier had had her threatening him with bodily harm. But before she could say anything or ask him just what he meant by the phrase this time, he deliberately turned her head with his hands, making her look forward again.

When she did, she saw that Andrew, flanked by his wife and a man she’d been introduced to earlier as Shane’s grandfather, Shamus, was wheeling in a very long rectangular cake, decorated with pink and blue flowers, on a serving cart. There was writing on it that she couldn’t see, and one very large candle in the middle that she
could
see.

Most likely, low-flying planes could see it, too.

“To commemorate your birthday as well as your first year among us,” Andrew announced, bringing the cart with its precious cargo right up to her. Stopping, he looked around at his family, who needed no invitation to move closer. “Brace yourself,” he warned her. “They’re a great bunch of people, but harmonizing is
not
something they do well.”

As if to prove him right, the people who filled the living room and surrounding areas all began to sing “Happy Birthday.” At best, it could be described as a cacophony of words—and she had never heard anything lovelier in her life.

“Well, it’s a guarantee that no one will ever approach this bunch with a recording contract,” Andrew said as the song faded away. He turned to Ashley and coaxed, “Okay, Ashley, make a wish and blow out the candle.”

Instead of doing as he urged, Ashley, overcome, suddenly turned away and hurried from the room.

Shane started to go after her, but Andrew held up his hand to stop him. “Let me,” he told his nephew.

Frustrated, Shane remained where he was.

Andrew found her on the patio, an inclement sky threatening to rain on her at any moment.