Cavanaugh In The Rough. Marie Ferrarella
to the vehicle Chris had brought them to.
Chris looked at the duo as if he was dealing with a pair of living brain donors. “No, when I saw you two running, I stole someone else’s ride so I could cut you off in an impressive car. Of course this is mine,” he said in irritation as he unlocked the doors.
Neither teenager seemed to be insulted by the sarcastic response. Allen ran his hand along the panel closest to him. “I guess I didn’t notice what an outstanding piece of craftsmanship this was.”
Chris noted that the teen was all but drooling on his car. He anticipated the next question that either boy was going to ask and headed it off. “I got the car by saving up every spare dime and working really, really hard. I think that the two of you should stop fixating on my ride and start figuring out what you’re going to tell your parents.”
Bill looked at him as if he had just begun speaking in a foreign language that the teenager couldn’t quite grasp. “Our parents?”
Digging deep, Chris searched for even simpler words to use as he explained. “Well, yeah, because after I drop you off, I’m going to make it a point to pay a visit to your parents. I think they’re entitled to know how you’re spending your school nights.”
“Yesterday wasn’t a school night,” Bill protested. “It was a Sunday.”
The teen wasn’t following him, Chris thought. Definitely not the shiniest apple on the tree. “But today’s a school day, isn’t it?”
Bill still didn’t look as if he understood where this was going. “Huh?”
Chris shook his head as he turned into the high school parking lot. “See, if you studied more and lurked less, you’d understand what I’m talking about. Look sharp, guys,” he told them, pointing to the building on the right. “School’s up ahead.”
It grew very quiet in his car as he pulled into a parking space that had a time limit of twenty minutes printed right above it.
* * *
“Can you put a rush on it?” Chris asked the slender, pretty computer technician less than half an hour after depositing the teenagers at the school.
Valri Cavanaugh frowned ever so slightly as she looked down at the two bagged cell phones that had just been placed on her desk. Raising her eyes to her cousin’s, she said, “You do realize that just because your middle name is Cavanaugh doesn’t mean you automatically go to the head of the line, right?”
“Right,” he agreed, then went on to enumerate the reasons he felt he could ask his cousin to put a rush on lifting videos from the two phones. “This goes to the head of the line because it might show us who killed a perfectly innocent young woman who looked enough like you to be your sister. Because the teenaged boys who own these devices are even now having withdrawal symptoms, enduring traumatic separations from their cell phones, and we all know they would have rather given up a kidney. And last but not least, because I’m trying to impress this really cute crime scene investigator with my crime solving powers.” Finished, he took in a deep breath, then said, “For all the above reasons, I need you and your really clever expertise to lift and enhance the videos on these phones”
This was not Valri’s first rodeo—nor was it her first sweet-talking relative. Growing up with her brothers had made her all but immune to this sort of charismatic persuasion. “What you need, Detective O’Bannon,” she informed him, “is help.”
Chris was all innocence as he replied, “That’s what I’m asking for.”
Valri wouldn’t budge. “Really serious help.”
“Still on the same page,” Chris told her.
“Serious mental help, Christian,” she emphasized, feeling as if she still wasn’t getting through to him.
“Haven’t had your morning tea yet, have you?” Chris asked sympathetically. He knew that his cousin was partial to tea, unlike the rest of his clan, who all but ran on black coffee.
“Haven’t had my breakfast yet,” Valri complained in a weak moment. “I came in early to try to catch up on my backlog.”
And that was clearly not happening, she thought, looking accusingly at the sealed cell phones on her desk. It was just a matter of time before she gave in and she knew it.
“Well, if you do this—” he nodded at the evidence bags “—it’ll be that much less backlog you’ll have to deal with.”
Valri blew out a breath. She’d made a valiant attempt, but now had to give up. The less time she spent resisting, the more she would have for the rest of her work.
“All right, I’ll do it,” she declared. “It’ll be worth it just to get you out of my hair.”
Chris sifted a long, silky blond strand through his fingers. “And such lovely hair it is, too.”
Valri pulled the strand away from him. “You can cut the blarney, Chris. I already agreed to process the cell phones.”
He pretended to look stunned. “Valri, I’m surprised at you. We don’t avail ourselves of ‘blarney.’ That’s for the Irish. Our ancestors came from Scotland.”
Valri sighed. The man had a wonderful baritone voice that made the most trivial information sound important. But even so, it was time to get him out of her lab.
“You know, the longer you talk,” she told him, “the longer it’s going to take for me to go through all this.”
“Consider me gone,” Chris announced, already heading for the door. “Oh, and don’t forget to make copies of those party videos,” he reminded her. “Uncle Sean’s going to want to take a look at them himself. You know how hands-on he is.”
“As opposed to being all handsy,” Valri countered, looking at her cousin knowingly.
Rather than pretend not to understand what she was talking about, Chris grinned. “We all have our calling,” he said, and then winked. “But between you and me, my hands never go anywhere they’re not invited.”
“Just go!” Valri ordered, pointing to the doorway with a laugh.
“Like I was never here,” he replied and made himself scarce.
* * *
“Miss me?” Chris asked late that afternoon, stepping into Suzie’s work area.
Lost in thought as she’d been, she stifled a gasp. The detective had caught her by surprise and it took an effort not to show it. Suzie didn’t like revealing any sort of vulnerability, and to be caught off guard or unprepared was to be vulnerable, in her book.
Collecting herself, she answered with a careless, “Not even for a second.” Then suggested, “Try being gone longer.”
“Maybe next time,” he promised.
Although she wanted to ignore him, she couldn’t. It wasn’t just that his presence seemed to fill up the room, even one as large as the lab. He’d brought something with him, as well.
“What’s that?” she asked, nodding at the tablet he had just dropped on her desk.
“That is your very own copy of Aurora’s wild nightlife,” he told her.
“I thought I was already looking at it,” Suzie deadpanned.
Chris inclined his head. “Touché,” he replied, then, playing along, said, “This is the video version. Or more specifically, a copy of what our very own wizard of a computer technician managed to get off the Three Stooges Minus One’s cell phone videos of the so-called ‘floating’ party that they couldn’t crash—thanks to you,” he added, because, after all, if Suzie hadn’t asked the right questions and found out about the videos the teenagers had made, they wouldn’t have this potential lead.
“Nice save,” Suzie allowed, amused despite