Cavanaugh On Call. Marie Ferrarella
“Have you tried to make a call since you left the precinct?” he asked, effectively cutting off her budding tirade.
Her growing anger came to a screeching halt. Silence suddenly slammed into the moment. She stared, dumbfounded, at the object in his hand.
In a far more subdued voice, Scottie said, “That’s my cell phone.” Confused, she raised her eyes to his again.
“That’s what it is, all right,” he agreed amicably, his expression giving no indication that he had just been on the receiving end of hot words.
She looked confused. “What are you doing with it?”
“Trying to return it to you,” he told her mildly. “You left it on your desk when you walked out and I thought you might need it,” he explained. “I tried to catch up with you but you really move fast for a woman in high heels.” There was a note of amused admiration in his voice.
Scottie said the first thing that came to her mind. “Why didn’t you just call out my name?”
Completely embarrassed, she could almost feel the color rising to her cheeks. She’d practically jumped down his throat and ripped out his tongue, and apparently all he was trying to do was a good deed.
She had to get a grip, Scottie chided herself. Going off the deep end wasn’t going to do Ethan any good and it could terminate her career, commendations or no commendations.
“I did, but I couldn’t get your attention. And I couldn’t very well call or text you, either,” he added with a grin. He handed over the phone to Scottie. “These days, people have their entire lives on their phone and I figured you might want yours back.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. Taking the cell, she tucked it into her messenger bag. “I owe you one,” she tacked on ruefully.
Bryce shrugged. “Have that drink with me at Malone’s and we’ll call it even.”
Malone’s again. She was tempted to ask this bright and upstanding representative of the Cavanaughs why it was so important to him that they have a drink together, but since he had obviously gone out of his way to get her phone to her, instead of questioning him about what was undoubtedly looked upon as a tradition by Cavanaugh and his crew, she decided to just go along with things.
“Okay,” she finally replied. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll have that beer with you.”
Her wording caught his attention. “So then we’ll be even, is that what you mean?”
“I don’t see it that way,” she admitted, “but since you went out of your way like this to reunite me with my phone and, for some reason I don’t understand, having a drink after work means something to you, and since I am in your debt, the answer to your invitation is yes.” Having agreed, she pressed her lips together. “I’ll follow you there.”
She expected Bryce to get into his car, but he remained where he was. “Table or stool?” he wanted to know.
Scottie stared at him. Was this some kind of code? “Excuse me?”
“If you’re following me,” he patiently explained, “that means I’ll get there first. I just wanted to know if you would rather sit at a table or take a stool at the bar?”
A table represented more privacy, a small haven from the general press of bodies and the noise, but a bar stool, while implying brevity to her also left her out in the open and vulnerable. She liked neither choice so she shrugged. “Surprise me.”
He studied her for a moment. Part of him felt she had no intention of showing up, which had him wondering a host of other things he hadn’t quite nailed down yet, but he wasn’t about to stand out there in the parking lot, negotiating details.
“I’ll do my best,” he told her with a wide, inviting smile.
The man obviously thought he was too good-looking for his own good, Scottie decided as she made her way to her car. Reaching it, she turned in his direction and waved her hand, indicting that he could go.
He didn’t. Instead he waited until her vehicle drew closer to his and then he put his car into drive and pulled out of the parking space.
Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw that Scottie was indeed following him.
How long was that going to last? he mused, still not certain he could take her at her word—which in turn would bode rather badly for their fledgling work relationship. A man had to trust his partner, otherwise his life wouldn’t be worth the proverbial plug nickel for long.
Bryce drove slowly, as if he was a sixteen-year-old driver with a brand-new learner’s permit going on a maiden run under his father’s watchful eye. Approaching intersections, if the light had turned yellow, he came to a full stop instead of pressing down harder on the accelerator to make it through before the light went red. Looking back over his life, Bryce couldn’t remember ever driving as slowly as he did tonight.
Consequently, it felt like getting to Malone’s took forever, but finally he found himself pulling into the parking lot.
He parked in the first space he found, then got out quickly and looked over his shoulder to see if his partner was still behind him.
A silver Honda was just pulling into the lot.
“Son of a gun. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” he murmured to himself, grinning. She’d actually followed him, he thought, astonished.
Parking her car, Scottie got out and then wove in and out of the rows of vehicles, making her way toward Malone’s front entrance and, apparently, to Cavanaugh who was just standing there, watching her every move.
A lesser woman would have felt self-conscious, but it had never been about looks for Scottie. Everything else had always been too important for her to waste any time worrying about her appearance or spending hours fussing with her hair. She had a living to earn and a brother to raise.
She’d done progressively better and better with the first part. The second part, not so much, she thought now. She’d showed Ethan’s photo to everyone at the shelter, but no one had seen her brother. The shelter had once been his go-to place when he’d wanted her to find him. Helping out at the shelter in turn seemed to help him and center him.
He was a good guy, she thought. He just needed help to stay the course.
“I thought you were going to find someplace for us to sit,” she said to Bryce as she approached.
“Changed my mind,” he said mildly. “I thought I’d wait since you might have trouble finding me once you were inside.”
“I wouldn’t have any trouble, I’d just follow the light from your aura,” she quipped.
Rather than get his back up, or take offense, Bryce seemed amused by her wisecrack. “And here I thought I’d hidden it so well.”
She wasn’t about to stand out there, talking half the night away. She reached for the door. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
“‘Over with’?” he repeated. “This isn’t a root canal, Scottie. It’s just two partners having a drink together, getting to know each other.” Turning from her, he reached for the heavy oak door, opened it and then stood there holding it for her.
She glanced at him over her shoulder just before she crossed the threshold.
“I don’t need to ‘get to know’ you. I know all I need to know about you,” she informed him.
“Probably not,” he countered easily. “And I know that I know next to nothing about you,” he said as he ushered her into the large room.
For a moment Scottie stood just inside the bar. She’d been on the force for five years, but this was her first time inside the bar most of the other officers and detectives frequented.
Depending on the day of the week, Malone’s