Cavanaugh's Secret Delivery. Marie Ferrarella
from the cartel was after me?”
“I’d say you were really reaching.” Although, he had to admit, he wasn’t dismissing what she’d just said altogether.
“Then you’d be wrong,” she informed him flatly, daring him to say otherwise.
He did a quick calculation. “Okay, let’s go get that cup of coffee and you see if you can convince me I’m wrong,” he told her, adding, “I’ll drive.”
“Fine with me.” They’d gone down the back stairs and were at the edge of the lot. “Is that your car?” she asked, pointing toward the red Mustang one row over.
“Yes.” He hadn’t been in his car that night when he’d come across her. He’d left the Mustang parked a block away. Dugan look at her quizzically. “How did you know?”
“I remember passing it that night on my way to the hospital. Just how much do you get as a vice detective, exactly?” Toni asked as she stopped by the car.
He wasn’t sure what was going through her head, but he didn’t want her laboring under any misconceptions. “I rebuilt this car before I ever joined the force,” he told her.
“You did this yourself?” she asked, clearly impressed with the end result of his efforts.
“Took me three years.” He opened the doors. “Why?”
“And it runs?” she asked.
“Yes, it runs,” he answered. “I didn’t push it here. Why all the questions?”
“Sorry, occupational habit,” she told him. She got into the car. “But if I had a car like this, I certainly wouldn’t risk driving it around on the job. Don’t people shoot at you?”
“Hardly ever,” he told her.
That didn’t make sense. “Doesn’t Vice attract bad guys?”
She was getting sidetracked, he thought. “You want to go get that cup of coffee and convince me why I should let you come watch me for a couple of days or not?”
“The former,” she told him.
Nodding, he started the car. “By the way, how’s the baby?”
She looked at him, and for the first time, he saw a wary look in her eyes. “Why?”
“No reason. I helped bring her into the world—” he began.
“Technically,” she said, cutting him off.
“And technically,” he continued, “I’d just like to know how she’s doing.”
Toni looked straight ahead of her at the scenery, her expression impassive. “She’s fine.”
Dugan glanced at her profile. “Aren’t you supposed to be with her?”
“What is it with you and all these questions?” she asked. “I’m supposed to be the investigative reporter here, not you.”
He shrugged. “I just like to know who I’m going to be working with—if I’m going to be working with you,” he qualified.
Sighing, Toni looked up at the roof of the car, as if seeking some sort of guidance. “I’m Toni O’Keefe. I write for the San Francisco Times as well as several online blogs. My father was Anthony O’Keefe and he taught me everything I needed to know about what it takes to be a good reporter. He taught me not to give up until I had my story and I never have.” She looked at him now. “I don’t intend to start now.”
“Fair enough,” he answered.
Dugan drove to the next block and pulled into an strip mall. It had an upscale grocery store on one end and a hardware store on the other. The coffee shop, along with a couple of other small restaurants as well as a pizzeria, were in the middle. He parked his car close by and got out.
“Best coffee in the city,” he told her once they reached the coffee shop. He gestured for her to go in first.
After getting their coffees, he took her over to a small indoor table. It was only when she sat down that he asked, “What if I don’t want you to work with me?”
She didn’t even hesitate. It was as if she was expecting this question, even though there had been a seven-minute break in between her statement and his.
“It’ll take me longer to get my story,” she informed him, her eyes meeting his. “But I’ll still get it.”
She seemed sure of herself, he’d give her that. “And if I let you work with me, exactly what is it that you bring to the table besides a great pair of legs?”
“I know people who you would want to know. People who could be very helpful to you. People who know things,” she told him. “On their own, what they know doesn’t amount to very much. But you start to put it all together, you just might have something.”
She was dealing in suppositions and possibilities, Dugan thought. It could all be just a bunch of nothing. But she had guts and a certain style he found himself admiring.
Just as he was about to tell her that he’d take her on—on a trial basis, she surprised him by asking, “You think I have great legs?”
Ah, vanity, you had to love it. “Absolutely. They’re probably the best pair of legs I’ve seen in a long, long time,” he said.
“Oh.” Realizing that she’d allowed herself to be distracted for a moment, Toni murmured, “Thank you.” Then she turned her attention back to what they had been talking about. Clearing her throat, she asked him, “So, do we have a deal?”
He was silent for a moment and it was very obvious that he was looking at her legs. After a moment, Toni drew them farther under the table, shifting so that they were now on the other side of the chair rather than closer to him.
Raising his eyes to her face, he said, “I’ll give you a week, see where it goes. But the first minute I find that it’s not working, or you’ve done something to jeopardize the operation, it’s over.”
“You have an operation?” Toni asked, leaning forward as if she expected him to let her in on a secret. He saw interest flash in her eyes. She seemed to come alive right in front of him. “What is it?” she asked.
“All in due time, O’Keefe,” he told her evasively. “You’ll find out all in due time.”
She watched him for a long moment, as if she was trying to discern just what it was that he had. And then she gave him a knowing look.
“You don’t have anything. You’re just doing this by the seat of your pants, winging it, if you will.” Having caught him, she still wanted verification. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Now who’s asking too many questions?” Dugan countered.
“I am right,” she declared. “That’s okay. There’s no shame in winging it. Some of the best plans are the ones that people have come up with on the fly,” Toni told him with a smugness he should have found irritating—but didn’t.
“Were you always an annoying little girl or did you grow into the role?” he asked.
She grinned and he found it annoyingly endearing. He was going to have to be careful around this one.
“I guess I’ve been like this my whole life,” she told him.
“Huh. Remind me to send your mother a condolence card,” he told her flippantly.
He saw her face cloud over for a moment. “That might prove hard to do,” Toni said as she finished her coffee.
He indicated the cup with his eyes. “Refill?” he asked.
“No, I’m good,” she answered.
Dugan heard the distance in her voice. Ordinarily,