Mission: Cavanaugh Baby. Marie Ferrarella
him off. “You’re in my light, Shane.”
Shane stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding bumping into a pile of stuffed animals, all still with their price tags on.
He picked one up to look over. Since he was wearing latex gloves, he couldn’t feel the toy’s furry texture, but he had a feeling that it was exceedingly soft. He shook his head as he put the stuffed animal back, feeling exceptionally sorry for the victim again.
“It looks like she was really looking forward to being a mother,” he commented to his father.
“Yes, she was,” Sean agreed.
Shane shook his head over the waste of it all. “Shame she’s never going to get the chance.”
Sean agreed with his son completely. “Make it up to her.”
He didn’t even know the victim. Just how was he supposed to do something like that?
“And just how do you propose I do that, seeing the woman’s present condition?” he asked his father.
“Catch her killer,” Sean said simply.
“Right.” With a nod, Shane left the bedroom. He had just caught his very first homicide case, he thought, still trying to get used to the idea.
He needed to get busy.
Chapter 4
“Sorry about the accommodations.”
Ashley directed her apology over her shoulder. It was for the four-footed passenger riding inside the van portion of her police vehicle. With slots located on all four sides to allow for the flow of air into the rear of the official vehicle, she knew that Albert could hear her voice, and hopefully, it would calm him down a bit.
At the moment, though, she could hear the dog moving around all four corners of the area that was accessible to him. He was obviously looking for a way out, an escape from his confinement.
“They just want to make sure that you don’t have anything embedded in your fur that might have been accidentally left behind by your mistress’s killer.” Easing to a stop at the crosswalk as she waited for the light to turn green, she turned her head so that her voice would carry to the rear of the van. “And they probably want to swab your paws, too, even though you did do a lot of running around. The problem is that you ran through that poor woman’s blood, you know.”
In response to her low-key voice, she heard the animal continue to whine. And maybe it was her imagination, but he did seem to slow down a little—or at least he didn’t seem to be bouncing off the walls of the van as much as he initially had.
“I’ll be with you the entire time,” she promised the terrier. “And I’m not sure exactly what they’re planning on doing in the way of taking evidence, but I do know that it’s going to be totally painless. I promise,” Ashley added.
Mindful of the stressed-out animal, she kept up a steady, low, soothing monologue for the entire trip back to the precinct.
Once there, she parked in a completely different area than she ordinarily did when she returned the vehicle for the night. Rather than the hidden side lot, she turned her vehicle in toward the much larger front lot. The front entrance was closer to the elevator she needed to use to get to the crime scene unit’s lab. The entire facility was located in the basement of the building.
“We’re here,” she announced to the terrier as she opened the van’s rear door.
The second she did, the red-pawed terrier tried to bolt out of his temporary prison. Acting on instinct, Ashley made a quick grab for the animal’s dark green collar. Her quick reflexes caught the dog off guard and he wound up tripping over his own paws, falling backward.
She winced as she felt the poor dog’s unfortunate jolt telegraph itself through her arm.
“Now you see, if you just took it easy, that wouldn’t happen. Are you all right?” she asked, taking the small animal into her arms. He resisted at first, then seemed to surrender again, leaning against her and taking some solace from her warmth. “See? Much better, right?”
“You always talk to things that can’t answer you?”
Startled, she swung around only to find the detective she’d left behind in the apartment walking up to her. How had he gotten here so fast, and why was he so intent on harassing her?
“Number one, it’s a dog—a living, breathing entity—not a thing,” she pointed out. “And number two, there are ways to communicate other than talking.”
“He’s communicating with you via mental telepathy now?” Shane asked, not bothering to hide the amused, mocking note in his voice.
“Like with people,” she stubbornly pointed out, “a dog’s actions tell me a great deal about what he’s feeling.”
This was growing more and more unbelievable to him. Was this petite fireball really serious?
“So now we’re dealing with a dog’s feelings?” he asked sarcastically.
Instead of answering the detective’s question, Ashley had one of her own to ask him. “Don’t you have some suspect to harass, or some clues to follow up on? I wouldn’t want to take you away from your important work, Detective.”
“Right now, the best clues might very well be on that ill-tempered dog you’re holding on to,” he informed her glibly. And then he became serious. “Why don’t you drop off the mutt in the lab downstairs, and then I’ll take your official statement?”
She had no intention of complying since she’d already decided on another path. “Number one, Albert’s not a mutt, he’s a Jack Russell terrier.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged it off. To him, dogs came in just three varieties. Small dogs, medium dogs and large dogs.
“Number two, I have an alternate suggestion for you. How about I take Albert to the lab, have them do their tests and then, when they’re finished with him, I’ll come back and talk to you afterward.”
“Are you just trying to be difficult?” he asked.
The way she saw it, she was doing her best to be cooperative. “I promised Albert that I wouldn’t leave him alone at the lab.” And then she smiled innocently at Shane. “Making things difficult for you is just an added bonus.”
“You promised Albert,” he repeated incredulously, fairly certain—although, given who he was dealing with, he wasn’t positive—that she had to be kidding.
“Yes. And I don’t want him not to trust me,” she told him. She could tell by his expression what Cavanaugh thought of that, but then, the detective really wasn’t her first concern. The traumatized dog was. “If I break my word, Albert will just become that much harder to deal with.”
He stared at her, stunned. “Do you actually believe what you are saying?”
So now he was accusing her of making things up as she went along? “Of course I do,” she answered firmly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because,” he responded, “for one thing, you make that mutt sound as if he had more intelligence than the average person.”
“I told you, he’s not a mutt,” she informed him tersely. “He’s a Jack Russell terrier, and as for having more intelligence than the average person, he probably does.” She punctuated her statement with a toss of her head. This man obviously knew nothing about dogs. “Jack Russell terriers are extremely intelligent canines. They’re also rather temperamental—” she shot Shane an accusing look “—also like some people I know.”
Shane let her walk to the building entrance ahead of him, then reached around her to hold the door open for her. He saw the suspicious look that immediately crossed her face.
The woman probably thought he was trying to