Cavanaugh Hero. Marie Ferrarella
insisted, immediately vetoing any objections he might have been inclined to raise. “I was the first on the scene and I’m...” she paused to search for just the right words to use in this argument she intended to win “...familiar with his...with the victim’s background. That is definitely going to prove handy.”
“This is a homicide,” Declan began.
There were a variety of reasons why she couldn’t work the case, objections he was rather certain his lieutenant would raise—unless Declan went to bat for her. He rolled the thought over in his head. He was officially minus a partner and this was not a one-man investigation—especially if it turned out that this killer had more bodies on his agenda.
Thinking it over, he decided that that would most likely prove to be the best argument to use when he spoke to his lieutenant.
“I know what it is,” Charley retorted, grinding out the words. “Look, I need to be included in this investigation—actively included,” she underscored before he found some cute little phrase to insultingly refer to her participation in this investigation.
She took a breath, knowing what she was about to do was going to make her vulnerable, but she had no option left to her. She owed it to Matt to find his killer—to avenge his death. “Look, I’ll be in your debt if you talk to your captain—”
“Lieutenant,” Declan corrected.
“Whatever.” Charley shrugged impatiently. Her eyes held his, waiting for a decision from him.
“In my debt,” Declan repeated thoughtfully. He did like the sound of that.
“In your debt,” she confirmed, her voice as devoid of emotion as she could make it. Later she’d figure out how to get around this deal with the devil she was making, but right now, she had to secure her position on the investigation.
“You want in that badly?” Declan asked, scrutinizing her closely. There were things she wasn’t telling him, but he was rather certain they would surface, by and by.
She raised her chin like a soldier about to charge into the unknown and, just possibly, not return again. “Yes.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll talk to my lieutenant, see if he can get you temporarily assigned to Major Crimes. You just might be in luck. My partner handed in his papers today and he’s leaving the department for the private sector.”
Charley nodded, but she hardly heard a word of what the other detective was saying to her. The phrase “you just might be in luck” was echoing over and over again in her head.
She was never going to be in luck again.
Her brother, her best friend, her entire family lay on the sofa, dead.
There was no such thing as luck anymore, she thought darkly.
She didn’t realize Cavanaugh was talking to her, didn’t even hear him, let alone have any of his words register until she felt someone touch her arm. Blinking she looked up, once again abandoning the haze she hadn’t even realized she’d slipped back into.
“Are you all right?” Declan was asking.
She roused herself, doing her best to look alert and generally unfazed. She had her suspicions she couldn’t quite carry off the impression that she’d come around. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
Declan began to enumerate the reasons that occurred to him. “Well, for one thing, you look like you’re a million miles away.”
Charley shrugged. She had that one covered. “That’s not exactly a pretty sight to emboss on my brain,” she replied flippantly, indicating the dead body on the sofa.
There was more going on here than that and Declan knew it. Moreover, he was fairly certain that she knew he knew it. But now wasn’t the time to get into it. He had to give her a little time to collect herself—while he did a little digging on the side into her background.
Keeping her close would turn out to be a good thing, Declan decided. Other than the fact that—strictly speaking as a man—she was even more of a knockout now than she had been back in the academy, she was obviously mixed up in this somehow. Whether merely innocently because she was acquainted with the victim or if there was more to it than that, he’d yet to decide, but she figured into all this somehow and he intended to use that to his advantage.
He was fairly confident he could sell this to the lieutenant. The man trusted his judgment and more important than that, he wanted to stay on the good side of the chief of detectives, Brian Cavanaugh, and Brian took a personal interest in all his detectives, especially those bearing the same surname as his.
All that remained for him to figure out, once the dust settled and he—or they—found the killer, was what he intended to get in exchange for letting her come on board and work with him.
This was going to be very interesting, he decided as he heard the sound of what he presumed was the crime-scene investigative unit’s vehicle approaching.
Chapter 3
Sean Cavanaugh was the first crime-scene investigator in through the doorway.
Nodding at his son and the unfamiliar woman with him—was it him, or did it seem like there was always a woman with Declan?—the head of the day investigative unit looked grimly down at the body on the sofa. The dead man appeared to be in his late twenties, early thirties. Strong, well built and undoubtedly with a good future in front of him until a bullet ended all that.
What a waste, Sean thought, setting down the case he always carefully checked and restocked after every crime-scene investigation. It was time to get to work and find answers.
“So the victim’s one of our own,” Sean said sadly, addressing the remark to both of the occupants within the room.
Charley answered first. “Yes, sir, he was. Sergeant Matthew Holt,” she told the head of CSI.
Oh, Matt, Matt, what have you gone and let happen to you? Why’d you let your guard down like that? You always told me to be careful. Why weren’t you?
Charley felt her throat closing, suddenly clogged with tears. She fought them back.
Sean nodded, taking in the information. “And you are?” he asked.
“Detective Charlotte Randolph, sir.” Charley focused strictly on answering the questions put to her. Her voice sounded almost robotlike. “I was the one who called it in.”
Sean unlocked his case and lifted the lid. “Well, Charlotte—”
“Charley,” she corrected him, forcing a faint smile to her lips. “People call me Charley.”
Matt had called her Charley when she was a little girl and the name had stuck, she thought now. Damn it, she couldn’t tear up, she couldn’t, Charley ordered herself, digging her nails into her palms.
Think of something else. Think of anything else.
Sean looked at the woman, quietly studying her. This wasn’t just a casual acquaintance of the victim. His death was affecting her.
“Well, Charley,” Sean amended. “How did you happen to be here?” he asked gently.
“I already asked her that,” Declan interjected.
“Yes, but I didn’t,” his father pointed out calmly. Both his voice and his expression were sympathetic as he continued to regard the young woman.
Behind him, two more members of his investigative team came in, both well entrenched in what their particular duties were at a scene like this. They got to work quickly and quietly, moving as smoothly as the timing belt on a well-oiled engine.
Charley took a breath before reciting her answer. “I heard he hadn’t shown up for work for a couple of days and that he hadn’t even bothered calling in. I knew that wasn’t like him, but I also knew that he was going through a