Cavanaugh Vanguard. Marie Ferrarella
“With our lawyer!” Gloria called after them as they left the library.
“Well, that proves it,” Jackson said as they made their way out of the mansion under the head of security’s watchful eye.
“Proves what?” Brianna asked.
They went down the half dozen stairs from the front door to the circular driveway. “That money doesn’t buy happiness.”
Brianna shrugged. “He seemed all right.”
Jackson glanced in her direction. “I was referring to Mrs. Aurora. Every time that woman opened her mouth to talk, I had the impression that she was sucking on a lemon. A really sour lemon,” he underscored. “Almost made me feel sorry for her husband.”
“Almost?” Brianna questioned as she got into the car.
Jackson laughed shortly. “Hard to feel sorry for a man who could buy the whole state before noon if he wanted to.”
Jackson sounded as if he was sinking farther into a mood, so she tried to kid him out of it. In her opinion, he was an excellent detective, but he was really difficult to get close to. Even after being partnered with him three times, she was still trying to find the chink in his armor.
“Ah, but as you just pointed out,” she told him, “money can’t buy happiness.”
“Yeah, but it can buy a lot of other things,” Jackson replied as he started the car.
Was he going anywhere with this, or just complaining in general, Brianna wondered. “What are you getting at? What other things?”
“Like other people’s silence.” He began to drive toward the main road. “What do you want to bet that we’re not going to get any worthwhile information out of Aurora’s lawyer—or anyone else connected with this sale or the demolition, for that matter?”
Jackson sounded as if he believed a major conspiracy was going on. “Hey, the owner of the construction company was the one who called the police,” Brianna reminded him.
That didn’t change his opinion. “That was a spontaneous reaction,” he said. “Besides, some of his crew saw those bodies. And that was then. It doesn’t take all that long to talk to the involved parties and get them to see things differently, change their stories for a price, that sort of thing.”
“Don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away here?” Brianna asked him. “We’re talking about the Aurora family, not a drug cartel or crime syndicate.”
Jackson glanced at her, and she couldn’t quite read his expression. “We’ll see.”
“Why do you insist on seeing the dark side of everything?” Brianna asked.
“Why do you always insist on seeing the bright side?” he countered.
She’d expected him to come back with that and was prepared. “Because I like having faith in my fellow human being.”
His eyes on the road, Jackson made a disparaging sound. “Fastest way to be disappointed, if you ask me, is to have faith in your fellow human being.”
Brianna looked at the man driving beside her for a long moment. She knew very little about Jackson Muldare—other than he was an excellent detective—even though they had worked together before. The little she did know, by way of rumor and innuendo, was rather sad and depressing. She debated saying something to him, trying to make him come around.
But before she could open her mouth, Jackson warned, “Don’t analyze me, O’Bannon.” He never took his eyes off the winding road.
“I didn’t say a word,” she said, raising her hands in mock surrender.
“You didn’t have to,” he told her. “I can feel you thinking.”
“That’s quite a talent you have there,” she replied, a touch of mocking in her voice.
“It’s my survival instinct,” he answered in all seriousness.
While he respected the woman as a detective and, yes, maybe even liked her to some extent, he was aware of the reputation she and the rest of her family had. They never met a person they didn’t try to bring into their circle and absorb. Whether or not that person was willing didn’t seem to matter. The Cavanaughs were firmly convinced that everyone was better off as part of a group.
Hell, most of the time he didn’t even really see himself as part of the police force. He certainly didn’t feel the need to buddy up to anyone, no matter what anyone thought to the contrary.
His best bet until this was resolved, Jackson felt, was to keep the woman’s mind on the case—and off anything personal that might have to do with him.
Having finally arrived at the main road, he glanced in her direction. “Where do you want to go?”
She thought of what Winston Aurora had said just before they left his mansion. “We might as well get the family lawyer out of the way, see if he can shed some light on the sale of the decade.”
Jackson laughed shortly, although there was no smile on his face. “I can just see the posting online—‘For sale, one classic hotel. Comes with built-in tenants, no extra charge.’”
“Why, Muldare, I had no idea that you had a sense of humor.”
His expression remained unchanged and almost stoic. “I don’t.”
“That would explain a lot of things,” she responded. It occurred to Brianna that she hadn’t given him the address to the law firm. “Oh, Cahill’s office is located on—”
“I know where it is,” he cut her off. And then, in case she had any doubts about what he’d just said, he told her, “McFadden.”
Brianna just shook her head. “Muldare, you are just an endless source of surprises, you know that?”
For the first time since they’d left the hotel, she noticed just the barest hint of a smile on Jackson’s ruggedly handsome face. “I like keeping you on your toes,” he said.
What Muldare liked, she thought, was keeping her off balance.
She paused for a second, debating her next question. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she forged ahead and asked, “How’s everything?”
The simple question made no sense to him. He never liked things that made no sense. “In reference to what?”
“Your life,” she specified. Met with a stony silence, she tried again. “I’m asking you about your life, Muldare.”
“You writing a book?” he asked her.
“No,” she replied, doing her best not to get exasperated. “I’m trying to make small talk with my partner.”
“Your temporary partner doesn’t like small talk,” Jackson told her. “It serves no purpose. Hence the word small.”
He really was an exasperating man, Brianna thought. But she was far too stubborn to give up.
“Then you’re missing the point of small talk,” she told him.
“Isn’t that the lawyer’s building just up ahead to the right?” he asked, knowing full well that it was. He only asked because he wanted to divert her attention.
Aware of what he was trying to do, Brianna suppressed a sigh. This isn’t over, Muldare.
She turned her attention toward the very modern-looking building Jackson had just pointed out. The edifice was constructed out of what looked to be, at first glance, all reflective glass. At certain times of the day in the spring and fall, the building made driving by it close to impossible because of the glare. But since it was only for a few minutes each time, and the office building housed a number of important companies, no steps were taken to change anything.
“That