Cavanaugh On Call. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter 2

      She’d never heard any talk that one of the innumerable Cavanaughs to be found within the police department was a little lacking in the cerebral area. But then, Scottie assumed that wasn’t exactly a topic that anyone would bring up if they could help it. Over the years the Cavanaughs had become the very lifeblood of the police department and since the chief of detectives was a Cavanaugh—an exceptionally fair, evenhanded man, she’d heard—it seemed only prudent to not muddy the waters if it could possibly be avoided.

      Still, in her opinion, the detective whose desk was butted up against hers seemed far too prone to just smile for no particular reason, like some sort of happy idiot.

      She supposed he could be on the level.

      What was it like, she wondered, just to be happy for no reason at all?

      Was it even possible?

      Great, only five minutes into her transfer and she was already waxing philosophical, Scottie upbraided herself. If she wasn’t careful, she was in real danger of turning into one of those people she had always disliked and thought of as useless. People who lived to contemplate absolutely nothing of consequence and went on about it ad infinitum.

      Quickly putting away the few things she had brought with her from her old desk, Scottie was acutely aware of the fact that Bryce Cavanaugh was still hovering over her like a drone trying to decide just where to finally strike.

      Scottie shut her middle drawer and focused her attention on the handsome, annoying man looming over her.

      “Is there something I can help you with?” she asked in a crisp, distant voice.

      Bryce’s smile was nothing if not affable. “No, I kind of thought it might be the other way around.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need any help,” she informed him.

      “I was just volunteering to take you to Lieutenant Handel and introduce you.” For just a fleeting second he thought he saw a silent query in the blonde’s laser blue eyes. “You know, the guy who barks out the orders and sends us out on our assignments. It’s usually protocol to report to him first thing when you join his squad.”

      Damn, she’d forgotten all about that. She hated slipping up like this. She was usually so detail-oriented. But she’d been so consumed with trying to locate Ethan and head him off—if this really was Ethan’s work—as well as getting transferred to Robbery that she’d forgotten all about the final steps involved in a department transfer.

      Scottie took a deep breath, pulling herself together as subtly as possible.

      “Right,” she lied, “I was just getting to that. I didn’t want to just leave my things all over the place when I went to check in with the commanding officer.”

      She rose and so did Bryce.

      His attention entirely on his new partner, Bryce pushed his chair back toward his desk without sparing it a single glance. It still came to rest in the right place. “Let’s go,” he said.

      “I don’t need an escort.” She thought she’d already made that clear. “Just point out his office.” Although she actually had a fairly good idea where to find the squad leader.

      Everyone was out in the open. As with the Homicide Division, the person in charge occupied a glass office located against the wall farthest from the squad room’s entrance. Originality was not exactly the department’s strong suit.

      “I was taught it wasn’t polite to point,” he told her, humor glinting his green eyes.

      He’d almost be cute if he wasn’t so damn annoying, Scottie thought. But he was annoying and, besides, she wasn’t in the market for cute. She was in the market to either put her mind at ease about Ethan or, barring that, to clear Ethan’s name and extricate him, if possible, from any kind of mess he had allowed himself to get mixed up in. “Cute” had no place in that.

      Bryce’s smile widened. “Humor me. You’ll find I can be a very useful guy,” he added, hoping that was the end of the discussion.

      Scottie had learned to work alone. A partner, especially one who apparently fancied himself as God’s gift to womankind as this one so obviously did, would only get in her way in more ways than she could count. But she didn’t want to commemorate her first day in the department by butting heads with one of the Cavanaughs—especially since it looked as if the man was going to be her partner.

      Could it get any worse? Scottie asked herself.

      The question no sooner occurred to her than the answer came to her. It could be a lot worse—if Ethan was actually involved in these break-ins.

      She stifled a shiver, trying not to go there mentally.

      “Lead the way, Useful Guy,” she told Bryce, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

      This is going to get interesting, Bryce thought, amused while he did exactly as she requested.

      Since the door to the tiny room was open, Bryce paused to knock on the office door frame then stuck his head into the lieutenant’s space. “You got a minute, Loo?” he asked.

      “Not since I signed on to take over this department,” the older man lamented.

      Pausing and saving the screen he was working on, Lieutenant Mike Handel, father of three and twenty-one-year veteran with the department, turned his chair fifteen degrees to the left and looked at the two occupants standing in his cubbyhole of an office.

      “Yes?”

      “Phelps just left,” Bryce informed his superior. Then, gesturing toward the woman beside him, he said, “And this appears to be his replacement.”

      Handel half rose in his chair in a minor show of respect. Gaunt, with what looked to be a two-day shadow, he appeared to be impressed. “Nice to know that Personnel can operate so efficiently. I don’t recall even sending down the proper request form to Human Resources for a replacement.”

      “You didn’t,” Scottie said, speaking up. “It was just serendipity. I asked for the transfer.”

      The lieutenant smiled but his expression beneath the smile was unreadable.

      “‘Serendipity,’” he repeated. “Now there’s a word you don’t hear every day. I’m Lieutenant Handel,” he told the young woman standing in front of his desk. He extended his hand to her.

      “Detective Alexandra Scott,” Scottie replied, taking the hand the man offered and shaking it.

      “Tell me, ‘Detective Alexandra Scott,’ I’m curious...” Handel asked, sitting again. “Did you request to be transferred into Robbery or out of Homicide?”

      Scottie paused only for a second before answering. “A little of both, sir.”

      Handel nodded. “Good answer—except for the ‘sir’ part. ‘Sir’