Cavanaugh Or Death. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
fun at her expense, she decided. The man probably was used to getting by on his good looks. Well, that wasn’t going to fly with her. “Doing what?” she asked.
A slight, whimsical expression passed over his almost immobile face. “As much or as little as they want me to.”
“You’re a cop.”
“You’d make a hell of a contestant on one of those quiz shows. Me, I don’t have any patience for that kind of thing. So,” he concluded, calling an end to the unofficial interrogation session, “if you’re finished asking questions—”
Moira took another two steps down, putting herself directly into his path and temporarily blocking his escape. “You were the guy chasing those two people at the cemetery, weren’t you?”
He stifled a sigh. “Obviously you’re not finished asking questions. Why are you asking questions?” he asked, pinning her with a glare meant to put her in her place.
“Because, to begin with, I’m not usually run over at six thirty in the morning—” she began.
He cut her off, pointing out the obvious. “I didn’t run you over.”
“No, but you were chasing the people who did,” she reminded him. “Why were you chasing them?” Had he caught them in the act of grave robbing or was there another reason he had been after them?
He hesitated.
She wouldn’t know that it was Davis’s habit to play it close to the vest and never reveal too much, even when the one doing the questioning was a bright-eyed, eager blonde his father might have described as being very “easy on the eyes.”
“Let’s just say that I had a couple of questions of my own for them,” he answered simply.
“Like why they were disturbing a gravesite?” she asked pointedly.
He watched her for a long, hard moment and Moira felt as if this cop—if he really was one—was looking right into her head.
She didn’t care for the way that made her feel.
“What would you know about that?” he finally asked her.
“Nothing,” Moira admitted, “which is why I’m asking questions.”
He didn’t look as if he believed her. The man had the ability to make her want to squirm even though she was telling the truth. Only her mother used to be able to do that, Moira thought in grudging admiration. It took effort to meet his stare and not give any indication of what she was feeling.
“But you knew the gravesite was disturbed.” He said it like an accusation.
Moira refused to let him get to her. Instead she pretended she was talking to an uncooperative witness.
“Because after you helped me to my feet,” she told him matter-of-factly, “I went into the cemetery to see what was going on that would make three people come tearing out of there.”
She watched his rugged, handsome face grow stern.
“You make it sound as if I was with them. I wasn’t. I was trying to find out the same thing,” he informed her somewhat grudgingly.
She could see that getting information out of this man would be just like pulling teeth—that only made her more determined to get it.
“So you don’t know what they were doing there?” she persisted.
He shook his head. “Not a clue.”
Moira paused for a moment, debating whether or not to say anything further.
Until a couple of minutes ago she was more than happy to be investigating this possible grave robbery on her own, but it never hurt to have another set of eyes on the subject. And the blond stranger’s eyes were a really intriguing shade of blue; a perfect complement to his dark blond, somewhat shaggy hair.
Moira made up her mind.
“Want to find out?” she asked him. When he didn’t answer immediately, she decided he probably thought she was putting him on, so she went on to try to convince him to join forces.
“My lieutenant’s giving me forty-eight hours to figure out why someone would be messing with a grave at the cemetery. I could use some help. Two sets of eyes are always better than one,” she added quickly, hoping that would convince him to agree to join her.
“I don’t work in your division,” he pointed out evenly.
Moira waved away the observation. “That’s no problem. Detectives get loaned out and cross department lines all the time. I could put in a request with your lieutenant—”
“Captain,” he corrected.
Moira never lost a beat. “With your captain,” she said, “and ask him to allow you to help me with the investigation.”
“What would you say was your reason?” he asked, then challenged, “Why would you need my help over someone else’s, say, like, in your own department?”
She had an answer ready for that, as well. “I could tell him that you were there at the time, that you think you saw something—”
Davis cut her off. “I saw the same thing that you did.”
Why was he fighting her on this? Didn’t he want to investigate these potential grave robbers? And if he didn’t, why didn’t he? Was there something here she was missing?
“Still,” she continued, “you were in the cemetery at the same time they were—and you chased after them, causing them to flee the premises, possibly before they could finish doing whatever it was they were doing.” The more she talked, the more she sold herself on the idea, growing excited at the same time. “So, what do you say?” she asked brightly.
His was not the face of a man who had been won over, Moira couldn’t help noticing.
“I say that I don’t even know who the hell you are.”
“Well, that’s easy enough to fix.” She put her hand out. “I’m Detective Moira Cavanaugh, robbery division.”
He made no effort to take her hand. Instead he repeated her name. “Cavanaugh.”
Moira dropped her hand. She knew adversity when she saw it. “One of the many.”
She attempted to read his expression and found it utterly impossible. It was like trying to guess at the thoughts of a glass of water. Was he one of the ones on the force who outright resented her because of her name? She would like to believe that if he was, something in his eyes would give his feelings away. Disdain. Annoyance. Something.
But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look down his nose at her. Didn’t reel off his list of imagined Cavanaugh offenses.
All he’d done was repeat her name.
So she tried again. “So, what do you say?”
He appeared unmoved. “I say that there’s probably nothing to investigate.”
“How can you be sure?” she asked. Then she qualified her question, aware that what she’d say would probably get to him. “Unless, of course, you’re the one who disturbed the grave and those two characters in black surprised you at it.”
She watched the man’s face as she delivered her last guess. But there was no telltale look to give him away.
Damn but he was a hard nut to crack.
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a wild imagination?” he asked her.
Well, at least she’d gotten a reaction out of him, Moira thought. “If cops didn’t have wild imaginations, half the crimes wouldn’t be solved. Thinking outside the box is what does it.”
“There’s thinking outside the box and then there’s thinking outside the whole house,” he countered.