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Cavanaugh Watch
Marie Ferrarella
The last Cavanaugh to fall…Assistant district attorney Janelle Cavanaugh understood how dangerous working on a high-profile criminal case could be. But when her assignment took a deadly turn, she was given a ruggedly handsome and infuriatingly quiet bodyguard.Detective Sawyer Boone absolutely didn't want to babysit the maddening yet attractive daughter of the chief of detectives. Then Janelle's world came crashing around her, and Sawyer found himself wanting to protect her. Risking his life was part of the job. Risking his heart became quite another matter.



“I don’t need a bodyguard since I’ll be off the case,” Janelle asserted.
“Wayne’s men don’t know that,” Sawyer replied. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Except for everything,” Janelle whispered.
“The only thing that’s changed is your knowledge of the situation. The chief isn’t going to suddenly treat you differently. Your brothers aren’t.”
Janelle looked at him with suspicion. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he replied simply. “I just don’t like illogical behavior.” And he liked the lost look in her eyes even less. “Now get up off the sofa and get out of those wet clothes.”
He watched the smallest hint of a smile bloom on her lips. “Are you coming on to me, Detective?”
She’d caught him off guard with that. Maybe because he had been thinking of her in terms other than just being his assignment.
“When I do, Cavanaugh, you won’t have to ask.”
When. Not if, when.

Dearest Reader,
Here’s the last of them—the last of the cousins—Brian’s youngest, Janelle. I decided to do something a little different in this story, which is why I made Janelle…well, you’ll find out. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be sad to see this bunch go. During the last couple of years, the Cavanaughs provided a nice haven to turn to when the outside world got a little too crazy. And since I have tied up Andrew’s story, I’ve been thinking that perhaps his younger brother, Brian, needed a lady to call his own, as well. Especially now that all his kids are grown and have found matches of their own. So I’m not altogether certain this is the last you’ve heard of the Cavanaughs after all. We’ll see….
As always, I wish you much love in your lives.
Marie Ferrarella

Cavanaugh Watch
Marie Ferrarella


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

MARIE FERRARELLA
This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA
Award-winning author has written over 150 books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.
To Bobbie Cimo and books that have yet to be written.
Fondly, Marie

Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16

Chapter 1
To the untrained ear, it sounded very much like a car, backfiring. To the Cavanaugh ear, the noise sounded exactly like what it was.
A gunshot.
The shot was followed by several more rounds, fired in rapid succession.
Standing at the edge of the steps leading to the county courthouse, Janelle Cavanaugh automatically began turning in the direction of the sound, even as it was drowned out by screams and cries of distress and fear. She never completed the turn because, the next thing she knew, she was pushed to the ground so quickly the very air rushed out of her lungs.
Startled, she still had the presence of mind to protect her head as she went down. This kept a concussion from becoming part of her medical history.
A man’s body spread over the length of hers. A heavy body. Heavy, not in the sense that the person on top of her was fat, or even large boned. Just tall and muscular. And damn near overwhelming.
At first, she thought the man had been shot and was slumped over her. But then she felt his breath against the side of her face and along her neck. Whoever this lead weight was, he didn’t breathe like a man struggling for air, or even one particularly taken aback by the preceding events.
“Stay down,” the deep male voice ordered harshly when she tried to move. He made her think of a marine drill sergeant, one who took no prisoners, brooked no nonsense. She wondered if that was to mask his fear, or if he just liked bullying people.
Straining, Janelle listened. Growing up with three rambunctious brothers and seven cousins, most of whom were male, she had perfected the ability to hone in on sounds and isolate them. Amid the sounds of panic, she picked out the silence.
No more gunshots.
“Whoever was shooting’s gone,” she informed the man, who was covering her almost as closely as a lid fit over a pot. A man who, for all she knew, was just taking advantage of the situation, playing hero while he copped a feel. “So if you have the slightest notion of what’s good for you, you’ll get off me.”
“A simple ‘thank you’ will do,” the man growled in her ear.
The next moment, she felt his weight lessening. Her human shield rose to his feet and then offered her a hand. He did not offer her a smile.
Janelle felt a wave of antagonism rising up inside her. She ignored the hand, preferring to get up on her own power.
She was well-acquainted with the workings of a male mind and she could spot chauvinism. It was right there in the man’s deep blue eyes. Janelle might have tossed her head a little as she got up. She was sorry she’d worn her blond hair up. The sight of a long mane flying over a shoulder always managed to underscore the look of disdain in her eyes.
Straightening her jacket, Janelle took in a deep breath. As the youngest of the chief of detectives’ children and, at twenty-nine, the youngest assistant to the assistant district attorney in Aurora, Janelle was acutely aware that she was the target of a great deal of attention, not usually the welcomed sort.
She had, however, never been a target in the traditional sense of the word before.
You’re not one, now, she told herself. This probably has nothing to do with you.
Still, she glanced down to make sure no holes existed in her anatomy that hadn’t been there before she’d walked out through the courthouse’s electronic doors. Her body felt numb—probably from having a lumpy torso land on it—but there was no searing pain. And other than smudges of dirt, she didn’t have a mark on her.
When she looked up again, she saw that the man who’d thrown himself over her like a human blanket was doing the same. Checking her out. Slowly. She could almost feel his eyes pass coolly over her.
Janelle raised her chin. She was tempted to ask if he was looking for something. Or if he liked what he saw. But that would be opening herself up to a lot of things she didn’t have time to deal with. The word busy in the dictionary came with her picture beneath it.
“Thank you,” she said crisply, finally responding to his admonishment. She would have gotten around to thanking the lug for making like a superhero and she didn’t appreciate being prompted.
Just the barest hint of a smile curved a mouth that seemed more accustomed to frowning. “Too bad today’s not one of those scorchers. The ice might have come in handy, then.”
Ignoring the man and his impossibly broad shoulders, Janelle began to take in her surroundings. There were eight people besides herself, the Human Shield and Assistant D.A. Woods on the courthouse steps. Eight people who had all scattered when the gunshots had come. All of them were out in the open, no better than clay ducks along a shooting gallery wall. Cover was a few steps down, at street level, or several steps back, inside the courthouse building.
She moved around the Shield, uncomfortably aware that the man was watching her.
And thinking what? Who the hell was he? She came across a great many people on the job. More at Uncle Andrew’s house whenever the retired chief of police threw one of his many parties. To her recollection, she’d never seen this man before.
Because taking the initiative was what she’d been taught to do from a very early age, Janelle raised her voice and asked as calmly as possible, “Is anyone hurt?”
It took her a second to realize that Stephen Woods, the flamboyant assistant district attorney she had been working with since the beginning of the year, was just now getting to his feet.
She watched him uncertainly. The A.D.A. looked thoroughly shaken. “Stephen?”
Running his hand through hair that was just a little too black, Woods took a moment to pull himself together. He held up his hand, warding off her concern. “I’m all right, Janelle,” he assured her. “And you?” he tagged on after a beat, as if he realized he’d been remiss.
She flashed a smile, brushing off a dried leaf from her straight navy blue skirt.
“Shaken, not stirred,” she responded. Looking around, she saw that everyone began to get up. There were no sudden cries of anguish, no one screaming as if injured. In fact, the only upset had to do with frazzled nerves.
Thank God for small favors, she thought. “Looks like whoever was shooting had rotten aim.”
“Or very good aim.”
Janelle looked back at her shield. He was stripping off the tie he’d had on. Stuffing it into his pocket, he offered another explanation for the hitless drive-by shooting. “Maybe ‘whoever’ just wanted to send a message to someone.”
Since he’d left the statement dangling, Janelle pressed for an answer. “Which would be?”
There was no emotion in his eyes, she realized, and none on his chiseled features. No indication that he had just been through a harrowing experience, or even that it had left any sort of mark on him. The man obviously had ice water in his veins.
When he spoke, it could have been the voice of the shooter for all the inflection it held. “Toe the line, or next time, I won’t miss.”
Who the hell was he? Janelle wondered again. And was he tied to this somehow? “And that line would be?” she asked.
The broad shoulders beneath the tan sports jacket rose and fell carelessly. He wasn’t quoting gospel, just the world as he knew it. “Don’t testify, don’t pursue the case, and don’t dig too deep.” His eyes met hers. “Take your pick.”
It took her a second to draw her eyes away from his. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just been scrutinized. Delved into. Janelle watched the stranger unbutton his collar. It made her think of a prisoner finally throwing open the door to his cell.
The image almost made her smile since it was a familiar one. Her brothers all hated wearing ties, which seemed rather ironic, given that they did it five days a week. More if the cases they were working necessitated their presence on days off.
Vehement dislike of anything formal was probably one of the main reasons her brother Jared had been so eager to volunteer to go undercover last year. He didn’t have to be within spitting distance of a tie when he posed as a chef at a trendy restaurant suspected as a front for money laundering. His holiday from ties had gotten him a commendation when he’d nabbed the people responsible. It had also, indirectly, gotten him a wife.
That made Janelle the last of them. The last of the Cavanaughs who wasn’t married or at least engaged to be married—if she didn’t count her father. But Brian Cavanaugh had already been married once. For twenty-five years before his wife had died.
She herself had never gone that route. Had never pledged her heart to anyone, although she’d been mildly tempted once. With Barry, someone she’d met while clerking for Judge Teal, before she ever came to work for the D.A.’s office.
But whatever chances Barry might have had were aborted when he’d told her one night about wanting to “cut her out of the herd.” The “herd” was the way he’d referred to her family. According to Barry, he felt as if he were competing against her family for her affections. An only child raised by parents who, as far as she could discern, made machines seem emotional, Barry couldn’t fathom the concept of family loyalty. Moreover, he couldn’t see why Sunday dinners—where everyone who could showed up at Uncle Andrew’s specially made, oversize dining table to talk and catch up—were so important to her.
Barry had become history before they could make any. They had parted company almost two years ago, when there were still a few single Cavanaughs left.
Now there was only her. And her dad, she thought whimsically.
The next moment, Janelle mentally pulled back. Where had that even come from? Maybe it was a theme and variation of having your life flash before your eyes when you were in a life-and-death moment. The only problem with that theory was that she hadn’t really been aware of it being a life-and-death situation, until after the last of the shots had died away.
Maybe this was a delayed reaction. It was as good an explanation as any, she supposed. Not to mention, she had trouble staying in the moment. Could be shock.
Her eyes were drawn back to the tall man in the tight jeans and loose jacket who had thrown himself on top of her. He had one of those faces that made you wonder. Wonder where he’d been, who he was and what had left its mark chiseled onto the planes and angles of his face.
She made a calculated observation. “You seem to know a lot about these kinds of dire circumstances.”
If she’d hit close to home, he never showed it. “Just taking an educated guess.”
Without a word of parting, he headed down the few steps to the sidewalk and the parking lot beyond. As she watched, wondering what to make of this man who had been there for her in the right place at the right time, she noticed him going toward a beaten-up vehicle. Its blue paint fading, the car had undoubtedly seen at least one complete rotation around the odometer, if not more.
Not someone high up on the crime food chain, Janelle decided.
“Are you all right, Nelle?”
The question came from behind her but she didn’t have to turn around to see who the voice belonged to. Dax. When she did turn, she saw that her brother seemed genuinely concerned.
“I was just inside the building.” He jerked his thumb at the electronic doors as he joined her.
Behind them at least a dozen people spilled out of the courthouse to see for themselves what was happening. The cry of “Shots fired!” had echoed over more than one walkie-talkie as bailiffs and security guards hurried into the center of the crowd.
She was vaguely aware that her brother was supposed to testify before a grand jury convened in one of the rooms on the second floor. These days, she was so busy, one of the few times she got to see her family was when their paths crossed during her workday.
She knew that Dax still tended to think of her as the little girl who had trouble tying the laces on her sneakers, instead of the quick-fisted tomboy who could sucker punch him at the drop of a hat. She silently prayed he wouldn’t embarrass her in front of Stephen.
“I’m fine, Dax,” she told him. “Really. Some guy threw himself on top of me at the first sound of shots. If anything, my bones are crushed, but the rest of me is intact.”
Dax took hold of her shoulders anyway, as if he didn’t trust her to tell him the truth. She did have a way of trying to brazen things out, which went back to the years when she had tagged along after him, Jared and Troy, determined not just to keep up with them but to show them up whenever possible. She knew she’d been the thorn in their sides, but they’d all been protective of her.
When she shrugged him off, he dropped his hands to his sides. “Good. Because I sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to tell Dad that his baby girl got shot on the courthouse steps.”
“How very touching,” she quipped. “Thanks for the concern.”
“Anytime.” And then his expression grew serious as he looked over her head at the assistant district attorney. “Either one of you know of anyone who might have it in for you?”
“Other than my immediate family?” Janelle deadpanned. She followed it up with a “No,” uttered a little too quickly. She realized her mistake the moment the word was out of her mouth. If she hadn’t, the look on Dax’s face would have alerted her. She knew that look. He didn’t believe her.
At her side, Stephen shifted slightly.
Oh please, don’t pick now to be straightforward with a question. Telling Dax anything about the major case they were handling would only make her older brother worry about her. And it wouldn’t change anything. Certainly not her involvement in the case. The one that promised to be the biggest of her career so far. Perhaps the biggest one she would ever have. It was certainly big by any standards.
Anthony Wayne, the son of Marco Wayne, reputed first lieutenant within an organized crime network that had bedeviled all efforts to dismantle it for more than the last fifteen years, had been brought up on charges of possession of cocaine with intent to sell. The story went that the third-year premed student was supplementing his income with drugs, cutting into his father’s turf, as it were.
As was usually the case, the D.A’s office had come by their information purely by accident. Vice had busted a minor player who’d managed to land a decent public defender who’d finessed a deal for him. Sammy Martine, aka Sam Martinez, a two-bit criminal facing a third conviction and a lifetime of prison, had offered up Tony’s name in exchange for a more lenient sentence that still had parole attached to it. The search warrant had turned up more than a kilo of cocaine in Tony’s apartment. Vice had been waiting for Tony when he’d gotten home from classes and had arrested him. The case seemed airtight. A slam dunk that would put a feather in the hat of the D.A. and anyone else associated with the case.
Now that she’d had a couple of minutes to reflect, with the good Samaritan’s deep voice echoing in her head, she knew that this could have been a warning from Tony’s father to back off. To do whatever had to be done on their part to get the charges against Anthony dropped so that his son could once more be out on the street, a free man.
Not damn likely, Janelle silently vowed. It was going to take more than a few bullets fired into the air to intimidate anyone at the D.A.’s office, even Stephen Woods. For one thing, the district attorney was a seasoned war veteran who had actually seen combat as a young man. More than anything, he relished a good fight. And this was a good fight. And as for Woods, he saw it as his moment to shine.
Suddenly, Janelle could have sworn she saw a light dawning in Dax’s eyes.
Oh damn, he knew.
She should have known better than to hope that word about the Wayne case wouldn’t spread. It was almost a given. Apparently there was no such thing as secrets in the law-enforcement world. Somehow, things always managed to leak out, at least to their own, despite the best precautions. Wedded to the courts the way law enforcement was, there always seemed to be an overlap of information. In the interest of keeping the informant alive, the D.A.’s office had tried to keep the case under wraps until it actually came to trial.
By the look on Dax’s face, they’d failed. But she had a feeling that her brother still might be in the dark about who was going to be second chair on the case.
The position was hers.
She’d earned it. Not by coasting on her father’s name, the way some in the D.A.’s office—those who didn’t know her—maintained. But by working twice as hard as anyone else in her position. It was the same kind of situation her brothers all had faced. And her cousins, as well. While she and her brothers were the children of the current chief of detectives, five of her cousins were the offspring of the former chief of police.
Only Patrick and Patience hadn’t had to struggle out from beneath that sort of heavy mantle because their late father had never risen up through the ranks. Officer Michael Cavanaugh had been killed in the line of duty while still a uniformed patrolman. Even so, Patrick had still, on occasion, been accused of riding on his uncle’s coattails. Only Patience had eluded that insult altogether. A veterinarian, Patience was the only one of them who had a “civilian” career. The only contact she had with the police department, other than at the table or with her husband, was when she cared for the force’s K-9 squad.
Janelle had been given the position of second chair on the Wayne case a little more than two weeks ago as a reward for all the long hours and extensive work she’d put in since she had come to the D.A.’s office.
When Stephen Woods had called her into his office to tell her the news her first impulse had been to call home. To tell her father, her brothers, her cousins that she was finally getting somewhere.
Her second impulse had to do with family, as well. It had to do with shielding them because, even though they were all on the force, they tended to worry about one another. Because they all knew what could happen, knew all the ins and outs, all the chances that were taken and the odds of coming out unscathed.
It made surviving within the framework of the family difficult sometimes, especially as a female. But she knew she would rather struggle within that framework than live tranquilly outside of it. Being a Cavanaugh, living up to the family’s standards, was of paramount importance to her. It always had been.
Dax frowned. “This is all about the Wayne case, isn’t it?” It was a rhetorical question, posed to the A.D.A. rather than to her.
“Might be,” Woods allowed.
“Or it might be an argument that got out of hand. Some guy getting even with someone who stole his girl,” Janelle offered quickly, hoping to throw her brother off. “You won’t know until you question everyone here.” To make her point, she indicated the vehicle that her so-called protector was just about to enter. The dark blue sports car was old, but a classic. And small. From where she stood, getting into it didn’t look as if it would be easy for him. Well over six feet tall, the man seemed almost as big as the car. “Including the guy who’s just getting into that awful heap.”

Chapter 2
Shifting slightly, Dax looked to where his sister pointed. He grinned and he shook his head.
“That’s one person I wouldn’t need to question in connection with this shooting if I were the investigating officer.”
In the distance, the sound of sirens was heard. Obviously someone had already called 911.
There went lunch, Janelle thought, resigned.
She glanced at Dax, curious. What did he know that she didn’t? It had always been that way between her and her siblings. Each always wanted to get a jump on the others, be the first to know, to do, to win. A sense of competition pulsated within all of them. And none so much as her.
“Why wouldn’t you question him?” she asked.
Dax looked at the man finally getting into the vintage muscle car. “Because if he thought the shots were meant for him, he wouldn’t be looking that complacent.”
Janelle turned around and shaded her eyes, squinting as she peered into the parking lot and tried to make out his face. She’d seen more expression on the surface of a cut-glass vase.
She laughed shortly. “That’s complacent?”
“Yeah.”
She dropped her hand to her side and turned back to her brother. A squad car pulled up at the front of the courtyard and two uniformed officers emerged. Woods dropped back to speak to them.
And the questioning begins, she thought. Out loud she asked, “You know him?”
There’d been something about the man when she’d initially looked at him, an aura of danger mixed with an edginess close to the surface. She could readily believe that he was part of the same criminal network as Marco Wayne. But her brother didn’t actually know anyone like that any more than she “knew” Tony Wayne. She had only met him once, at his arraignment. He’d looked like a scared kid and she’d almost felt sorry for him.
Dax nodded to one of the officers who looked his way as he answered his sister’s question. “I know him. By sight and by reputation.”
She tried not to let her impatience get the better of her. Dax didn’t make it easy. “By reputation?” she echoed. “What is he, Zorro?”
He was doing this on purpose, she thought, dispensing information at the breakneck speed of an arthritic snail. When they’d been kids, this would have ended up with her bringing him down and sitting on him until he told her what she wanted to know. She doubted if Woods or the two officers would be very understanding if she tackled her brother on the steps of the county courthouse.
He laughed. “You hit closer than you think.”
“Dax—” There was a warning note in her voice.
“That’s Sawyer Boone.” She looked at him blankly. The name meant nothing to her. “Detective Sawyer Boone,” Dax elaborated. “He used to work undercover—like Zorro.” He laughed to himself. “First time I’ve ever seen him clean-shaven.”
“Detective,” Janelle repeated. “As in, the police force and not a P.I.?” Her brother nodded. “That would explain it.”
“Explain what?”
She unconsciously rotated her shoulder. It felt a little sore. She had no doubt that by tomorrow, it would feel a lot sore. As probably would other parts of her anatomy. “When the shooting started, he threw himself on top of me.”
Dax nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “He might have saved your life.” They wouldn’t know until the crime scene investigators determined where all the bullets had ultimately landed.
“He might have broken my neck,” she countered. The man had been heavy. And quick. “Let’s just call it a draw.” She saw Dax shake his head at her. “What?” she asked.
“Someday you’re going to have to admit that you can’t single-handedly conquer everything.”
Janelle patted his face several times with a hand that grew progressively heavier. “I’ll let you know when that someday comes. You can bring the noisemakers and the party hats.”
He laughed. “Count on it.” As he spoke to her, Dax watched the officers take down information from the people who had been caught in the hail of bullets. “You’re going to need protection.”
The statement had come out of nowhere. Janelle refused to entertain the words seriously. “From Detective Boone?”
Dax wasn’t smiling now. “From Wayne and his organization.”
Oh no, don’t you start worrying on me. It was bad enough she knew that their father was concerned about the element of people she dealt with. She didn’t need this from her brother.
“We still haven’t proven that he was even behind this,” she insisted.
“Better to err on the side of caution—”
Caution was the last word she would have associated with Dax. When he was nine, he’d wanted to leap off the roof with a blue towel tied around his neck to see if he could fly. She’d been the one to run off to get their father before Dax could turn his dream into a reality.
“Since when?” she scoffed.
“Since I found out that the application form for getting a new sister was ten pages long,” he cracked. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Besides, I don’t want a new sister. I’ve spent too much time breaking you in. You’re one of a kind, Nelle. They don’t make them like you anymore. Thank God.” Hooking his arm around her neck, he kissed the top of her head. “You need a bodyguard,” he told her simply. “You and Woods as well as the witness he has stashed away.”
So he knew about that, too. God, was nothing sacred? She supposed that most of the department had to know by now. And since, Internal Affairs would readily tell her, not every single member could be counted on to take the Boy Scout oath in complete sincerity, that meant that the so-called “secret” about bringing Tony Wayne to trial was an open one.
Had to happen sooner or later. She was just hoping for later.
Janelle pressed her lips together. As with everything else, she’d make the best of it. What other choice did she have?
But a bodyguard, well, that was another matter. She was not about to readily accept that as her fate. Not without a fight.
She glanced over toward the bottom of the concrete steps and saw that Woods was finished giving his statement to the officer. Her turn next, she supposed.
“If worst comes to worst, you and the family can all hold hands and rally around me,” she quipped. “Until then, I have a case to prepare for.” Which would happen right after she gave her statement, Janelle thought. She paused just long enough to tug on his sleeve in order to bring him down to her level. As he inclined his head, she kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, big brother. See you around.”
“See you around,” he echoed.
About to walk toward the officer closest to her, Janelle stopped in her tracks and turned back to look at Dax. She didn’t like his tone. She’d been around him far too long not to be able to pick up on the nuances in her brother’s voice. There was an underlying promise in it that she knew she wasn’t going to be happy about. Did he plan on being her bodyguard? Or was he somehow going to be instrumental in finding a bodyguard for her?
Rather than call him on it, she let it go. Maybe if she ignored the threat, it would go away.
The next few minutes were spent telling the tall officer, Liam O’Hara, what she’d seen right before the shots. She had little to offer because she’d been engaged in conversation with the A.D.A. just before the gunman or gunmen had started shooting.
Officer O’Hara smiled politely as he made notations, then let her go. She almost flew down the steps to join Woods. She had a lot to do today before she could lock up her desk and drag her weary and progressively sorer body home tonight. If they were going to nail Tony Wayne for the crimes he was accused of, she had to make sure the nails were all straight and still available. Neither Woods nor their boss, D.A. Kleinmann, wanted any surprises at the trial once it got underway.

Ezra Kleinmann was the kind of man everyone noticed the moment he entered a room. There was nothing meek, nothing quiet about him. His mere presence spoke volumes even if he didn’t utter a word. He had a bearing about him that proclaimed he was someone to be reckoned with. And never to be underestimated or crossed.
For one thing, he stood six foot five. For another, he carried a formidable amount of weight on that frame. For the most part, this weight was evenly distributed, but no one was ever going to think of the once-famed criminal lawyer as being undernourished. When he spoke, it was with a booming voice and authority. And no one, if they wanted to advance within the offices of the district attorney, disregarded what he had to say. Ever.
But the moment she walked into his office and saw the look on Kleinmann’s face, a part of Janelle began to rebel, expecting the worst. She knew something was coming. Something she wasn’t going to like. Obviously someone—she was betting on Dax—had called the district attorney and informed him of the shooting incident before they had ever reached their destination. The moment she and Woods had returned to the building where the government offices were housed, they’d been immediately summoned to Kleinmann’s office.
Sitting at the custom-made desk he’d brought with him when he’d first assumed office more than eighteen years ago, Kleinmann placed his wide palms on the edge of the blotter and leaned forward. His small, dark eyes managed to pin both of them at the same time. Daring them to speak anything but the truth.
“I heard there was a shooting.”
“A drive-by,” Janelle interjected, speaking up before Woods could confirm the D.A.’s statement and add his own dramatic embellishments.
Woods’s eyes shifted toward her. “That’s what they usually do when they drive by—unless they’re tourists.”
Kleinmann’s thin lips just barely folded themselves into a smile. Playing the moment out, he steepled his fingers, then looked over them at the two people he had in his office. To the casual observer, he appeared calm. Janelle had learned by experience that nothing could be further from the truth. He was worried about them, she thought. God, she hoped he wasn’t going to take her off the case. He was a Southern gentleman down to the bone and just politically incorrect enough to do it “for her own good.”
After a moment, he made his ruling. “You two need bodyguards.”
Woods nodded, looking relieved as he smiled. Janelle felt relieved, but for a different reason. At least this was better than being taken off the case. But she was far from happy about the turn of events. She hated nothing more than having her space invaded without an invitation.
She did her best to divorce the distress and annoyance she felt from her voice. “Is that really necessary, sir?”
Everyone knew that Kleinmann viewed himself as always being fair. They also knew he didn’t like having his wishes questioned. “I believe it is.”
The battle lines were drawn and she was on the other side. Janelle softly blew out a breath, knowing that she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Haiti of winning this if it turned into any sort of debate.
“All right, I could probably get one of my brothers to…” But Kleinmann was shaking his large, sparsely haired head. His eyes were firmly fixed on her face, as if he were waiting for her to stop talking. Janelle backtracked. “What?”
The D.A. was well acquainted with her pedigree, knew most of her relatives by name and reputation. “You need someone around all the time,” Kleinmann told her matter-of-factly. “Your brothers all have their jobs to do within their different departments. Besides, they’re too close to you. You’d probably find a way to wrap them around your little finger.” He forced a smile to his lips. On the whole, smiles did not arrive there naturally. “Don’t worry, Ms. Cavanaugh, I’ve already got this covered.”
Which was precisely why she was worried, Janelle thought. She did her best to keep her thoughts from her face. “So fast?”
“You don’t get to be district attorney by sitting on your duff, waiting for your shoe polish to dry,” he informed her tersely. His eyes shifted to include Woods as he continued. “And I don’t want word getting around that the D.A.’s office can’t take care of their own.” His reasoning was simple. “If we let our own people become walking targets, how does that look if we tell a witness they have nothing to fear? That we’ll protect them? Our credibility will go down the drain and we’ll be out of business in no time. I have no desire to go back to private practice,” he informed them glibly. His voice echoed about the spacious office, an office that was more than twice the size of any other on the floor. “I’m too old to start all over again.”
As if he believed that, Janelle thought. She made the obligatory protest, knowing the D.A. expected it. “You’re not too old, Ezra.”
Kleinmann paused for a moment, as if enjoying the banter. “And you’re not too subtle, Janelle.” His eyes grew serious as he got back to business. “You’re getting bodyguards, both of you,” he underscored, looking at Janelle. “Along with Martinez or Matine, or whatever he wants to call himself. I’ve already put the requisition in.”
Going through channels would take time. Janelle felt a ray of hope. “The wheels of justice grind slowly.”
With any luck, she thought, by the time the bodyguards were assigned, the D.A. would change his mind about their necessity. She absolutely hated the idea of having a shadow dogging her every movement. Pointing things out to her that even a hopeless simpleton would know.
She found herself wishing that one of her brothers could be given the assignment. But now that she thought of it, neither Dax nor Troy nor Jared handled that kind of thing. Her father would have to be brought into this in order to make the arrangements.
God, that was the last thing she wanted, to bring her father into this. He’d want to wrap her in a six-foot cocoon.
Like a man engaged in a mental game of chess, one that he was winning, Kleinmann permitted himself a fleeting smug look. “Not this time.” The smug look widened to resemble a smile. “Not when you know who to call.”
And she had no doubt that the D.A. knew exactly who to call. And how to get someone to do what he wanted when he wanted it. A great many people in Aurora owed him favors. She knew damn well that any kind of protest voiced on her part was useless and might even work against her. You didn’t go far in this office if you got on D.A. Ezra Kleinmann’s bad side. And you got there one of two ways. By consistently losing cases or by going up against him.
She knew enough to pick her battles carefully. Her father had taught her that. It was one of the first lessons she’d ever learned.
Brian Cavanaugh had taught her something equally important, as well: how to lose graciously. Not that losing had ever been a large factor in Brian Cavanaugh’s professional life. Personally, however, was another story. He’d lost his wife of twenty-five years, a woman he had looked forward to spending the rest of his natural life with. The loss had been difficult to come to terms with. It caused him to teach his children to be prepared for the worst—just in case.
This was one of those times to step back from the line of scrimmage. Janelle forced a smile she in no way felt. Protesting being assigned a bodyguard, someone who would perforce intrude into the fabric of her life, imposing his will over hers, might be useless, but no one said she had to like it.
“How soon are we getting the bodyguards?” Woods asked.
He sounded eager and relieved, Janelle thought. Relieved that he didn’t have to appear as if he were less than manly because he really wanted someone watching his back until this case was over.
She knew that had been on the assistant D.A.’s mind for the last half hour. It had been apparent in their conversation as they’d returned from the courthouse. She’d asked him several questions regarding the finer points of some of the procedures they were implementing. The answers she’d gotten had been rendered by a man whose thoughts were severely distracted and scattered.
Growing up with three brothers had made her competitive. It had also made her motherly on occasion. She felt the A.D.A’s discomfort, both over the threat and at his reaction to it.
Changing direction, she’d abruptly asked, “Wasn’t that Adam Shepherd I saw outside the courthouse just before the gunshots went off?”
Her question had sliced through the fog and Woods had looked at her. “Yes.”
She grinned. Shepherd was a highly sought after divorce lawyer famed for getting his clients exorbitant alimony settlements.
“So maybe the shooter was a disgruntled ex-husband looking to get revenge because Shepherd had raked him over the coals.”
Woods had looked at her then, a tired smile on his lips, as if to tell her that he knew what she was up to. “I don’t think so, Janelle. But it’s a nice theory.”
“Might be more than a theory. People surprise you sometimes.”
He’d nodded, looking directly at her. “Yes, they do.”
Now, without waiting for further comment or questions, the D.A. pressed a button on his telephone console. “Doris, send the two gentlemen in.”
A soft, disembodied voice informed him, “There’s only one here, sir. A Detective Novak.”
Kleinmann frowned. “Where’s the other?”
“Hasn’t gotten here yet, sir,” Doris told him. “But he did call in,” she added, “said he’d be here shortly. Had something to do first.”
The frown on Kleinmann’s brow deepened as he released the button.
Not that the D.A. said anything outright, but Janelle could see that the vein in his neck was a bit more prominent than usual. That was always an indication for those who worked with the D.A. to tread lightly until the vein returned to its normal size.
The door to the D.A.’s inner office opened and an average-looking man with dark brown hair and a nondescript, slightly wrinkled suit entered.
Detective Novak, Janelle thought.
The man looked vaguely familiar. Their paths had crossed somewhere along the line, she assumed. When their eyes met, she nodded at him.
The detective went on to extend his hand to the D.A. “John Novak, sir.”
Kleinmann took the hand that was offered. “Detective Novak, this is Assistant District Attorney Stephen Woods. It’ll be your job to see that not a single one of the many hairs on his head come to any harm. That goes for the rest of his body, as well.” The D.A. permitted himself a very dry chuckle.
The chuckle was blotted out by the sound of a door being opened and then closed in the outer office. A quick exchange of voices followed. The look on Novak’s face indicated that he recognized the voice of the person who had entered.
Her bodyguard, probably.
Bracing herself, Janelle turned around. Only to discover that she wasn’t quite braced enough. Walking into the D.A.’s office was the very same man who had thrown himself on top of her less than an hour ago.
This day, she thought grimly, just kept getting worse and worse.

Chapter 3
Sawyer made no attempt to mask his displeasure, no attempt to allow his facial muscles to relax out of their current frown.
Other than undercover work when it was necessary, sometimes even to save his own life, Sawyer didn’t believe in lying. The way he saw it, looking pleased right now would have been lying.
He didn’t much like the idea of being asked to babysit. Which was how he saw his new assignment. He was too old for that and too experienced to be wasted on a menial detail. And to Detective Sawyer Boone, a not-so-recent LAPD transplant, that was exactly what being a so-called bodyguard for some bit of fluff currently attached to the district attorney’s office was: the job of glorified babysitter.
Sawyer wasn’t looking to be, nor did he want to be, a glorified anything. He wanted to be on the streets, working undercover. Facing life-and-death situations where maybe, just maybe, death would someday be the viable alternative.
That way, he wouldn’t have to do it himself. Wouldn’t have to actually take his own life. There didn’t seem to be another way to end the unending onslaught of nightmares. The nightmares that haunted him both waking and sleeping. Nightmares about Allison.
Allison had been senselessly wiped out less than a month before their wedding, killed because she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. While two worthless pieces of scum had been trying to even some imaginary score.
She’d been in her car, stopped at a light, when she’d been caught by a stray bullet during a drive-by shooting. A gang member had peppered a rival gang member’s home. And snuffed out his Allison’s life.
If Allison hadn’t been so damn altruistic, if she hadn’t been part of that free legal aid firm, if she’d just gone into practice with that Beverly Hills firm that had wanted her instead of following in her father’s foot steps, she would be here today.
Or rather, Sawyer thought, his expression dark as he looked from one person to the other in the D.A.’s office, he would have been there. With her. Living with Allison in Southern California instead of here, being asked to do stand guard over the chief of detectives’ little darling because the woman had been spooked by the sound of gunfire.
His superior, Lieutenant Richard Reynolds, had been waiting for him when he’d gotten back from testifying in court. At first, he’d thought the man had been just making conversation, informing him of what he’d just heard had happened. Maybe even waiting for Sawyer to fill in the details. But it had very quickly become apparent that he was being given an assignment. The only kind of assignment he would have turned down. If he’d been given a choice, which he hadn’t.
The incident had taken place less than an hour ago and already the call for bodyguards had been put out and filled. No paperwork or red tape to impede anything.
Apparently, he thought cynically as his eyes washed over the petite blonde in the navy suit, when necessary, things moved fast within the halls of the Aurora police department.
Protesting the assignment would do no good. He’d just wrapped up a case and was considered free. The fact that he didn’t have a relationship of any sort with the woman or any of her family was considered a plus.
“She’s a mite headstrong, I hear,” Reynolds had told him. “All the Cavanaugh women are,” he’d added after lowering his voice. “The D.A. requested someone she couldn’t bully into her way of thinking.”
Well, that was him, all right. He wasn’t about to be bullied by anyone, least of all a woman who thought her name earned her privileges.
Sawyer took slow, careful measure of her now, the way he would have any assignment he’d been given, any person he encountered on the job. Survival usually depended on observation.
He had to admit that, at about five-four, with no spare meat on her bones and honey-blond hair worn up and away from her face, the woman was fairly easy on the eyes. But it wasn’t his eyes that concerned him. He had no desire to be a glorified babysitter under any circumstances and, while the crime organization in question was a formidable one, he was of the personal opinion that what had happened in front of the courthouse an hour ago was an isolated incident, meant as a warning, nothing more.
The man Marco Wayne bore allegiance to was not about to waste money or manpower getting into an unofficial war with the members of the Aurora police department or the district attorney’s office over some lowlife, even if that lowlife was Marco’s son. Marco Wayne had to be acting on his own. And treading a very fine line. In order not to do anything that would put him in disfavor with his boss, or jeopardize his own life, he would have only done something to shake up the D.A.’s office, nothing more.
And the sooner he was done with this assignment, the better, Sawyer thought.
Janelle’s eyes met the detective’s. The connection was instantaneous. She could read his every thought. And it wasn’t flattering.
Janelle squared her shoulders.
Damn but this man thought he could walk on water. It was evident in his eyes, in his expression, in his very gait as he strode into the office. If anything, the man looked even more surly now than he had when he’d pushed her down onto the pavement.
And covered her body with his own, she reminded herself.
Even at her most annoyed, she always tried to be fair. And the truth was, she supposed, she owed this man. She could have been seriously hurt, or worse, if he hadn’t shielded her.
Only in the recesses of her mind did she admit to herself that she wasn’t the superwoman she pretended to be. Janelle frowned. Being somewhat in debt to him, however unintentionally and however unwillingly, meant that she couldn’t protest too loudly about his being assigned to be her bodyguard.
Damn, she thought again.
She shifted her eyes over toward the man whose name appeared on her paychecks.
“Do you really think this is necessary?” she asked, trying to appeal to his legendary frugal nature. This kind of thing cost the department more than just a little money. “Maybe we’re overreacting.” She said we and hoped that it wasn’t overly evident that she actually meant that he was overreacting.
Kleinmann beckoned her over to his desk. Feeling a little foolish, bracing herself for a lecture, she came forward. Her boss lowered his voice, as if to keep it from carrying to the other three occupants of the room. Of them, she noticed that only Woods seemed to be straining a little to hear what was coming next.
Her detective looked like a stone statue. He wasn’t even blinking. Dutifully, Janelle leaned in toward the D.A.
“Your father would cut off my head and have it mounted on a pike in the middle of the city if I ignored this incident and then something wound up happening to you.”
“If anything did—which it won’t,” she interjected, “I’d take the blame, tell him it was my fault. That I refused protection.”
The look on Kleinmann’s face told her she might as well have been reciting The Iliad in the original Greek for all the impression she was making on him with her rhetoric. Kleinmann had made up his mind and there was no budging him.
Having her father as important as he was in the hierarchy of the police department was at times more of a curse than a blessing. She was proud of him, but there was no denying that she’d put up with her share of grief because of who he was, as well. Her own pride and determination had never allowed her to take advantage of the Cavanaugh name, but that never stopped people from thinking she’d advanced quickly because she was the daughter of the chief of detectives and had prevailed on her father to fast-track her.
It was damn frustrating. She expressly didn’t mention anything that went on in the D.A.’s office whenever she did get together with her father.
There were times like this, when she was made to pay the price of nepotism without ever having reaped any of the rewards, that almost made her wish she had taken advantage of the Cavanaugh name. She knew that the thinking was, with so many of her relatives embedded in law enforcement, and her cousin Callie even married to a judge, there wasn’t anything she couldn’t get done, no ticket not taken care of.
Except that she didn’t work that way, hadn’t been raised that way. None of them had.
Virtue is its own reward, her father had taught her. It had to be, she thought now, because nothing else sure as hell was.
Janelle struggled to suppress a resigned, less-than-thrilled sigh. Didn’t matter if she was raised that way or not, she was going to wind up being made to pay for just having the Cavanaugh name.
Okay, she could make the best of this, Janelle told herself. Or at least be civil.
Turning toward the man fate and the D.A. seemed determined to saddle her with, she put her hand out to him. “So, I guess you and I are going to be spending some time together.”
He looked down at her hand and after a beat shook it once before dropping it. The man acted as if any contact outside of the line of duty was distasteful to him. “I guess so.”
Oh, this is just going to be a barrel of laughs, Janelle thought.
And how was it possible, unless you were some sort of a trained ventriloquist, to utter words without moving your lips? she wondered, dropping her hand to her side. Her unwanted bodyguard seemed to be communicating through clenched teeth and barely moving his lips. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that he was using mental telepathy. Except that it was obvious to her that she wasn’t the only one who had heard the deep, rumbling voice.
She found it difficult to keep her annoyance under wraps, but she was determined not to make any undue waves. When she’d signed on to the D.A.’s office, she’d known it wouldn’t be all fun and games, that there would be times she’d find trying, but she’d just assumed it would have to do with the workload and hours spent, not with having to put up with Darth Vader’s better-looking cousin.
Her eyes shifted toward Kleinmann. The man looked rather satisfied with himself for some reason. Sure, why not? He wasn’t the one who had to put up with this tall, hulking shadow.
“How long?” she asked.
“Until the trial is over.” Kleinmann appeared to consider his answer, then added, “Maybe longer.”
Janelle’s eyes widened. Was this some kind of torture devised for assistants to the A.D.A.? Like an initiation for a fraternity?
She glanced over toward the assistant district attorney, hoping to get an inkling of support. But Woods didn’t seem put off by the idea of having a constant companion wherever he went. Well, maybe he didn’t mind, but she did. A line had to be drawn somewhere, didn’t it?
“Longer?” she echoed, staring at Kleinmann. “Why longer?”
“Retaliation—for when we do convict,” he added in a voice that refused to entertain the possibility of anything less than a conviction. No one liked to lose, but Kleinmann had made it known that he passionately hated it.
“Maybe I can get his lawyer to accept a plea,” Woods suggested.
Kleinmann shook his head. “I doubt it. Not after he hears about the attempted shooting. He’ll feel as if his side has all the marbles.”
“It’s not about marbles,” Janelle interjected. “It’s about justice.” She saw Sawyer roll his eyes. Was that contempt she saw on his face, or just badly displayed amusement? She turned on him, her patience at an end. “What? You have something to say? Why don’t you say it out loud, Detective Boone, so that the rest of us can share in your wisdom?”
He’d never liked being singled out, not when he’d worked in L.A. and not here. He was one of those people who wanted no attention, craved no spotlight. He just wanted to do his job and go home.
“Nothing,” he bit off.
She had to be satisfied with that. Until after the D.A. had dismissed them from his office. Once outside Kleinmann’s door and clear of his secretary, a woman who had the hearing range of a bat, Janelle abruptly stopped walking and turned to the man at her side.
“Why did you roll your eyes back there?”
She’d thrown him off by stopping and by the antagonistic tone in her voice. He had no desire to engage her in conversation or to have any exchange of ideas. This woman was his assignment, just like infiltrating a local drug dealer’s gang, following the trail to the top, had been his assignment, the one that had brought him to court this morning.
Except that with the latter, he’d assumed a persona, had come up with a speech pattern, a background for himself, a made-up life he’d stepped into. Here, he was supposed to be Sawyer Boone, a detective on the APD, and he didn’t do all that well as himself. Because being himself meant sharing, something he’d only done successfully once in his life, and she was gone.
“You don’t want to know,” he told her.
Now there was a chauvinistic answer if ever she’d come across one. Raised with and around as many males as she had been, Janelle still had never experienced chauvinism in its truest sense. She was tested as a person, as a Cavanaugh, not as a female in a male world.
“If I hadn’t wanted to hear the answer, Detective Boone,” she told him evenly, “I wouldn’t have asked the question.”
He watched her for a long moment, as if he was weighing something. And then he said, “Because if you think any of this is about justice, you’re more naive than you look.”
Her eyes narrowed as she asked, “And just how naive do I look?”
Sawyer snorted. “Like you could be their poster girl.”
Normally, being referred to as a girl didn’t rankle her. She had no problem with the word because she had no problem with her self-esteem. And anyone who knew her knew what kind of mettle she was made of. But for some unknown reason, everything out of this man’s mouth, including probably hello, promised to rankle her. Clear down to her bones.
She didn’t waste her breath denying his statement or reading him the riot act because of it. She had a bigger question on her mind. “If you find this assignment beneath you, why didn’t you protest when you were given it?”
“I did,” he answered simply. Sawyer led the way to her office on the other end of the building. He obviously already knew the layout of their floor, she thought. “I got overridden.”
“That makes two of us,” she told him. Sawyer looked at her and she could have sworn she detected a hint of surprise in his eyes. “I guess then,” she continued, “this is something we both will just have to suffer through.”
Sawyer said nothing. He barely nodded in response to her last statement, hiding his surprise that someone he’d just naturally assumed had been spoiled within an inch of her life would balk at being offered protection from the “bad guys.”
Unless something wasn’t kosher here. Maybe this was a publicity stunt on her part to attract attention to the case. Maybe she was after a change of venue and this sort of thing could just do it. Not unheard of.
“For the record,” she said as they reached her office door, “I don’t want you here as much as you don’t want to be here.”
For the first time since he’d rescued her, the corners of his mouth curved up just a fraction. “I really doubt that, Cavanaugh.”
Without making a comment, Janelle opened the door and walked into the office she affectionately called her cubbyhole. It was no more crammed and cluttered now than it had been before she’d left for the courthouse this morning. But somehow having an extra body with her cut down on her space. She hadn’t minded when Woods had given the tiny office to her. She didn’t require much.
But there was hardly any room within the enclosure to stuff in another book, much less a warm body that was larger than hers by a long shot.
She glanced around, trying to see the area through his eyes. “I really don’t know where you’re going to hang around,” she finally said.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of me. And you,” he added after a slight pause.
She felt as if she were being put on notice. And she didn’t like it. Didn’t like not feeling in charge. Control was a very, very important thing to her, something she had had to fight for ever since she could remember. That, and respect. It had been awarded within her household, but not automatically. You received respect when you earned it. This new speed bump in her life was going to be one hell of a challenge to surmount.
She indicated a chair that was against the wall. “I guess you can sit there.”
Sawyer grabbed the top of the chair, swinging it over to the side of the desk without saying a word. He planted the chair, not himself.
Just then, the phone rang and she almost sighed with relief. Something to draw her attention away from how very crammed and how very close the lack of space within the room made everything feel.
Hand on the receiver, she cleared her throat before raising it to her ear. Her voice was crisp when she spoke. “Cavanaugh.”
There was silence on the other end. For a minute, she thought whoever was calling had dialed a wrong number. But there was no hurried hang-up, no muttered apology, no uncertain voice asking to speak to someone she’d never heard of.
She tried again. “Hello?”
This time, someone did speak. “Is this Janelle Cavanaugh?”
The deep resonant voice vibrated against her ear. She listened closely, wondering if this was one of her brothers or male cousins, playing a trick on her. “Yes, this is Janelle Cavanaugh.”
There was another pause, as if whoever it was on the other end of the line was absorbing her voice. “He’s innocent.”
She frowned, definitely not in the mood to play along. “Who is this?” she demanded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sawyer become alert.
“This is Marco Wayne,” the man on the other end informed her. His voice was strong, but laced with emotion. That surprised her. “My son is innocent.”
“Mr. Wayne—” The moment she said her caller’s name, Sawyer drew closer to her. The look on his face was hard, as if he expected a bomb to be transmitted across the telephone wires. Annoyed by the lack of privacy, she turned her body away from him, only to have him circle in front of her.
Great, she thought, there was no getting away from him. This was not going to work.
“Mr. Wayne,” she repeated, “this is highly inappropriate. You can’t be calling me about this. About anything,” she added quickly before he could protest.
If she meant to cut him off, she failed. “I’m calling because you’re involved in this trial and I want you to understand that my son had nothing to do with what he is accused of.”
“If he didn’t do it,” she said for form’s sake, because everything they had pointed to Tony’s guilt, “he’ll be proven innocent.”
“Not with the evidence that was planted against him,” Wayne countered. “He was framed.”
She wasn’t about to stand here, arguing with the man. “I’m hanging up now, Mr. Wayne.”
There was an urgency resonating in the voice against her ear. “I just want what every father wants for his son—a fair chance.”
Janelle pressed her lips together. She knew damn well that she should be disconnecting the call. Every rule demanded it. This was highly unprofessional and unethical. But although she willed it, her hand did not replace the receiver in the cradle, did not disconnect the call. She couldn’t seem to help herself.
The man sounded sincere.
She supposed that was why he’d gotten as far as he had, being able to get to people, to bend them to his will. One way or another.
She tried once more. “And you’ll get it. The D.A.’s office has no intentions of railroading anyone, Mr. Wayne. You son is going to be given a fair trial. You have my word on it.”
The man on the other end was not finished. “Talk to that scum of a witness again. He’s lying. If you offer him a deal, he’ll say anything you want him to.” There was a pause. “Tell him that Marco Wayne will make sure he burns in hell if his son is harmed.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “I’m not a conduit for your threats, Mr. Wayne.”
It was the last thing she said to the man before Sawyer disconnected her.

Chapter 4
For a second, everything seemed to freeze around her. Janelle didn’t believe what had just happened, what she was seeing. Sawyer with his finger pressed on the black telephone cradle, pushing the button down flat. Disconnecting her from the man she’d been speaking to.
Who the hell did this jerk think he was?
It didn’t matter that she was about to terminate the call herself, that she hadn’t wanted to talk to Wayne in the first place. All that mattered was that this so-called bodyguard she neither wanted nor felt she needed had decided to take it upon himself to exercise his will over hers.
He had a lot to learn about dealing with a Cavanaugh.
It was all Janelle could do to keep from throwing the receiver she was holding at his head. Instead, she threw it down hard into the cradle. The impact caused it to bounce back out. She glared as Sawyer replaced it. He was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.
She swung around to face him. There were less than two inches of viable space between them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Maybe it was his imagination, but he could almost feel the heat sizzling between them. This was one angry woman. Not to mention reckless.
“Saving you from improper conduct charges,” Sawyer replied mildly. He paused, as if thinking the matter over. “Maybe even saving your butt.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I can take care of my own butt, thank you,” she informed him icily. “The only thing your job calls for is blending in with the scenery and, on the off chance that some time during our hopefully short association there might be a bullet hurtling toward me, throwing yourself in front of me so that the bullet gets you and not me. However, until that bullet does come hurtling toward me, I would be grateful if you just find a way to fade into the shadows—and keep your hands at your sides.”
Stripping off his sports jacket, he hung it over the back of his newly acquired chair. The muscles on his chest and arms seemed to have a life of their own as they rippled and flexed. Janelle tried not to notice, but they were even more impressive than the holster and weapon he wore strapped to his upper torso.
“You through?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.
Janelle lifted her chin, a fighter not about to give an inch. “For now.”
“Talking to Wayne like that is enough to get you thrown off the case and most likely out of the D.A.’s office if anyone finds out—unless ‘Daddy’ can pull some mighty strong strings for you.”
The smug bastard. Right about now, she found herself wishing that her father was able to pull a noose, not a string. Tightly.
Janelle blew out a breath, refusing to lose it and let this cocky detective think he got to her.
“For the record,” she told him evenly, her voice flat in order to retain control over it, “‘Daddy’ has got nothing to do with my career, how far I advance or don’t advance. We happen to share the same last name and the same genes. He did not get me here and he cannot keep me here if Kleinmann is unhappy with my work.” She raised her head and unconsciously rolled forward on her toes because, even in her four-inch heels, she was at least a half foot shorter than Sawyer was and it galled her. “Do I make myself clear?”
He let his eyes wash over her slowly, thoroughly, before saying, “Yes.”
The man was mocking her, Janelle thought, but she couldn’t very well say that without sounding as if she were just this side of crazy. A Neanderthal like Boone would probably say something about it being her time of the month rather than the fact that he was an insufferable jerk.
“Oh, and one more thing,” she added, her tone deceptively calm.
About to sit down, Sawyer looked her way and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
She did her best not to raise her voice. There was a knock on the door, but she ignored it until she finished making her point. “Don’t you ever, ever do something like that again.”
“And if I do?”
“I’ll cut off your hand.”
Tough, he thought, appraising the petite woman before him. He wondered if that was because of her last name or because it was inherent in her nature. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Janelle could literally feel her back going up. Damn, what had she done to have this jackass thrust into her life?
“Do that.” Whoever was on the other side of her door knocked again, just as timidly as the first time. “What?” Janelle shouted before she could catch herself.
The next moment, the door opened slowly, as if the person on the other side wasn’t sure if it was safe to come in.
Mariel Collins stuck her head in. Appointed to the A.D.A. six months ago, the tall, dark-haired young woman walked into the room as if she were literally treading on eggshells, afraid of damaging even one of them.
Her brown eyes looked down at the papers she was holding before she extended them to Janelle.
“Um, this just came in for you. I thought you might want to see it.” There was no conviction in her voice, just an appeal for understanding.
In her hand, Mariel held one of the dreaded blue-bound notices. Once unfolded, they were always found to contain motions to suppress inside of them. Everyone at the D.A.’s office hated the sight of them because they always moved to suppress evidence crucial to making a case.
Blue, once her favorite color, was swiftly becoming her least favorite, Janelle thought. With a sigh, she crossed to Mariel, who had still not gone any farther than the threshold, and took the folded papers from her.
Opening them, Janelle scanned the papers quickly. “Damn.”
“Bad news?” Mariel asked nervously. Her mouth twitched in a sickly smile as her attempt at conversation fell flat.
Janelle squelched the urge to crush the papers in her hand. Instead, she tossed them on top of her desk. “Wayne’s lawyer is moving to suppress his client’s BlackBerry.”
Mariel looked at her, perplexed. “Suppress his cell phone?”
“No, his handheld PC,” Janelle corrected. Damn it, she should have known things were going too well. The BlackBerry contained a detailed journal that confirmed their informant’s information. “That had all the names of Tony’s customers on it. It helped tie him up with a big red bow.” She frowned as she perused the legal document again. The words refused to change. “He’s calling it inadmissible evidence.”
“How did you obtain it?”
The question came from Sawyer. She looked at him over her shoulder. She knew what he was thinking.
“Not by tossing the apartment.” That was probably the way he operated, but not the detectives who had brought Wayne in. “The arresting detective said it was cold outside and that when he made the arrest, Wayne asked for his jacket. It was on a chair next to his desk. When the detective got it for him, the BlackBerry fell out of one of the pockets.”
“And right at his feet.” Sawyer smirked. “Convenient.”
She felt a surge of anger. “Are you accusing the arresting detective of something?”
Her eyes flashed when she was angry, he noted. And they turned from a medium green to a darker shade that was almost emerald. Didn’t take much to get her going. “Why?” he asked mildly. “Are you related to the arresting detective?”
She didn’t like what he was implying. And she didn’t much like him. “No. But I happen to believe in the integrity of the Aurora police department.”
Being part of a team had never interested him. If you relied on people, they generally let you down. Usually when you needed them most. Like his parents had, divorcing and deserting him before his seventh birthday. “I’d guess you’d have to, wouldn’t you?”
She had had just about enough of this man’s veiled comments and cryptic words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Instead of answering right away, Sawyer swung the chair with his jacket on it around so that the back faced her. He straddled it. “Judging from the evidence, you’re bright enough to put two and two together. I don’t think I have to explain it to you.”
Janelle realized that by now, Mariel had faded back across the threshold and was in the corridor. The next moment, the woman closed the door, sealing them in together.
They were alone. And that made her temper harder to hang on to. She did her best, clenching her hands at her sides so hard, she wound up digging her nails into her palms in an effort to sound calm.
“Try.” It wasn’t a request; it was an order.
After a beat, with a slight incline of his head, he obliged her. “With so many members of your family on the force, if there was dirt, it might rub off on one of them.” He made it sound elementary. “So you pretend there isn’t any.”
Janelle opened her mouth to retort, then shut it without saying a word. He was putting her on the defensive. One of the first lessons her father had ever taught her was to keep her opponent from backing her into a corner. The best way to do that was to go on the offensive. Growing up with her brothers and cousins had given her a great deal of practice.
She took a long, deep breath, then exhaled before asking, “How long have you had this dark view of the world, Detective Boone?”
If she meant to rattle him, she didn’t succeed. “Ever since I could remember.”
It was a lie, because he vaguely remembered a time when there had been hope. When the world had not come in dark colors. But then his parents had gone their separate ways and he’d been shipped off to his mother’s mother, a woman who was far more interested in strange men than in raising him. Except for the small space of time when Allison had been in his life, he’d been alone for a very long time.
Janelle studied him. He meant it, she realized. The thought almost made her shiver. The man had to be hollow inside. She would have felt sorry for him—if he didn’t make her so angry. “And you anticipate the worst.”
There was just the slightest nod of his head. “That way I’m never disappointed. And I’m not.”
What an awful way to face life. She wasn’t like her cousin Patience, who had this overwhelming desire to fix every hurt animal that limped across her line of vision. But she hated seeing a tortured soul and that was what she was looking at, Janelle thought. A soul that had been through torture. He’d said something about being this way ever since he could remember. There was only one reason for that.
“What kind of a childhood did you have, Detective Boone?” she asked him.
His eyes met hers. He bit off the inclination to tell her to mind her own business. Instead, he said, “I didn’t.”
She nodded, as pieces moved into place. “That would explain it.”
Janelle was surprised to see his mouth curve ever so slightly into a smile. But by no means was it a warm smile, nor did it involve any part of him other than the skin on his lips. His eyes didn’t smile. They remained detached, cold. Analytical.
Robots had eyes like that, she thought. In high-tech science-fiction movies. Intelligent, but without a soul, without compassion—because they had no frame of reference available against which to measure feelings. Was that the case with him?
The cold smile faded as if it had never existed. “Don’t try to analyze me, Cavanaugh. Your talents would be best used elsewhere.”
There was another knock on the door. A firm one this time. Before she extended an invitation to come in, the door was opened, bringing with it a smattering more air, not exactly fresh, but every little bit helped right now, she thought.
Janelle drew in a lungful, as if that would somehow help her deal with Sawyer and his all-encompassing disdain. She looked at the sensibly dressed young woman in the doorway. “Yes?”
Another one of the assistants. Marcia Croft had been there three weeks longer than Janelle had and was still trying to direct Stephen Woods’s attention over in her direction. It was no secret that she wanted him to view her not as an up-and-coming assistant, but as a wealthy graduate of Cornell University who had set her cap not so much on an illustrious career in the D.A.’s office as on the A.D.A.—seeing as how the D.A. was taken. To Marcia it was all about connections.
“Woods wants us all in the conference room,” she told Janelle. Belatedly, she seemed to take note of the fact that Janelle was not alone. “Well, hello,” she declared with more than a little feeling.
Marcia’s normally frosty delivery had warmed up several degrees. Obviously Sawyer brought out the best in someone, if not herself, Janelle thought. Marcia usually behaved as if she were entering a leper colony every time their paths crossed. The woman considered her an unworthy rival. Her dark eyes quickly swept over Sawyer’s impressive torso, coming to rest on the holster he wore. She rubbed her thumb over her fingers, as if vicariously feeling the leather.
“Packing heat, I see,” Marcia murmured appreciatively, raising her eyes to his. Her mouth curved. “And you have a gun, too.”
Janelle looked at Sawyer. His expression was unreadable. But if he was a typical male, she thought, he was probably eating this all up.
“Here’s a thought, why don’t you guard her body?” Janelle suggested. Not waiting for a response or comment, she grabbed her portable notebook and darted around Marcia as if she were a mere obstacle to be circumvented.
The latter smoothly shifted in order to block Sawyer’s exit. “Why don’t you?” she purred, looking up at him.
“Yours wasn’t the name I was given,” Sawyer replied simply. In no mood to exchange banter, he took hold of Marcia’s shoulders and physically moved the assistant to the side.
“I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” Marcia offered, raising her voice to be heard. She’d said the words to his back as he quickly strode down the corridor.
With a careless shrug, Marcia hurried to catch up to Janelle.

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