Dangerous Games

by Marie Ferrarella

  Shaw put the obvious into words. “So you don’t believe he killed Kathy Fallon?”

  The blond crop of curls moved about her head like rays of sunbeams dancing along the wind as she shook it. “Not a hundred percent, no.” It was a gut feeling, but she wasn’t about to admit that to this crowd. She knew what they’d say. Gut feelings were instincts reserved for the older members of the family, not her. “Eric’s spoiled and used to getting his own way, but he’s not violent.”

  Shaw leaned back in his chair, his eyes pinned to her. “You went out with him, when? Seven, eight years ago? People change.” And then he laughed as he gestured at her. “For God’s sake, look at you. Eight years ago, your hair was blue, and so was your mouth. We all became cops so we could cover your butt and keep you out of trouble.”

  Rayne rolled her eyes. “Thanks,” she muttered sarcastically.

  “Hey, every family’s gotta have a goal that pulls them together,” Callie told her.

  She was backed up by a chorus of murmurings. Amusement played on Callie’s lips as she looked at her watch. They all liked to tease Rayne, but there’d been a time when they’d been really seriously worried about the youngest Cavanaugh. A time when the future hadn’t looked as good as it did.

  “I think all of us better be heading out.” Rising, Callie stopped to look at her almost stepdaughter, the child responsible for bringing her and Brent ultimately together in the first place. “Time to get you to school, Rachel, and your dad to the courthouse.” She looked at Brent. “Justice can’t make a move without him.”

  A chorus of groans met her comment. “Kiss him and get it over with already,” Shaw ordered with a heavy sigh as he gained his feet and threw down his napkin.

  “In front of all you Peeping Toms, no way.” Taking charge of Rachel, Callie moved the little girl toward the door, then paused to nudge aside Rayne and pick up her own holster and weapon. “You need a woman, Shaw.”

  “I could fix you up,” Brent offered, helping his daughter on with her jacket.

  Shaw held up his hands to ward off the offer and any others that might be following in its wake. “I’ll find my own woman, thanks a bunch.” He looked at the youngest Cavanaugh and attempted a diversion. “Besides, Rayne is the one you should be concentrating on. She’s the wild one, not me.”

  “Not wild enough to want my own woman,” Rayne deadpanned. Ready, she paused long enough to brush a kiss on her father’s cheek. She figured if they both lived another fifty years, she might just be able to make amends for the way she’d treated him those awful years after her mother disappeared. “See you at the cemetery, Dad.”

  Andrew eyed her. Like all his children, Rayne had good intentions. But her follow-through left something to be desired. Still, she’d come a very long way from the tremendous handful she’d been. There were times during those years when he’d been convinced he’d be celebrating her twenty-fourth birthday standing over her grave rather than joining the rest of her family at a ceremony naming her Aurora’s newest, youngest police detective. That had gone down as one of the proudest moments of his life.

  He nodded, then winked. “I’m only half counting on that, you know.”

  Stepping out of the way as Clay retrieved his weapon, she fixed her father with a reproving look. “Where’s your faith?”

  “Plenty of faith,” he declared, sinking the skillet into a sink of sudsy water. “That’s why I’m half counting on it instead of not at all.”

  “Someday,” Rayne told him as the rest of her family filed by on their way through the back door and to the cars that were parked outside, like as not blocking access to her own vehicle, “you’re going to learn to count on me completely.”

  “I’m looking forward to that day, Rayne,” he told her as she hurried out the door, the last as usual. “I surely am.”

  He glanced at the photograph on the seat beside him to make sure.

  It was her.

  Lorrayne Cavanaugh.

  If his private detective hadn’t taken the photograph and given it to him, Cole doubted that he would have recognized her. Certainly not at first glance. She’d changed a great deal since he’d last seen her. The clothes were no longer this side of outlandish, but tasteful and subdued. She wore a crisp light gray jacket over pants the same color and a light blue blouse that even at this distance brought out her eyes.

  The most startling thing about Lorrayne’s transformation was her hair. It was normal instead of the bright royal blue he recalled. She was a blonde now, like the rest of the females in her family. The last time he’d seen her, she’d worn it spiky. Now it was short, curly. Soft. It suited her.

  So did the life she’d elected to follow instead of the hell-bent-for-leather one she’d led when he’d finally left town.

  He supposed that gave them something in common. Once upon a time, while in their teens, they’d both been on a slippery slope, aimed toward inevitable self-destructive endings. But apparently she had reversed her course. Just as had he.

  That gave them something else in common.

  They had a third thing in common and it was that third thing that had brought him here to the Aurora police department’s recently repaved parking lot, waiting for her to put in an appearance.

  A private detective was all well and good, but he needed someone on the inside. Someone in the know. Before it was too late.

  He sat watching her for half a second longer. Lorrayne emerged from her vehicle looking a little breathless, as if she’d pushed her car to the maximum to get here. Slamming the car door, she took long strides toward the front of the building.

  The expression on her face dovetailed with the one clear memory he had of her. She’d come barreling into the high school cafeteria just after the last bell had rung and run smack into him. Her books had gone flying, but it wasn’t that which had made an impression on him. And it wasn’t her blue hair, either, although that had fleetingly registered.

  It was her wide eyes as they’d look up at him that had imprinted themselves on his memory. That and the press of her body against his. Soft in the right places, firm in the rest.

  But he’d been a senior at the time and she was just a freshman, utterly wild by reputation, even then. He’d wanted none of that, none of Aurora. What had driven him at the time was a desire for escape. All he had wanted then was to finish high school and to get the hell out of the town, away from his family. More specifically, away from his parents.

  And now here he was, back again. Looking to right what he knew in his soul was a horrible wrong.

  Funny how life turned out. He would have bet anything of the fortune he’d managed to accrue that he would never set foot back in Aurora again, no matter what.

  But then, having his younger brother accused of murder had never been factored into that initial scenario.

  “Lorrayne,” he called as he got out of the cherry-red convertible. If she heard him, the woman gave no indication as she continued to hurry toward the front entrance. Cole lengthened his stride as he tried to catch up. She was small, but from what he could see, she was all leg. He raised his voice another decibel. “Lorrayne Cavanaugh.”

  Lorrayne.

  No one ever called her Lorrayne anymore unless it was official business—or someone in the family trying to get under her skin.

  With an impatient sigh, Rayne abruptly stopped and swung around to see who was calling after her. And narrowly avoided colliding into a man who smelled good enough to eat.

  Chapter 2

  It took Rayne less than a second to recognize him. The man she was looking up at was older now—ten years, if she recalled correctly—and perhaps even better looking now, if that were possible. But it was Cole Garrison, all right. She’d stake her next month’s pay on it.

  She would have known him even if conversation at the breakfast table hadn’t found its way to the subject of his brother’s arrest for suspicion of murder. There was just no mistaking those chiseled cheekbones, that artistically perfect cle
ft chin, those deep blue eyes or that mane of deep black hair that, though tamer and shorter now, still reminded her of the mane of a proud lion prowling over a domain he considered to be singularly his own.

  The thing she didn’t understand was what Cole was doing here, calling out to her. She didn’t even think he knew her name. Undoubtedly he was here to see his brother, but why was he trying to get her attention?

  And how had he even known it was her? She’d only been thrown into his speech class that one semester when she was fifteen. That was ten years ago and she’d gone through a hell of a lot of changes since then. When she looked back at photographs from that period, she hardly resembled her younger self.

  Well, whatever his reasons were, Rayne thought as she watched him cross through the parking lot, she was about to find out.

  “You might not remember me—” His voice, deep, low, rumbled over her like a warming breeze in April.

  “I remember you.” A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Cole Garrison, right?”

  Her eyes swept over the tan camel-hair coat he wore. It was a complete departure from the black windbreaker he used to favor. He was dressed like a businessman, not like the brooding heartthrob half the female population of Aurora High had mooned over. Time caught up to all of them, she supposed.

  “Nice coat,” she commented. Looking back, she realized that it was probably an inane thing to say, but she wasn’t at her best when caught off guard in a social situation.

  This wasn’t a social situation, Rayne reminded herself. The man was clearly here about his brother. But again, what did that have to do with her?

  “Thanks.” Surprising her, he took hold of her arm, giving every impression that he wanted to lead her off to the side. “Have you got a minute?”

  She glanced down at his hand, her inference clear. She didn’t like being led around, even by men who looked as if they could start up a dead woman’s heart with one well-timed kiss.

  Cole released her arm.

  She remained standing where she was. “You want to see me.” It wasn’t quite a question as it was an astonished statement.

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes never left his. “Not your brother.”

  He’d learned the value of planning things out. He wouldn’t have been where he was if he hadn’t. There were arrangements to be made. “I’ll see him after I talk to you.”

  She shifted to the side, allowing several uniformed policemen to pass and enter the building. “Why?”

  “Because I hear that you’re not satisfied.”

  Rayne blinked, drawing a complete blank. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not satisfied that Eric committed the murder. That he did what they arrested him for.”

  The pieces pulled themselves together. For a second there, when he’d said satisfied, her mind had leaped to an entirely different set of circumstances. Because she wasn’t satisfied. Her life was good now, far better than it had been for many turbulent, troubled years, and her family was the best she could ever hope for, having stuck by her when even archangels would have bailed. But she was haunted by the feeling that there was something more out there.

  She wasn’t sure just what, only that it was something. And even though it had no shape, no name, not even a vague definition, that feeling called out to her.

  Rayne was quick to rally together her thoughts. “I’m really not the one you should be talking to,” she pointed out. “I’m not handling the case. I wasn’t even the first officer on the scene.”

  That had been Richard Longwell, a patrolman she’d been through the academy with. They still maintained a friendship, although distant now since she had surpassed him by becoming the youngest detective on the force. It had driven an unspoken wedge between them.

  The case belonged to Webber and Rollins, both of whom were very territorial when it came to their cases. “I can point out the detectives—” she began to offer, turning toward the entrance.

  He cut her off. “No.”

  “No?” She was lost again. The man persisted in not making any sense.

  This time, Cole moved so that his body blocked her immediate exit. He didn’t want to talk to the first officer on the scene or the detective handling the case, at least not yet. Because facing them alone, he would be given the polite but disdainful treatment accorded to all family members. As far as the police saw him, he was the brother of a murderer. No matter what kind of a picture was painted for the public at large, once the police had a suspect, the burden of proof was on the accused’s side. The accused had to prove he was innocent.

  Cole needed someone involved, but not in the middle of it. He needed someone at least partially sympathetic to his cause. Which had brought him to a former hippie/wild child.

  “No,” he repeated firmly. “I want to talk to you.”

  They waltzed around in circles and as gorgeous as this dance partner was, she had a desk to get to and overdue reports to file. “At the risk of repeating myself, why?”

  He gave her the same reason he’d just cited. “Because I heard that you don’t believe Eric did it.”

  She’d done a little discreet nosing around on her own since Eric’s arrest less than a week ago, but she certainly hadn’t made her feelings public. As far as she knew, only her family was aware that she wasn’t on board with what the D.A.’s office believed.

  Unless the man was into mind reading, there was no way he could have known.

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “And just where did you hear that?”

  He waved a dismissive hand at her question. “That doesn’t matter—”

  “Oh, but I think it does.” Her voice was deceptively calm. She didn’t like not knowing things, especially when they concerned her. It irritated her beyond belief, chafing her like a stiff tag sewn into the back of a shirt.

  His eyes darkened impatiently. “I don’t have time to argue.”

  “Well then you’ve come to the wrong place,” she informed him, “because my family tells me that I could argue the devil out of his pitchfork, if only in the interests of his own self-defense.”

  Cole did the unexpected. Rather than make a derogatory comment or utter an uncensored remark about what others referred to as her infuriating behavior, he smiled.

  He smiled and she had the exact same reaction she’d had that very first time when she’d collided with him in the lunchroom. Butterflies. Big, fat butterflies with enormous wingspans that fluttered and tickled the edges of her entire inner structure with every movement.

  For all intents and purposes, for a tiny instance in time, she was fifteen again. Fifteen and a veritable outcast, self-made or not, from every scenario life had to offer including the one that involved her own family. The only normal path she took was to have a crush, a crush that was born that day, only to die ignobly several weeks later when she’d overheard Cole making a comment about her to a friend of his. He said she looked like a clown. And she’d felt utterly and completely devastated, not to mention angry and humiliated. It took a long time for a phoenix to rise out of those ashes.

  Funny what the mind chose to remember. She hadn’t thought about that moment in maybe nine years or so.

  “Did I say something funny?” she challenged, her cool evaporating slightly as the memory of that day grew a little more vivid.

  “Under any other circumstances, I’d pay to see a demonstration of that,” he told her. “But right now—”

  “Your brother’s under arrest for murder and your parents won’t put up the one million dollars to bail him out,” she concluded. “Not exactly the Brady Bunch, are you?” God help her, but for one moment she felt smug. Her family would have never subjected her to the kind of public humiliation that Eric’s had heaped on him. They would have sold the house before they’d allow her to languish in jail one extra minute.

  He laughed shortly and this time there wasn’t a hint of amusement. “More like the Addams Family without the humor.”

  The smugness vanish
ed and she felt sorry. For Eric.

  “Wow.” The word escaped. She hadn’t expected Cole to be this honest, especially not with someone who, high school alma mater aside, was a complete stranger to him. “So what exactly is it that you want from me—” she glanced at her watch “—other than making me late?”

  “I’d like to talk to you when you get off duty.”

  “All right, fine, but I really can’t help you,” she warned. “It’s not my case.”

  “So you said.” His mind jumped ahead to a meeting place. Somewhere she’d feel at ease. He needed to win her over. “Do they still have that Mexican restaurant on 4th and Silver?”

  “El Rancho Grande?” For a second she’d forgotten that he hadn’t been around all these years. The restaurant had closed down after a fire had gutted it almost eight years ago. “It’s gone. There’s a Chinese restaurant in its place now. The China Inn.”

  Cole smiled again. He’d traveled over most of the lower forty-eight states. Whenever he came into a new city, one of the first things he’d do was find the best Chinese restaurant. It was a weakness he allowed himself.

  “Even better. When do you get off?”

  She was taking off early today, as she’d promised her father. Rayne didn’t feel like sharing that with him. It was too personal. “How does six sound?”

  “Earlier would be better,” he told her honestly, “but six’ll do.”

  She nodded then looked toward the electronic doors significantly. “It’ll also be impossible if I don’t get in there to start my shift.”

  He moved out of her way, then followed her up the stone steps. Rayne found herself struggling with an uneasy feeling that had no name, no reason for existence. It was the same kind of feeling she had when something was about to happen. But there was no stakeout here, no reason to want someone watching her back. She didn’t get it.

  Cole waited until she made it through the doors before walking in behind her. “Who do I talk to about seeing my brother?”