“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She didn’t look away. “Again, do you have to ask?” Maggi tried to read his expression and couldn’t. A sinking feeling took hold, trespassing on the physical pain. If Patrick was happy about the situation, she would have known it, felt it. He obviously wanted nothing to do with her baby or her.
“I’m not going to ask you for anything except maybe input on the baby’s name when the time comes.” The scowl didn’t leave his face. Her spirits sank a little lower. “You don’t even have to do that if you don’t want to.”
He felt like the last man standing after a day-long blitzkrieg. So many emotions bounced around inside of him he couldn’t begin to sort them out or even make heads or tails out of the mess. He was unaccustomed to having any emotions at all, much less a conflicting squadron. It had been one hell of a day. The woman he loved wasn’t who he’d thought she was. On top of that, she had almost died saving his life. And then to discover that she was carrying his baby, well, it was just too much for him to handle. At least, right away.
“Baby’s name is up to you,” he told her, his voice distant, detached. “Seeing as how you’ve been calling all the shots so far.”
“Not all the shots.” She pulled her courage together, knowing she would never get another chance to be so nakedly honest, and knowing she had everything to lose. But she had to say it, had to tell him, no matter what the consequences. “I didn’t plan on falling in love with you. I didn’t even plan on liking you.”
Love. He tried to absorb the word but couldn’t, not when he felt so numbed.
“Yeah, well, plans don’t always work out, do they?” He needed distance, time and distance, to be fair to her. To be fair to himself. He nodded toward the door. “The hall’s full of people who want to see you. I’ve probably gone over my time limit.” His voice was flat. “I’ll see you later.”
With that, he walked out of the room.
Maggi forced her tears back.
Patrick didn’t remember walking out of the hospital. Didn’t remember driving around in his car or where he and the next two hours eventually went.
His thoughts were all tied up in knots, much the way his gut was whenever he began to think of what might have happened to Maggi in the warehouse and how the scenario in the operating room might have turned out.
He could have lost her.
And lost himself.
Like a homing pigeon relying completely on programming and instinct, Patrick found himself returning to the precinct. Parking, he yanked up the hand brake. All the frustration he’d endured these past few hours came to a head, threatening to explode within him. Explode out of him.
Getting out of his car, he walked into the building and made his way up the stairwell until he reached the floor that housed IA.
Without sparing her a glance, he strode past Halliday’s secretary.
About to go home, the woman looked up, taken completely by surprise. Belatedly she realized where he was going. “Wait, you can’t go in there.”
“Shoot me,” Patrick snapped, leaving the woman utterly speechless.
John Halliday was on the phone when the door to his office was abruptly thrown open. The man in the doorway looked as if he was loaded for bear.
“Speak of the devil,” Halliday murmured into the receiver. “He just walked in. I’ll talk to you later.” Hanging up, he rose from his chair. “Cavanaugh, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Patrick curbed the urge to shout at the man, to let loose with a string of expletives. That would hardly release the fury he was experiencing. Instead, he measured out his words as evenly as he could.
“Maybe if I’d been here to begin with, you could have saved everyone a hell of a lot of time and effort.” He stood toe-to-toe with the man, their eyes level. “You should have asked me directly. I would have cooperated with any investigation.”
Halliday surprised him by laughing. “You don’t exactly have the best reputation for working and playing well with others, Detective. Instead of answering questions, we figured you’d storm off, forewarned. We weren’t sure if you really were in on it, the way the informant claimed, or how deep all of this went. Having someone on the inside was the best way to go. You know, sometimes things have to be done according to someone else’s rules, not yours.
“By the way, you might be interested to know that the informant turned out to be Foster. He confessed half an hour ago. He’s ready to flip on everyone, as long as we can guarantee that he’ll stay alive.”
But Halliday could see that Cavanaugh’s reputation was the last thing on the man’s mind. Halliday indicated the telephone. “That was her on the phone—McKenna—filing her last report. Woman’s amazing. Flat on her back and she’s still thinking about the job. I’m going to hate to lose her.”
Patrick became alert. “Lose her?”
Halliday nodded. “She asked for a transfer. Said she didn’t like dealing in lies anymore, even for a good cause.”
Patrick told himself he didn’t care. He knew he was lying. “Where does she want a transfer to?”
“She said she’d get back to me about that. Had to think about what to do with the rest of her life.” Halliday looked at him pointedly. “You might like to help her with that.”
“Me?”
Halliday snorted. “Give me a little credit here, Cavanaugh. All that emotion exploding out of you like lava from Mount Saint Helens isn’t just because you think your honor’s been impugned. I’m not saying anything else here, except that I don’t think, off the record, that McKenna’s the kind of woman any man in his right mind should allow to get away—provided she was interested in him in the first place.”
Halliday took his coat from the rack and slipped it on.
“Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to go home to my wife and tell her I love her. I can’t remember the last time I said that to her and she deserves to hear it. G’night, Cavanaugh.”
Patrick walked out in front of him.
He drove home. To try to be alone with his thoughts. To try to pick up pieces of the life he’d had until McKenna had walked into it, messing everything up.
The first thing he saw when he let himself into his condo and turned on the light was the Christmas tree in the center of the living room.
The one that she had brought him.
It sagged like a little old man, its branches weighed down by the decorations she’d insisted he’d take. He’d been so wrapped up in his work, he’d forgotten to get rid of it.
Pine needles were scattered on the carpet like pale green dandruff. He hadn’t remembered to water it, either. Nothing but a pain in the neck, that’s what it was.
He remembered opening the door and seeing Maggi peering around it.
He touched a branch and was surprised to find that it wasn’t as brittle as he’d thought it would be.
Having Maggi in his life meant always being surprised. If she wasn’t in it anymore…
Turning on his heel, Patrick shut off the light and went back out.
Daylight tried to push its way through the white curtains her father had drawn shut before he’d left for the night.
Maggi stirred.
The slight motion brought an army of pain marching through her with huge combat boots. She felt worse today than yesterday.
Except for her heart.
That was as bad as ever. She expected it would be for a very long time to come.
Resisting the temptation of falling back into blessed oblivion, Maggi forced herself to open her eyes.
She wasn’t alone in the room.
Startled, Maggi automatically reached for the weapon that wasn’t there and cried out in pain from the effort before she could bite it back.
Patrick immediately stumbled out of the chair where he’d spent the night, remnants of sleep fleeing from his eyes.
“You want me to call the nurse? The doctor? What?”
Her head felt as if it were filled with cotton. Was
this just another dream? She’d had several already, tiny vignettes in which Patrick had the dominant role. Sometimes he told her he loved her, sometimes he cursed her out. She was too exhausted, too emotionally drained to endure another go-around.
“Are you a dream?”
Her voice was strong. He could feel relief slipping through him. “Most people refer to me as a nightmare.”
He saw her reach toward him and he took her hand in his as he sank back down in the chair he’d dragged over to her bedside.
Maggi swallowed. Someone had filleted her throat while she was asleep. Every word seemed to be scraping along raw skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting a really bad backache.”
He’d been in her room since one in the morning, having slipped in past security. The one nurse who had come in to check on Maggi’s condition had been persuaded to allow him to stay. He figured she felt sorry for him. He was hoping Maggi would, too.
“Why are you here? Did you forget to get something else off your chest?” Maggi was too leery to allow herself to be happy that he’d come back. Not after the way he’d reacted to hearing about the baby.
“Yeah, I did. The cobwebs.”
Maybe this was a dream. She could have sworn he was talking about cobwebs. “Excuse me?”
“The cobwebs from around my heart,” he explained. He was doing his best to be romantic, but in his mouth, the words came out all wrong. “I’ve never used it very much except clinically. You know, for pumping blood through my veins and all. I never knew I could use it to feel with.” He gave up the effort, knowing he’d made a mess of it. “Until you started putting me through hell.”
Her mouth curved slightly. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”
Still holding her hand, afraid to let it go, he blew out a breath. “The worst.”
Still unsure where this was going, Maggi felt sorry for him. He looked as uncomfortable as a nudist about to deliver a speech at a fashion show. “Then maybe you should cut to the chase, Cavanaugh. What is it you’re trying to say?”
Talking wasn’t his thing; it never had been. “That I’ve said some things I didn’t mean to.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”
Restless, he dragged a hand through his hair. She should understand, not make him say it. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”
Her smile widened. He felt as if the sun had come out. “Go on, you’re getting better.”
He told her what was in this new organ that he had discovered. “When I saw you on that stretcher…when I thought you weren’t going to make it…I didn’t want to make it, either, Mary Margaret.”
“You weren’t shot.”
“Didn’t matter.” As far as he was concerned, taking a bullet would have been a hell of a lot easier.
Something came back to her. She stared at him as the fog around her brain dissipated, allowing her to pull the fragments together. “Did you say something to me during the ambulance ride? I thought I heard you say ‘I love you’ but I figured I was out of my head.”
He looked at her, his expression grim. “You weren’t out of your head. I said it.”
“And?”
“I meant it.”
“Just then?” she prodded, watching his expression. Feeling hope bubbling up inside. “It was a pretty dramatic moment. People say things they don’t mean in situations like that.”
“Yeah, they do.” He paused, then added, “But I don’t.”
“Then you love me.”
“Yeah.” He almost sounded as if he meant it begrudgingly.
“Say it, damn it.”
He sighed, resigned to his fate. “I love you, Mary Margaret.”
Maggi rolled her eyes. Why had he used her name? “Oh, please don’t spoil it.”
Patrick allowed himself a smile. “Sorry, that’s how I think of you. That’s what the priest is going to say when he marries us, isn’t it? Do you Mary Margaret McKenna take—”
“Hold it.” Maggi grabbed his hand, pulling his attention back to her. “Did I miss something here? How did we get from the ambulance to the church?”
He looked at her, knowing he was never going to feel about anyone the way he felt about her. Surprised that he did feel like this about anyone. “In big, giant steps, Mary Margaret, in big giant steps.”
She hated being tethered like this. She wanted to get up, to throw her arms around him. With no other option, she played out the moment. “You realize you didn’t even ask me. A girl likes to be asked.”
He looked at her solemnly. “I didn’t want to take a chance on you saying no.”
How could he even think that? “Do you honestly think I would?”
“You’re a constant surprise to me, Mary Margaret, a constant surprise.”
“This isn’t a surprise,” she told him. “This is a sure thing.” And then she grinned. “You can bet the farm this time.”
“How about I just bet the rest of my life?”
“Works for me,” she told him.
Shifting from the chair to the corner of her bed, Patrick took her into his arms, carefully avoiding the IVs she was still attached to.
“Yeah, me, too,” Patrick agreed just before he kissed her.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7027-9
INTERNAL AFFAIR
Copyright © 2003 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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*Unflashed series
Internal Affair Page 24
