Cavanaugh Heat

by Marie Ferrarella

  Ben smirked. "Whatever you say, 'Chief.'"

  It happened so quickly that it only registered with Brian after the fact. One moment, Ben was carefully setting down the sledgehammer, resting it on its head while his fingers remained on the long shaft. The next moment a power sander Ben had snatched from the workbench to his left came flying at his head.

  Stumbling back, trying to get out of the way, Brian had no time to react to the man who came sailing at him right behind the sander.

  The air was knocked out of him as he fell backward. Ben was right over him, his legs on either side of his torso like a large, flesh-and-blood parenthesis.

  Without missing a beat, Ben jerked the sander up from the floor. Holding it with both hands over Brian's head.

  "Like I said, only one of us is leaving here alive." As he hefted the power tool over his head for maximum impact, his eyes on his enemy, Ben's face suddenly contorted in shock and pain. Still holding the sander, he stared down at the hole in his chest and the blood poring out of it. With supreme effort, he managed to look up, this time toward the doorway.

  His lips twisted in an ironic smile. "You always could shoot better than me."

  They were the last words he would ever utter. The next moment, as Brian rolled out of the way, Ben and the power sander he still clutched came crashing down to the floor.

  Brian was on his feet in a minute, twisting around as he rose. Lila stood in the doorway, a plume of smoke drifting up from her service revolver. Her expression was stony.

  He lost no time crossing to her. She felt rigid when he put his hand on her arm, moving the weapon's muzzle so that it pointed at the floor.

  "Lila, what are you doing here?"

  "Saving your life, it appears."

  When he brought it up later, she had no recollection of saying that.

  Like someone in a nightmare, she walked over to the prone body of her husband. His eyes seemed to stare at her.

  Even though his face was now frozen in death, she leaned over to check for a pulse. There was none.

  "And ending his," she whispered more to herself than to Brian.

  She felt Brian's hands on her shoulders as he lifted her back up to her feet. Felt his warmth as he embraced her after taking her gun from her.

  "I'm sorry," Brian told her softly.

  She looked up at him, an enigmatic smile on her lips. "Sorry that I saved your life?"

  He returned her smile, sensing all the unresolved issues that had to be bouncing around within her. But at least now, there would be closure. "No, sorry that you were the one who had to shoot him."

  Everything was falling into place in her head. She let out a shaky breath. "Well, he did try to kill me first." Lila was surprised when Brian shook his head, negating her words.

  "He said he didn't start the fire." He glanced back at the man's body and paused to bend down and shut Ben's eyes. According to him, someone named Rita did."

  "Rita?" she repeated, stunned. "Rita Nunez?" she asked. It made sense now.

  Brian couldn't help her there. "He didn't use a last name."

  Lila was certain she was right. It had to be Rita Nunez. "Rita Nunez was the dispatch operator Ben was always flirting with. She quit abruptly right around the same time he was supposedly killed. Everyone thought it was because she couldn't handle his death. I guess we know better now, don't we?" Lila felt as if the air had been knocked out of her. "I should have realized something was up when she asked to buy my house."

  "What?"

  "Just before things got all weird with the phone calls and all, Rita turned up, said she'd been away. Made me an offer on the house because, according to her, she'd always liked the neighborhood. I directed her toward a house that was on sale on the next block. She thanked me and I never heard from her again." Lila banked down the emotions that threatened to overcome her and looked at Brian. Her eyes washed over him, looking for wounds or bruises. "Are you all right?"

  He nodded. "Thanks to you." Ushering her aside, away from the body, he took out his cell phone. He needed to make a call, but first, he needed to find something out. "How did you happen to be here?"

  "When you didn't come home, I started to have this uneasy feeling that something was wrong—like in the old days," she reminded him. "I knew I couldn't sleep, so I went into your den to see if there was anything that I could read." She couldn't quite keep the accusation out of her voice. "Funny thing happened on my way to the bookshelves—I accidentally knocked down the folder on your desk—the one with the DNA results in it." Her eyes narrowed. She'd trusted this man. Trusted him far more than she ever had her husband. Had she misplaced her trust, after all? "Why didn't you tell me?"

  He'd tried to shield her and now he was going to pay for it. So be it. "I was going to."

  "When?" she demanded.

  "Soon." He wasn't going to apologize. Everything he'd done had been with her in mind. "You'd just been through a lot these last couple of days and I was afraid that this would be too much for you. The proverbial straw that would break you."

  She was silent for a long moment, trying to deal with her disappointment, trying to find an excuse for his behavior. Had they gotten so out of touch that he didn't know her anymore?

  "You didn't used to underestimate me, Brian."

  Brian placed a call to the morgue for a wagon to come and collect Ben's body. When the man on the other end began to ask questions, Brian cut him short. This wasn't the time to go into details. Not until he got things cleared up on the home front.

  Closing the phone, he put it away. Only then did he answer her comment. "I didn't used to love you as much as I do. That still doesn't explain how you came to be here."

  He saw a hint of a smile curve her mouth. "Because we think alike," she reminded him. "Once I knew Ben was alive, I figured he was trying to get rid of me so he could get his hands on whatever it was that he'd left here. And then I remembered the garage. It used to be his workshop, his domain. He'd never let us in, said he needed to be alone, to make things so that he could knock off some steam. After I thought he was dead, I couldn't make myself go in here, so I left everything the way it was."

  She looked over toward the hole in the false wall. Ben had to have done all that before he'd gone into hiding. Damn, how could she have been so blind, so terribly naive?

  "I guess he'd been planning to steal that money for a long time." Lila sighed. "It wasn't just a spontaneous thing, a temptation he'd encountered and couldn't turn his back on. He planned this."

  Because he could see that hurt her, Brian said, "We'll probably never know."

  But she had a different thought. "If we track down Rita, we might be able to get some answers and find out." How long had that been going on? she wondered. How long had she struggled to be faithful to Ben, only to have him conducting an affair right under her nose right up to the day he disappeared?

  Brian shook his head. "From the way Ben talked, I don't think that's going to be possible." She eyed him quizzically. As much as he wanted to condemn Mclntyre, the man had a few good qualities. "He sounded pretty angry that she'd tried to kill you in the fire. I think that Ben cared about you until the end."

  "Not so's you'd notice. The milk was drugged," she reminded him. "Only my kids and Ben knew I drank a glass of milk before going to bed at night. But this does answer one question."

  "What?"

  "Why Duchess never barked when I thought someone had gotten in the house. She knew Ben, she wouldn't have barked at him." She glanced over her shoulder at the body of the father of her children, her heart twisting in her chest. "Even though it hardly looked like him anymore," she added softly.

  The sound of sirens were heard faintly in the background. Lila shook her head, a half smile gracing her lips. "I think my neighbors are going to band together and petition for me to move away. I seem to attract sirens lately."

  Brian slipped his arm around her. "I've got just the place for you."

  He meant with him. Lila shook her head.
"That's very nice of you, but I can't move in with you, Brian. What would my children say?" Then she did him one better. "What would your children say?"

  Her protest didn't daunt him. "Probably something like, 'Hey, look, Mom and Dad are living together.' Or..." He reconsidered. "They might not say anything at all, considering that it's pretty common stuff to have a husband and wife living in the same house."

  Lila stared at him. "Husband and wife," she echoed.

  "Yes."

  "You and me."

  "That's who I had in mind."

  Just so this was perfectly clear, she wanted him to spell it out for her. "You're asking me to marry you."

  "Yes. For the second time," he reminded her. "I'd like that answer now."

  He was pressing her because he thought it was the right thing to do, she thought. She wasn't going to have him proposing out of a sense of obligation. "Because I saved your life."

  "Because if you married me," he corrected, "you'd be saving my life. Otherwise, I'm going to turn into one of those grumpy old men who lash out at everyone and forgets where they put their glasses."

  It was really hard now not to grin. "You don't wear glasses."

  He took the observation in stride. "I'm looking ahead into the future. And without you by my side," he told her seriously, "it looks pretty bleak."

  Suddenly her heart felt very full. There was no longer any point in denying how she felt. She loved this man. "You always did have a way with an argument."

  He grinned. "Then you'll marry me?"

  Her eyes danced. "What do you think?" She brushed her lips against his.

  "Yes?" he said hopefully. He'd learned long ago when it came to women to take nothing for granted.

  "That's the word." She laughed as the sounds of the approaching sirens growing louder.

  If she had anything else to say, it would have to wait. She'd always known it was hard to talk and kiss at the same time.

  * * *

  Epilogue

  « ^

  A wedding.

  Andrew Cavanaugh smiled broadly to himself as myriad menus and plans ricocheted through his brain. It was a toss-up which he liked better as an excuse for a party, weddings or births. A birth meant a brand-new Cavanaugh had entered the world, but weddings, well, there was a soft spot in his heart for weddings. Weddings held the promise of the future. Of something grand and glorious just on the horizon.

  Like more births.

  There was no point in trying to debate the subject with himself. The truth was he loved any occasion that allowed him to gather his growing clan together. He loved cooking and he loved his family, not necessarily in that order, and this promised to yield the best of both worlds.

  Brian and Lila belonged together, he told himself, just as he and Rose did.

  Life was short and happiness was fleeting. In his opinion, no one should miss an opportunity to savor happiness.

  And the nice thing was, he thought with a smile, Lila was bringing in new blood. Four more young people would be at the table and eventually, that would be eight and then more. Cavanaughs by marriage.

  God, it was good to be alive, he thought, humming to himself.

  He was just about to go upstairs in search of his favorite cookbook. As was the custom, the reception was going to be held in his backyard and he was determined to pull out all the stops to make it the most memorable of memorable events. Considering his previous triumphs, this was going to be a challenge.

  Andrew had one foot on the stairs when he heard the doorbell. Rose was out, shopping. Once upon a time there'd be five other people around to get the door, but right now, there was only him.

  The cookbook would keep, he thought, turning from the stairs.

  The doorbell rang again. Maybe it as his imagination, but it sound more insistent this time. It couldn't be one of the kids because his two sons and three daughters still all had keys to the house.

  "Hold your horses," he called. "I'm coming."

  Reaching the front door, Andrew flipped the lock and opened it.

  Not many things took Andrew Cavanaugh by surprise these days. He'd seen a great deal in his lifetime as a policeman and then as the police chief. But this, this really did take him by surprise.

  He realized that he was staring.

  If he hadn't been aware of what year it was, Andrew would have sworn that his brother—his dead brother— was standing on his doorstep.

  Mike, looking the way he had in his early twenties.

  On either side of the young man on his doorstep were two other people, another young man and a young woman. The latter made him think of his daughter, Rayne, before she ceased being such a handful. The former looked enough like the young man in the middle to be his brother.

  "Can I help you?" he heard himself asking.

  "Maybe," the young man in the middle replied. There was no hint of a smile, no attempt at a greeting. He was deadly somber as he said, "We're your brother Mike's bastards."

  * * *

  SILHOUETTE BOOKS

  CAVANAUGH HEAT

  Copyright © 2008 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella

  Visit Silhouette Books at www.eHarlequin.com

  Table of 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

  Epilogue

  ^