Cover Me

by Margaret Watson

  Cilla turned and stepped into him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. "We've both had a bad night. I was trying to take care of you."

  He turned his head, and his mouth brushed her hair. "Thank you, Cilla." He kissed her head, then held her hands and stared down at her. "Last time someone wanted to take care of me, it was my mother and I was fifteen."

  The nervous energy sizzling through Cilla's veins transformed into a different kind of heat. A dark curl of arousal slid through her. "I'm not your mother."

  "I'm not fifteen anymore." His eyes darkened as he watched her.

  "That's good," she managed.

  "Yeah."

  They stared at each other for a handful of seconds, desire consuming all the oxygen between them. Then Cilla dropped his hands and stepped away. No. Not going there tonight.

  "You have anything worth drinking in that refrigerator?"

  "Depends on what you consider worth drinking." His voice was lower than usual. A little hoarse. "Goose Island okay?"

  "Sounds good."

  He opened the refrigerator, and she saw eggs, milk, some apples that looked as if they'd seen better days, and an unopened package of lunch meat that she'd bet was expired. One shelf held several bottles of beer.

  "Take your pick," he said.

  She reached for an IPA and her stomach churned. She'd been drinking beer before she'd gone outside to take her sister's phone call. Dropping her hand, she said, "I think I'd like water instead."

  He took the bottle of IPA she'd been eyeing and set it on the counter. Then he filled a glass with ice, added water and handed it to her.

  After opening his beer, Brendan took her hand and led her into the living room. He settled into a corner of the couch, trying to tug her down next to him, but she let go of his hand. She couldn't sit still. Couldn't think about Brendan and what she wanted to do right now.

  Instead she paced in front of the couch. "So. Bates and Ward."

  He stretched his legs in front of him and took a drink of his beer. "Yeah."

  She lifted the water to her mouth and drank greedily. She hadn't realized how parched she'd been. How dry-mouthed. She should have, though. Adrenaline rushes were no strangers. Neither were the crashes afterwards.

  Every other time, though, it had been part of the job. This was the first time she'd been the one in trouble. The person at risk of injury or worse.

  This time, she'd been the one who'd needed help.

  She buried that thought deep inside. Time to focus on the job. "Tell me what happened after I went outside."

  "Right. Ward and Bates. So, I spotted them as I was walking out of the restroom. I got the phone call from your sister a moment after I sat down at the bar. I told Rick we had to leave, threw money on the bar and took off. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bates off to the side, talking to Tiffany. Ward was in a booth. Romano was talking to a woman, pretending not to watch them."

  "Do you think it's Bates and Ward?" she asked. "That they're the ones selling this drug?"

  Brendan's jaw worked. "I don't want it to be Bates. I was in the academy with him. He's a great guy."

  Cilla resumed pacing. She couldn't sit down. Couldn't relax. She was too wired. "Maybe it's Ward," she said. "Maybe there's a connection between the woman he was roughing up and this drug case." She stopped and swiveled to face Brendan. "We need to find that woman. I have her name and address in the report. I can do that tomorrow."

  Before she'd started this undercover job, she'd been furious with Ward. She'd arrested him for roughing up a suspect and he'd gotten nothing but a hand slap and a wink. He and his buddies had made her life miserable.

  Back then, a tiny part of her would have smirked at the idea that Ward was distributing this drug. Now, though, she just felt contaminated by the thought of him being a dirty cop. Soiled. As if everyone on the force was tainted now.

  "Just because he's a jerk doesn't make him a criminal," Brendan said quietly.

  "Yeah. I know." She set the glass carefully on his coffee table. "Just like the fact that Bates was a nice guy in the academy doesn't make him a nice guy now."

  Brendan slammed his fist on the table next to the couch. Water sloshed in her glass, and a tall pile of books vibrated. The top two fell to the floor. "Damn it! I don't want it to be someone on the force."

  "I know!" She kicked at the wastebasket next to Brendan's desk. "I don't either. Not even Ward."

  Brendan glanced at her. "Maybe it's Romano. He was right there."

  "Doesn't make him involved," she said reluctantly. "You said he was talking to a woman."

  "I didn't get a good look at her." He stared into the distance, as if trying to conjure her in his mind. "Could be the woman he was talking to last weekend. His cover, maybe, for a meeting with Bates and Ward. Can't count him out."

  "Yeah." God. She hated this. "DEA guy working with the cops?"

  "It's a cliche for a reason." Brendan straightened the books and walked over to pick up the two that had landed on the floor. He didn't look at her as he lined the stack of books up evenly. "Sorry, Cilla. I shouldn't have brought it up. Work is probably the last thing you want to talk about right now."

  Cilla stopped pacing and watched Brendan tidy the books. A couple of weeks ago, she wouldn't have guessed that reckless, impulsive Brendan Donovan was so thoughtful. So considerate.

  Warmth fluttered through her, and she reached for Brendan before he could sit back down. "Thank you. But talking about work is good. Normal, you know?"

  "Yeah. Like working on a puzzle. Takes your mind off other stuff."

  "Exactly." She watched him sit on the couch again, then turned to stare into the courtyard. A cool breeze from the partially opened window blew across her skin as she watched a couple walk down the sidewalk, heading for the entrance across from Brendan's. Their arms were twined around each other, and his head was bent to hers, as if listening raptly to something she said.

  Too bad her night and Brendan's couldn't have ended the same way. Heading up to his apartment, arms around each other's waists. The moment they stepped inside his door, they would have been wrapped around each other. Kissing. Touching. Stumbling into his bedroom.

  Their night had taken a darker turn. And now she couldn't relax. Couldn't slow down. Didn't want to lie in the dark and relive Smith's attack on her.

  "You think Smith is part of the drug business?" she asked.

  He frowned. "I'm liking him for the serial rapist operating in that part of the city. Not sure how that connects to the sex drug."

  "Let's go to your station and look him up," she said, grabbing for the purse she'd dropped by the door. "See what kind of record he has. Check on those rapes from the Beverly neighborhood."

  "We can do that tomorrow, Cilla." He watched as she paced. Frowning. As if not quite sure what to do for her.

  "Yeah, but I need to do something. Move. Act. Figure something out."

  Brendan straightened on the couch. "You need to get your mojo back."

  She stopped moving. Felt her shoulders relax. He understood. "Yes. Exactly." She swallowed as he set his beer on the table. Stood up slowly. "It's been a long night, though." She forced a smile. "I can do this myself. You stay here and keep Franny company."

  "Hell, no. We go together." He stepped to a dark wood cabinet by the door, opened a door and spun the dial on a small gun safe. Took out his badge and his gun. "We'll swing by your place so you can get your stuff, okay?"

  Cilla watched as he stepped into his bedroom, put on a long-sleeved shirt, tucked another belt through the loops on his jeans and attached his badge. Then he shrugged on his shoulder holster and covered it with a jacket. "Let's go."

  Chapter 21

  Brendan nodded to the handful of night shift cops in the station as he and Cilla made their way to his desk. The smell of stale coffee, sharp and acrid, hovered over the bull pen like a cloud, but it was quiet this time of night. The patrol cops were out, and the on-call det
ectives were either in the field on a case or at home, waiting for a call.

  He snagged a chair from the desk next to his and rolled it over, then turned on his computer. "Piece of shit takes a year and a half to boot up," he muttered to Cilla as they both stared at the dark screen.

  Finally the log-in page appeared, and Brendan typed in his user name and password. Then went to the search option and typed in 'Michael Welles'.

  Cilla leaned closer, and the scent of her hair wafted over him. Hard to believe, after tonight's events, her hair still smelled clean. Citrusy and fresh.

  He wished they were back at his place, where he could gather the cool mass of her hair in his hands and bury his face in them. Hold her close and try to forget about what had happened tonight.

  They weren't at his place, though. And neither of them would forget about tonight anytime soon. So if Cilla needed to work, needed to burn off some energy, that's what they'd do.

  But if he was going to sit in front of a computer, he'd rather be at his desk at home. Typing a blog entry. It wouldn't be easy to write about what had happened tonight, and even harder to read. But the words were making his fingers twitch. Filling his mind, leaving little room for everything else.

  Focus. The blog would be there when he got home. And he wouldn't forget the words. They were burned into his brain.

  This was about Cilla, and what she needed.

  He and Cilla both leaned closer as the little wheel stopped spinning and words appeared on the screen.

  "No record," Brendan said. "Not even a parking ticket."

  "He's a lawyer," breathed Cilla.

  "Yeah." Brendan typed another request, leaving his fingers on the keys while the computer worked. Clenched his jaw when the results popped up. "Criminal defense."

  Brendan scrolled through a list of the people Welles had represented, his heart pounding as a pattern appeared. "He almost always gets his cases heard by one of two judges. Peter Drake and Glen Larson."

  "And an awful lot of them are found not guilty." Cilla looked at Brendan. "Judges are assigned randomly," she said in a low voice, glancing around to see if anyone was close by. "No way is this random."

  "Holy crap." Brendan shoved his hand through his hair as he stared at the evidence on the screen. "Your attempted rape just got a lot more complicated. Crooked judges? Crooked bailiffs too? This is FBI territory."

  "You said one of your brothers is an FBI agent."

  "Yeah. He's on the east coast. Visiting his fiancee's brother."

  "Franny's owners."

  "Yep." Brendan glanced at his watch. It was one AM. Too late to call Mac tonight. "I'll call him tomorrow."

  "Let's go take a look at Welles's house," Cilla said suddenly, jumping up from the chair. Her foot tapped the floor, and he was pretty sure she didn't realize it. Her body vibrated with tension. Nerves.

  "What good would that do?"

  "I don't know." She tucked a lock of hair behind her right ear. "Just a feeling. You know? See what we can see."

  "Why now? Why not in the morning?"

  "Neighbors would see us in the morning," she said immediately. "Might call it in. That neighborhood?" She pointed at the Beverly address he'd written on a post-it note, "Expensive houses. Suspicious of strangers. Better to do it now, when most of them are asleep."

  "Okay." He stood up and led her toward the stairs. "Good thing you're a cop and not a crook," he said, opened the stairwell door for her. "You'd be a scary criminal."

  "Why I'm a good cop," she said, flashing a smile over her shoulder at him.

  As they walked toward the car in the darkness, Brendan forced himself not to take her hand. They were close to the station. Not a lot of cops around now, but there were a few. If someone saw him holding Cilla's hand, the gossip would be in every district by morning.

  The crap with Ward was bad enough. Cilla didn't need her co-workers making kissy sounds behind her back. Because that's what would happen. A police station was the biggest middle school in the world. And the female officers were usually the targets.

  Once they were in the car, Brendan headed for Lake Shore Drive. "All those rapes happened in or near Beverly," he said quietly. "His neighborhood."

  "Rapists like to hunt in their own backyards," she said, staring out the windshield.

  "We didn't look up the details of those rapes," he said. "I bet he used a knife. Maybe didn't let them see his face. Probably wore a condom."

  "He's smart enough not to leave any DNA behind," Cilla said quietly.

  "The guys who think they're smarter than the cops are usually the guys who make a mistake," he said. "We'll see if his DNA sample gets any hits."

  "He let me see his face," Cilla said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "Yeah. I know." He'd hoped she wouldn't realize that, but she was too smart. "Maybe it was a mistake. The kind an arrogant asshole like Welles would make."

  "Maybe. Maybe not." Cilla swallowed and turned to look out the side window.

  "Damn it." He banged his fist on the steering wheel. "I hoped you wouldn't think about that."

  "Of course I thought about that. Was he going to kill me?" She swallowed, and her throat rippled. "I don't know. But it seems uncharacteristic for a smart guy to make such a big mistake." Her voice wobbled a little. He reached over the console and took her hand. It was ice cold.

  "We'll make sure he doesn't get bail."

  "How? A guy like that, you can bet he has the best attorney in Chicago on his speed dial. And he's got a 'get out of jail free' card in his pocket. What do you want to bet he gets either Larson or Drake as his judge?"

  "We'll make sure he doesn't." He glanced at her. "Call your sister. There must be something she can do."

  She finally turned to look at him. "You're right." Her dark eyes burned into him. "I've been taking care of Livvy's messes for a long time. It's her turn to give me a hand."

  "Call her."

  Cilla opened her purse, then stopped. "I don't have my phone."

  "Use mine." He rolled to a halt at a stop sign and reached into his pocket, handing the warm phone to Cilla. A car behind him honked, and he waved in apology as he pressed the accelerator.

  Cilla punched in numbers, then put the phone to her ear. Her knuckles whitened around it. Brendan counted six rings before it was picked up.

  "Liv, it's me. Cilla. Sorry to wake you up, but this is an emergency. Get a piece of paper and a pen."

  The female voice on the other end of the line began to speak, and Cilla interrupted. "Get the paper and pen."

  A few moments later, her sister spoke again. Cilla said, "Write this down. Michael Welles." She spelled his name and read off his address. "He's an attorney. He tried to rape me tonight."

  Her sister burst into speech, and Cilla held the phone slightly away from her ear. "Liv. Stop! I'll explain everything later. He didn't rape me, thanks to your call to Brendan. He's sitting in jail, I hope, but there's a problem."

  She sketched out the details, then said to her sister, "It's really, really important that he doesn't get Peter Drake or Glen Larson as his judge for the bond hearing." She waited for a moment. "You know them?"

  Her sister must have said yes, because Cilla answered, "Good. Now go into work tomorrow morning, and make sure Welles doesn't appear on either of their dockets. His lawyer will scream. But I suspect you know how to handle that."

  Her sister said something else, and Cilla's hand tightened. "I don't have time to explain it now. But if this guy is freed on bond, he'll rape someone else. Might come after me again, as well. And those two judges might let him go. So I need you to take care of this. And make sure you don't tell anyone I'm the victim. I don't want anyone to know a cop is involved. Okay?"

  He could hear her sister speaking. Then Cilla said, "Great. I'm counting on you, Liv. And just to warn you, Welles is going to have a damn good attorney."

  Cilla smiled as she listened to her sister. "You know it, Liv. Now go kick some fancy lawyer's ass."

&nb
sp; Cilla pressed the 'off' button, and stared at the now-dark screen. "She'll get it done."

  She rubbed at a smudge on the screen, then tucked the phone into the cup holder in front of the console.

  Brendan glanced at Cilla's pale face and wished like hell he wasn't driving right now. Her hands shook, and when she noticed him watching, she gripped her legs to stop the trembling.

  "She said she knew how to handle it," Cilla said. "That she'd make sure his bond hearing didn't go to either Drake or Larson. That she'd ask the DA who gets the case to ask for no bail. At least until the DNA results come back."

  "That was smart," Brendan said. If Cilla's sister didn't come through, he'd see what connections Mac had.

  Cilla nodded. "Livvy was right. She is a good attorney. Smart. Quick."

  He needed to distract her. "What did you mean that you've cleaned up her messes?"

  She didn't say anything for a long time. "I shouldn't have said that," she finally answered.

  "Hey. You know my deep, dark secret. You can tell me yours. I won't spread it around."

  "I know you won't." She reached over and wrapped her cold fingers around his wrist, squeezed then let go. "The story doesn't make my family look good. Me, either."

  "Cilla. Nothing you can say would make me think less of you. Nothing. Do you understand me?"

  Cilla was silent as he turned onto the ramp to Lake Shore Drive. Once he'd merged, he glanced over at her. Her gaze was fixed on him. Unreadable. Then she turned to stare out the windshield.

  "My dad was a mechanic," she began. "He had his own shop, which he eventually expanded into a chain of car repair places. He worked a lot of hours and wasn't home much.

  "There was a lot of...drama at home, so I hung around his shop. Learned about repairing cars." Her mouth curved into a slight smile. "He gave me Betsy. He'd bought her from a guy who needed cash and who hadn't kept the car maintained. We worked on Betsy together for more than a year, restoring her. I know how to rebuild an engine, take a transmission apart and put it back together, fix brakes." She shrugged. "Just about anything to do with cars. That's my blog," she said. "What I do to relax. I work on Betsy."