Wondered what they'd all think of her.
Reminded herself it didn’t matter. After they finished this case, she’d be gone. Wouldn’t see any of the Donovans again.
They stopped talking and watched her and Brendan approach. All three of them were facing the parking lot. The closest they could get to the cop chairs in a restaurant. They might not have their backs to the wall, but Lake Michigan was a good second choice.
She tightened her grip on the bag of sandwiches, holding it carefully away from her body to avoid the grease stains already dotting the paper bag. Brendan carried two six-packs of Coke and a fistful of napkins. When he saw his family, he shifted one six-pack under his arm and took her hand.
Squeezed. As if reassuring her.
Of what? That his family wouldn't bite?
She could handle the Donovans.
He let her go before they reached his family, but all three stared at her. Assessing. Measuring.
They'd seen Brendan take her hand. Slide his fingers between hers.
Cilla wished they'd been able to ask someone else for help. Anyone but Brendan's family. Now they were all staring at her, their gazes assessing.
She didn't want to face them or their assumptions about her and Brendan. She wanted to turn and run away. But she forced herself to ignore the urge. She and Brendan needed help. And his siblings were the only ones they could trust.
"Hey." His sister was the first to speak. She trotted over to Brendan, hugged him for a long moment. Then leaned back. "Long tine, no see, Bren."
"Yeah." Brendan dropped the sodas on the picnic table. "Not sure how I've survived not seeing you for a whole week."
"Smart ass," she said, punching him on the shoulder.
Then she turned to Cilla. "So you're Brendan's partner." She crooked one eyebrow at Cilla.
"Cilla Marini," Cilla said evenly. "And you're Brendan's sister."
The slender woman with Brendan's eyes smiled at that. "Touché. I'm Mia. Nice to meet you." She looked from Cilla to Brendan, as if expecting Cilla to explain their relationship.
Not going to happen. "Nice to meet you, too, Mia."
She dropped the bag with the beef sandwiches from Al's on the table, then nodded at Connor. Or at least the twin she was pretty sure was Connor. "Good to see you again, Connor."
He stood up and shook her hand. "You, too, Cilla." He slid back onto the picnic table bench. "Looks like you and Bren are doing well."
Cilla smiled, beginning to relax. She could do this. It didn’t matter what they thought of her. They were no different than any group of nosy cops at the station. "We are. Your brother is a good partner." She turned to the man sitting next to Connor. "You must be Quinn. Nice to meet you."
"I am. And I'm impressed you could tell us apart after meeting Con once. Although it's pretty easy. I'm the good-looking twin."
She laughed as she shook his hand. "I'll remember that for next time."
"There's going to be a next time?" Across the table, Mia raised one eyebrow.
"Don't know. But this?" She gestured back and forth between her and Brendan. "It’s our cover for this case. You never know who might be watching."
Brendan stepped closer, pressing against her from shoulder to thigh. "She's right. We have to sell the premise."
"You're doing a good job of selling it to us." Connor reached for one of the sandwiches. "Should have known it wasn't real, though. You don't do real, do you, Bren?"
Cilla felt him tense beside her. Without waiting for him to answer, she said, "You can't tell?" She smiled innocently. "That's because Brendan is a damn good undercover operator."
Mia popped the top on one of the cold, sweaty colas and smiled as she took a drink. "Looks like his partner is equally good."
"She is," Brendan said quietly. His fingers brushed her hip. "But we're going to need help. Let me tell you what's going on." He glanced over his shoulder. "You mind switching sides of the table?"
All three of the Donovans frowned. "How come?" Quinn finally said.
"I need to keep an eye on the parking lot."
They all stood up and slid off the bench. Edged onto the other side.
"Sounds pretty serious," Quinn said.
"It is." As Brendan unrolled the greasy paper around his sandwich, he told them about their assignment. About their suspicions of Bates. How he’d stopped at the park. His questions.
"We need to finish this. Cilla and I have an idea, but we're going to need your help."
As they ate, Brendan outlined their operation. He studied the parking lot every few minutes. When a car drove in, he tensed. Stared until he was sure the car didn't belong to Bates.
While he talked, his brothers and sister interrupted him repeatedly to ask questions. Finally, when all of them except Brendan had finished their sandwich, Mia reached for a napkin.
"So you need our help at your pub. When? I'm working nights this weekend, but I can probably switch with someone. How about you two?" she asked Connor and Quinn.
It took only a few minutes for everything to be arranged. All three of them would be at the pub on Thursday night. Connor and Quinn promised subtle disguises so they wouldn't look so much like Brendan.
As they all stood up to leave, Brendan said, "One last thing. You all know Bates and Ward?"
"I don't know either of them," Mia said.
Quinn didn't know either of them, either.
Connor said, "Ward made that scene at the hospital. I won't forget his face. Bates? Not sure I know him."
"Find pictures of them before Thursday night. But do it right away. Don't want any of you taken by surprise before then."
"Aren't you a little paranoid, bro?" Quinn asked. "Why would either of those dirtbags go after one of us?"
Brendan scanned the parking lot once more before he answered. "He saw me in the Pipe and Shamrock. If he's our guy, he has to be nervous. Worried enough to confront me in a park a couple of blocks from my apartment." He gazed from one of his siblings to another, then grabbed Cilla's hand. "Make sure you watch your six."
All five of them headed for the parking lot, dumping the trash in a garbage bin. Brendan's gaze combed the rows of cars as he pressed the 'unlock' button on his key fob. "Thanks, guys." He waved to his siblings as he opened the door for Cilla, then got into the driver's seat. "See you soon."
Cilla exhaled. That had gone...okay. At least they'd managed to deflect the nosier questions.
And even Connor's painful remark about Brendan not doing 'serious' had floated past without any comments. Thank God. She wouldn't have been able to handle a discussion of Brendan's past romantic entanglements.
She scanned the cars around them. Tensed. As Brendan closed his door and started the car, Cilla murmured, "Burgandy Crown Vic, five cars down on our left." It was the color and model of the department car Bates drove.
Brendan didn't look in that direction. "We'll take a look as we pull out."
As they cruised slowly past the parked Crown Vic, Cilla turned to Brendan as if she was talking to him. She scanned the license plate. Wrong number. And the car was empty.
"False alarm," she said.
"Good catch. And keep paying attention," Brendan said, his voice grim. "The next one might be Bates. Or Ward."
Chapter 26
Cilla's voice, singing Elton John's Rocket Man, washed over Brendan as he stood at the bar of the Pipe and Shamrock, drinking his fake Warsteiner beer. Her voice was haunting, and most of the people around him were staring at the stage. At Cilla.
Any other time, he would have lost himself in the music, in her, as well.
Not tonight. Tonight, he was watching Tiffany.
Dressed in another bright, flamboyant dress, this one a silver number that oozed sex, she was making the rounds in the pub. Talking to anyone who smiled at her or caught her eye.
Mia was behind her, wearing a red dress that was far too short and way too tight. It was matched with fuck-me black shoes that added three inches to her height.
How the hell did she walk in those shoes?
It was the kind of outfit she'd go clubbing in. To dance with guys she didn't know. To pick those guys up. Brendan swallowed a too-big gulp of his half-warm beer. He didn't want to think about his baby sister that way.
But he had to admit, she was playing her role as the party girl perfectly. Men crowded around her, offering to buy her drinks, trying to engage her attention. She flirted with all of them, but still managed to keep a close eye on Tiffany. Damn it. His little sister was good. She'd make a great detective one of these days.
Quinn was on Tiffany's other side. He wore a three-piece suit, with slicked-back hair and a fancy tie. Chatting up a lot of women, just like a real player would have done. Hoping Tiffany would see him and target him as a prospective customer.
Connor was the other point of the triangle surrounding Tiffany. He wore an old herringbone sports coat with suede patches on the elbows. Khakis and a blue dress shirt. He'd pasted a fake mustache on his upper lip and wore dark-rimmed glasses. A college professor, maybe. Or an aspiring writer.
Brendan felt some of his tension ease as he smiled into his beer at the thought. Writers knew they didn't need the suede patches on the herringbone sports coat or the dorky glasses to be real.
He could have given Con some tips about writing attire.
But in order to do that, he would have to share his secret. And he wasn't ready for that yet.
His brothers would tease him unmercifully. But they'd be happy for him. So why hadn't he told them?
He wasn't quite ready to shatter his cop image. The tough guy, the macho man who had the swagger to make it on the street. All of his brothers were cops. His father had been one, too. As the youngest boy, Brendan had equated being a cop with being a real man.
In his family, writers were way down on the scale of 'real' men.
Both of his brothers had chosen characters that were as far from their real personalities as possible. And since Con had chosen a writer as his avatar, it was clear that he bought into that pansy-assed image, too.
Finishing his fake beer, Brendan set his glass on the bar and stepped away. This was not the night to brood about the choices he'd made and what those choices meant. Cilla was singing again, but he forced himself to ignore the sound of her voice. He had to concentrate on the job.
As he wandered toward the restrooms, he spotted Tiffany in the more dimly lit back room. The same room where she'd met with Bates and Ward.
She was talking to a man. Mia, Connor and Quinn were drifting in that direction, and Brendan slowed. Tiffany's customer was pulling a wallet out of his pocket. Handing Tiffany some bills.
She put something in his hand, smiled, and turned away.
Time for Drunk Guy to make an appearance. Brendan had honed this act on several previous undercover ops.
He staggered a little as he got closer to the buyer. Put one hand on the wall, as if steadying himself. Then pushed away and crashed into the other man. Hard.
The short, slightly stocky guy stumbled backward, his arms wind-milling. Something white fell out of his hand.
Keeping his eyes on the white capsule on the floor, Brendan grabbed the guy's arm and steadied him. "Sorry, man," he said, slurring his words. "Really sorry." Brendan gestured toward the floor and the capsule, a few inches away from a man's foot. "Saw you drop something. I'll get it for you."
He swayed for a moment, then dropped to his knees. Began crawling on the floor, patting it as if looking for whatever dropped. He didn't take his eyes off the capsule, a couple of feet away.
"Hey, buddy, it's okay." The stocky guy tugged on his arm. "Don't worry about it. It was just an allergy pill. No big deal."
"No, no. I'll find it," Brendan insisted with the stubborn focus of the really drunk. "Got to be here somewhere."
He got close enough to put his hand over the little white capsule, and he held it against his palm with his thumb. "Ouch," he yelled, flinching as if someone had stepped on his hand.
"Get off the floor," Stocky Guy said, a hint of panic in his voice. "It's not important. Get up." He yanked on Brendan's arm and Brendan staggered to his feet. He dropped the pill into the pocket of his jeans as he pretended to wipe his hands on the denim.
"Sorry," Brendan said, fumbling for his wallet in his other front pocket. "Lemme give you some money. For more allergy pills."
"Don't worry about it." The stocky guy backed away and held up his hands, palm out. "It's fine. I'm good." He backed another couple of steps, then turned and fled.
"You okay, man?" Connor grabbed his arm and steered him toward a booth. "Looks like you need to sit down."
"M'fine." He batted at Connor's arm, missing half the time. "Just need another beer."
"Looks as if you've had plenty." Connor pushed him down onto the padded bench. "I'll get you a cup of coffee. Okay?"
"Yeah, coffee's good. Irish coffee."
"Regular coffee." He stared down at Brendan, his eyes twinkling. "What's your problem, anyway?"
"Band stopped playing," Brendan said.
"Yeah. They're taking a break," Connor replied.
Brendan scowled. "They're all hitting on her. Trying to touch her. My gir...girlfriend."
"Who are you talking about?"
"In the band. Keyboards."
"You think that hot chick is your girlfriend?" Connor shook his head. "In your dreams, pal." A stifled laugh slipped out of Con's mouth. "You need to go home. Come on. I'll get you a ride."
Brendan pretended to resist until Connor hoisted him to his feet. "Gotta settle my tab," Brendan protested.
"I'll take care of it," Connor said. "What's your name?"
"You'd do that?" Brendan reared back and stared at Connor. "You're the best friend ever."
"Hey, keep your voice down. Don't want every drunk in here thinking I'll pick up their tab."
Connor fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone. Pretended to call for an Uber car. Slid the phone back into his pocket as they reached the front door.
Once they were outside, Connor let him go. "That was so good it was scary," Connor said. "Almost had me convinced you were drunk."
Brendan edged around the corner, away from the door. "Not the first time I've played a drunk." He walked down a row of cars until he got to the back of the parking lot. Then he pulled a plain white capsule out of his pocket.
"Chain of custody okay?" Connor asked.
"Golden. Had my eyes on it from the moment it left the buyer's hand until I picked it up." He rolled it in his palm, examining it. It looked like an ordinary drug. An allergy medication, maybe, like the buyer had claimed.
It didn't look like a drug that killed people.
Brendan curled his fist around it, then pulled a small manila envelope from his back pocket. He slid the capsule inside and sealed the flap. "I'm going to run this over to the lab."
He held out his hand to Con, who took a pen out of his pocket. Brendan scribbled his name, the date and time, the location on the envelope. "There's one tech who's done the analysis on the drugs from all the guys who've died. She works nights, so I'm going to give this to her. Want to get it in there as fast as possible.
"Stay close to Tiffany," he continued, tapping the envelope into his shirt pocket. "If she's got people she doesn't know hanging around, she might not try to sell another one tonight. I'll be back after I've sobered up." He slapped Connor on the back. "Thanks, bro."
Connor frowned. "You want to go in and let Cilla know you'll be gone?"
"Nah. Cilla’s good, she knows the score on an undercover op. She won’t worry if I disappear." He patted his pockets, looking for his keys. "You can tell her what happened if you get a chance, though."
"Will do." Connor brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket. "Think she's the type to go for a writer?"
Brendan choked back a laugh. "You gonna read her some poetry, Professor? Not sure she'd be too impressed by that. Especially if you wrote it."
Connor grinned, fla
shed him the finger and strolled back toward the pub door. Brendan got into his car, waited until there was no one in the parking lot to see him leave, then turned onto the street.
* * *
Cilla slid off her stool at the end of the second set, anxiety making her palms sweat and her heart beat a little harder. What had happened to Brendan?
And why hadn't he signaled her?
During the first set, he'd followed their script to the letter – he'd hung around at the bar, watched her, watched Tiffany. Wandered through the pub, taking his beer with him, talking to people he knew.
Then suddenly nothing. He'd disappeared.
Mia, Connor and Quinn were still here. She'd seen them all in the last thirty minutes, hiding her smiles at their disguises. During the first break, none of them had approached her or tried to talk to her. They were too busy watching Tiffany.
The second break was when Brendan usually checked in. Bought her iced tea, stood close enough to give her the scoop on the evening. Pretending he was whispering sweet nothings.
Stepping off the stage, she scanned the thinning crowd, looking for Brendan. When she didn't see him, anxiety bloomed into worry. Morphed into anger.
His three siblings were here. If Bates or Ward had come in, Mia, Connor and Quinn would have had Brendan's back. So there was no reason to worry.
Brendan wouldn't have left without telling one of them where he was going. So why hadn't one of them let her know?
Stepping up to the bar, she asked Rick for an iced tea, then watched as Connor rounded the corner. "Buy you a drink?" he asked with a friendly smile.
"No, thanks. I've got it."
"You're, ah, boyfriend asked me to keep an eye on you," Connor said, loud enough for other people to hear. "Or maybe I should say your 'so-called' boyfriend." Connor shook his head. "What do you see in a guy who gets wasted like that?"
Cilla took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Okay. Something had happened, but it was under control. She let her shoulders relax and took a long drink of her iced tea. "He has his good qualities." She made no effort to lower her voice, knowing people were listening. "Some big...strengths."
Cover Me Page 25
