The car bumped through a pot hole, and Franny whimpered. Cilla stroked the dog's head. Her eyes prickled as she whispered, "It's okay, baby. I know it hurts." She lifted her head and said to Brendan, "Watch those potholes, okay?"
"Sorry," Brendan muttered.
After a few more uncomfortable minutes, Cilla said, "You don't have to feel guilty because you were writing."
"How am I going to explain why I was so distracted that I didn't hear that guy until it was too late to get Franny out of the way?"
"You could tell them the truth."
He glanced at her in the rear view mirror, then looked away. "It's complicated."
She swallowed. "What's so complicated? Your writing is a huge part of your life. And you're hiding it from everyone. I don't understand why."
"Not everyone." He stared out the windshield. "You know."
"Everyone important to you," she retorted, her heart pinching when Brendan didn't correct her. "Your family. Their girlfriends. Your buddies in the district. Are you ashamed of your writing?"
"Of course not." He hunched his shoulders. "It's just that it's not...my image. As a cop, you know?"
"Which image is that? Your recklessness? Your wildness? Your reputation as a player?"
"I'm not that guy anymore," he said, finally glancing over his shoulder at her.
"Really? Are you sure? Because if you're not, why can't you trash that wild image and admit that you want to write? That you are writing?" She tangled both hands in her hair, anger and frustration erupting. "Every cop I know raves about your blog. Talks about how great it is. I've seen comments on it from all over the country. People love what you're writing. But you can't own up to that?"
"It's not your decision, Cilla. Not your business. It's my business. So stay out of it."
Her heart twisted, and a band tightened around her chest. She couldn't breathe.
Brendan wasn't her business.
She took a ragged breath. Then another one. In and out. In and out. "You're right," she finally managed to say. "It's not any of my business. You're not my business." She glanced at her watch. Only eight in the morning. They had a whole day to get through.
She couldn't spend it with Brendan. "We need to finish this. We'll start hitting the clubs tonight. The ones where there have been deaths from the drug. I vote for The Seven Club first. It's the kind of place where people have sex against the walls in the corners of the room. Perfect place for someone like Tiffany to do business."
"I can't think about that right now, Marini." His voice cracked over her like a whip. "I almost got my sister-in-law's dog killed."
"You damn well better think about it. Isn't that what you've been telling me? 'We have to concentrate on the case. I don't have time to discuss personal stuff until we've closed it'. So we're going to close the damn case. We're going to the Seven Club tonight."
He swerved into the small parking lot next to the veterinary clinic. "I didn't realize you were such a heartless bitch, Marini. That dog almost died saving my life."
Her heart froze at his words. Stopped. Then jolted to life again, her chest aching with every beat.
"So make her pain mean something." Cilla's breath caught on a sob, but she ignored it. "Catch the bastard who shot her."
She slid out of the car and waited as he lifted Franny into his arms. Held the door open for Brendan as he walked into the waiting area of the clinic. As she followed him in, she stopped short.
His family was there. Connor, Quinn and Mia. Rose. And a short woman with blond hair who was holding Connor's hand. A taller woman with long red hair huddled next to Quinn.
"How is she?" Rose hurried over, smoothed a hand over Franny's head. "How's our baby?" Rose cooed. The dog's tail wagged once. "I have a Milk-bone for you." She held it up, and Franny sniffed it. "For when you're better."
"What the hell happened?" Connor barked.
There were two other people in the waiting room, both holding cats in carriers. They stared at the Donovan's clustered by the door.
"Someone broke in. Tried to shoot us. Got Franny instead."
A door opened and a man in a blue lab coat came out. "Is this Franny Monroe?"
"Yes," Brendan said.
"Bring her on back. Dr. Winston from the emergency clinic called me and filled me in."
Brendan disappeared through the door, and everyone turned to Cilla. "Come sit down, dear." Rose put her hand on Cilla's back and urged her toward a chair. "We brought coffee for everyone. Some doughnuts. Sounds like we could be here for awhile."
Mia pressed a hot cup into Cilla's hand, and she curled her fingers around its warmth. Inhaled the aroma.
She couldn't do this.
She couldn't stay here and pretend she was part of this amazing family. This family that had come to a vet clinic at seven in the morning because their soon-to-be sister-in-law's dog was hurt.
She wasn't part of the close-knit circle of the Donovans and never would be. The knowledge made her heart twist. Left a desolate sadness in her empty chest. She backed toward the door as the rest of the Donovans picked up their coffee. Almost like they shared a brain, they all turned toward the door where Brendan had disappeared.
Several minutes later, Brendan walked back into the waiting room. "She's hooked up to an IV," he said. "They've got her on a heating pad to keep her warm, and she's in the treatment room, where there'll be someone with her almost all the time. They said we can come in and see her after they've had a chance to assess her."
He glanced at Cilla. "You sticking around?"
Her heart yearned to say yes. To sit with Brendan's family, share her grief and worry with them. Make sure Franny was okay.
But she couldn't. It was time to stop fooling herself. She didn't have a place in this family and never would.
"No, I'm going to take off. Pick me up at nine."
"Cilla, wait. I didn't mean what I..."
Ignoring him, she murmured good-byes to everyone, then pushed out the door into the cool autumn air. To the traffic and bustle of morning rush hour.
A bus passed by that would take her to her place. She ignored it and signaled for a taxi. She needed privacy. She didn't want to sob out her grief in front of a bus full of strangers.
Chapter 29
Brendan scowled as they stepped into The Seven Club at ten o'clock that evening. The bass line of the electronic music was so loud that the floor vibrated beneath his feet. The dance floor was packed with people, most of them pressed close to their dance partners. The room was dimly lit, except for the scattered spotlights illuminating the dancers. Couples moved in and out of the lights appearing then disappearing.
He'd been to this club before. Been to others like it. The kinds of clubs that attracted men and women who wanted to hook up for a night.
He'd never come with a date. But Cilla was next to him tonight. And he didn't mind that. He liked it, actually. Liked having her beside him. As his...whatever.
But he didn't like the distance between them.
And he didn't like the way she was dressed.
She wore an outfit she'd used at the Pipe and Shamrock that first weekend. When she was establishing her 'hot chick in the band' persona.
Her shirt was the one that had driven him wild. The dark green, silky one without a back. The one that revealed glimpses of her creamy skin every time she moved.
It wasn't vulgar. Or obvious. The ends of the blouse hung together like a curtain, hiding her back. Except for when she moved. Then the silk rippled and flowed, flashing tiny peeks of her back that disappeared before a watcher realized what he was seeing.
Watching her dance tonight would be torture. Especially if she was dancing with someone besides him.
Which she wouldn't do. They were here to do a job. They would stick together.
Right?
He wasn't sure. She'd been cool and distant when he'd picked her up. She'd asked him how Franny was doing. Her lip had quivered and she'd stared out the windshield when he'd
told her there was no change. But when he'd tried to apologize again for what he'd said to her, for his cruel and untrue 'heartless bitch' crack, she'd shut him down.
He'd seen the tears in her eyes as she'd walked out of the clinic. The devastation in her expression. But he hadn't gone after her. Hadn't wanted to face that conversation when he was still consumed by guilt over Franny. Guilt for what he'd done to Cilla.
The fact that he hadn't tried to apologize immediately?
He had no excuse besides cowardice.
He'd felt like shit all day.
Now a detached, impossible-to-read woman stood beside him. The one he'd met during that traffic stop on the Dan Ryan. A lot farther away than she'd been that night.
They needed to solve this case. Needed to get Bates, so they could work things out. Fix this mess between them.
He'd said that repeatedly. Now he wondered if it was even possible.
He wanted to kick himself. He knew how she felt. He'd heard her that night, when she'd thought he was asleep.
He wondered if it was still true. Or if, after this case, she'd walk away like this had been business and nothing more.
Because she thought that's what it was to him.
They stood a couple of feet apart, but the distance between them was a gaping chasm. While he was trying to figure out how to bridge it, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Connor.
"Hold on," he yelled after he pressed the icon to connect the call. "I need to get outside to talk."
Cilla was scanning the crowd, and he reached for her hand. She glanced over her shoulder at him, nodded when she saw the phone. Leaned in close.
But she didn't take his hand.
"I'll wait here," she said into his ear. Her breath shivered over his skin and he sucked in a breath.
"No. Come with me," he said into her ear. "I don't want to get separated." A part of him was afraid that if she was out of his sight, she'd disappear.
He knew she wouldn't. She was on the job. But he inhaled her scent, holding in his lungs for a long moment to store it in his memory. Just in case.
Then he grabbed her hand and led her toward the door. He ignored the way her fingers rested limp against his. As if she didn't really want to hold his hand, but didn't want to make a scene.
Once they were outside, he said, "Okay, Con. I'm good to talk."
"Where are you?" his brother asked.
"At The Seven Club. We need a night on the town." He tugged Cilla closer, wrapping his arm around her. She tilted her head toward the phone, keeping her body carefully separate from his.
Irritated by her distance, he slid his hand over her black leather skirt. Pressed his palm against her hip, savoring her warmth through the soft, supple leather.
"Tiffany disappeared," Connor said.
"What?" He glanced at Cilla and met her eyes. For a moment, the spark jumped between them. The one that had burned like a flame from the beginning.
Then she lowered her gaze and shifted beside him. Moving farther away.
"We had her in a place in Bucktown," Connor continued. "Secure building. Someone with her twenty-four seven. She slipped out early this morning. When the idiot who was supposed to be guarding her woke up, Tiffany was gone."
His heart began thudding against his chest. Cilla tensed beside him.
"Any idea where she went?"
"Into thin air, as far as I can tell. No sign of her. I looked at all the street cameras in a three block radius. Thought I caught a glimpse of her in one, but couldn't say for sure."
"Better get a BOLO out on her. She's a loose end and I don't want Bates to snip her off."
"Already done. If we're really lucky, she might show up at one of the clubs where we know the drug has been sold. We've got people heading to all of them."
"Don't worry about Seven. Cilla and I have it."
"Got it. Keep in touch."
"Will do."
As he slid his phone into his pocket, Cilla straightened. Put more air between them. "You have a plan?" she asked softly. "'Cause I can't think of anything besides what we've already discussed. Keep our eyes open. Except now we add Tiffany to the mix."
"Yeah. That's the plan." He took her hand, aware of the bouncer close behind him. "Come on, honey," he said in a louder voice. "Let me buy you one of those drinks you like."
"Forget the drink," she said, playing her part perfectly. He was beginning to hate this job. "I want to dance."
God damn it. Dancing was the last thing he wanted to do with Cilla.
He needed to keep his mind clear. Needed to pay attention to what was happening around him. Dancing with Cilla would distract him from anything but her.
But he knew dancing was a smart move. People came to Seven to dance. And hook up.
Gritting his teeth, he let her direct him to the dance floor. When she put her hands on his hips and pulled him closer, he swallowed hard and tried to smile. Stared at Cilla as he moved his eyes, studying the other dancers.
Cilla ground her ass into his crotch. Trailed her hands down his chest. Nuzzled his neck. Undulated against him as if they were having sex. After ten agonizing minutes, he couldn't take any more. He steered her off the dance floor. "We need to get a different perspective of the place," he said into her ear. "Can't see a thing from the middle of the dance floor."
"Yeah, but we had to dance." She glanced at him, cool and composed, as if their dancing hadn't affected her at all. She wasn't even breathing heavily, damn it. "You can't come to Seven and not dance."
"You've been here before?" He stared at her, knowing why he'd come to this club in the past. A stab of jealousy, ugly and hot, speared through him. Had Cilla come here for the same reason?
"Oh, honey, I don't want to talk about that," she said. Her simpering expression said 'I'm with you tonight, baby. Consider yourself lucky'.
She was a damned good actor. Anyone watching would think she was completely into him. Thinking about what would happen after they left the club.
But in the semi-darkness of the crowded room, her eyes never stopped moving. Assessing. "Let's find a place where we can see the crowd," she murmured.
Finally they found a spot along the wall. The club was circled by a raised platform holding booths. None of them were vacant, but there was a gap between two of them. They squeezed through the gap and leaned against the wall, plastered together from shoulders to knees.
Cilla took a sip out of the glass of water she'd gotten from the bar and pretended to talk to him. The club was crowded, with people flowing in and out the door, moving from the dance floor to the booths to the bar. On the mezzanine above them, tiny tables overlooked the crowded floor of the club. A bouncer stood at the bottom of the stairs, barring the entrance.
"Must be for VIP's," he muttered to her.
"Yeah," she said. "Celebrities and their posses."
How the hell did she know that?
Before he could ask her, she grabbed his wrist. "Over there. On the left. Toward the corner. That looks like Bates."
His heart lurched and began to race. "It is. And Tiffany is with him."
* * *
"I'll circle around to the right," Cilla said, keeping her eyes on Bates and Tiffany. Cilla fingered the reassuring shape of the gun in her evening bag. "I'll stay between them and the front door."
"I'll go left," Brendan said immediately. "Not sure where the other exits are, but I'll make sure they don't leave."
"You gonna call your brothers and Mia? Get them over here?" Cilla asked, watching Bates and Tiffany.
"Not now. It's too hard to hear in this place." He had to lean close so she could hear him, and his scent washed over her. Adrenaline. Excitement. Recklessness. "I want to grab Bates before he gets Tiffany out of here."
"Then give me your phone." She held out her hand while she watched Bates. "We need some back-up."
"We don't have time."
"Make time."
She heard him cursing under his breath, but he pulled o
ut his phone and stabbed a contact. "I won't be able to hear you, Con," he said. "So just listen. Bates is at Seven. Tiffany, too. Call everyone else and get over here ASAP."
He ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. "Satisfied?"
She didn't look at him. Couldn't. Why the hell did he think they could do this without backup? Reckless, a tiny voice whispered. "Thank you for taking five seconds to get us some back-up. Now let's get them and end this case."
Without looking back, she led with her shoulder as she crossed the dance floor. The smell of sweat and perfume filled the air. She bounced off one person, shoved against another.
"Hey! Watch where you're going." "What's your problem, bitch?" "Ow! What's in that purse?"
She ignored everyone as she focused on Bates and Tiffany. Bates glared at the woman. Tiffany hunched her shoulders and retreated.
Cilla opened her bag and slid her hand around the gun.
Suddenly, Bates grabbed Tiffany's wrist and dragged her toward the stairs. The bouncer stepped aside as they approached, then moved his bulked-up body back into place.
As Cilla changed direction, she scanned the crowd for Brendan. Had he seen Bates drag Tiffany up the stairs?
He had. Brendan stepped in front of the bouncer, argued for a moment, then shoved him aside.
The bouncer lifted his hand to his lapel. Brendan yanked something off the bouncer's jacket. Ripped something else from behind the bouncer's ear.
A mic. The bouncer was trying to warn Bates.
Cilla ignored the protests as she pushed harder through the crowd. She didn't slow down as she reached the stairs. Flashing her badge, she barked at the bouncer. "Chicago Police. Out of my way."
He hesitated, and Cilla pulled out her gun. "Don't make me use it."
The bouncer's gaze dropped to the gun in her hand. Back to her face. He moved away from the staircase.
Gripping the gun at her side, Cilla took the stairs two at a time. As she reached the top, a gunshot echoed in the noisy club. A second one followed moments later.
Cover Me Page 28
