Cover Me (The Donovan Family Book 5)

by Margaret Watson

  His hand tightened around the glass, then he lifted it and swallowed a gulp of beer. "Yeah, I've seen it. Maybe it'll be there. Who knows how he or she picks what they write about?"

  "It has to be a cop. Or someone related to a cop. That guy knows too much."

  He stared at her for a long moment, wondering if she suspected. Then he lifted one shoulder. "Even if it is, there are a lot of cops. Probably always be a mystery." Time to change the subject. "So what do you want to do tomorrow?"

  Before Cilla could answer, the waitress slid their plates onto the table. Cilla swirled a fry in ketchup, ate it, then cut her burger in half and took a bite.

  When she'd eaten half of it, she leaned back. "Sorry. I was really hungry."

  He grinned. "I like a woman with a good appetite." Predictably, she rolled her eyes. Exactly what he was going for. "So. Tomorrow?"

  She picked up the other half of her burger and took a bite before answering. "What kinds of crowds are in the clubs on Tuesdays?" she finally asked.

  "Probably not a lot of people. Thirsty Thursday would be better. We should probably wait until then to hit the clubs."

  "Okay." She'd made steady progress on the burger until only a bite was left. "Pub tomorrow night?"

  She leaned back and wiped her hands with the napkin, and Brendan exhaled with relief as he studied her. She looked less pale. Less beaten down. A little more like the Cilla he knew.

  "Brendan?" She frowned, as if puzzled. "Tomorrow?"

  Pay attention. Stop staring at her. "Yeah," he said easily. "Tomorrow we'll check out the pub."

  * * *

  Cilla sank into the worn leather of Betsy's driver's seat as Brendan closed the door behind her with a solid thunk. She watched him walk around the front of the car, then slide in beside her.

  His familiar scent, all woodsy and smelling of the outdoors, filled the Mustang. She inhaled deeply, trying to capture it inside her.

  She was so glad he'd come to the hostage scene.

  She'd expected to go home, maybe order Chinese, and spend the evening in an exhausted daze. Watching television without really seeing it. Or maybe just staring out her window.

  Instead, he'd been waiting for her. Because they were partners and she might need him.

  No one ever thought Cilla might need help. Or support. She was the one who helped everyone else. Talked her brother through his baseball crises. Solved her sister's problems. The one her mother called when she needed to unload on someone. Cilla was the family fixer.

  Brendan snapped his seat belt into place, and she started the car. As she exited out of the parking lot, she said, "Brendan?"

  "Hmm?" he answered, examining the vintage seat belt that only went over his lap.

  "Why did you really come to the hostage scene today?" Had he needed something from her? "Did something happen with our case?"

  "Nope." He swiveled his hips on the seat so he was half-facing her. "I just...hostage negotiation is a tough job. I remember when we studied it in the academy." He shuddered. "I screwed it up every time. Afterward, I'd be jittery for hours, and it wasn't even real." He shrugged. "No matter how it went, I thought you might want some company."

  She wished he'd been there after her last domestic went so horribly wrong. Reaching across the console, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. His fingers were warm. Reassuring. When he slid his fingers between hers, she felt little calluses on his fingertips. "I'm really glad you're here."

  He put his palm against hers. "I'm glad I came." He twined their fingers together. "What would have happened to your leftover fries if I hadn't been there?"

  She smiled and drew her hand away, stepped on the clutch and shifted gears. "Yeah, they would have gone to waste. Would have been a shame."

  He'd told her she'd done a good job. Saved a family. Even though she already knew it, it had been nice hearing him say it. Hearing him appreciate what she'd done.

  Without looking at him, she said, "I usually go to one of the beaches after a hostage negotiation. To unwind. The lake, the water, the squawking birds really help. You really helped tonight."

  "So you're saying I'm better than a bunch of seagulls?"

  "Much better." She smiled. "And you didn't try to steal my food, either."

  "I've seen you eat. And you're wearing your gun. No way was I going to mess with your dinner."

  She laughed. "I like a man who pays attention." When was the last time she'd laughed after a hostage crisis? Brendan was good for her.

  Instead of thinking about that, she asked, "So where do you want me to drop you off? The station? Your apartment?"

  "My place is fine. I have to take Franny out for a walk."

  "Okay." She made a turn, then another. Ten minutes later, she pulled into a parking spot at his front gate.

  She turned to look at him. A streetlight a few cars down shed weak light into the car. He was watching her, an uncertain expression on his face.

  "What?" she asked.

  "You're exhausted. You probably want to get home. But I was thinking...you want to walk Franny with me? Get some fresh air? You were cooped up in that trailer all afternoon."

  She should go home. Shower off the sweat and tension that coated her skin and permeated her clothes. Unwind in peace.

  But suddenly that sounded depressing. Lonely and quiet. Company sounded perfect. Not just company. Brendan. "Yeah, I'd like that," she heard herself saying. "Walking would be good."

  His face lit up with a smile. "Great. Let's go get her. There's nothing like being greeted by a dog when you get home."

  He hurried around to her side of the car, and Cilla waited for him to help her out of it. Having help felt...good.

  When they walked into his apartment and he flicked on a light, Franny rushed over, her whole body wiggling. She acted as though Brendan had been gone for days, instead of just a few hours. And after she finished greeting Brendan, the dog bounced over to Cilla.

  "What a good dog you are," Cilla murmured, rubbing Franny's ears. "What a smart puppy."

  "Franny. Walk?" Brendan said.

  The dog sat abruptly, her rear end still moving. Brendan picked up her leash and snapped it to her collar. "Okay. Let's go."

  Once again, Franny heeled perfectly as they walked to the small park a few blocks away. When they stepped off the sidewalk, the canopy of trees overhead hid the moon and muted the surrounding streetlights. Dead leaves covered the grass, and when Brendan unsnapped the leash, Franny dashed through them, snapping at the leaves she stirred up, racing across the grass.

  Just like earlier in the day, taking Franny for a walk felt – intimate. Something a couple would do when they got home from work. Walk the dog. Talk about their day. Discuss what to do about dinner.

  It was a mirage, Cilla reminded herself. Something shimmering on the horizon, drawing her in, but not really there.

  Just like she'd created a mirage for Zeke today. Gotten him to believe it was real. Now they had to make it real for him.

  It could be real for you, too, a tiny voice whispered. All you have to do is reach for it.

  She wasn't sure she knew how. And even if she did, it wasn't smart to do it with Brendan. Yeah, he got her going like no one ever had before. Yeah, he was a great guy. He had depths she hadn't expected.

  But he'd told her he didn't do serious.

  And he was a cop.

  A cop who'd been there when she needed him.

  As they walked back to his apartment, they were close enough that their hands brushed. Each time sent a tiny jolt of electricity up her arm. Reminded her of what Brendan's hands had felt like on her skin.

  She didn't want to go home. She wanted to stay here with Brendan. Unwind with him. All night.

  Maybe Brendan wasn't a good bet for a long-term relationship. But was there anything wrong with short term? Yeah, partners on the job shouldn't get together in their personal lives. But they had some solid leads on this case. It wouldn't last much longer. There wouldn't be time to get too wrapp
ed up in Brendan. When the case was over, they'd go their separate ways.

  Until then? Maybe it was time break her own rules.

  Chapter 16

  Cilla saw the Mustang, gleaming red in the faint light of the streetlamp, as soon as they turned the corner onto Brendan's block. She closed her eyes. She'd forgotten about Betsy.

  She wanted to stay, but she couldn't. She needed to take the car home.

  The little flicker of relief made her frown. The whole 'breaking the rules' thing didn't last long, did it, Marini?

  She fished in her bag for the keys, ignoring the taunting voice calling her a coward. Turning to Brendan, she said, "Thanks for coming to get me." She lifted a hand and touched his face. His whiskers tickled her fingertips, and she remembered the way they'd felt, scraping against her skin as he'd kissed her throat. Wanted to feel them again, in other, more sensitive places. "I really appreciate it."

  "I'm glad I did. And you don't have to leave." The rumble of his voice sent sparks shooting through her body. "Why don't you come up and hang out with Franny and me?"

  Because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to hide herself from Brendan. Afraid he'd strip away her walls and leave her bare and vulnerable.

  She glanced at the car she loved. The car that had been a gift from her father. No one had really seen her since he'd died.

  She knew what would happen if she let Brendan see her. After this case was over, after they went their separate ways, she'd be raw. Exposed. It would take a long time to rebuild the walls around her heart.

  "I'd like to, Brendan, I really would, but I can't leave Betsy on the street. I have to lock her in the garage."

  A shadow of disappointment flickered across his face, then he shrugged. "Yeah, you don't want to leave a beauty like that alone. Maybe another time?"

  "Sure. I'll take a rain check."

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped back as she slid into the car. Waved as she drove away. When she looked in the rear-view mirror as she turned the corner, he was still watching her.

  "Damn it." She slapped the steering wheel. "Betsy, sometimes you're a real pain in the ass."

  It wasn't Betsy who was the pain in the ass. It was her insecurities. Her need for control. Her fear of being hurt. "Sorry, baby," she muttered, smoothing her hand over the steering wheel. "Not your fault I'm such a wuss."

  The alley leading to her garage was illuminated at the street, but shadowed in the middle where her apartment was. She bumped over the broken piece of cement as she drove in, and the headlights flashed skyward. Like a beacon, showing her the way.

  When the Mustang was safely locked in her garage, she trudged in the darkness up the back stairs to her apartment on the top floor of the two-flat.

  Even after she turned on the lights, her apartment felt cold. Empty. Too quiet. Damn it, she didn't want quiet tonight.

  The echo of her footsteps bounced off the walls as she walked through the kitchen, around a corner and into her bathroom, stripping off her clothes as she went. After a hostage scene, she always took a bubble bath and had a glass of wine. Relaxed.

  Not tonight. Energy fizzed through her. She flipped on the lever for the shower and stepped into the stream of hot water. Her mind drifted to Brendan as she washed her hair. Remembered the way his hands felt as she scraped a washcloth across her body.

  Fifteen minutes later, as she wrung out her hair, then towel dried it, she sighed. It felt good to be clean.

  It would have felt a lot better to be at Brendan's place.

  You chickened out earlier, but no reason you can't go back.

  The tiny voice in her head made her freeze, the towel draped over her head. Why hadn't she stayed with him? Betsy had been a convenient excuse. She'd been afraid to let him see the real Cilla.

  Afraid of losing control.

  It didn't have to be such a big, freaking deal. She was a grown-up, attracted to Brendan. He was attracted to her, too. Why shouldn't she act on it? She didn't have to bare her soul to him. They could have fun, and she could walk away intact.

  She ignored the tiny voice that said it might be too late for that.

  She shook out her hair, felt the waves settle around her face. She didn't want to be 'responsible Cilla' tonight. She wanted to have fun. Be reckless. Take a chance. She wanted to wrap her arms around Brendan and taste him again.

  Do more than taste him.

  She dropped the towel on top of her dirty clothes and yanked open her underwear drawer. Chose a deep purple bra and matching panties. Then put on clean jeans, a light green sweater and slipped into a pair of shoes.

  As she drove her small SUV toward his apartment, she spotted Frosting, a gourmet cupcake shop on a brightly lit block of Belmont. Cupcakes were fun. And with a parking spot right in front of Frosting, she took it as a sign and pulled over.

  It was eight o'clock, and the shop on the busy street was still open. The bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smells of chocolate, vanilla and cinnamon. The cupcakes in the glass display case were beautiful. Some had flowers piped onto the frosting. Others had sparkly sprinkles. One had a piece of chocolate embedded in the white frosting.

  She picked one with sprinkles and one with the chocolate piece, paid the smiling clerk and took the box. As she slid it onto the floor of her car, she saw a pet store a few buildings down. Smiling, she hurried down the street and bought Franny a gourmet rawhide bone. Then she got back in her car and drove to Brendan's.

  The parking spot in front of his gate was taken, but she found another a block away. Clutching the cupcake box and the bag with the rawhide, she hurried through the darkness toward the soft gleam of the lights in his courtyard.

  Once there, she tugged on the gate and realized it was locked. A panel on the fence held a list of names with a buzzer beside each one.

  Her finger hovered over 'Donovan'. What if he was gone? Worse, what if he wasn't alone?

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew one certainty about Brendan. He wouldn't have had sex with her if he was seeing someone else. And if he was gone?

  When did you become such a wimp, Marini? If he wasn't here, she'd go home and have a cupcake. Maybe both of them.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed the buzzer for Brendan's apartment. Moments later, his tinny voice came out of the speaker. "Yes?"

  "Ah, hi, Brendan. It's me. Cilla." She wiped one sweaty hand on her jeans. "I, um, ditched Betsy and came back. Unless you're busy, or you've..."

  The lock buzzed, and she pulled the wrought iron gate open. By the time she reached the front door, Brendan was waiting for her.

  "Hey." His eyes gleamed in the dimly lit entranceway, and he took her hand to pull her inside. "I'm glad you came back." His gaze fell on the cupcake box. "With presents, too."

  "We didn't have dessert." Her hand shook, and she heard the tiny plinks of sprinkles falling onto cardboard.

  He took the box from her and tucked it beneath his arm, never taking his gaze off her face. "I love dessert," he said, his voice low. Raspy.

  Heat swept over her, settled low in her belly with a pulsating beat. "I hope you like the flavors I got."

  "Oh, I'm sure I'll love your flavors." His eyes were heavy-lidded. Dark, dark blue. "They'll be perfect."

  As they stared at each other, someone pushed open the outer door and it bumped into Cilla. She stumbled forward, and Brendan took her hand. Warm and strong, it wrapped around hers like a promise. He tugged her up the stairs and around the corner. Ahead, she saw a triangle of light spilling into the hall where he'd left his door ajar.

  Franny sat next to the open door, her stumpy tail wagging. "See," Brendan said as he pulled her inside and shut the door behind her. "Franny's excited, too."

  "Should I give her the bone I got?"

  His face softened. "You got my dog a bone?"

  "Well, not your dog," she teased, regaining some of her game. "The dog you're borrowing. Or mayb
e trying to steal."

  "Me? I don't steal anything. I only take what's freely given." He leaned against the door, his eyes fixed on hers, and the highlight reel of her last visit unspooled in her brain. The way Brendan had kissed her. Touched her. Held her against that door.

  The desperate need that had gripped both of them.

  From the heat in his gaze, he was watching the same film.

  She flushed and stepped away from his touch. If she didn't, she'd embarrass herself. "Is it okay if I give Franny her dessert?"

  "Sure." He pushed away from the door. "Franny, sit."

  The dog plopped herself on the floor, staring up at Brendan.

  "You have to make her work for it," he said to Cilla, his mouth curling up at one corner as his eyes darkened even more.

  Heat swept up her neck and flashed over her face. Her voice was raspy as she said, "Oh, I'm going to make everyone work for it tonight."

  He leaned closer. "Is that a promise, Cilla?"

  She let her gaze hold his. "Guess you'll have to find out, won't you?" Franny barked once, and Cilla took a deep breath. "Someone's impatient."

  His gaze swung back to Cilla. "Yeah. Someone is. And you're a tease, Marini." He leaned closer. "Where's the bone?"

  She glanced at the bulge in his jeans, opened her mouth, then closed it again. Fumbled in the bag and held out the rawhide. "Okay, what do I do with this?"

  "Balance it on her nose."

  She glanced at Brendan again. Big mistake. The heat in his dark gaze washed over her in a wave. Her hand quivered, and it had nothing to do with the dog.

  Finally, Brendan put his hand over hers. His fingers were warm. Steady on top of hers. He balanced the bone on the dog's nose, then pulled both of their hands away.

  Twining their fingers together, he said, "Wait, Franny."

  The dog sat motionless.

  "Get it," he said. Franny tossed the bone up high, snapped it out of the air, then dropped to the floor, gnawing on the rawhide.