Cover Me (The Donovan Family Book 5)

by Margaret Watson

  So he'd ask her when he picked her up, he promised himself. For now, he was going to spend some time with Franny, who had been neglected the last couple of days. Smiling in anticipation, he headed for his apartment.

  An hour later, Franny lay on the ground in front of him, panting. "Give me the ball, Franny," he said, holding out his hand.

  Instead of standing and dropping the ball in his hand, she set her head on the ground. Stared at him.

  "Okay. I get it. You're done." He snatched up the ball and pulled her leash out of his pocket. But before he could clip it onto her collar, a voice behind him said, "Donovan? That you?"

  He turned around to see Anson Bates strolling toward him.

  Every muscle in his body clenched. He'd left his gun at the apartment. His first thought was, thank God Cilla was safe at home.

  His second thought was, pull it together, idiot. You're an undercover cop. You know how to act. Pretend he's just an old buddy from the Academy, not someone you're investigating.

  "Bates." He held out his hand as the other cop approached. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Bates shook his hand, squeezing a little harder than necessary. Brendan returned the pressure before he let go.

  "Driving by. I saw you tossing a ball for your dog and recognized you. It's been a while. Figured I should say hello."

  "Hey." Had Bates been following him? Brendan swallowed and forced a smile. "Glad you stopped. How the hell have you been?"

  "I'm good. Keeping busy. How about you?"

  Yeah, he bet Bates was keeping busy.

  "The same." He shrugged. "We never lack for assholes to put away." Assholes like you, Bates.

  Franny stood up and trotted to his side. Studied Bates for a long moment, then plopped herself down in front of Brendan.

  Nice job, Fran. Don't think you can stop a bullet, but I appreciate the gesture.

  "You on duty?" he asked Bates. "You have time to grab a coffee?" It's what they would have done if they bumped into each other in the past.

  Back then, it would have been accidental.

  "Sorry. On my way to court. But I have a minute to catch up with an old friend." He punched Brendan's shoulder. A little harder than a friendly thump. "Heard you were in my neck of the woods yesterday. Was disappointed you didn't look me up."

  Thank God Brendan was used to keeping his cool in dicey situations. He made sure not a flicker of discomfort crossed his face. "Yeah, I was," he said easily. "Following a lead in a case. Didn't finish up until late. Figured you'd already be at home."

  "Interesting case?" Bates asked.

  He was fishing. Brendan smiled to himself. Two could play at this. "Run of the mill. Looking for a pimp who likes under-age girls. Got a tip he was in the Morgan Park area." He shrugged. "Spent way too much time looking for him. By the time I quit, I needed a beer. I heard there was a good Irish pub in Beverly. So I stopped in."

  "The Pipe and Shamrock?" Bates crossed his arms over his chest. His right hand rested close to the gun holstered under his shoulder.

  "Yeah, I think that's the name." He frowned, as if puzzled, as he stared at Bates's hand. Ready to act if it twitched even a little. "How did you know I was there?" Had Bates seen Cilla? Should he mention her?

  "My partner Ward spotted you. He said it was one of the Donovans. Was pretty sure it was you. He remembered you from the hospital. When Cujo was shot."

  So they'd been talking about him. Brendan wanted to leap at Bates and pound on him until he confessed what he was doing. Since that option wasn't on the table, he channeled his anger toward Cujo's shooting. "Damn bangers. You hear how Cujo's doing?"

  "Out of the hospital. Doing rehab." Bates shook his head. "Won't be back on the job for months after that kind of chest surgery."

  "That's too damn bad. They catch the guy who shot him?"

  "Yeah. He's in Cook County Jail."

  "One good thing, at least."

  Bates stood in front of him, and the silence stretched uncomfortably. Brendan let the moment build, hoping Bates would reveal something. But the other cop finally said, "Guess I should be on my way. Good to see you, Donovan. Don't be a stranger. The next time you're chasing some shithead in my neck of the woods, give me a call. We'll grab a beer. Catch up."

  "I'll do that. Take care, Bates."

  Bates's gaze lingered on Brendan for a beat too long. "You, too, Donovan."

  Brendan watched Bates walk across the park and slide into his unmarked. He glanced at Brendan, raised his hand once, then drove away.

  When Bates was out of sight, Brendan bent and scratched Franny's head. "What a good girl you are," he crooned. "You were very brave to protect me."

  He ruffled the dog's fur, then snapped the collar onto her leash. "Extra treats for you at home. Let's get going. I need to tell Cilla about this."

  Maybe Bates had visited Cilla first.

  Brendan began to run.

  Chapter 25

  Brendan stomped on his brakes in front of Cilla's building and leaped out as the car rolled to a stop. He was double-parked and the gumball was still flashing. He didn't give a damn.

  He'd slammed the light onto the roof of his car and lit it up as he pulled away from the curb at his place. An agonizing eternity ago.

  His breath sawed in and out as he sprinted for the door to her three-flat. He yanked at the doorknob with enough force to pull it out of the door. Didn't budge. So he pressed his finger on the buzzer next to 'Marini' and held it.

  A few moments later Cilla's tinny voice came out of the speaker. "Who is this?"

  She sounded pissed off. Or scared.

  He wrapped his hand around the door knob. "Brendan. You okay?"

  The door buzzed as it unlocked. Cilla's voice trailed behind him, but he didn't stop to listen. He was already half-way up the first staircase.

  He skidded around the corner, pounded up the next set of stairs. Skidded and ran up the next set. Her door began to open when he was half-way there.

  Banging the half-open door into the wall, he reached in and grabbed her. Crushed her against him. Breathed in her scent and the feel of her heart beating against his. She was alive. Apparently unhurt. He wrapped his arms her and squeezed.

  "What's wrong?" She eased her face away from where it was smashed into his shoulder. He couldn't bear to let her go, and he pressed his fingers into her waist to keep her close.

  "Brendan!" She cupped his face in her hands as she searched his eyes. "What happened?"

  "You alone in there?" he breathed into her ear.

  She wriggled away from him, grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. Shut the door and locked it. She didn't let go of his hand, though. Thank God. He needed to feel her fingers around his, needed to feel the play of her muscles as she clung to him.

  "Of course I'm alone," she said. "You're scaring me, Brendan. What's going on?"

  His gaze darted around her apartment. No one hiding behind the battered leather couch. No one crouching next to the Ikea bookshelves. No room for anything to hide among the hardcovers and paperbacks haphazardly crowding the shelves.

  The faded Oriental rug was where it belonged. Not bunched up, as if there'd been a struggle. Bright blue, yellow and green pillows still neat on the couch. Small flat-screen television, scattered prints of the lake and the city hanging on the wall, were all straight.

  Old, battered piano sitting in the corner of the room was untouched.

  No signs of a struggle in Cilla's apartment.

  For the first time since he ran from the park, he allowed himself to take a deep breath.

  He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. He'd been terrified, and he’d panicked. The thought of her hurt, or worse, had wrecked him. Knowing she was alone, and vulnerable, had made his stomach churn and his heart pound until it felt as if it would jump out of his chest.

  He'd never been so scared in his life. Never felt so helpless. If anything had happened to Cilla...

  He drew in a deep, shuddering bre
ath. He never wanted to let her go. He wanted to make love to her, to prove to himself that she was okay.

  He wanted to beg her to promise to never leave.

  Oh, God.

  Never leave.

  What the hell did that mean? He wasn't a 'never leave' kind of guy. He wasn't about 'put a ring on it' and happily ever after.

  He didn't know how the hell to do that. Where to even begin.

  Cilla tugged on his arm. "Brendan! Stop it! You're freaking me out."

  He focused his eyes and saw Cilla staring up at him, her hazel eyes dark and her face taut with fear. Still rocked by his realization of how he felt about her, he tried to steady himself.

  He took a shaky breath. Then another. "Bates," he managed to say. "I was afraid he'd been here. Or that Ward had been. Or still was."

  Cilla sucked in a breath. Grabbed his hand. "Why?"

  Get it together, Donovan. Bury the personal stuff. Don't think about it. Focus on the case. On what's important.

  He tugged her over to the couch and sat down. Pulled her down next to him, careful to keep a few inches between their bodies. So he wouldn't think about what might have happened. "I was throwing a ball for Franny, in that park we went to the other day. The one a couple of blocks from my place."

  He swallowed, putting his arm over the back of the couch. Dug his fingers into her shoulder. To reassure himself she was there. "Bates showed up."

  "What?" She straightened and swiveled to face him, dislodging his arm. Which was a good thing. "You saw him there? In your neighborhood?"

  "Yes." Focus on Bates. On the case. "More than saw him. He got out of his car and came over to have a chat with me."

  He told her what had happened, staring at her light blue walls instead of looking at her. Trying to remember every word. Every inflection of Bates's voice. "As soon as he drove away, I headed for my apartment. Then it occurred to me that he might have sent Ward to talk to you."

  Cilla relaxed onto the couch. "I wouldn't have let Ward in," she assured him. She touched his face, scraping her palm along his whiskers. The rasping sound made his stomach clench. She was petting him.

  "I always ask before I buzz somebody in," she added.

  "He's a cop, Cilla." He took a deep breath, felt it shudder out. "He could have badged someone walking in and come straight to your door. Kicked it in."

  Cilla leaned toward him and pressed her mouth to his. Lingered for a long moment. As if she knew he needed to be certain she was okay. "That's quite an imagination you have there, Mr. Cops and Robbers."

  Brendan blew out a sigh and closed his eyes. Shoved his hands through his hair. "Didn't mean to scare you," he muttered.

  He opened his eyes when he felt her hands smoothing his hair. "Got it all spiky," she murmured. "Makes you look like a goofball." She kissed him again, a quick brush of her mouth over his. "A sexy goofball, though."

  He pulled her hands into her lap. "Sorry. Guess I went overboard. Built it up in my mind, you know? A whole novel. All of it bad."

  "Don't apologize," she said, leaning into his shoulder. "I'm never going to complain about seeing you at my door."

  Brendan froze. Shit! Exactly what he didn't want to think about. Then he tried to smile. "Good to know, Marini." He glanced around her living room, scrambling for a way to change the subject. "I like your place."

  "Thanks," she said, little squinchy lines between her eyes, as if she was confused. "It's nothing special, but it's comfortable."

  Damn it. Now they were talking drivel about her apartment. His fault, for trying to duck the elephant in the living room. But before he could figure out a way to scramble around how he felt, Cilla saved his ass.

  "Do you think Bates followed you home?" She sucked in a breath. "Did he see us at the Valois? Talking to Sobieski?"

  "I don't know, damn it." He jumped up to give himself a little distance. He needed to think about this, about Cilla, but he didn't have time right now. "I wasn't looking for tails. I was thinking about what Sobieski said."

  "Do you think he bought your story about chasing a lead in Morgan Park?"

  Brendan stood at the windows, staring at the flashing light on top of his car. "Not sure why he wouldn't. He knows I'm a vice cop. Knows I chase a lot of pimps. Maybe it just made him nervous that I was on his turf."

  "But we can't be sure." Cilla walked over to lean against him. He wanted to curl his arm around her, pull her closer. Instead, he stood stiff and still.

  "Maybe he saw me, too,” she said. “Maybe he's paranoid and we just made it worse. What now?" She glanced up at him, frowned and moved away. Put space between them.

  Was that what he wanted? Space? He had no fucking idea. How would he know? He’d never felt this way before. He liked the weight of her against him, but the feelings it evoked terrified him.

  He glanced at his watch. "Right now, we go pick up a bunch of Italian beefs from Al's and meet my siblings at North Avenue Beach. Maybe they'll have some ideas."

  * * *

  Cilla stared at the tense, edgy version of Brendan who stood in her living room, not quite meeting her gaze. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He'd stormed into her apartment like he was claiming her. Grabbed her as if he'd never let her go. Now he was acting as nervous as a nun in a whorehouse.

  He wouldn't even look at her, for God's sake.

  Pain made her heart clench in her chest. Was he having second thoughts about the whole 'girlfriend' thing?

  Or was distancing himself merely his default when he started to get too interested in a woman?

  She'd seen the terror in his eyes when he'd rushed up the stairs toward her. He cared about her. Cared what happened to her. So was he pushing her away because he didn't know what to do about it?

  The ache in her heart throbbed, like a sore tooth that you couldn't resist poking with your tongue. But watching the way he danced around her, avoided her eyes, made her pain morph into anger.

  She couldn't fix whatever was bothering him. She couldn't make him want an adult relationship. She was so damn tired of fixing things for people. Managing other people's problems.

  She loved him. Wanted to build something with him. But Brendan clearly wasn't ready for that.

  They needed to finish this case. Catch Bates, or whoever was behind this drug. She and Brendan were good partners on the job. In their personal lives? Not so much.

  So they'd do what whatever was needed to stop the distribution of this drug. And then she'd walk away.

  Her heart might not be intact. But her pride would be.

  She wouldn't beg him to love her back.

  Her phone buzzed and she snatched it out of her pocket. "Marini."

  "Hey, Cil. It's me. Livvy."

  Cilla huffed out a breath. "Hey, Liv, what's up?"

  "Wanted to fill you in on the Welles case."

  She hesitated, and Cilla's gut clenched. Something was wrong. "What is it?"

  "He got bail." Her sister swallowed. "Five million, which is practically impossible to raise, but if he can, he’s getting out."

  "Damn it." Cilla wanted to slam her phone to the floor, so she gripped it more tightly. "How did that happen?"

  "Sorry, Cill. I tried. I really did. But he had some big-deal lawyer who told the judge he was an upstanding member of the bar, roots in the community, blah, blah, blah." Olivia hesitated. "The DA assigned to the case didn't seem to be trying real hard to keep him in jail. Even the cop who arrested him was there. Asked for no bail. Judge didn't pay any attention."

  "What's the judge's name?"

  "John Bolland."

  Cilla would add his name to the list of Peter Drake and Glen Larson. "Thanks for letting me know, Liv. Keep me posted, okay? Let me know if he gets out."

  "I'll do that, Cill." Olivia hesitated. "I feel really bad. You never ask me for anything. And the one time you did, I couldn't do it."

  Olivia couldn't fix the impossible, Cilla realized. And neither could she. Brendan didn't want to be fixed, and
she couldn't force him to change. "Don't beat yourself up, Liv. My guess? It was decided before it even got to court."

  "That occurred to me. And I'm going to look into that. You watch yourself, Cill. I'll call you the minute I hear anything on this case."

  "Thanks, Liv."

  Cilla stared at her sister's name and phone number for a long moment. Then she pressed the key to darken the screen and slid it back into her pocket.

  "Welles got bail. Five million. But that's only a half-mil if he gets the ten percent. He'll get out."

  "He won't get near you." Brendan pulled her against him. "I'll make sure of it."

  Cilla eased away from him. She tapped the bruise on her neck, brushed her hand over her side. "He gave me a couple of reminders that I'm not invincible. I'll be ready for him next time."

  She turned on the phone and glanced at the time. "We have to get going or we're going to be late. Wouldn't want your family to get a bad impression of me."

  "Not possible, Cilla." He stepped through the door to her apartment, waited for her to lock it, then followed her down the stairs. "They're gonna love you."

  Just like you do, Brendan?

  She shoved the snarky voice out of her head. Time to change the subject. As she reached the front door, she glanced over her shoulder. "You have your department car?"

  "Double parked right in front."

  "Great. I'll log into your computer and find out what kind of car Bates drives. I'll get the plate numbers of his personal car and his department car. So you can warn your siblings."

  He bumped her shoulder with his. "Good to know my partner's on the same page."

  "Yeah," she muttered. "We're a great team."

  * * *

  As they walked across the parking lot and onto the grass that bordered the sandy beach, Cilla saw two men and a woman sitting at a picnic table, their heads together. Talking.

  Brendan's siblings. She recognized Connor, dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt. The man next to him wore black jeans and a white tee with the slogan 'Nurses do it standing up'. Their faces were almost identical. He had to be Connor's twin.

  The woman had the same dark hair as the rest of the family, although hers fell in waves to her shoulders. Cilla wondered if all of them had Brendan's blue eyes.