She shook her head, a short, jerky motion. “There's no place that's safe from him. He has eyes everywhere.”
Quinn and Connor tried logic, threats and flattery. They couldn't budge Tiffany. She wasn’t giving up her supplier.
An hour later, Connor and Quinn emerged from the interrogation room, shaking their heads. When they joined Mia and Brendan in the observation room, Connor said, “That’s one scared woman. We could keep her in the box until next week and she wouldn't give him up.”
"Let's check into safe houses where we can stash her," Brendan said. "I don't want to let her back on the street. What if she tells Bates? Worse, what if she tells Bates and he doesn't believe she didn't flip on him? I don't want to get her killed."
"We'll find a place," Quinn said. "Keep her out of circulation."
"Yeah. Maybe we can get something on Bates and Ward in the next few days. Keep Tiffany locked up until then."
Connor elbowed Brendan. "Go back to the pub and stay with Cilla You tell her you were leaving this time? 'Cause she seemed a little pissed off at you at breakfast this morning."
"Yeah, I told her this time. She wasn't happy with me after last night." He swallowed, feeling his face turning read. "Which I guess you figured out."
God! Why did this have to be so complicated? Why couldn't they just do their jobs? How the hell could he have told her where he was going last night when he was playing a falling-down drunk?
He could have had Connor walk him past Cilla. So she'd know he was safe.
He hadn't thought of Cilla at all. He'd thought only of getting that capsule to the lab.
Brendan tugged at the collar of his suddenly too-tight dress shirt. He wasn't used to answering to a partner. Wasn't use to having someone worry about him.
He sucked in a breath as the suffocating sensation tightened his throat and banded around his chest. "She's fine. She knows the score."
Yeah, she knew the score. That's why she'd been acting off. More distant. Less open. Like she wasn't going to let herself go all-in.
Because he wasn't all-in. And she knew it.
How could he be? They had more important things to worry about than feelings, damn it.
"Cilla's good," Brendan told his brother. Trying to convince himself? "She's a cop. She gets it. She knows the job comes first."
"You poor, misguided fool." Connor shook his head. "Get back to that pub and pull your head out of your ass while you're at it."
Brendan scowled. "Who's side are you on, anyway?"
"Yours, Bren. That woman is a keeper." Connor shoved his elbow into Brendan's ribs. Hard. "Don't let her get away."
A keeper.
Was that what he wanted? To be tied down, like Connor and Quinn and Mac?
He didn't want Cilla to leave. Beyond that? He didn't know what the hell he wanted.
He'd think about it later. When the case was over. When there wasn't so much going on.
There was always stuff going on.
Damn it! Even his own fucking brain wouldn't cut him a break. "I'll catch you later," he muttered as he slammed out of the observation room.
* * *
Two nights later, Brendan sat at his desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard. The only light in his apartment came from his computer screen, but he didn't need even that. The pictures unspooling in his head were vivid and clear. It was like watching a movie flicker through his brain.
Franny snuffled in her sleep, and he glanced at her, lying in her bed next to his desk. Cilla slept silently in the other room. She'd been pretty silent for the last couple of nights, come to think of it.
When he'd picked her up from the pub two nights ago, after he'd watched Connor and Quinn interrogate Tiffany, Cilla had insisted on going to her own place. She'd wanted to stay by herself.
Just like she had last night and tonight, he realized uneasily.
His hands fell away from the keyboard. All three nights, he'd refused to take her there. Welles might have gotten bail. Bates and Ward were out there somewhere. All of them could easily find out where Cilla lived.
After the first night, she'd given in after a short argument. But she'd been distant. When he'd climbed into bed, she'd turned her back on him. Curled into a ball, as if protecting herself. From him.
He'd reached for her, but she'd shaken him off. Glared at him over her shoulder, and it hadn't been hard to read her expression. Really, Brendan?
Brendan squirmed in his chair. Even the last time they'd made love, several days ago, had been different. And not the good kind of different. She'd been holding back.
He swallowed. It was the way he'd had sex before Cilla. Fun and games. Pleasure. Release. Nothing more.
Was that what he wanted with Cilla?
His hands slid off the keyboard as he glanced toward the bedroom. Toward the woman sleeping there.
No.
He wanted more with Cilla.
What kind of more? A couple of months instead of a couple of weeks?
His foot jittered on the floor, making his knee bounce up and down. Not now. He couldn't do this at – he glanced at the clock on his computer – four-sixteen in the morning. He was working.
He needed to focus on the novel. On the characters and the action unfolding in front of him. There would be time for this...situation with Cilla later.
After they solved this case.
After he finished his book.
After he figured out what he wanted.
Brendan took a deep breath and re-read the last page he'd typed. Forced his mind back into the heads of his characters.
He'd just started typing again when Franny lifted her head. Cocked her ears. Stilled.
Stood up and walked to the door. Stood there, nose in the air. Sniffing.
The hair on the back of her neck rose. Lifted in a line down her back.
Brendan stood up and walked over to his gun safe against the wall. Removed his service weapon. Made sure it was loaded.
Then he crept into the bedroom. Put his hand over Cilla's mouth.
She jerked awake, flailing at his arm. Trying to push his hand away.
"Shh," he breathed into her ear. He took his hand away when she focused on him and nodded. "Something's wrong. Find your gun."
By the time he returned to the living room, Franny's head was lowered. Her growl, deep in the back of her throat, sent a chill down Brendan's spine.
The dim light in the hallway spilled into his apartment from the gap at the bottom of the door. It cast two long, thin shadows onto the hardwood.
Two feet. Someone standing at his door.
The almost-silent snick of a pick inserted into the lock made Brendan take the safety off his Sig. The air moved behind him. Cilla stepped into the space at his left side, holding her gun. Steady as a rock.
He stepped to the right to give her more room. Then he snapped his fingers at Franny. Gave the 'come' hand signal when the dog glanced his way.
Franny stared at him, as if unable to believe Brendan was asking her to stand down. Brendan signaled her again, and she moved reluctantly toward him.
The click of the lock opening sounded like a gunshot in the silent apartment. Franny turned to the door as it opened slowly. Silently. A wedge of light from the hallway increased as the gap in the door widened.
A figure dressed in black stepped into the apartment. A black ski mask covered his head and face.
Before he could move far enough in to close the door, Brendan barked, "Stop. Hands in the air!"
The man's hand rose, holding a gun, and Franny leaped for his arm. Afraid he might hit Franny, Brendan held his fire. The intruder's gun flashed just before Franny hit him.
She yelped as the man stumbled backward. Franny fell to the floor. The intruder spun and fled down the hall.
"Stay here," Brendan ordered Cilla. "Take care of Franny."
As Brendan pounded down the hall after the intruder, he watched as the black-clothed figure disappeared into the stairwell. By the time Brendan
charged through the door into the courtyard, there was no sign of the intruder.
Cilla stepped out behind him, her gun raised. They stood back to back without speaking, completely in sync, scanning the courtyard. Brendan's gaze traveled over every bush, every tree, every possible hiding place. At his back, he knew Cilla did the same.
On the next block, a car engine roared to life. Tires squealed, then the rumble of the engine gradually faded as the car sped away.
Brendan lowered his gun. "I told you to stay with Franny," he said to Cilla.
She snapped the safety into place on her own Sig. "Figured you needed back-up more."
She reached for the keys she'd stuck in her waistband, unlocked the door and ran up the stairs, Brendan close behind. When they reached his apartment, Franny was struggling to breathe in short little gasps. Her chest was moving wrong. In when it should go out. A rapidly growing pool of blood spread on the floor beneath her. The dark, shiny puddle grew far too quickly in the light from the hall.
"Franny." Brendan's voice caught on the word. He pressed his hand to the hole in her chest where blood bubbled out. Her breaths became a little more steady.
Keeping one hand pressed against her wound, Brendan smoothed his other hand over her head, trying to steady her.
"Cilla," he called, and heard the panic in his voice. "I need...I need..."
Light suddenly flooded the room, and Cilla knelt at Franny's other side, one of Brendan's tee-shirts in her hand. She pressed it against Franny's side, and blood immediately soaked through.
Cilla lifted the shirt and studied the horrifying, bubbling hole on the dog's chest. Then she pressed the tee-shirt against the wound again.
"I think the bullet went into her lungs," Cilla said, using her palm on the shirt to cover the hole. Blood streamed through her fingers. "Where's the closest vet?"
Chapter 28
Cilla sat next to Brendan in the waiting room of the emergency veterinary clinic, watching his knee bounce rapidly up and down. He glanced at the time on his phone, then hit 'contacts'. Closed his contacts. Looked at the time again.
"What are you doing?" she finally asked.
"Steeling myself to call Lizzy and tell her I got her dog shot." He gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white.
Damn it! Cilla didn't want to watch the guilt in Brendan's expression. Over the past several days, she'd tried so hard to smother all her pain and anguish whenever she was around him. Focus only on the job. Wall off her heart from him.
But now that treacherous organ ached for him. She wanted to soothe the devastation in his expression. Ease the guilt in his eyes when he looked around the stark waiting room that smelled of disinfectant and fear.
She wanted to convince him that it wasn't his fault. Make him understand it was the fault of the bastard who'd broken into his apartment and shot Franny.
Most of all, she wanted to curl into his side and try to comfort him.
Instead, she sat stiffly in the chair next to his, careful not to touch him. The minutes on the clock above the reception desk ticked by agonizingly slowly. The door into the working area of the clinic remained firmly closed.
Waiting for news was almost unbearable.
When he pulled his phone out again, she couldn't help herself. She put her hand over his. Curled her cold fingers into his colder ones. "It's six o'clock in the morning," she said gently. "Maybe you should wait until you have more information before you call them."
"It's seven on the east coast," he said immediately. "They'll be up."
"They're on vacation," she reminded him. "Maybe they're sleeping in." Or doing the kinds of things couples did in the morning when they didn't have to rush off to their jobs.
The kinds of things she'd done in the past weeks with Brendan. Things she'd hoped to do with him in the future.
Damn it! She jumped up from the uncomfortable chair and began pacing the small waiting room. She had to knock it off. Stop mooning over Brendan and thing she'd never have.
She'd gone into this with her eyes wide open. She'd known what he was – a player. A serial dater. She'd gotten involved with him anyway.
So she didn't get to blame him when he broke her heart.
It had been her fault for thinking she could change him. Fix that place inside him that ran from commitment.
She glanced at him, still hunched over his phone. Staring at the screen.
Her fixing days were over.
She walked to the weary-looking receptionist. "Sorry, I know you get asked this about a million times every night. But do you have any idea when more information might be available about our dog? Franny Donovan?"
"My boy..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "My partner needs to call Franny's owner. I want to wait until we have more idea what's going on."
The woman shoved a limp strand of hair away from her face. "I'll ask."
She stood and pushed through a swinging door. The whiff of air that wafted over Cilla smelled medicinal. Sharp. Vaguely unpleasant. A mixture of hospital and animal.
A few minutes later, the young woman came through the door again. "The doctor will be out in a few minutes to talk to you, Ms., ah..." She glanced down at the desk.
"Marini." Cilla forced a stiff smile. "Thanks for checking."
The woman nodded. "You're welcome."
Cilla plopped into the seat next to Brendan. He shocked her by putting his hand on her knee. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I couldn't have asked. I would have freaked out. Scared that poor woman."
In spite of her best intentions, Cilla put her hand on top of Brendan's. Twined their fingers and clung to him for a long moment. Then the door opened and a young blond woman in a white coat came out.
"Mr. Donovan?" she said. The doctor wasn't smiling.
Cilla's heart lurched in her chest. She dropped her hand from Brendan's and watched as he took two steps toward the woman. Then he turned and looked at Cilla. Extended his hand.
Cilla stood slowly and grasped his fingers. Allowed him to pull her close. Brendan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and leaned against her. As if bracing for the worst.
"The bullet went through Franny's chest," Dr. Winston began. "There were both entry and exit wounds. It didn't hit any major vessels, which is good news. If it had, she would have bled out before you could get her here.
"She still lost a lot of blood. I gave her two pints from our donor dog, and lots of fluids. She's alive. But I'm not going to sugarcoat this. It's going to be touch and go for the next twenty-four hours."
"You have a donor dog?" Brendan said.
The doctor's face relaxed. "My labrador retriever. She's a universal donor. I bring her with me every night in case we need blood."
"Thank you," Brendan said. Cilla watched his throat ripple. "So what next?"
"You need to take her to her regular vet. They'll monitor her today and continue to treat her. There's a drainage tube in her chest for the fluid that will accumulate. She'll need to continue getting fluids. Antibiotics." The doctor took a deep breath. "If she makes it through the next twenty-four hours, her chances of surviving are good."
"Okay." Brendan swallowed again. His expression was blank. As if he was numb. "I'll, ah, find out who her regular vet is and get her there. Can I leave her with you while I call my brother and get Franny's vet's name?"
"Of course. I gave your bill to Cindy. Take all the time you need."
Brendan stumbled backward and dropped into a chair. He stared as his phone and muttered, "Mac's going to go off on me. Use his FBI voice." He swallowed again and pressed 'call' on his phone.
After a few rings, someone answered. "Hey, Mac," Brendan began. "How's the visit with Lizzy's brother going?" Brendan pressed speaker so Cilla could hear.
"It was good. We're actually on the road, heading home. Lizzy's taking first driving shift."
"Good." Brendan cleared his throat. "Good that you're coming home."
"What's wrong?" a feminine voice said. "What happened?
"
"I have some bad news, Lizzy." Brendan pressed his palm into his eyes, and Cilla reached for his hand. He glanced at her and tightened his fingers around hers. "We had a break-in at my apartment last night. Franny was shot."
A gasp. Then silence.
"Is she...is she...?"
"She's alive," Brendan interrupted Lizzy. "We're at the emergency vet. The bullet went through her chest. A lot of bleeding. She needed some transfusions. But she's alive. The next twenty-four hours are crucial. I need to take her to your regular vet."
Lizzy's voice broke as she recited her vet's name and phone number. "We'll be there as soon as we can," she said, now sobbing.
"Don't speed," Cilla heard herself saying. "We'll take care of her until you get here."
Silence. "Who's that?" Mac said. Cilla understood why Brendan called it his brother's FBI voice.
"That's Cilla. We're working an undercover op together. I'm pretty sure the guy we're chasing is the one who shot Fran." He cleared his throat. "When will you be home?"
"It's twelve, thirteen hours from Philadelphia to Chicago. We left about an hour ago. So late tonight," Mac said.
"We'll see you then. Drive safe."
He disconnected the call and let the phone drop onto the hard chair. "Why Franny?" he whispered. "She's the best dog ever. Lizzy loves her so much." A tear ran down his face. "We all do."
"She's going to make it," Cilla said, gripping his hand. "She's healthy. Young. And she was really lucky. She'll be fine."
Brendan gripped her hand. "She has to be. That dog saved my life. If she...dies, I'll never forgive myself."
"What do you mean, she saved your life?" Cilla swiveled in the hard chair to face him. "What are you talking about?"
"If she hadn't started growling, I wouldn't have heard the guy come in the front door. Even though I was in the living room."
Ah. He'd been lost in another world. "You didn't hear anything because you were writing."
"Yeah." He ground the heel of his hand into his eye and wouldn't meet her gaze. Picking up his phone, he called Connor and told him what had happened. Asked him to get the crime scene people out to Brendan's apartment.
Cover Me (The Donovan Family Book 5) Page 27
