Cover Me (The Donovan Family Book 5)

by Margaret Watson

  "No, sir." Cilla swallowed the lump that swelled in her throat. "Our styles are too different."

  "Sometimes, that's what makes good partners." Francisco leaned back in his chair, watching her. "A partnership is like a marriage, you know? Sometimes it's the pairs who are the least alike that do the best."

  "Yes, sir, I've heard that." She swallowed the tears that wanted to fall. "In the case of me and Detective Donovan, I don't think that's true."

  "Suit yourself." He sat up straight. "We like you here in the sixteenth, and we could make room for Donovan, if you wanted to work with him."

  "Not going to happen, sir."

  "Don't throw away a good thing, Marini, just because you disagree about a few things."

  Her heart twisted and she forced herself to smile instead of sob. "Right, sir. I won't." She swallowed. "I'll get back to work."

  "Hell, no, you won't." Francisco straightened and scowled at her. "Take Thursday and Friday and the weekend off, Marini. You must have a lot of comp time coming after working nights for so long. I don't want to see you in here until Monday morning."

  "Thank you, sir, but I'm ready to get back to work." Four days off was a horrifying prospect. She'd have nothing to do but think about Brendan.

  "No way. Now get out of here."

  Gritting her teeth, she hesitated for a long moment. Watched Francisco's face for a sign of softening. When his gaze didn't waver, she nodded. "Yes, sir."

  Grabbing purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, she walked out of the station, pulling her phone out of her blazer pocket. Nothing from Brendan. No missed calls, no emails, no texts. Clearly, he was perfectly happy with the way things had ended.

  Hurt, anger and misery roiled through her, making her head ache and her stomach churn.

  Eyes prickling, she shoved the phone into her purse. Damn it! She'd cried more in the last four days than she had in the last four years. Over Brendan Donovan, who didn't care enough to push a button on his phone and call her.

  She drove home and pulled into her garage, staring at the tool chest against the wall in front of her. What was she going to do for four days? Maybe she'd go see Sam in Iowa. Catch one of his games.

  Or maybe she and Livvy could drive up to Door County.

  "You're pathetic," she said as she got out of the SUV and ran her hand over the smooth, lustrous surface of Betsy's hood. "Mooning around like some high school girl who's just broken up with her boyfriend."

  Brendan had never been her boyfriend. What they'd had wasn't real. They'd been pretending. Part of the job.

  It had been real for her.

  Because she was an idiot. Expecting more than Brendan was willing to give.

  As she trudged up the back stairs to her apartment, the sun warmed her back. The maple tree in the yard wore brilliant scarlet leaves, and the mums lining the fence were a palette of fall colors. A bird hopped through the branches of the crabapple tree, eating the small red berries.

  The soft, warm air signaled Indian Summer. She'd take Betsy out and blow off the stink, just like she did after a hostage negotiation.

  Running up the rest of the stairs, she charged into her apartment and changed into jeans and a tee shirt. Then, grabbing her Cubs hat and making sure her sunglasses were in her purse, she ran back down the stairs and slid into Betsy. She felt better already.

  She ended up at North Avenue Beach. The boat house was closed, but the picnic tables were still there. She veered away from the one where she'd eaten lunch with Brendan and his siblings and found a table close to the sand. Slipping on her sunglasses, she sat on the top of the table, her feet on the bench, and stared out at the lake.

  Whitecaps rolled in, leaving trails of wet, darker sand behind when they rolled out again. Gulls circled around her, looking for food to snatch. When they realized she had nothing to eat, they headed out to the lake again. Occasionally one of them landed on the water. Farther out, rafts of ducks floated on the waves.

  The sun warmed her skin through her tee shirt, softening stiff muscles. The rhythmic motion of the waves and their soothing sound drained her tension. She eased down from the table top onto the bench, rested her back against the table and took a deep breath.

  Red and yellow leaves fluttered to the ground from the trees close to the sand. Indian summer felt like spring, the warm air and sunshine promising new beginnings, but it was really an ending. A lead-in to a cold, dark, lonely winter.

  Pushing away those bittersweet thoughts, she let her eyes flutter closed as the smell of water and the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun worked their magic.

  She must have fallen asleep, because the vibration of something jostling the picnic table startled her awake. She shot to her feet and instinctively reached for her gun.

  She'd left it in the car.

  She spun around and saw Brendan, sitting on the other side of the picnic table.

  She stared at him for a long moment while her heart beat wildly in her chest. When she thought she could keep her voice steady, she said, "Donovan. What are you doing here?"

  "I need to talk to you, Cilla."

  A surge of anger made her suck in a deep, shaky breath. "Really? You want to talk? You could have called me any time in the past four days. Your head was broken, not your fingers." Feeding her anger, she added, "You didn't even call me to let me know how Franny was doing. I had to call the vet myself to find out she was okay."

  Red washed over his cheeks. "Yeah, I should have called you. I'm sorry I didn't. But someone from my family was with me twenty-four/seven. I wanted some privacy when we talked."

  "That's bullshit, Brendan, and you know it. If you really wanted to talk to me alone, you could have told them to leave the room."

  Brendan shoved his hands into his pockets. "I know." His voice was almost too soft to hear. "I was too scared to call you. I was afraid you'd hang up on me. Tell me to go to hell. I wanted to talk to you in person. Face to face."

  She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kiss him. "You don't think I'll tell you that in person?" She curled her fingers into her palms to keep from reaching for him.

  "I hope not," he said, his voice muted. "Will you hear me out?"

  She shrugged one shoulder, crushing the hope that wanted to spring to life. "You're here. So talk." She watched him swallow and search for the right words. "How did you find me, anyway?"

  "You said you drove Betsy to the beach after a hostage negotiation when you needed to clear your mind. When you weren't home and didn't answer your phone, I called your captain. He said he'd told you to take some time off." He rolled his shoulders as if he were nervous. Anxious. "I thought you might be here."

  "I never said which beach I go to." She mentally kicked herself. Of all the things she could have said, she picked that stupid response?

  He shrugged. "I started at Oak Street and worked my way north. Spotted Betsy in the parking lot. Glad you chose this one. Didn't have to go very far."

  "How did you remember what I said?" She scrambled for something insightful to say, like 'get the hell out of here'. But the only thing that came out of her mouth was, "I don't remember telling you that."

  Brendan stood and untangled himself from the picnic table. Walked around to her side and sat down on the bench. Patted it, inviting her to join him.

  She ignored him.

  He held her gaze. "I remember everything you said, Cilla."

  Her face flamed. The serious expression on his face, the hint of anxiety in his eyes told her exactly what he was talking about. Her I love you when she'd thought he was asleep. "Yeah, well, I said a lot of stupid stuff."

  "None of it was stupid." The muscles of his throat rippled as he swallowed. She watched, remembering inhaling his scent from that space between his throat and his jaw. Remembering how he'd tasted there.

  Not helping, Marini.

  She looked away. "What do you want, Brendan?"

  "I need to apologize for being an ass. 'The most flaming asshole in the history of as
sholes', is how Mia put it, and she was right. I did some stupid stuff. Stuff that could have gotten you injured." His jaw worked and he looked straight ahead at the lake. "Or killed."

  She plopped down on the bench, as far away from him as she could get. "Like running after Bates without waiting for back-up."

  "Yeah. Like that." His throat rippled again, and he stared at the waves. "Got myself shot. I deserved it."

  "Yeah, you were a jerk, Donovan." Her mouth trembled, and it was hard to form words. Her eyes stung, too. "But I'm not sure your jerkiness deserved getting shot. So why did you do it?"

  He put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. Still not looking at her. "The thing is, Cilla, is that I was trying to push you away. Trying to make you dump me."

  The words burned in her chest. Made her stomach churn. "Not breaking news, Donovan," she managed. "Figured that out a long time ago. And how could I dump you when we were never together?"

  "We were together, Cilla." His voice was so low she barely heard him over the waves.

  A ball of tears swelled in her throat. He didn't get to say that. Not after the way he'd acted. "No, we weren't. We fucked. That's all."

  "You know it was more than that." He straightened and turned to face her. God, she wished he hadn't done that. She didn't want to see the naked longing in his expression. "You told me so, once, when you thought I'd fallen asleep. You said you loved me."

  Tears burned her eyes but she stared at him and refused to let them fall. "It was the moment. Hormones. They make you say all kinds of stuff you regret later."

  "Do you regret saying you loved me, Cilla?"

  When had he slid closer? "Doesn't matter, does it? The case is over, our partnership is over, we go our separate ways."

  She wanted to run to her car, get in and drive away. Away from the softness in Brendan's face. The hope.

  "It doesn't have to be that way." He reached for her hand and curled his fingers around hers. She savored the feeling of his skin against hers for a moment, then eased her hand away. Slid a little farther away from him.

  "I love you, too, Cilla." He edged closer. "I think I started falling in love with you when I stopped you on the Dan Ryan Expressway. You gave me that look – that cool, assessing stare that intimidates the hell out of people. And you were so beautiful. A wild, exotic woman I wanted to get to know."

  "Pretty words. Guess I should have expected that from a writer," she said, her voice shaking. She looked down at her hand, curled into a fist on her knee. As she watched, Brendan took her hand, opened it and twined his fingers with her. "Words mean nothing. When I heard those gunshots, knowing I was too late to prevent them, I died a little myself." She tried to tug her hand away, but Brendan tightened his grip on her.

  "I ran into that room and you were on the floor. Blood was pouring out of your head. I thought you were going to die, Brendan. I thought Bates had killed you."

  She closed her eyes as she began to sob, ugly sounds she tried to suppress. But they poured out of her in a flood.

  Brendan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. Even though he felt so good, smelled so familiar and right, she shrugged him off. She couldn't show him her weakness.

  "Words are all I have, Cilla." Instead of reaching for her again, he mimicked her pose on the wooden bench. Elbows on his knees, he stared out at the lake. "You said I'm an adrenaline junkie, and that's what I wanted everyone to think. But I was faking all the bravado, trying to fit the image that I thought I had to project. And I had to try even harder after I met you. Because I wanted you."

  She jerked her head around to look at him. "Why? Why would you think I needed you to be some macho asshat?"

  "Because I wanted you so damn much I couldn't think straight. And you were this tough, take-no-prisoners cop. A woman who was so good at her job. You were so competent. So alive." He rolled his shoulders. "What chance would a nerdy writer have with a woman like you? I had to try even harder to project that image if I wanted a chance with you."

  "You're an idiot, Donovan." Her heart was melting. Her resistance crumbling. "And why should I think you're going to change?"

  "Because if I have you, if you still love me, I don't have to put on a false front. I can be who I really am." He swiveled around to face her. "Do you think I'd still take stupid chances if I knew you were waiting at home for me? If we have kids? I wouldn't leave our kids without a father."

  Kids? Swallowing the sob that wanted to burst out of her, she said, "Kind of early to talk about kids, isn't it?" She pressed her fingers to her eyes to hold in the tears. "Right now, you're still the jerk who ran into a room without any backup."

  "Are you still going to be busting my balls about that after we've been married for thirty years?"

  "Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you, Donovan?" Her heart was unfurling in her chest, growing and expanding until it felt as if it would burst through her ribs.

  "I hope not." He lifted her hand, pressed it against his chest. "Do you feel that, Cilla? It beats for you. Only you. Always for you."

  He held her hand there, put his other hand over her chest. "Does your heart call my name with every beat?" His fingers burned into her skin. Branded her.

  The sob broke free of her throat. Made her chest hurt with the force of her tears. The force of her want.

  Brendan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. She held herself stiffly for a moment, then folded herself into him. He felt so good. Smelled so familiar. So right. He stroked her back, and she never wanted him to stop.

  He held her until her sobs subsided. Until she sniffled. Wiped her cheeks on his shirt. Then she straightened.

  "Sorry." She brushed at his shoulder. "I got snot on your shirt."

  "It's your snot," he said, wiping a tear from her cheek. "So I love it."

  "That's disgusting," she said, swallowing hard.

  "No. It's the truth," he said with a cautious smile. He reached for her hands. "Cilla, please forgive me. I know I hurt you. That day, when Franny was shot, I said horrible, untrue things about you. You're not heartless. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know. And you're certainly not a bitch."

  He swallowed and she saw wetness in his eyes. "I was such a jerk. You made me want forever. You made me need you. And that scared me. I didn't know what to do. So I tried to push you away."

  "Did a good job of it, too," she muttered.

  "Will you give me another chance? Let me prove that I've changed?" He leaned toward her and kissed her wet cheek. Then he leaned back and held her gaze again. "You made me want to grow up, Cilla. You made me want to be a better person. A better man. Please," he whispered. "Let me try again to love you the way you deserve to be loved. With everything I have. Everything I am."

  God! His words lodged in her heart, making it unclench. Grow. Come alive again.

  Tears rolled down her face again by the time he finished speaking. They formed a thick ball in her throat, making it impossible to speak. So she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

  She poured all her love into it, all her longing for him. All her need. He froze for a moment, then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap.

  "I love you," he whispered against her mouth. "I'll always love you. You're it for me, Cilla." He stroked her hair, then buried his face in the wavy mass of it.

  "You're the only woman I want." His voice vibrated against her skin. "The only woman I'll ever want. Please tell me you'll give me another chance."

  "Yes," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. "Yes. I love you, too, Brendan. You're all I want. But I think we both need another chance.

  "I'm not perfect either. I'm prickly and defensive and keep people at arm's length. Can you live with that?"

  He pulled away far enough to grin down at her. "I'm going to piss you off sometimes. I'll get so wrapped up in my writing that I'll forget a date. Or I won't hear you talking to me."

&nbs
p; "That's okay, Brendan, because I'm going to piss you off sometimes, too. I'll be snarky and snotty, say things I don't mean. But I'll always love you."

  "We'll fight with each other," he said. "But I want us to fight for each other, too. Can we do that? Can we promise that neither of us will walk away? That we'll fight for our life together? Be partners in every way?"

  "Yes," she whispered. "No more running. No more hiding our real selves. That's what I want, too, Brendan."

  "Happily ever after, Cilla," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "That's what we're going to have. What we're going to work for. What we're going to make happen. Happily ever after."

  Epilogue

  One month later

  Brendan gripped Cilla's hand beneath the table in his mother's dining room. She squeezed it reassuringly, and he flashed a smile at her. Thank God he'd found her. He never would have had the courage to take this step without her.

  "Hey, guys," he said during a lull in the conversation. "Hey," he said a little louder when no one stopped talking.

  "What is it, Brenny," Mia said with an innocent smile.

  "I have some news, Mimi." He smiled when his sister frowned at him.

  His mother put her fork down. "What's that, Brendan?" she asked, studying him.

  Here goes. Cilla squeezed his hand, and he smiled over at her. "You all know about the blog I've been writing." Having Cilla at his side had given him the courage to tell them three weeks ago.

  "Yeah, best damn stuff I've ever seen about being a cop," Connor said before forking another bite of lasagna into his mouth.

  Brendan let his shoulders relax. "Thanks Con." He swallowed. Cilla slipped her arm into his. Hugged it to her side. "The thing is, the blog isn't the only thing I've been writing. I, ah, I've been working on a book, too."

  "Yeah?" Quinn grinned at him. "What kind? I'm guessing a romance novel, since you and Cilla are so disgustingly happy together."

  Cilla's fingers gripped his wrist. You can do this. "Nope, not a romance." He glanced at Cilla, felt his face soften into the smile that appeared whenever he saw her. "Maybe I'll tackle that next." He drew in a shaky breath. "It's a thriller. Set in Chicago." He swallowed. "An agent who read my blog contacted me and asked if I had anything else. I sent her the book – what I had of it – and it's, um, going to auction next week."