The Woman Who Wasn't There

by Marie Ferrarella

  “No,” he laughed. “My mother had four kids. But I have seven cousins. There’s maybe ten years’ difference between the oldest to the youngest. And we were all very close, even when we were fighting. Especially when we were fighting,” he corrected, remembering some of the finer exchanges of blows that had taken place. But the only casualties that resulted were skinned knees and knuckles, not feelings.

  At least in the very beginning, he added silently. That was before Uncle Mike had allowed his jealousy of his brothers to drive them apart. He and his family still turned up at some of the functions, but there was a difference, a sadness that emanated from Patience and Patrick that even he could feel. None of the younger Cavanaughs had realized just how deeply the wounds ran until Uncle Mike had been killed in the line of duty. After that, certain facts slowly made their way to the surface.

  His late uncle never felt he measured up to either his younger or especially his older brother. It turned him bitter. While he was still a decent cop, he wasn’t as good as Andrew or Brian. He took his feelings of inadequacy out on his family. And looked elsewhere for gratification. When he turned to Uncle Andrew’s wife, Rose, it resulted in near tragedy.

  Not knowing what to think, what to believe, Uncle Andrew had argued with Aunt Rose. She left the house in a huff and disappeared for fifteen years. Everyone thought she was dead until Uncle Andrew, who had never given up hope, had finally managed to locate her. Aunt Rose had been in a car accident the morning she left. The head injury she’d suffered, along with the emotional strain she was under, caused her to forget who she was. It had taken love and patience, not to mention an incredible amount of luck, something he’d always believed in, to bring Aunt Rose back to herself.

  But that was a story he figured he could tell Delene once he found out hers.

  If he found out hers, he amended.

  “You were lucky.” The words were uttered so softly, had the radio been on, he wouldn’t have heard them.

  But he had. And he’d also heard her tone, pregnant with unspoken angst. “And you weren’t.”

  Delene sighed, shifting in her seat. He was cornering her. She hated feeling cornered. Russell would always corner her. Physically and emotionally. Chipping away at her until she caved.

  But that was then, this was now. And she didn’t cave anymore. Or answer questions she didn’t want to answer.

  “You really don’t stop, do you?” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. They’d been driving for fifteen minutes. The fluffy reporter should have been all talked out by now. “I think it’s safe for you to take me back now, Detective Cavanaugh.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Shifting over to the extreme left lane, Troy made a U-turn at the next light and went back the way he’d come. Several minutes went by. Silence filled the spacious vehicle, and he knew if he didn’t say anything, neither would she. It wasn’t a silence he felt comfortable with. They didn’t know each other well enough for that.

  Finally he said, “Back there at the motel, when I told you to stay inside the room, you came out anyway without knowing who could have been outside. It might have been the killer coming back to make sure Petrie was dead.” He spared her a glance. “You don’t take orders very well, do you?”

  Delene looked at him sharply. She didn’t like being told what to do. Her days of being meek and subservient were long gone. “I don’t take orders at all.”

  Troy slowed down, allowing a grocery delivery truck to pass him. “That must make it tough for your boss.”

  “I follow procedures, Cavanaugh. I stick to the guidelines,” she informed him crisply. “But I don’t like being bossed around by someone who thinks he’s got the right to take the lead just because he can go to the bathroom standing up.”

  Blowing out a breath, but not her agitation, Delene turned her face forward. A fine mist of rain began to layer itself on the windshield. She hated rain—had hated it ever since she was a little girl. It made her feel lonely.

  It had rained the night she’d made good her escape.

  “Stop trying to pigeonhole me,” she added as a warning.

  That was a laugh, he thought. If ever there was a woman who didn’t fit into a neat little niche, it was her. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just trying to get a feel for the woman.”

  She’d be willing to bet that as far as “feeling women” went, Detective Troy Cavanaugh had done far more than his fair share. Most likely, with that sexy grin of his and good looks, he had women lined up in droves. But she wasn’t interested.

  “Stop trying to do that, too.”

  One minute, she came on like gangbusters, the next she was withdrawing like a sunflower at dusk. What was she hiding? “Not exactly the talkative type, are you?”

  Give the man a cigar, she thought sarcastically. “If by that you mean do I feel the need to spill my insides to every stranger I meet? I don’t.”

  “We’ve stood over a dead body together, we’re hardly strangers.”

  She glared at him, wondering what it would take to make the man back off. Why was he so intent on getting her to talk? What was his angle? “And we’re hardly bosom buddies, either.”

  The grin he flashed at her was positively wicked. “There’s a remedy for that.”

  The frost was back in her eyes. “Do women usually find this line of conversation charming?” Her question was downright insulting, but she felt it might be the only way she could get him to back off.

  From the look on his face, she’d failed. Was he too thick to realize she’d just put him down?

  “I don’t know. I’ve never taken a poll. But most people like me.”

  She snorted. “Then you’ll be able to find yourself a playmate once I’m out of your car.”

  He paused for a long moment and she thought she’d finally gotten him to shut up. Her triumph was very short-lived. “Why are you trying so hard to seem tough, Agent D’Angelo?”

  Because it’s the only way I can survive. “Maybe there’s no ‘seem’ about it,” she shot back. “Maybe I am tough.”

  “‘Tough’ doesn’t come back to rummage through a dead junkie’s things looking for his daughter’s address so she can break the news to her personally.”

  Why didn’t he leave her alone? She certainly wasn’t in the market to get hit on. Men weren’t worth the trouble. If he’d done nothing else, Russell had taught her that. “I’m not interested in your theories, Cavanaugh.”

  His voice was light, as if they were sharing a friendly conversation. Maybe the man was dense, she decided.

  “Too bad,” he said. “Because I’m interested in anything you have to say.” They were back at the motel again. Most of the parking spaces were filled, but the news truck was nowhere to be seen. He guided the Lincoln Continental into the first available spot he could find. After cutting the engine, he shifted to look at her. “That offer for coffee still stands.”

  “And it’ll have to continue to stand.” She wrapped her fingers around the door handle and pushed. Nothing happened. She tried again with the same results. She eyed him expectantly. “Okay, how do I get out of here?”

  Rather than try to explain, he showed her. His body was all but touching hers as he reached over to the handle, creating a very cozy, intimate space. Their eyes met and he had to restrain a very strong urge to kiss this woman who seemed so intent on giving him a hard time.

  “It’s tricky.” His breath slid over her face as the words emerged. “You have to jiggle it.”

  “Oh.” Her heart hammered, making the pulse in her throat vibrate in time. “You didn’t have to give me a demonstration. Just telling me would have been enough.”

  “I’m a hands-on kind of guy.” The words were soft, teasing. His breath was irresistible.

  The moment stood still. Held in abeyance. Waiting.

  “I’ll just bet you are,” she finally said, forcing herself to pull back instead of lean forward, the way she wanted to. Run! a voice in her head ordered.

  �
�Need an escort home?” he asked just as she was about to exit.

  Delene looked at him. Something shimmied down her spine even as suspicion danced over her. This was getting to be downright creepy. Was Cavanaugh just incredibly intuitive, or was there another reason why his random guesses were so on the mark? Could he somehow be working for Russell? Like the detective, Russell was not without his charm. It emanated from his every pore, and until he acted otherwise, displaying his true nature, his charm seemed genuine enough.

  No, she was letting her imagination run away with her. There was no earthly reason for Cavanaugh to be connected to Russell. The Cavanaughs had a dynasty. They stood for the law. Russell stood for the exact opposite. Had made his fortune that way.

  Still, she couldn’t loosen the grip that tension had over her. “What makes you say that?”

  “The cap thing,” he reminded her. “I’ve only seen celebrities and people with something to hide behave that way.” When she said nothing, he went on. “If you are hiding from someone or something—”

  She wasn’t going to have him go that route. She didn’t want him stumbling across the truth. “Standing beside a seven-foot—”

  “Six-three,” he corrected. “I’m six foot three.”

  She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever. Standing next to a giant is not the way to keep a low profile.”

  He gleaned what he needed from her words. “Then you are hiding from someone?”

  “Just going along with your analogy, nothing more,” she told him, impatient. This time, she threw open the door and got out. “Thanks for the ride, Detective.”

  He ducked his head down a little so he could continue to see her as she made her way to her own vehicle. “Don’t mention it. Any time you want to ride around in circles, just give me a call.”

  Getting into her own car, Delene shook her head and closed the door. Cavanaugh was amusing as well as drop-dead good-looking. But she wanted neither to be amused, nor to drop dead. Especially the latter.

  The only thing she was in the market for was surviving. If she managed that, everything else was just a bonus.

  After locking the doors and buckling up, Delene put the key into the ignition, turning on her engine and headlights. Looking over her shoulder, she pulled out of the spot and then out of the parking lot.

  The moment she was out on the street, Troy followed her.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Delene glanced into her rearview mirror a second before she made the right-hand turn. The car was still there, one length behind.

  Okay, what the hell was he trying to prove?

  Because she rarely relaxed and because Clyde’s death had elevated her stress level, Delene was even more alert than usual. Which meant she’d spotted the other vehicle instantly. It was no coincidence. The car had been behind her the entire trip from the seedy Traveler’s Motel parking lot and was now entering the apartment complex a minute after she’d made the turn.

  Delene pulled her worn Toyota into its carport space. Turning off the engine, and with it the almost muted strains of the radio station, she sat behind the wheel and waited to see what the driver of the car that had been tailing her would do next.

  Rather than drive on, he came to a stop in one of the extra parking spaces across the way.

  For a second, Delene toyed with the idea of pulling out again, of leading the car on a convoluted chase down back alleys and dark streets before losing him. She knew she was more than capable of doing just that after taking a course in evasive driving from a school that specialized in training the chauffeurs of high-profile executives as well as of the rich and famous.

  But what would be the point of that? He only had to come back here to find her. And besides, she knew who was behind the wheel.

  What she didn’t know was why.

  But she intended to find out.

  Now.

  Delene got out of the car and locked it before marching over to the parked Lincoln Continental. And Troy Cavanaugh.

  The detective rolled down the window as she approached. He didn’t even have the decency to look chagrined at being caught.

  “You’re parked there illegally, you know.” Unlike her space, which was marked Reserved, Cavanaugh had brought his car to a stop in one marked Permit Parking.

  He seemed unfazed by the information. “I wasn’t planning on staying long.”

  “Why were you planning on staying at all?” she asked. She lowered her face to his level. The window was at half-mast. There was nothing between them but strangely warm air. “Are you stalking me, Detective Cavanaugh?”

  Her expression was unreadable. A woman like this would have been a perfect model for a sphinx. Even under scrutiny, he couldn’t be sure if she was being serious or not. Most people didn’t think of stalkers right off the bat. Her question, flippant or otherwise, made him wonder if she’d encountered a stalker in her time. That would go a long way toward explaining things.

  Such disturbing incidents were far more common than most people cared to admit. In his own family, despite the preponderance of law-enforcement agents, his cousin Patience had had not just one stalker, but two. What made things worse was that the second one had been an officer on the Aurora police force.

  You just never knew. Stalkers came in all sizes, shapes and walks of life.

  “Watching over you,” he told her, allowing just a shade of the annoyance he felt get through.

  “And just what makes you think that I need watching over?”

  He wouldn’t want to be caught on the other side of her anger when it finally hit its high point. “Just a hunch.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but your hunch is wrong, Cavanaugh.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was all one and the same to him. “Been known to happen before,” he allowed. “But not with any kind of frequency you could chart.”

  She could feel his eyes washing over her. Taking stock. She didn’t like being analyzed or measured.

  “There anything you want to talk about?” he asked.

  She returned his gaze without flinching. If he wanted to play the staring game, he’d picked the wrong person to pit himself against. “Other than the detective who won’t go home? No.”

  The old saying about leading a horse to water drifted through his head. He certainly couldn’t force her to talk to him, even though he was pretty certain there was something she needed to get off her chest.

  Other than the obvious, he couldn’t help thinking. But that was the unattached bachelor in him, the one who enjoyed the company of beautiful women, no strings attached.

  He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate knowing his thoughts right now. He took out one of his cards from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. “You can reach me at this number if you change your mind.”

  She made no move to take it. Instead, she looked at the card as if it would permanently stain her fingers if she touched it. “I won’t.”

  He continued to hold it out for her. “Humor me.”

  She laughed dryly. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  So she did have a sense of humor. “Only the stubborn ones,” he told her.

  Delene frowned. She had a feeling that Cavanaugh was going to sit out here all night if she didn’t take the damn card.

  “If it’ll make you go away,” she muttered.

  As she tucked his card into her pocket, Delene glanced up toward her apartment. It was a purely reflexive action, like glancing at her watch when she already knew the time.

  When she’d first moved to Aurora, she’d deliberately rented an apartment on the third floor, one without a fire escape so that there was only one way in, one way out. Her other specification was that the living quarters be a loft. That way she had a sweeping view of the entire apartment the moment she walked into it.

  Looking up at the window that faced the carport, she froze. The apartment looked completely dark.

  “Something wrong?” It was a
rhetorical question. He knew there had to be. No one looked like that if everything was all right.

  “The light’s not on.” The words came out before she realized she’d spoken them.

  He interpreted the only way he could. “You live with someone?”

  “No.” She continued to stare at the darkened window. Her voice was deadly quiet. “But I always leave one light on when I leave the apartment.”

  It seemed to him a waste of electricity, but this wasn’t the time to debate that. If she’d left the light on and it was off, that meant someone had turned it off. Getting out of the rented vehicle, Troy glanced up at the apartment in question and saw that the window gave no hint of illumination within.

  He held out his hand. “Give me your keys. I’ll check it out.”

  The suggestion that she wasn’t capable of doing that on her own had her on the defensive. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  What was this woman’s problem? He was only trying to be helpful. “Look, you’re obviously afraid of something—”

  Her eyes narrowed. She couldn’t even bring herself to entertain that thought. Because if she did, it would become a reality. “I am not afraid—”

  “Okay, call it whatever you want to call it. I don’t have a thesaurus at my disposal at the moment. But it’s damn obvious from where I’m standing that you’re not exactly overjoyed about the situation.” Annoyed, Troy thrust his hand out again. “Now give me your damn keys and let me go up.”

  She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have a little muscle backing her up. But she wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand. No man was going to occupy that position with her again.

  “We’ll do it together.”

  He would have been happier if she stayed in his car. Taking the key she reluctantly handed over, he turned toward the cluster of six garden apartments where her unit was located.

  “You have got to be the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met—and considering the women in my family, that’s saying a hell of a lot.” Troy deliberately got in front of her when they reached the stone steps that led to the first landing.