From beloved author Marie Ferrarella comes another Cavanaugh Justice book, and this time a baby’s in jeopardy…

The only things Ashley St. James has ever allowed herself to love are her dogs. A child of the foster-care system, she never even knew her own birthday. When a dog in distress leads her to a brutally butchered woman whose baby was stolen, Ashley has a purpose—so she teams up with cop Shane Cavanaugh.

Losing his fiancée only ripened Shane’s thirst for justice. But the closer he gets to Ashley, the more he wants to erase the tears she hasn’t managed to dry. If they can find the missing baby and nab a psychotic killer first.

“Everyone deserves to be loved.”

Shane looked at Ashley. He got the definite impression that she wasn’t talking just about the dog anymore. Did she identify with homeless, unloved creatures? He found himself more than a little curious about this pushy, headstrong officer.

Looking at her, he wouldn’t have thought she was unloved at all. Quite the opposite. But then, he’d come to recognize that self-image had little to do with what a person saw reflected in their mirror in the morning.

“After you lost your parents, did any of your relatives step up?” He saw a dark look enter Ashley’s eyes, a look that warned him to back off now if he knew what was good for him. But he was already in this.

Her voice was a little strained when she finally did answer his question.

Strained and distant.

“They couldn’t determine who my parents were. The interior of the car had burned to a crisp, as had the two people in it. No identification of any kind was ever found.”

Cavanaugh Justice: Where the law and passion collide....

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the Cavanaughs. I am always being asked where I get my ideas from. My answer is always the same. Everywhere. The idea for this story initially came from a morning talk show. It featured a story about perfectly sane, ordinary women who had ordinary careers—and went through their days pushing strollers, changing diapers, carrying bundles of joy in their arms. The only difference between them and other mothers who were doing the same thing was that their babies were created in a factory. They felt real, smelled real, some had a “heartbeat,” others turned if you touched them a certain way. But, like Peter Pan, these babies never grow up. You take that extreme behavior, push it a little further, you could very well have a situation like the one I write about here.

I’m very lucky in my profession. The stories are everywhere. I hope you like this one and that you enjoy your stay with the Cavanaughs enough to come back again next time. I promise you won’t be bored.

As ever, I thank you for reading and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

All my best,

Marie

Mission: Cavanaugh Baby

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARIE FERRARELLA

This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author has written more than two hundred books for Harlequin, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.

MILLS & BOON

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To

Jessi & Nik,

the two best things

I ever produced.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Excerpt

Prologue

She didn’t want to wake her babies.

Stepping into the bedroom she had turned into a beautiful, fairy-tale-like nursery, the short, maternal-looking woman eased the door closed behind her, careful not to make a sound.

Her deep-set brown eyes swept over all three of the delicate, snow-white, Angelina Six Leg cribs in the room, each placed against a different wall so that she had room to move around, room to scoop up whichever infant needed her at the moment. The cribs, with their hand-carved headboards were identical and very expensive, but nothing was too good for her babies.

Tiptoeing over to the first crib, she looked down at Adele and smiled. Her eyes were closed. She was still asleep.

Unable to resist, Tessie placed her hand ever so lightly on the small tummy, barely making contact. Even so, she could feel Adele breathing. The simple up and down movement filled her with a sense of awe as well as joy. Adele had been her first.

“You go on sleeping, sweetheart,” Tessie whispered softly, “so you can grow up big and strong. Mama loves you.”

The heavyset woman then made her way to the next crib.

Maureen appeared to be fast asleep, as well. Even so, when Tessie gently brushed her fingertips along the infant’s smooth, silky cheek, she saw the tiny rosebud mouth begin to root around, as if she was searching for her bottle.

This one was going to wake up hungry, Tessie thought, lingering over the crib.

“I’d better get your bottle ready, little one,” she murmured softly.

As Tessie drew her hand back, she accidentally brushed it against Maureen’s tightly closed fist. Even in sleep, the infant reacted. Her fingers closed around Tessie’s finger, creating a link—a brand-new life connecting to one that had been around for more than five decades.

Tessie stood over the crib for several moments, absorbing the warm sensations she always felt whenever Maureen would grasp her finger this way.

The helplessness of the infant before her branded her heart. Maureen was completely dependent on her for everything, as were Adele and the occupant of the third crib, Cathy.

The sense of responsibility she was feeling humbled Tessie, the way it always did.

Disengaging her finger from Maureen’s grasp, Tessie made her way over to the third crib a little more slowly. There was rain in the air, and that always seemed to bother her arthritic knees.

Cathy was her favorite, although she would never allow the other two to suspect this. She knew she wasn’t supposed to have favorites, but she couldn’t help herself. Whenever she approached and touched Cathy, the infant would turn her head to look at her, as if Cathy had recognized her from the very first.

It felt as if they had bonded the second Cathy had come into her life.

Tessie had thought perhaps this was all just a happy coincidence, Cathy turning her head and making eye contact when she touched the baby, but it wasn’t. Cathy actually responded to her, would look to find her no matter which side of the crib she stood on. Those electric-blue eyes would always seek her out.

“Well hello, Night Owl,” Tessie cooed over the infant. “I see you’re still awake.” Tessie chuckled. “Somehow, I knew you would be. Tell you what, what do you say to letting your sisters stay in dreamland while just the two of us go off? You and I have a date with a warm bottle and a rocking chair.” Tessie smiled at the small figure in the large crib. “There might even be a lullaby in it for you if you don’t make a sound to wake your sisters.”

Bending over the crib, the woman placed her hands carefully beneath the precious bundle and silently lifted her into her arms. Cathy turned her head as if to watch her and make sure that everything was all right.

Placing the baby against her shoulder, Tessie could feel the infant’s weight shifting, could feel her tiny body melding against her.

She never grew tired of that sensation. It filled her with love and the desire to protect these tiny little beings with the last ounce of breath in her body.

She patted Cathy’s back as she withdrew from the room. Cathy didn’t make a sound.

“Good girl,” Tessie whispered. “You didn’t wake your sisters.”

Leaving the room as softly as she had entered, Tessie closed the door again so that no outside noises could rouse either Adele or Maureen. After all, she only had two hands, and one baby at a time was really all she could handle.

Despite the fact that the door to the nursery was closed, Tessie still kept her voice to a whisper. “I don’t know where your bottle got to, so I’m using Maureen’s. I won’t tell if you don’t,” she said to the infant, chuckling.

Cathy remained silent.

Tessie’s smile spread. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, pleased. “When the new little one comes,” she continued as she walked through the house to get to the kitchen, “I’m going to be counting on you to show her the ropes.”

Not making a sound, Cathy continued to look at her, appearing to hang on every word that was said.

Chapter 1

“Get that needy little face away from me. I’m onto you, Rusty.” Glancing at the worn-out analog watch that was never off her wrist except when she was showering, Officer Ashley St. James shook her head as she moved about her small bedroom, trying to get ready for work. “I’ve got just enough time to put your breakfast out, so stop dancing around trying to trip me or I’m going to be late—and I can’t afford to be late again this month. The lieutenant is not a forgiving man, understand?”

Two sets of eyes looked up at her, and it seemed for all the world as if the creatures behind those eyes were hanging on her every word.

Ashley knew better.

Rusty and his cohort in crime only heard what they wanted to hear. Right now, what they both appeared to want to hear was simply the sound of her voice. They didn’t want her to leave. They wanted her to stay and play with them.

She only wished she could oblige.

“Out of my way, boys,” Ashley ordered, sweeping past the furry duo and making her way to the kitchen. Her entourage followed swiftly in her wake. Anticipation, Ashley could tell, was in the air.

Her routine was second nature to her. Quickly distributing equal amounts of food between two bowls, Ashley carried them over to the corner of the kitchen where the two dogs she’d rescued always ate.

Ordinarily that would be enough for Olympic-speed chewing to begin. But this morning, the two canines she shared her home with seemed far more interested in surrounding her—thereby outnumbering her—and loudly protesting the fact that she was just about to leave the house.

When they barked like that, they sounded more like a pack of dogs than just two.

Ashley put her hands on her hips and gave each culprit a look that was meant to silence them. “C’mon, guys, no more fooling around—or there’ll be no treats when I get home.”

That, she noted with no small satisfaction, combined with her I’m-not-kidding look, seemed to do the trick. The two dogs immediately stopped barking and turned their attention to the bowls brimming with food as a consolation prize.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the love and affection, I do,” she told them, rushing around the kitchen, attempting to restore it to reasonable order before she left.

If there was anything she couldn’t stand, it was a messy kitchen. Coming home to one after her shift was over was downright disheartening to her. And she would only have herself to blame if it was in a total state of chaos. Initially the dogs, both of which she’d rescued once it was clear that each had been abandoned by their former owners, had no problem showing their displeasure if she did something they weren’t happy about. They soon learned that pulling open the bottom drawer of her bureau and dragging it clear across the first floor, then emptying its contents and making a home in her underwear, was not acceptable.

Still, she could tell that they really wanted her to stay. That was what she got for spending the weekend catering to them and playing with them. They took to that instantly and seemed to think it was going to be like that from then on.

She only wished they were right. But life wasn’t that simple.

“I know, I know, if it was up to you, we’d all hang out together and I’d never leave the house. But if that happened, how would I earn the money to feed you two gluttonous creatures, never mind getting it to the house? The pet store doesn’t make deliveries.”

In response to her question, the dogs just continued eating as if the food before them was about to vanish at any second.

“I swear,” Ashley murmured, glancing at the empty bowls, “if I hadn’t just had you two checked out by the police department’s vet, I would bet anything that you’re both at the mercy of a couple of tapeworms.” She paused to pet the dog closest to her, a golden Labrador that looked as if he’d been deliberately shrunk in the wash. He certainly didn’t look overweight. “Where do you put it, Rusty?” she mused.

Not to be left out, Dakota, a five-year-old German shepherd, ducked under her hand and pushed it with his head, moving it away from the Labrador. He took the lion’s share of her hand for himself.

Ashley laughed. “Certainly make your wishes well known, don’t you, boy?” she asked.

In response, the German shepherd continued nuzzling her. Not to be outdone, the Labrador circled around to her other side. He was definitely lobbying for a space beside her.

Time to go, she thought, rising to her feet.

“Okay, guys, I’m serious now. You heard me. Back up.” The German shepherd responded to her sharp tone while the Labrador, as if convinced that she was only being blustery for form’s sake, not only didn’t back up out of her way, but licked her fingertips.

“Sorry, not going to work this time, Rusty. If I’m ever going to work my way out of the Animal Control Division and into some kind of investigative department, I can’t show up late. Can you just hear the excuse if they ask me why I didn’t come in when I was supposed to?

“‘Why are you late, Officer St. James?’ ‘Because my dogs wouldn’t let me leave my house.’” She pressed her lips together, attempting to look as if she was frowning—as if she could ever be mad at her pets. “Not exactly something someone working in Animal Control should really admit to, is it?” she asked her dogs.

The German shepherd barked as if he agreed with her. At least, that was the way she wanted to interpret his bark. For once, Rusty abstained from the debate.

Ashley grinned. “I know why you’re doing it, you know. You’re trying to keep me home because you’re just afraid I’m going to bring home another stray.” She ran a hand over each of the dogs. They constituted her only family, as well as her best friends. “Even if I did, that doesn’t mean I’d stop caring about you two. You’re my whole world. Now take those cute little butts and get them out of my way,” Ashley instructed.

One more glance at her watch told her that she was really going to have to hustle to get to the police station on time.

“See you guys tonight,” she called over her shoulder as she went out the front door. “And don’t give the mail carrier a heart attack if he comes up to the front door to leave a package,” she warned. “The poor guy’s just doing his job.”

Leaving, Ashley paused to lock the front door. Not that she really had to. For its size, Aurora was deemed to be one of the safer cities in the country, but even if it wasn’t, she was confident that the sound of Dakota barking up a storm would be more than enough to convince any would-be burglar that it would be a lot smarter to break into another house instead of this one.

Still, it was a habit she’d developed years ago, making sure that whatever was hers—though at the time her possessions had been less than meager—remained hers.

Back then, the only thing she’d had of any worth, really, was the watch she still wore. The old Timex was the only link she had to her past—the only thing she had to prove she even had a past. The woman who’d run the home that she’d continuously been sent back to from the time she was four had told her that they’d thought the watch belonged to her father, but that they weren’t certain. The only thing they’d known was that when they’d found her, she was playing with it.

She’d been discovered sitting on the ground, near the charred remains of a vehicle that had gone off the road, killing the other two occupants of the car, presumably before the car burst into flames. The only reason she had survived was that she’d been thrown clear of the vehicle, sustaining a head injury that had knocked her out for the worst of the fire.

Another couple had called the police to report the accident. The responding officers had taken her to social services. She actually thought she had a vague recollection of a tall officer picking her up and carrying her to the squad car. She recalled the scent of something that smelled like mint.

Since she’d obviously survived the fire untouched, someone at social services had thought it might be clever to call her Ashley—Ash for short. She had no real surname because no ID of any kind had been found on either of the two victims in the car, both of whom had been burned beyond recognition. Consequently, social services had whimsically bestowed a surname on her. She’d been discovered on the last day of March, so she’d become Ashley March.

The moment she’d turned eighteen—or what someone at social services believed might be her eighteenth birthday—she’d left the system, and her surname, behind. Having grown accustomed to her first name, she’d christened herself Ashley St. James, James from the name engraved on the back of the oversize watch she was never without.

Squaring her shoulders, Ashley hurried to her used car, ready to face her day.

* * *

There were days when she did nothing but drive up and down the peaceful streets of Aurora, searching for strays, birds that had fallen out of nests and couldn’t fly and the occasional unlucky animal that had discovered it didn’t pay to cross the road when a car was coming.

This morning, however, right after she’d consumed her first cup of tea, her superior, Lieutenant Rener, summoned her into his office.

Wondering if she was about to be given a lecture on the virtues of arriving on time—she had made it by the skin of her teeth, but it was close and the lieutenant was a stickler for discipline—Ashley crossed the threshold with a warm, friendly smile on her face. She’d learned a long time ago to mask every thought, every feeling she had with a smile.

“Officer St. James reporting, sir,” she announced the moment she stepped into the lieutenant’s rather small office.

Lieutenant Rener barely looked in her direction, acknowledging her presence with a curt nod. He held out an address for her. When she took it, he told her, “Someone called in a disturbance.”

That seemed like it should be more under the jurisdiction of the police department that dealt with people, not animals. But for the time being, Ashley held her peace, confident that if an explanation for rerouting this to animal services was in the offing, she would hear it soon enough.

“A woman called to complain about a barking dog,” Rener told her.

She glanced at the address. It was for an apartment complex nearby. They were garden apartments, if she recalled correctly. Garden or not, it was still people living on top of each other, she thought, suppressing a shiver. She’d had all she could stand of close quarters during her foster family days—which was why every penny she’d earned had gone toward buying a house. She’d lived on ketchup soup and mustard sandwiches until she could finally afford to put down a down payment on a place of her own. Her house was tiny—a forty-five-year-old house with three small bedrooms and a postage-stamp-size backyard. It was clear that the place needed work. But it was all hers.

“How long has it been barking?” she asked her supervisor.

“According to the woman who called in with the complaint, all morning.” He looked up from the report he was going over. “Go see what you can find out. If the owner’s there and the dog’s been abused or looks like he’s been badly neglected, put the fear of God into them. Tell the owner if you have to come out again, the dog comes back with you,” he told her as if she was a rookie and didn’t know the drill by heart. “Can’t have the good citizens of Aurora listening to nonstop barking.”

Ashley couldn’t tell if the lieutenant was being sarcastic, droll or was actually on the level with his comment.

“Yes, sir,” she said, beginning to ease out of the office. “Anything else?”

She said it for form’s sake. She really didn’t expect the man to say anything more. But he did and it was equally as unnecessary as what he’d just told her.

“Yeah. If the owner’s not around, have the complex manager unlock the apartment for you and bring the animal in with you.”

Ashley resisted the very real temptation to roll her eyes at the instruction, which she found to be rather insulting. At the very least, it told her that the lieutenant was not paying any attention to her as an employee. She was good at her job, needed next to no instructions and animals seemed to respond to her because she got along better with them than she did the people she had to work with.

People had secrets, they had petty jealousies, they had agendas. With animals, what she saw was what she got. She liked that a lot better.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured as she left Rener’s office and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Ashley could hear the barking even before she parked the small Animal Control van near the apartment and got out.

Rather than aggression, what she heard in the barking was more along the lines of pathetic whining. It was as if the animal was calling to get someone’s attention.

Ashley’s jaw tightened as anger swept through her. More than likely, the animal had been abused. It was probably chained, starved and beaten, as well. There was nothing she hated more than an animal being the scapegoat for its owner’s inadequacies and frustrations. Not to mention that in some cases, abusing and torturing small animals was also the starting point for a budding serial killer.

The dog’s pathetic barking felt as if it was reverberating in her chest.

A slender redhead of medium height, Ashley lengthened her stride as she quickened her pace, cutting across the parking lot.

The barking sounded increasingly more pathetic the closer she came to the apartment. She could feel her heart twisting in her chest. That poor dog, she couldn’t help thinking. It sounded as if it was in real pain.

The apartment the sound was coming from was located on the ground floor. Its kitchen window was facing the parking lot. Rather than knock on the door, Ashley decided to look through the window first to see what she might be up against. Though she loved all breeds of dogs, she wasn’t naive about the way some responded to strangers, no matter how well-meaning that stranger might be.

There were blinds at the window, but they were slightly cracked open, just enough for her to be able to see into the apartment.

It took her a few seconds to get her eyes accustomed to the interior of the apartment. A lot of light was not coming in, and consequently, a large portion of what she was trying to make out was shrouded in shadow.

Taking out her flashlight, she aimed it at the interior of the apartment.

She saw the dog first. It was a Jack Russell terrier, a breed of dog known to be high-strung and hyper. Clearly agitated, the small, wiry dog was running back and forth around something.

No, someone.

Oh, God.

Ashley’s mouth dropped open. She could see someone lying on the floor. The flashlight wasn’t enough to make out all that much. But there was definitely a person on the kitchen floor.

It was either a woman or a long-haired man. He or she was facedown on the vinyl in what looked like—

Blood.

Dear God, it was blood. Ashley’s stomach twisted. Her hand shook as she took out her cell.

Breathe, damn it. Breathe. You’ve seen blood before, Ash.

She heard a voice on the other end of the line. She wasn’t even sure what the voice said. She just launched into her request.

“Dispatch, this is Officer Ashley St. James.” She rattled off her badge number as proof of who she was, then said, “I need a bus sent to 198 San Juan. Apartments off Newport Avenue North. Not for an animal, it’s for a person,” she insisted. “And send backup! Fast!”

Obviously, Dispatch had pulled her badge up on the computer and would think she was asking for assistance with someone’s pet.

Agitated, Ashley barely heard the voice on the other end confirm her request. Terminating the call, she was vaguely aware of pocketing her cell phone. During the call, her eyes never left the figure on the floor.

The dog continued to circle around it, barking and growing progressively more and more agitated, as if it knew that its master couldn’t survive long, not with the kind of blood loss that the pool on the floor indicated.

Whoever it was, was bleeding out, Ashley thought. She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand there, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

Her heart in her throat, Ashley raced back to the leasing office to get the manager.

The sign hanging on the closed glass door stopped her in her tracks. “Out showing apartments. Be back in twenty minutes.”

The person in the apartment didn’t have twenty minutes. He or she might not even have five.

She had to get in there, Ashley thought, desperately casting about for how. And then she remembered one of the kids she’d met growing up in the system. He’d taught her a few things that she would never be able to put on a résumé.

Making up her mind, Ashley ran back to the apartment. Scrutinizing the perimeter of the window, she went into action and popped out the left pane, lifting it up and out of the frame. The space was small, but just big enough to accommodate her.

Pulling herself up off the ground, Ashley went through the opening and tumbled into the apartment—into the kitchen sink, more precisely. She hit her shoulder against the metal faucet.

The unexpected jolt vibrated right through her. Entirely focused on the person a few feet away, the pain shooting down her arm barely registered.

The terrier ran toward her, barking furiously, as if to warn her away from the person he was guarding.

For a moment Ashley was certain that the frantic little dog was going to bite her.

“It’s okay, boy, it’s okay,” she told the dog in a low, soothing voice. “I’m here to help. Let me get to your master.”

In response, the dog ran back to the person on the floor, as if showing her the way.

“That’s it, boy, take me to—”

Ashley’s voice felt suddenly trapped in her throat as she quickly followed the terrier to where the person lay.

Horror filled her.

She didn’t remember crossing from where she was to the body, but she obviously had to have moved because the next thing Ashley knew she was dropping to her knees beside the victim, panic and a sense of urgency filling her at the same time.

The person on the floor was a woman.

Ashley knew all the rules about touching a victim and disturbing a crime scene. Each one of them began with the word Don’t.

But she was positive that she could make out just the faintest signs of breathing. The victim’s back was moving ever so slightly.

Amid all that blood, there was no visible wound in the back. It clearly had to be in the front.

If this woman had so much as a prayer of making it, Ashley knew that she had to find some way to stop the bleeding.

She began to talk to the victim as if the woman was conscious and could hear her. She talked to her the way she talked to a frightened, wounded animal. Slowly, soothingly.

“I’m with the police department,” Ashley said as she turned the woman to face her. “The ambulance is coming. Just hang in there—”

The rest of her words evaporated as she realized that the woman’s belly had been slashed open.

Everything began to grow dark, and Ashley struggled not to pass out.

Chapter 2

Exercising every last ounce of her self-control, Ashley fought against the darkness that was trying to swallow her up.

She knew that if she surrendered and passed out, she’d be of no use to the victim. Although it seemed almost improbable, she was positive she’d detected just the slightest movement of the woman’s chest. She was struggling to breathe, which meant that the woman was still alive, tethered to life by just the thinnest possible thread.

But any second now, that thread was going to break.

The slash across the woman’s abdomen was huge. Ashley stared at it and at the blood, vacillating between nausea and being utterly numb.

There was no way she could possibly manage to stem the flow of the victim’s blood using just her hands. She needed something to hold against the gaping wound before the blood completely drained out of the woman.

Quickly stripping off her jacket, Ashley threw it over the wound and pressed down as hard as she could, trying to cover as much of the savage wound as she was able.

In a matter of seconds her jacket turned from light blue to bright red. The blood just continued to ooze out.

“Hang in there,” Ashley repeated to the woman, raising her voice so that the victim could hear her. The terrier was still barking frantically. “They’re coming. The ambulance is coming. They’ll be here any second. Just don’t let go.”

God, but she wished the paramedics were here already. They were trained, and they’d know what to do to stabilize this woman’s vital signs and get her to stop bleeding like this.

She refused to believe that the situation was hopeless. Despite everything that she had been through in her short twenty-five years, there was still a tiny part of Ashley that harbored optimism.

Ashley’s heart jumped. The woman’s eyelids fluttered, as if she was fighting to stay conscious, but her eyes remained closed. And then Ashley saw the woman’s lips moving.

What was she trying to tell her?

“What? I’m sorry, but I can’t hear what you’re saying.” Leaning in as close as she was able, Ashley had her ear all but against the woman’s lips. She remained like that as she urged the victim on. “Say it again. Please, your dog’s barking too loud for me to hear you.”

She thought she heard the woman say something that sounded like “...stole...my...baby.”

Ashley couldn’t make out the first word for sure, and part of her thought that maybe she’d just imagined the rest of the sentence, but she was positive that she’d felt the woman’s warm breath along her face as she tried to tell her something.

And then it hit her. What had happened to this woman wasn’t just some random, brutal attack by a deranged psychopath who had broken into her apartment. This was done deliberately.

Someone had kidnapped this woman’s baby before it was even born.

* * *

Detective Shane Cavanaugh frowned at the piece of paper his captain had just handed him. On it was not only an address, but a confusing short summary of the call that had come in to Dispatch.

It didn’t make any sense.

“Am I reading this correctly, Captain?” Sitting at his desk, trying to come to terms with the pile of papers on his desk, Shane read what was written and looked up at the brawny, bald man who had recently been put in charge of the Major Crimes Division.

“I dunno, Cavelli— Sorry, Cavanaugh.” The captain corrected himself with a mocking grin. “What is it that you’re reading?”

“This call came in from someone with Animal Control asking for backup?” It was half a statement, half a question, but virtually all of him didn’t care for the captain’s attitude toward him.

Captain Owens’s tone was condescending. “That’s what it says.”

“What are we doing taking calls from Animal Control?” Shane wanted to know. “Is business around here that slow lately?”

It hadn’t exactly been jumping with cases, but there had been some criminal activity, enough to keep him busy at least since he’d found himself partner-less these past four weeks.

“Apparently, it initially came in as a ‘disturbing the peace’ call.” Owens shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it escalated. The caller asked for a bus and backup,” he said, repeating what he’d written down.

“Just check it out,” the captain instructed, then added, “Unless, of course, you feel you’re too good for that now, given your new name and all.”

Paper in hand, Shane rose from his desk, giving no indication that the captain’s verbal jab irritated the hell out of him.

It had been difficult enough accepting the fact that his father, his siblings and he were not actually related to the family he had grown up believing was his, all because of an initial mix-up at the hospital where his father had been born. Suddenly they weren’t Italian, they were Scottish.

And now he found himself having to put up with snide remarks rooted in jealousy because when everything was finally cleared up, it came to light that the lot of them was not Cavellis, as they had thought, but Cavanaughs. Which meant, in turn, that he and the others were directly related to Aurora’s former chief of police and to the division’s current chief of detectives.

In addition, there was a large number of his “new” family who were attached in one capacity or another to the Aurora Police Department.

That made his siblings and him, in some people’s eyes, related to the reigning royalty.

It also made them, Shane was quickly learning, targets for verbal potshots.

While one of his brothers took each remark and the person who made it to task, Shane’s method was to ignore the sarcastic sentiment and move on as if he hadn’t heard it.

Eventually, he reasoned, those who felt compelled to make these remarks would get tired of the game and turn their attention elsewhere.

At least he could hope.

“I’ll get right on it,” Shane told the captain as he grabbed the jacket he had slung over the back of his chair and walked out of the squad room.

Getting on the elevator, he glanced at the note again and shook his head. He could barely make out all the words written on the paper. The captain had the handwriting of an illiterate gorilla—as well as the same physique, he added silently.

But he had managed to get the gist of it, although he still had no idea why someone attached to Animal Control would be calling in and asking for backup unless they’d encountered a pack of roving coyotes or something along those lines. Even in that case, wouldn’t this Officer St. James have called his own department? Why had he called this in to Dispatch, which then had decided to route the call to Major Crimes?

And why hadn’t the captain questioned this instead of passing it on to him?

Oh well, Shane thought with a careless shrug as he got out on the ground floor. He was happier in the field than sitting at his desk, staring down that mountain of paperwork.

Paperwork had always been the bane of his existence. It reminded him too much of homework, something he’d never really been good at. He’d always been a doer, not a recorder.

Locating his vehicle, Shane opened the dark sedan’s driver’s-side door and slid in behind the steering wheel. He buckled up, then, glancing into the rearview mirror, pulled out of the parking space.

He didn’t need to wait for anyone. He was checking this out on his own.

It still felt a little strange to be going anywhere without Wilson riding shotgun, smelling faintly of Old Spice and onions, going on ad nauseam about some recipe he’d seen prepared on one of the cable cooking channels that he was eager to try.

The only thing Wilson liked better than cooking was eating—which could account for why the man had no life outside the department, Shane mused. But Wilson had recently been approached about a transfer to Narcotics because they had a shortage of detectives in that section after two of their detectives had retired and another one had relocated to Dallas. He’d been debating saying yes when he’d been shot by a thief whose path they had accidentally crossed.

That had had not just one repercussion, but two. He’d temporarily lost his partner—and permanently lost his fiancée.

Better to find out now than later, he told himself not for the first time.

It still didn’t help.

Wilson would be back on his feet soon enough, Shane thought. Right now, he was going to just enjoy the fact that he was unencumbered in the car and that no one was chattering nonstop about the “rare herbs and spices” he’d used to prepare some exotic recipe and coaxing him to sample something that appeared better suited to a landfill than a plate.

Shane got to the apartment complex in less than ten minutes. The ambulance had beaten him.

Because there appeared to be no parking spot readily available in what was designated as guest parking, and all the regular spaces corresponding to the apartments were already filled, Shane decided to park his sedan behind the police department’s Animal Control truck. He had little use for people attached to the department who spent their days picking up roadkill.

A crowd was beginning to gather right outside the ground-floor apartment the captain had scribbled down on the paper.

“This must be the place,” Shane said to himself. Getting out of his vehicle, he crossed to the first patrolman he saw and issued an order. “Keep these people back until we know what we’re dealing with. Can’t have them trampling all over what might be part of the crime scene.”

The patrolman, a veteran of the department for twenty-two years, laughed softly to himself as he muttered under his breath. “Too late,” Shane heard him say as he was about to walk away.

Since his father, Sean, was the head of the day shift’s Crime Scene Investigation unit, Shane was exceedingly mindful of the preservation of any and all evidence that might pertain to the crime under investigation.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He wanted to know.

Rather than apologize or retract his comment, the officer explained his remark. “Dog’s been running through everything.”

Shane scowled, looking around the immediate area outside the apartment in question.

“What dog?” he asked. Before the officer could say a word, the incessant barking began again.

The officer Shane had confronted winced. “That dog,” he answered, pointing at the open door and into the apartment.

Taking a step to the side, Shane peered in and was stunned. The dog, so boisterous just seconds ago, had stopped barking. Instead of running around the way the patrolman seemed to indicate he’d been doing, the animal was now safely and silently in the arms of what appeared to be a policewoman.

Leaving the patrolman to herd the onlookers back behind the barricades that had been put up, Shane walked into the apartment to look around.

There was an absolute maze of red paw prints zigzagging all over the faded beige carpeting in the living room and the cracked vinyl kitchen floor.

Apparently the policewoman hadn’t been nearly fast enough scooping up the neurotic canine. It was obvious that the terrier had run through the victim’s pool of blood more than just a few times.

Someone from his father’s department was there already, taking copious photographs. The clicking shutter was just so much background noise as Shane made his way over to the body on the floor.

For the first time since he’d joined the force, Shane came dangerously close to revisiting his breakfast. The gaping wound in the woman’s abdomen was almost surreal.

No one could lose this amount of blood and live, he thought. He touched the side of her neck just to be sure. There was no pulse.

“This woman doesn’t need a bus any longer. She belongs to the medical examiner now.” Looking closer, he saw there was something about the way the blood was smeared on one side that didn’t look right to him. His field of expertise was mainly white-collar crime, but he knew a bit about blood patterns, thanks to his father. “Who moved the body?” He wanted to know.

“I did.”

The answer came from his right. Turning, Shane found himself looking at the officer who was holding the terrier. For the first time, as he focused on her, he realized that the perky-looking policewoman was covered with blood herself. Lots of blood. More, he thought, than he would have expected from someone checking out the crime scene.

“Why did you move her?” he asked.

“I thought she was only wounded,” Ashley explained. “I didn’t realize that someone had cut out her baby.”

His eyes narrowed. Aurora was supposed to be this peaceful little city. What the hell was going on? He studied the woman in front of him. “You saying she was pregnant?”

Ashley nodded. As the dog began to whimper, she rocked slightly to soothe the animal in the same fashion a mother would rock to soothe a cranky child.

“Yes.”

Was there more going on here than he’d thought? “Did you know her?”

Using small concentric circles to pet the animal she held against her, the policewoman shook her head. “No.”

Had she just gotten caught in a lie? “Then how did you know she was pregnant?”

“First thing that came to mind when I saw the nature of the wound,” she responded. “And then there were her final words—”

“She was alive when you first saw her?” he asked, surprised.

Ashley couldn’t figure out if the detective was mocking her or if he just didn’t have any people skills. For now, she gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“That’s why I called for an ambulance,” she told him. “I tried to stop the blood.”

She was supposed to be a professional, Ashley told herself. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d never seen blood before, or been around something that was dying or already dead. But what had gone down here this morning had her feeling as if she was walking in labored slow motion through a nightmare. A nightmare she should be able to wake up from.

“That would explain the jacket,” he commented, glancing down at the blood-soaked article of clothing. “As well as the bloodstains on your knees.” He looked at her for a long moment, then asked, “Where were you again this morning?”

There was no “again.” He hadn’t asked that question, Ashley thought. What was he trying to do here?

“I went to work this morning. My lieutenant gave me this address, said a complaint had been lodged about a dog in the apartment that wouldn’t stop barking. The caller said the dog had been barking off and on for several hours.”

Shane nodded at the almost docile dog in her arms. “That dog?”

Without fully realizing it, she closed her arms protectively around the animal. “Yes.”

“Seems pretty quiet to me,” he observed.

Ashley continued stroking the dog. “I have a way with animals. Besides, I think he’s emotionally tired out.”

He watched as she continued to stroke the dog. The animal seemed to be leaning into her, as if he thought he was safe.

“‘Emotionally tired out’?” Shane repeated rather skeptically.

His tone, she judged, was intended to get her to back away from her observation. She didn’t. “That’s what I said.”

“Dogs have emotions.” It wasn’t a question so much as a mocking statement.

Ashley forced herself to bite back a few choice words about the barely veiled sarcasm in his voice. She had a feeling that challenging the detective would only result in his becoming confrontational.

Nonetheless, she stood her ground. “All animals have emotions,” she informed him coolly.

“I’ll keep that in mind and try not to hurt his feelings,” he said, nodding at the terrier. Then his eyes shifted toward her. “Where were you before you came into work?”

Her eyes met his. She refused to look away. Only guilty people avoided eye contact. “Home.” She said the word almost defiantly.

“Can anyone verify that?” he asked.

There hadn’t been anyone to verify anything about her since she was four. For most of her life, until she’d turned eighteen, she had just blended into the woodwork or been invisible to the people around her.

“I’ve got two dogs, but they tend not to talk too much to strangers.” And then her flippant tone evaporated as she demanded, “Do you seriously think I had something to do with this?”

From where he stood, it wasn’t all that far-fetched, and until he had more details or knew otherwise, the woman made for a pretty decent suspect.

“A lot of times,” he told her, “the first one on the scene turns out to be the perp.”

Oh, come on, puh-lease! “What is that?” she asked. “A direct quote from Murder for Dummies?”

He did not care for her sarcastic tone. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you, you know that?” he challenged.

“Goes with the rest of me,” she replied with a careless shrug, as if to shrug off his entire statement and whatever off-the-wall theory he was spinning. Shifting the terrier to her other side, much like a mother would shift the toddler she was holding, Ashley asked him, “Are you really a Homicide detective?”

“I’m from the Major Crimes Division,” he revealed. “When you called Dispatch, you asked for backup and a bus,” he reminded her.

“That was because I wasn’t sure what was going on, and she was still breathing.” Seemed to her that they had already gone over this and established it.

“Which was why you moved the body,” he concluded.

This again, she thought, exasperated. What was this detective’s problem? “I just turned her so she was on her back. I found her facedown on the floor between the kitchen and the living room. I didn’t think to take a photo before I tried to find a way to save her life.”

A key phrase in her statement stuck out for him, and Shane commented on it. “Apparently you didn’t think at all.” Before she could retort, he asked another question. “When you got here, was the door opened?”

“No,” she told him, reciting the words stoically, “it was locked.”

He looked around for another person besides the precinct personnel, but there was no civilian in the apartment. “Then the landlord let you in.” It was an assumption on his part.

The next moment, the assumption was shot down as she answered, “No, he didn’t.”

His eyes narrowed. This wasn’t adding up—unless she was the perpetrator. “Then how did you get in?” he asked.

Hadn’t he noticed the pane of glass on the ground under the kitchen window? “I jimmied the kitchen window until I got a pane off.”

He was going to give her every chance—before she hung herself. “Why would you—?”

Anticipating his question, Ashley had her answer ready. “I heard the dog barking, and I looked in through the window. That was when I saw the victim lying facedown on the floor. I called it in and went to get the guy in the leasing office, but the office was empty. Whoever was on duty was out, showing a potential tenant one of the apartments.”

“So you jimmied the window and let yourself in.”

He sounded as if he was accusing her. He couldn’t be serious—could he?

“Yes, I jimmied the window and let myself in.” She was truly annoyed. “Tell me, Detective, what would you have done?” she demanded angrily.

Chapter 3

For a moment the detective said nothing and Ashley thought he was going to give her hell for talking to him that way. She braced herself for a dressing down. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had one. Because there was no one else for her to turn to, she’d learned how to be her own person and to follow both her instincts and her conscience.

But when the detective finally did say something, he surprised her.

“I would’ve kicked in the door.” Seeing the stunned look on her face, Shane smiled and explained, “I’m too big to fit in through that window.”

It was the first time since he’d arrived that she’d seen even a hint of a smile on his lips. Until now, he’d been scowling at her. When he smiled, the detective looked, she thought, like a completely different person. He looked approachable, not to mention rather good-looking.

Not that what the man looked like really mattered one way or another, Ashley told herself—except for the fact that it was the good-looking ones who were usually also the pompous ones.

“Then it’s lucky for you that she got here first. Those doors don’t kick in as easily as you might think, Detective Cavanaugh. That’s a fire door, and they’re pretty damn sturdy. They only get ‘kicked down’ in movies and TV shows,” a deep voice coming from directly behind her said amicably.

Ashley turned to see a tall, handsome older man walking in. He was carrying a rather formidable leather case with him. The letters CSI were embossed across the side of it.

Apparently seeing that she was looking at his case, the newcomer told her, “I’m with the crime lab.” Ashley found it rather unusual that the investigator would tell her that rather than the detective, then realized that most likely, the detective had already been acquainted with the crime scene investigator.

Extending his hand to her, the man introduced himself. “I’m Sean Cavanaugh.”

She flashed a smile at him, grateful to be treated as a person. A great many people on the force acted as if she was part of the scenery—inconsequential scenery, at that. That went along with the fact that there were those in the police department who viewed the people in her division as being no more than just glorified dog catchers.

She had a feeling, judging by the look on the detective’s face when he’d first talked to her, that he thought the same.

But not this man, Ashley decided.

“Officer Ashley St. James,” she responded, shaking his hand.

The man smiled at her. When he did, it occurred to her that he seemed to have the same kind of smile as the detective. Odd.

“Nice to meet you, Officer St. James.” Placing his case on the coffee table, he opened it and took out his camera. He raised an eyebrow as he appeared to study her for a moment. “This your first murder?”

“Yes, sir, it is.” And then she relaxed just a touch and asked, “It shows, huh?”

The reply he gave wasn’t one she was expecting.

“As a matter of fact, it doesn’t.” Sean began to snap pictures of anything in the room that might fit under the heading of possible evidence. “That’s why I asked. You seem remarkably composed for someone who’s seen something this gruesome.” He looked over his shoulder at the detective. “Doesn’t she, Shane?”

Shane had no idea why his father would attempt to get a three-way conversation going in the middle of something so horrendous as this murder—unless it was his way of helping the little officer cope with what she’d stumbled across.

Now that he thought about it, that sounded exactly like something his father would do. He was always in there, the voice of calm and reason, trying to help people through a rough patch.

His father was probably the finest man he knew, Shane thought, not for the first time.

“Yeah, composed,” Shane repeated. Let his father take care of whatever support the officer holding the dog might need. He wasn’t here to hold her hand, pretty as it might be, he was here to try to figure out who killed the young woman on the floor—and why.

“He’s usually a lot more talkative than that,” Sean told her, leaning in and making the comment sound somehow confidential. He took a fourth shot of the victim from yet another angle. “Aren’t you, Shane?”

“If you say so,” he responded carelessly as he squatted over the victim to take a closer look.

The terrier the officer was holding became agitated and started barking. The bark grew more aggressive. Shane rose, his expression reverting to the annoyed look he’d worn for the initial part of their exchange. “Can’t you get that dog out of here?”

“Not yet,” she answered, stroking the small canine. She leaned over and whispered something in its ear just before she reached into her pocket and took out one of the treats she kept with her at all times. Bribed, the dog calmed somewhat and stopped barking.

Still petting the animal, Ashley looked from the crime scene investigator to the detective. The latter hadn’t bothered to introduce himself. He’d gone straight to work and was treating her as if she were a suspect. Her eyes shifted back again. The more she compared the two, the more similarities she saw.

“Are you two related, by any chance?” she asked the older man, since he was definitely the friendlier one. “You kind of look alike.”

Sean laughed to himself as he went on working. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sure Shane thinks of himself as the better looking one.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied both men again, this time very carefully. They had the same cheekbones, the same strong jaws and the same eye color, she realized. Most likely, when he was younger, the crime scene investigator had probably had the same color hair as the detective.

“He’s your son,” she concluded.

“On good days,” Sean acknowledged with a nod. “On bad days, he’s his mother’s.”

His son hadn’t given her his name. He was somewhat surprised at the omission. Had something caught Shane’s attention, something that made him forget to follow the usual procedure? “You didn’t tell her who you are?” Sean asked his son.

It was Ashley who answered him, shaking her head. “He went straight to questioning me,” she told Sean. “Said something about the first one on the scene being a good suspect for the murder.”

Sean glanced at his son. His expression was hard to read.

“Be gentle with him,” Sean told the young officer. He winked at her, then picked up his case. He began to head toward the back of the apartment and the victim’s bedroom. “This is his first murder, too.”

That might explain why he was so stiff, Ashley thought. Still holding the terrier in her arms, she turned toward the investigator’s son. “Will you be needing me, Detective Cavanaugh?”

The sun was finally pushing its way into the apartment through the rear sliding-glass doors, lighting the corners of the room that had previously been hidden in the shadows.

It also seemed to weave itself through the petite officer’s red hair, giving it highlights and making it shine alluringly. Catching his attention, it caused Shane’s train of thought to halt abruptly.

Beautiful women always caught his attention, and whatever else this woman was, she was definitely beautiful.

“What?” he asked, realizing that she’d said something and was waiting for an answer. Preoccupied, he didn’t have a clue as to what she’d just asked.

“Will you be needing me?” she repeated, then added, “Any further?”

Ashley had lost her train of thought because the detective was looking at her rather intently, as if he was weighing something.

It took effort for her not to shift uncomfortably.

“You have a card on you, Officer?” he finally asked, his eyes holding hers. “You never know when that need might come up.”

She knew she had to be misinterpreting his words, but the last part sounded much too personal, almost intimate. She could feel her cheeks warming, turning a different shade than they’d been just a moment ago. He’d worded his explanation just ambiguously enough to make it sound as if he might want her for something other than verbal input.

Not for the first time, she cursed her fair complexion. It was a dead giveaway.

Ashley forced herself to calm down and regain control over at least her outward appearance.

This one, she decided, fancied himself a ladies’ man, someone who probably wasn’t accustomed to being refused. Taking a card with her name on it out of her pocket, she handed it to him and answered, “No, I guess you just never do.”

Turning on her heel, she started for the door.

“You taking that dog to the shelter?” he called out after her.

He honestly didn’t know why he’d asked that. He really didn’t care where the animal went, as long as it didn’t run through the crime scene again.

“Why?” she asked, slipping a shielding hand around the terrier as if to silently communicate to the animal that it had no reason to fear anything as long as it was under her protection. “You want to question him later and rule him out as a suspect, too?”

The woman’s feisty attitude intrigued him even as it annoyed him. “I want to tie up all the ends I can in my report. That includes where the dog was relocated. Now can I put down that he was taken to the animal shelter where he can be found until the city disposes of him.”

He’d used the phrase to cover all bases—if the dog went on to be adopted by someone looking for a pet, it was considered to be one method of “disposal.” But even so, she didn’t care for the detective’s cold, detached manner.

“You can put down anything you want, Detective Cavanaugh. But if you must know, I’ll be taking the dog home with me when my shift is over.” It was a spur of the moment decision on her part and it wasn’t exactly according to the rules—but that was how she got the other two dogs she currently shared her house with. Animal Control’s rules were slightly bendable, allowing her some leeway.

The way there apparently wasn’t in the main division, she observed.

Shane looked from the dog in her arms to her. “Why would you do that?”

* * *

Ashley continued to pet the dog as she spoke. “Because he’s been traumatized enough for one day, and I thought he could do with calm, tranquil surroundings for a while. He can’t receive that sort of attention if I take him to Animal Control. We don’t have enough personnel available for that.”

Shane looked at her skeptically. He didn’t know what to make of this woman. Was she some PETA-type radical in uniform, or just a pushover—at least where animals were concerned?

“Isn’t giving him individualized care a little over the top?” he asked.

Ashley lifted her chin defiantly. “It shouldn’t be,” she informed him.

Shane laughed shortly. “Easy to see why the dog likes you so much.”

“Why?” she asked, curious about the kind of reasoning he was using—and bracing herself for the worst.

Shane assumed that would be crystal clear to her. Was she fishing for a compliment? “Because you’re taking his side, speaking up for him.”

Maybe she was taking sides with the dog, but there was something about this detective that made her want to instantly take the opposite side of whatever he said.

“I just balance out the people who get off on kicking dogs,” she replied simply.

The expression on his face shifted to one of amusement. “Are you a crusader, Officer St. James?”

She squared her shoulders, subconsciously bracing for a fight. She didn’t like being laughed at. “Not a crusader,” she answered. “Just someone doing her job the way she sees fit. Now, if you’re finished with us, Detective, I’ll take Albert out of here.”

“‘Albert,’” he repeated, surprised. “You know the dog’s name?”

Evidently he was thinking that if she knew that—given there was no dog tag on the animal—she had to know the victim, as well.

“No, but he looks like an Albert,” Ashley answered, shifting her hands and holding the dog up as if she was examining all sides of him, mimicking the process she’d employed when deciding on his name.

“If you say so,” the detective murmured under his breath.

“Oh, Officer,” Sean Cavanaugh called as he stepped out of the bedroom for a moment. “Before I forget, we’ll need to check out that terrier. We might find something in his fur that’ll tell us something about the person who did this. I can have one of my people take him over to Animal Control when we’re done.”

Ashley looked down at the dog. She could feel the animal begin to tremble against her, as if he actually understood what was being said and knew he was about to be separated from her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take him. He doesn’t really look as if he trusts any of you.”

She knew her request wasn’t according to protocol, but had sensed that the elder Cavanaugh might not be a stickler for the letter of the rules, just the spirit.

“That would be fine,” he told her, “as long as you take him in right now. I can’t have any possible evidence being contaminated.”

“Understood,” she replied, then flashed a smile intended strictly for the senior Cavanaugh. “I’m on my way,” she announced, leaving.

* * *

For a moment Shane watched the woman leave with the canine she was protecting.

The second she walked out the door, he turned toward his father—only to find that he had retreated into the bedroom. Shane was quick to make his way to the back of the apartment.

Having the case land in his lap like this seemed almost serendipitous because lately he’d been thinking about asking to be transferred to the homicide division. Homicide was where all the up-and-comers wanted to go, so why shouldn’t he?

Walking into the bedroom, he saw another crime scene investigator in the room with his father, collecting physical evidence. Probably the same man his father had intended to have transport the terrier to the lab before the officer had volunteered to do it.

Shane nodded at the man then planted himself in front of his father, waiting until Sean was finished with whatever he was doing.

Looking up, his father noted his presence and went back to photographing the bedroom.

“Cute,” he pronounced out of the blue.

“What is?” Shane asked.

Sean looked up at him as if to ask, “Are you kidding me?” But he obliged his son by spelling it all out for him. “That officer with the material witness in her arms.”

Shane shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “If you like that sort of thing,” he agreed.

The deliberate nonchalant reply had Sean looking up at his son. “You always like that sort of thing,” Sean reminded him. “At least, you used to,” he amended.

For the past eight months, his son had been engaged to be married—until she’d broken it off last month after his partner had been shot on the job. For a while, it had been touch and go for Shane, but after what he’d just witnessed, Sean felt that his son was definitely on his way to recovery.

“Not when they’re mouthy,” Shane countered.

Sean was really intrigued now. “She’s a challenge. Good, you could use one. And cute or not, the ladies are always far more interesting when they don’t just fall at your feet in complete surrender. I noticed that you used to lose interest when women looked at you with those puppy-dog eyes.”

Shane shrugged. All he wanted now was a good time. Getting serious just led to complications he didn’t want anymore. “What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s no lightning, no lasting attraction,” his father pointed out. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’d tell you, but I’m not sure you’re old enough to hear that kind of stuff.”

Sean saw through his son’s words and his attempt at diverting him. “Is this one getting to you?” he asked.

The grin faded as Shane’s expression became deadly serious. “Why would you say that?”

“Because instead of shrugging off what I say, you’re making denials, protesting. That usually means only one thing—”

“Okay,” Shane said, cutting him off. “This is me shrugging. Watch.” He raised and lowered his wide shoulders in an exaggerated fashion.

But Sean wasn’t buying any of it. “Too late for that,” he told his son.

“Too late for what?” Shane demanded, completely at a loss as to where this complicated conversation was actually headed.

The look in Sean’s eyes all but shouted, “You know, the die has already been cast, my boy.” Out loud, Sean said, “Go, observe. Be a detective. Detect.”

Shane shook his head. Ever since his father had gotten married again, to the mother of his sister’s fiancée, he seemed determined for all of his offspring to be harnessed in a similar tether. Well, that might work for the others—it seemed as if everyone except for himself and Declan, his brother, seemed to be dropping like flies at the marriage altar—but he’d tried to go that route and gotten kicked in the teeth by cupid. Life had decreed that he was going to remain single, just like Declan. Currently, in their immediate family, they were the last two men standing.

He intended to remain “standing” for a very long time to come.

Putting his father and his father’s less-than-subtle hints out of his head, Shane looked around the bedroom. Aside from a small bureau and a double bed, every other stick of furniture and random item in the room all but shouted baby.

This woman had been getting ready for her unborn child.

He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the dead woman. The next moment he upbraided himself. Feeling sorry for the woman wasn’t going to help solve the case. He was going to have to work at hardening his reaction if he hoped to get a permanent transfer to Homicide.

Donning a pair of disposable gloves, Shane carefully handled the contents of a fancy shopping bag. The bag was light blue on one side, light pink on the other. The words Baby Mine were written in fancy lettering on both sides.

“It’s an expensive baby boutique,” Sean told him when he noticed him staring at the bag.

Shane looked at him, puzzled. That was an odd piece of information for a man his father’s age to have. “How would you know that?”

“I know a lot of things,” Sean answered, amused at his son’s attitude. “I don’t just go home at the end of the day and crawl into a shell, pulling the door closed after myself.”

Shane shrugged. “I just figured that things like babies and all the stuff that goes with them are way in your past by now.”

Sean glossed over the comment about his age. “Maybe so, but grandkids aren’t.”

It took a second for his father’s words to replay themselves in his head. At that point, it was as if his brain did a double-take. “What grandkids?” he asked.

“Show up a little more often at those Sunday dinners your uncle Andrew likes to throw, and maybe you’ll find out,” Sean told him mysteriously.

It still felt strange calling someone he’d grown accustomed to knowing as the former chief of police his uncle. It was going to take more getting used to, he thought—just like his last name. Half the time he still wanted to say “Cavelli” when he introduced himself for the first time to someone.

“I’ve shown up at a few,” Shane told his father defensively.

“Show up at a few more,” his father countered, then, glancing up, he waved him off. “You’re in my light, Shane.”

Shane stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding bumping into a pile of stuffed animals, all still with their price tags on.

He picked one up to look over. Since he was wearing latex gloves, he couldn’t feel the toy’s furry texture, but he had a feeling that it was exceedingly soft. He shook his head as he put the stuffed animal back, feeling exceptionally sorry for the victim again.

“It looks like she was really looking forward to being a mother,” he commented to his father.

“Yes, she was,” Sean agreed.

Shane shook his head over the waste of it all. “Shame she’s never going to get the chance.”

Sean agreed with his son completely. “Make it up to her.”

He didn’t even know the victim. Just how was he supposed to do something like that?

“And just how do you propose I do that, seeing the woman’s present condition?” he asked his father.

“Catch her killer,” Sean said simply.

“Right.” With a nod, Shane left the bedroom. He had just caught his very first homicide case, he thought, still trying to get used to the idea.

He needed to get busy.

Chapter 4

“Sorry about the accommodations.”

Ashley directed her apology over her shoulder. It was for the four-footed passenger riding inside the van portion of her police vehicle. With slots located on all four sides to allow for the flow of air into the rear of the official vehicle, she knew that Albert could hear her voice, and hopefully, it would calm him down a bit.

At the moment, though, she could hear the dog moving around all four corners of the area that was accessible to him. He was obviously looking for a way out, an escape from his confinement.

“They just want to make sure that you don’t have anything embedded in your fur that might have been accidentally left behind by your mistress’s killer.” Easing to a stop at the crosswalk as she waited for the light to turn green, she turned her head so that her voice would carry to the rear of the van. “And they probably want to swab your paws, too, even though you did do a lot of running around. The problem is that you ran through that poor woman’s blood, you know.”

In response to her low-key voice, she heard the animal continue to whine. And maybe it was her imagination, but he did seem to slow down a little—or at least he didn’t seem to be bouncing off the walls of the van as much as he initially had.

“I’ll be with you the entire time,” she promised the terrier. “And I’m not sure exactly what they’re planning on doing in the way of taking evidence, but I do know that it’s going to be totally painless. I promise,” Ashley added.

Mindful of the stressed-out animal, she kept up a steady, low, soothing monologue for the entire trip back to the precinct.

Once there, she parked in a completely different area than she ordinarily did when she returned the vehicle for the night. Rather than the hidden side lot, she turned her vehicle in toward the much larger front lot. The front entrance was closer to the elevator she needed to use to get to the crime scene unit’s lab. The entire facility was located in the basement of the building.

“We’re here,” she announced to the terrier as she opened the van’s rear door.

The second she did, the red-pawed terrier tried to bolt out of his temporary prison. Acting on instinct, Ashley made a quick grab for the animal’s dark green collar. Her quick reflexes caught the dog off guard and he wound up tripping over his own paws, falling backward.

She winced as she felt the poor dog’s unfortunate jolt telegraph itself through her arm.

“Now you see, if you just took it easy, that wouldn’t happen. Are you all right?” she asked, taking the small animal into her arms. He resisted at first, then seemed to surrender again, leaning against her and taking some solace from her warmth. “See? Much better, right?”

“You always talk to things that can’t answer you?”

Startled, she swung around only to find the detective she’d left behind in the apartment walking up to her. How had he gotten here so fast, and why was he so intent on harassing her?

“Number one, it’s a dog—a living, breathing entity—not a thing,” she pointed out. “And number two, there are ways to communicate other than talking.”

“He’s communicating with you via mental telepathy now?” Shane asked, not bothering to hide the amused, mocking note in his voice.

“Like with people,” she stubbornly pointed out, “a dog’s actions tell me a great deal about what he’s feeling.”

This was growing more and more unbelievable to him. Was this petite fireball really serious?

“So now we’re dealing with a dog’s feelings?” he asked sarcastically.

Instead of answering the detective’s question, Ashley had one of her own to ask him. “Don’t you have some suspect to harass, or some clues to follow up on? I wouldn’t want to take you away from your important work, Detective.”

“Right now, the best clues might very well be on that ill-tempered dog you’re holding on to,” he informed her glibly. And then he became serious. “Why don’t you drop off the mutt in the lab downstairs, and then I’ll take your official statement?”

She had no intention of complying since she’d already decided on another path. “Number one, Albert’s not a mutt, he’s a Jack Russell terrier.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged it off. To him, dogs came in just three varieties. Small dogs, medium dogs and large dogs.

“Number two, I have an alternate suggestion for you. How about I take Albert to the lab, have them do their tests and then, when they’re finished with him, I’ll come back and talk to you afterward.”

“Are you just trying to be difficult?” he asked.

The way she saw it, she was doing her best to be cooperative. “I promised Albert that I wouldn’t leave him alone at the lab.” And then she smiled innocently at Shane. “Making things difficult for you is just an added bonus.”

“You promised Albert,” he repeated incredulously, fairly certain—although, given who he was dealing with, he wasn’t positive—that she had to be kidding.

“Yes. And I don’t want him not to trust me,” she told him. She could tell by his expression what Cavanaugh thought of that, but then, the detective really wasn’t her first concern. The traumatized dog was. “If I break my word, Albert will just become that much harder to deal with.”

He stared at her, stunned. “Do you actually believe what you are saying?”

So now he was accusing her of making things up as she went along? “Of course I do,” she answered firmly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because,” he responded, “for one thing, you make that mutt sound as if he had more intelligence than the average person.”

“I told you, he’s not a mutt,” she informed him tersely. “He’s a Jack Russell terrier, and as for having more intelligence than the average person, he probably does.” She punctuated her statement with a toss of her head. This man obviously knew nothing about dogs. “Jack Russell terriers are extremely intelligent canines. They’re also rather temperamental—” she shot Shane an accusing look “—also like some people I know.”

Shane let her walk to the building entrance ahead of him, then reached around her to hold the door open for her. He saw the suspicious look that immediately crossed her face.

The woman probably thought he was trying to make a move on her.

“Don’t worry, I’m just holding the door open for you, Officer St. James, nothing else. Speaking of being trusting, you’re not, are you?” Shane asked, his eyes meeting hers.

Ashley met his scrutinizing glance head-on just before she walked into the main lobby. “No, I’m not.”

He took a guess at the most logical reason she’d be distrusting. “What happened, you found out your boyfriend was cheating on you?”

There was no way she was about to let him know a single personal thing about her life. “I just haven’t found people in general to be trustworthy,” she replied coolly. “That’s why I like animals better. They don’t lie.”

There was something about the way she said it that caught Shane’s attention. He found his curiosity aroused. “Who lied to you, St. James?”

Her eyes narrowed. He could tell that it took everything she had not to tell him to butt out, that her personal life was none of his business. Instead, she apparently decided to play along. “Do you want that chronologically, alphabetically or arranged by height?”

He assumed she was just exaggerating, but there was no way he was going to accuse her of that. “Ouch, that many?”

“That many,” she confirmed, her expression remaining impassive.

Ignoring the detective, Ashley was about to sweep past the front desk and head directly to the elevator.

“Hold on a minute,” the sergeant manning the front desk called out. He looked uncertainly at the terrier in her arms and directed his question to Ashley. “Shouldn’t you be using the rear entrance, heading toward Animal Control with that mutt?” He nodded his head toward the terrier.

She could actually feel Cavanaugh’s grin as the sergeant referred to Albert as a mutt, just as he had. She ignored him.

At the sound of the new voice, the terrier became agitated and began to bark again.

“Shh, it’s okay, Albert,” she whispered softly to the dog before answering the sergeant. “I’m supposed to take him down to the crime lab.”

Shane intervened. “It’s okay, Murphy, she’s with me.”

She looked at Shane, surprised by his statement. “No, I’m not,” she contradicted.

“I’m taking you to the crime lab,” Shane informed her. “So that makes you with me.”

“I can find it on my own,” she retorted. “So that makes me with me.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then took a guess. “Ever been there before?”

She didn’t see what that had to do with it. It was just another department in the building. “No, but—”

“I have,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll be your guide.”

Exactly how incompetent did he think she was? “It’s in the basement,” she pointed out, “not somewhere in the Northwest Territory, Sacagawea. I think I can find where I’m supposed to go.”

Shane laughed, as if that was a common mistake almost everyone made. “Trust me, it’s better with a guide,” he told her, taking hold of Ashley’s arm. The moment he did, the dog began to growl. Rather than pull back his hand, Shane just scowled at the animal. “You want to call him off?” It was more of a command than a question.

Which was exactly why Ashley bristled at his tone. “I think it might just be simpler for him if you let go of my arm.”

For a moment Shane debated standing his ground, but it hardly seemed worth it. So after a beat—just not to seem as if he was jumping through hoops—he removed his hand from her arm. “Have it your way.”

He found the half smile that rose to her lips irritating and yet oddly intriguing at the same time. Intriguing even though he’d made a silent promise to himself that he wasn’t going to even remotely approach this no-man’s land for a very long time to come.

Not until after he’d fully recovered from what Kitty had done, and most likely, not even then.

The way he saw it, one sliced-up ego was enough for any man to deal with in one lifetime.

Granted, he’d never had to go through something like this before, but when it happened, it had caught him so completely off balance, it had taken not just his very breath away, it had also taken away a great deal of his inner confidence.

“Thanks for your ‘permission,’ Detective,” Ashley retorted icily, “but I really don’t need it.”

He wasn’t put off by her tone. Instead he looked at her very closely and asked, “Exactly what do you need, Officer?”

She raised her chin, and Shane caught himself thinking that it made one hell of a tempting target. A target that was almost too tempting to resist.

“Space,” she informed him.

“Then you’re out of luck at the moment,” he informed her. “You won’t find overly much of that downstairs,” he answered. “In fact, it’s more like one great big maze until you get used to it.”

“And you’re used to it.” It wasn’t a question; it was an assumption since he was offering to play the big safari guide. She couldn’t see him making the offer if he had a tendency to get lost.

“Yeah.”

The elevator finally arrived, and Ashley walked in first. He was right behind her.

Because of her upbringing—or more accurately, the lack of it, Ashley had learned to pick her battles. Otherwise, life became one huge battleground and after a while, she lost her perspective. That guaranteed her to be the major loser in any confrontation.

“Okay,” she said as she pressed the button on the bottom. The doors closed, and the elevator began to go down.

“Okay what?” he challenged, waiting for her to be flippant or perhaps even painfully specific. He was beginning to learn that she wasn’t as easily readable as he’d initially thought.

Rather than give him any kind of an answer he could understand, Ashley lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and said, “Just okay.”

By the time she said that, the elevator had made the short trip from the first floor down to the basement. The silvery doors slid open. Eager to put any distance she could between them, Ashley hurried through the doors before they were even completely parted.

She looked around the immediate area. She hated to admit it, but Cavanaugh was right. It did look like a maze down here. A narrow maze that offered her two directions to go. Which way did she go? Neither wall was labeled to make it easy for anyone not intimately familiar with the lab’s layout.

She looked at Shane, waiting for the detective to come through and tell her where the lab she needed to go to with Albert was located. After all, wasn’t that the whole reason he’d said he was accompanying her to begin with?

Guessing what was going on in her head right now, Shane savored the moment. “Don’t know which direction to take, do you?”

Wiping the smirk off a detective’s face wouldn’t be a good career move at this point of her life, Ashley thought darkly. Unlike the fine young detective, she didn’t have a family name to fall back on or a well-placed superior to take up her side.

But God, removing that smirk from his lips would feel good.

Nevertheless, mindful of the consequences, she restrained herself and answered, “Eventually, there has to be a sign, but in the interest of not wasting your precious time watching me try to find it, why don’t you just tell me which way to go?”

For two cents, he might, Shane couldn’t help thinking. But that wasn’t going to move this case along an inch—although it undoubtedly would be very soul-satisfying.

Nevertheless, when he pointed in response to her question, it was to the right. He wasn’t about to plant a red herring or to play a practical joke on this less than jovial woman.

“That way.”

Her “Thank you” in response was so cold, he thought he was in danger of getting frostbite despite the fact that it was just September, and they were in the middle of a Santa Ana condition. The devil winds were blowing in hot and merciless from the desert.

He kept a smile plastered on his lips as he replied, “Don’t mention it.”

Don’t worry, I don’t intend to do it more than once, she silently told him, keeping her arms wrapped around the terrier to afford the animal as much of a feeling of security as she could.

Too bad the terrier couldn’t return the favor, she thought. She was definitely out of her element down here.

“Turn there,” Shane instructed. “To your left,” he added when she all but missed the small door that was on that side.

Grudgingly following his instruction, Ashley walked into the lab.

Unlike the corridor she’d just been down, the large rectangular room, outfitted with a myriad of strange-looking equipment and devices, was extremely well lit. All shadows had been summarily banished from this part of the basement.

Hearing a commotion behind her, the young woman in the lab coat turned from a mysterious machine she’d just inserted a test tube into.

Her serious expression instantly melted when she saw Shane. “Hi, Shane, what brings you here to my part of the world?” Her glance took in the dog as well as the young woman holding the animal. “And you brought me a visitor. Two,” she amended, looking at the terrier. Her eyes rose to meet the woman’s. “Hi, I’m Destiny Richardson,” she said, introducing herself.

Of course you are, Ashley thought, offering a perfunctory smile.

It figured that he would have a girlfriend named Destiny, she couldn’t help thinking as she watched the two of them interact. The lab technician probably fit right in with girls who had names like Bambi and Tiffany. Ashley was willing to bet those belonged to two more of his girlfriends.

“Ashley St. James,” Ashley told the lab technician in response.

“And your friend?” Destiny asked, removing one latex glove to pet the terrier the officer was holding.

To Ashley’s surprise, the terrier didn’t instantly begin barking. Instead he allowed himself to be petted by this woman. He even seemed to like it, she realized. The woman went up several notches in her estimation. Maybe she wasn’t just a bimbo after all.

“Albert,” Ashley replied, then commented, “He seems to like you.”

“Everyone likes Destiny,” Shane interjected.

Destiny laughed softly. “That’s only because I’m a lot happier these days than I used to be,” she told Ashley modestly.

Next the woman would be batting her eyes at Cavanaugh and saying he was the reason behind the changes in her life, Ashley guessed.

It took everything she had not to just roll her eyes—or get nauseous. Had he come down here to guide her the way he’d claimed, or to flaunt one of his girlfriends at her?

As if she cared, Ashley thought.

“Maybe I should come back later?” she suggested. “Give you and...Destiny, is it—?” she asked, pretending not to have noted the technician’s name “—a little alone time together.”

Destiny looked at her, clearly more confused than Shane appeared.

“Why would we need any alone time together?” she questioned.

Shane was the one who answered her rather than the woman who’d initially made the offer. “I think that’s the officer’s quaint way of saying she thinks we’re in a relationship.”

Ashley scowled at Cavanaugh for the cavalier way he’d just volunteered her guess. He really did tick her off, and if anything, his good looks just seemed to intensify her annoyance.

But that slipped into the background the next moment when the sound of the lab technician’s laughter told Ashley that maybe she’d made a mistake.

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