Cavanaugh Pride. Marie Ferrarella
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Brian laughed, “that’s no way to talk about your brother.”
“No offense, Brian, but you don’t know him like I do.” And then she winked at Julianne, as if they shared a secret.
Julianne wondered what it meant. Before she could make a comment or frame a question, she saw that Frank was crossing the room.
And coming straight toward them.
All her natural defenses instantly rose.
Riley dramatically placed her hand to her chest, like a heroine in a 1950s melodrama, feigning shock.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here, mingling with the masses,” she said to her brother as Frank approached their table.
Frank spared her a slight, reproving frown. He was bone tired and desperately in need of unwinding. “Give it a rest, Riley. This is after hours.”
Stealing an empty chair from the next table, he pulled it over to the one occupied by his sister and Julianne. He straddled the chair and folded his arms over the back.
Raising his hand, he made eye contact with the bartender and nodded. The barkeep took a mug and filled it with beer on tap and handed it to the lone waitress working the floor. Only then did Frank look at the detective from Mission Ridge and ask, “Mind if I join you?”
“No, I don’t mind,” she answered crisply. “I was on my way out, anyway.” Rising from her chair, she nodded at Riley. “Thanks for the ginger ale and the introductions.”
“Don’t mention it,” Riley replied, doing her best to hide her amusement.
“I’ll walk you out,” Brian volunteered, then told his stepchildren, “I promised your mother I’d be home early tonight. I just wanted to stop by and see how the new detective was doing.” And then he smiled at Julianne. “From the looks of it, I’d say she’s doing just fine.”
Not accustomed to compliments, Julianne murmured a barely audible, “Thanks,” before turning on her heel and heading for the front door.
Brian was right beside her.
“Well, that’s a first,” Riley said the moment she judged that Julianne was out of earshot. She looked at her brother with no small amazement. “I don’t think I ever saw a woman go out of her way to get away from you before.”
Frank handed the waitress a five and then picked up the mug she’d placed on the table in front of him. He shrugged, dismissing the incident. “She said she was leaving anyway.”
“She only said that after you sat down,” Riley pointed out. The waitress cleared away Julianne’s ginger ale and made her way back to the bar. “Face it, Frank, you’re losing your charm.”
Frank eyed his sister over the rim of his mug. “I’m also losing my patience with smart-alecky sisters.” He took a long sip, then added, “If you weren’t so damn good at your job, Riley, I’d have you taken off the task force.”
To which Riley merely shook her head, as if at a loss whether to pity him or hand his head to him. “Careful, Frank, this job is turning you sour.” And then she leaned in, her expression becoming more serious. “Really, Frank, lighten up a little. You’re trying too damn hard.”
They had a difference of opinion there. He’d had the case for over a month and in that time, they’d compiled nothing but data. Data and no viable suspects. And he had an uneasy feeling they were running out of time.
“Way I see it, I’m not trying hard enough.” His expression turned grim. “The killer’s still out there somewhere, daring us to catch him. Every second he’s out there is a second less the next victim has.”
“We’ll get him,” Riley said confidently. “You’ll get him,” she emphasized. It wasn’t often that she told him she thought he was good. But he was. “Just don’t alienate everyone else while you’re doing it.”
Rising, he turned his chair around so that he could sit in it properly. He sighed and picked up the mug again. Another long sip didn’t change anything. “Sometimes I think I’m in over my head.”
“We all are.” Riley laughed shortly. “This is where the dog paddle comes in really handy. We’re all just treading water until the killer makes a mistake. When he does, we’ve got him.”
The shrug was careless. He didn’t know if he bought into that philosophy. So far, the killer had been anything but careless. It was as if he was a ghost, depositing lifeless bodies into Dumpsters. Six in all, counting the one in Mission Ridge, and nobody had seen him.
To get his mind off the case, Frank changed the subject. “So, did you learn anything about the detective from Mission Ridge?” he asked, doing his best to sound offhanded.
Riley slanted a glance at her brother’s face. There was interest there, she’d bet a month’s pay on it. Personal probably although he’d try to keep it professional.
“Not a thing, except that she’s thorough.” The woman had studied the files without getting up from her desk all afternoon. “But she’s not exactly chatty.”
“Yeah, well, that might be a nice change,” he speculated, looking at her deliberately.
Riley swatted him.
“Hey,” he warned, pulling his head back. “You’re not supposed to hit your superior.”
“We’re off duty, remember?” Riley countered. “You’ve got to learn how to turn it off, little brother, or it’ll take you apart.”
Frank said nothing to confirm or deny the wisdom of her words. Instead, he just took another sip of his beer and thought about the woman fate—and his stepfather—had brought into his life.
Julianne could have driven back home. “Home” was only about forty-two miles away. But in the interest of time, Julianne had decided to rent a room in a hotel close to the police headquarters.
Taking the suitcase she’d thrown together last night out of the trunk of her car, she walked into the Aurora Hotel, a wide, three-story building that, from the outside, resembled one of those 24/7 gyms that had become the rage.
The decor inside could have used a little modernizing and upgrading. But in comparison to what she’d lived with when she was growing up, it was on par with the Taj Mahal.
The lobby was empty. No one sat in the five chairs scattered about, their gray color all but fading into the equally gray rug. The bored, sleepy-eyed desk clerk came to life as she approached the front desk, obviously grateful for any diversion that would make this long, drawn-out evening move a little faster to its conclusion.
Ten minutes later, with her keycard in her hand, Julianne got out on the third floor and walked to her room. As uninspired as the lobby, it at least gave the semblance of cleanliness, which was all she required. Setting her suitcase down by the pressboard writing desk, she didn’t bother unpacking. There was time enough for that later.
Right now, she had a job to do, which was the real reason she hadn’t balked at being loaned out to an adjacent police department. She had streets to drive up and down, people to question and show the picture she carried with her at all times.
Throwing some water into her face, Julianne was ready. Dinner would be fast food. She didn’t care what; it was just fuel anyway.
She wasn’t one to believe in miracles, but, as she’d said to Riley, she liked to think that she had an open mind about things. Silently, she challenged God to prove her wrong about miracles. Someone had told her that finding Mary would come under the heading of a miracle.
Mary.
Her cousin was out there somewhere because living on the street