Cavanaugh Standoff. Marie Ferrarella
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her over. He had to work with her and he didn’t appreciate not being given a choice.
“Hey, you’re a Cavanaugh,” she reminded him. “Nobody invades you,” she pointed out. “You guys practically are the police department. I’m just trying to do my part. I don’t want the credit,” she stressed. “You can have the credit for solving this thing.”
“This isn’t about credit,” he informed her, annoyed she thought that way.
“Then what is it about?” she demanded, confused. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be in the same space with me?”
Denial was on his tongue but he never voiced it. Possibly because she’d stumbled onto something. “Because you remind me of someone,” he finally said, struggling to keep from yelling the words at her.
“Who?”
“Someone,” was all he trusted himself to say and then, before she could attempt to grill him any further, he stalked out.
“That’s not an answer!” she countered.
Grabbing her bag, Sierra quickly headed out of the squad room after him.
But when she got to the hallway, Ronan was nowhere to be seen.
He’d probably caught the elevator. For a second she thought of taking the stairs and ambushing him on the ground floor, but she had a feeling that would just lead to more of the same. He wasn’t about to tell her anything. Most likely, he regretted having said as much as he had just now.
The bottom line was that she needed answers and O’Bannon wasn’t about to give them to her.
But she thought she knew someone who just might be able to.
Taking the elevator to the ground floor, she hurried to the parking lot and made her way to her car. Once she got into her vehicle, she put her key in the ignition but she didn’t start the engine.
Instead she took out her cell phone and placed a call.
Once the call connected, she heard a deep, gravely voice answer. “Carlyle.”
“Hi, Dad,” she said with more cheer than she was feeling. “It’s me. Sierra.”
“Sierra?” her father repeated. “Wait, wait, I know that name, just give me a second. Sierra, Sierra—” he repeated as if doing that would unearth some memories, help him recall who she was.
“Very funny, Dad. Okay, I know I haven’t called or been by lately, but I’ve been a little busy,” she told him.
“I take it that the police department has been working you hard, chaining you to your desk and all that. Okay, so why is the black sheep of the family suddenly calling me?”
He’d called her that the day she had told him she was applying to the police academy instead of signing up for the fire department like the rest of her family. In time, he’d come to terms with it, but he still wasn’t exactly thrilled.
“Dad, I work in the police department, not for some escort service. There’s no reason to call me a black sheep.”
“Sure there is,” the deep voice rumbled in her ear. “You didn’t go into the family business the way you were supposed to.”
Sierra sighed. “This is why I don’t call very often,” she told her father.
“Okay, okay, I’ll make nice,” her father promised. “To what do I owe this unexpected but delightful call?”
“You’re laying it on way too thick, Dad, but I’ll let that ride for now. I need your help,” she said seriously. “I want you to find something out for me.”
“You mean like detective work?” he asked, a touch of surprise in his voice. “Isn’t that your field of expertise?”
“Yes, but this is more up your alley if you’d only stop trying to make me feel like I failed you and just listen?” she asked.
“I guess I’d better,” her father conceded, “or you’ll hang up, right?”
She wasn’t going to get sucked into that. Instead she asked, “Do you still talk to Maeve O’Bannon?”
“She’s a damn fine woman,” her father said with feeling. “Why shouldn’t I still talk to her? She had the good sense to work alongside the fire department, unlike the rest of her family.”
Sierra ignored that, as well, and went straight to the heart of her request. “I want you to ask her something for me.”
“All right,” Chief Craig Carlyle said. “What do you want me to ask?”
She braced herself for her father’s possible reaction. “Could you ask her what her son Ronan’s story is?”
“Come again?”
Sierra decided to give her father as much background as she felt he’d need to understand why she was making the request. “I’m working with Ronan and he let it slip that I remind him of someone. I need you to ask Maeve if he ever had a problem with someone who looked like me.”
“I’ve got a suggestion,” her father said. “Why don’t you ask Ronan?”
“It’s kind of complicated, Dad.”
“Isn’t he treating you right?” her father asked.
She knew all she had to do was say that he wasn’t and her father would be right there, in Ronan’s face. She didn’t need him to champion her. All she needed him to do was what she’d asked.
“Please, Dad, just ask Maeve,” she repeated.
She heard her father sigh deeply. “Look, Sierra, I always told you what cops were like. If Maeve’s son isn’t treating you with the respect you deserve, quit,” he told her. “You know I can always use you on my team. Your brothers’ll show you the ropes and we can make this a whole family affair.”
She closed her eyes, searching for strength and the right words. “Dad.”
“What?”
“Just ask her for me, okay? Thanks. I’ll call again soon.”
With that, she ended the call. She loved her father—and her brothers—more than anything, but there were times when talking to the man could make her feel so drained.
And then she smiled to herself. She supposed that could be viewed as a two-way street. She was fairly certain her father probably felt the same way about her.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Andrew Cavanaugh said to his younger brother as he opened his front door. “Come on in, Brian.” Closing the door again, he said, “You don’t usually stop by in the middle of the week like this.” Since the kitchen had become the hub of his activity, the former chief of police led the current chief of detectives to the kitchen. “Things a little slow at the police department these days?”
“Actually,” Brian answered, crossing the threshold into the state-of-the-art kitchen, “they’re a little more hectic than usual.”
As the oldest, Andrew had always been able to read his brother like a book. But this time there was a note he couldn’t quite identify in Brian’s voice.
“Something wrong?” he asked, stopping by the counter and studying his brother more closely. “Something you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”
Brian smiled for a long moment. “Not in the way you think.”
Andrew crossed to the industrial-size refrigerator. “Well now you really have me curious. Want a beer? Something harder?” he asked when Brian didn’t take him up on the beer.
Brian