Cavanaugh Or Death. Marie Ferrarella
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he replied flatly.
What Moira couldn’t possibly know was that the last thing he wanted was a partner. He’d lost two, not to mention both his parents, and at this point, he felt that bad luck always followed in his wake, striking down anyone he interacted with. He and everyone else would be better off if he just remained a loner, the way he was.
The man on the staircase had aroused her curiosity to a higher level, but even so, Moira knew she couldn’t force him to be her partner. Nor could she get him to answer all the questions that were, even now, popping up and multiplying in her head.
“Why?” she asked. “Tell me. Please.” Getting answers would have to be done with finesse, but only if she could get this man to talk to her on a regular basis—which she could, but only if they partnered up.
The old saying about leading a horse to water but not being able to make him drink ran through her head.
“My answer is just no,” he replied.
Now what?
Moira took a conscious, figurative step back and shrugged. “Your loss, Detective...?” She let her voice trail off, waiting for him to fill in a name.
Instead he replied, “That is a matter of opinion.”
He hadn’t responded the way she’d hoped he would. The man just didn’t know how to play the game, she thought, frustrated.
Or maybe he did but just refused to.
Moira took one more stab at it. “Oh c’mon, you’ve got to have a name.”
“Yes, I do.”
For just the tiniest split second she entertained the idea of justifiable homicide. Then, taking a deep breath, she asked, “So what is it?”
If nothing else, the woman had succeeded in making him curious as to how far she was going to go with this. “There’s no reason for you to know.”
“Detective,” she said, a slight edge working its way into her voice, “there’re just the two of us in this stairwell and accidents can happen at any place, any time.”
Disciplined restraint kept him from laughing at her. “I’m no expert, but my guess is that I outweigh you by a good fifty pounds.”
She was one step below him and from this vantage point, he towered over her. Moira Cavanaugh didn’t give an inch as a fire came into her eyes. “The first rule of martial arts is using your opponent’s weight against them.”
To Moira’s surprise, she heard a dry laugh escape the detective’s lips.
“You really are determined to get your own way, aren’t you?” he asked her. “Let me guess, you’re an only child who was always indulged.”
Boy, did he have the wrong number. “I’m one of seven who had to fight her way to the top each and every time. Nobody indulged anybody in my family,” she informed him proudly.
There was no point in his telling her that she wasn’t the only one trained in martial arts—his parents had signed him up for classes to help build his confidence because he had been small for his age and had been picked on in school. What he’d learned at that very young age had helped him hold more than his own in life.
He regarded her in prolonged silence, then, just as she appeared ready to walk away, said, “I’ll talk to my captain myself.”
Stunned—she’d been ready to give up on the man for now—Moira wanted to make sure she understood what he was telling her. “Are you telling me that you’re willing to partner up with me?”
He didn’t answer her directly. “You said your lieutenant gave you forty-eight hours.”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “I guess I can put up with anything for forty-eight hours—as long as that’s the real time limit,” he qualified, looking at her as if he could easily tell if she was lying.
She met his scrutiny head-on. “That’s the real time limit he gave me.”
He caught the last three words she’d added on and wondered if that was the loophole she was giving herself. Not that it really mattered. He’d been thinking about looking into the disturbed grave himself, just in his off-hours. What this woman proposed gave him official capacity to do it, which made the investigation that much easier to undertake.
Besides, she did have a point. Two sets of eyes—even devious ones as she appeared to have—were better than just one set.
And, whatever they found—or didn’t find as the case might well be—this partnership was only for forty-eight hours.
“Okay, I’m in,” he told her.
Since this man had turned out to be a human version of Mount Everest, her victory was almost heady. “That’s great! There’s only one more thing,” she added as if in afterthought.
Davis was already beginning to regret his words. “What?” he asked her warily.
“What do I call you?” Moira asked. He still hadn’t given her his name.
“As little as possible.”
Compared to this man, Malloy was starting to seem like a veritable pussycat. “I still need to call you something.”
He wasn’t hung up on rank, labels or names. He shrugged indifferently. “Pick whatever you like.”
Moira sighed. “Don’t make this difficult—I have a sister working here who can make computers sit up and beg at will. If I give her a basic description of you, she can get me a name to pin to it in under an hour. It would be a waste of her time and the department’s resources, but if that’s the way you want to play it, then that’s the way it’ll have to be played.”
Davis had a feeling she wasn’t bluffing—which he found both irritating and somewhat intriguing at the same time. He supposed, in the absolute sense, he rather liked the fact that she was feisty as hell and didn’t give up easily.
In a more practical sense, it would probably be the factor that would make him want to get his hands around her throat and squeeze—most likely in the not too distant future.
But, to forestall that eventuality for at least a little while, he decided to answer her question. “It’s Davis.”
“Ah, progress.” He didn’t miss the touch of sarcasm in her voice. “As in first name, or last?” she asked.
Rather than specify, he just said his whole name. “Davis Gilroy.”
Moira smiled at him and although he told himself that it didn’t matter either way, the woman did have a rather warm, attractive smile.
“Pleased to meet you, Detective Davis Gilroy.” She put out her hand again and this time, to avoid another potential clash, he shook it. “You’ll be working with me as part of the Robbery Division,” she informed him. “Until we find out otherwise, this case is going to be worked as a grave robbery.”
He looked at her, surprised. “You’re kidding.”
Just how had she managed to talk her superior into that? As far as he knew, there hadn’t been a single reported incident of a grave robbery in all of Aurora’s history.
He had his doubts that this was what it was, but right now he had no other explanation for it, either.
“Frequently and with aplomb,” she replied to his response. “But I’m afraid I’m not kidding this time, Gilroy.”
It was a shame that he didn’t have a seat belt to fasten, Davis caught himself thinking, because he had a very strong feeling he was in for a very bumpy ride.