Cavanaugh On Call. Marie Ferrarella

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      “I don’t need an escort.” She thought she’d already made that clear. “Just point out his office.” Although she actually had a fairly good idea where to find the squad leader.

      Everyone was out in the open. As with the Homicide Division, the person in charge occupied a glass office located against the wall farthest from the squad room’s entrance. Originality was not exactly the department’s strong suit.

      “I was taught it wasn’t polite to point,” he told her, humor glinting his green eyes.

      He’d almost be cute if he wasn’t so damn annoying, Scottie thought. But he was annoying and, besides, she wasn’t in the market for cute. She was in the market to either put her mind at ease about Ethan or, barring that, to clear Ethan’s name and extricate him, if possible, from any kind of mess he had allowed himself to get mixed up in. “Cute” had no place in that.

      Bryce’s smile widened. “Humor me. You’ll find I can be a very useful guy,” he added, hoping that was the end of the discussion.

      Scottie had learned to work alone. A partner, especially one who apparently fancied himself as God’s gift to womankind as this one so obviously did, would only get in her way in more ways than she could count. But she didn’t want to commemorate her first day in the department by butting heads with one of the Cavanaughs—especially since it looked as if the man was going to be her partner.

      Could it get any worse? Scottie asked herself.

      The question no sooner occurred to her than the answer came to her. It could be a lot worse—if Ethan was actually involved in these break-ins.

      She stifled a shiver, trying not to go there mentally.

      “Lead the way, Useful Guy,” she told Bryce, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

      This is going to get interesting, Bryce thought, amused while he did exactly as she requested.

      Since the door to the tiny room was open, Bryce paused to knock on the office door frame then stuck his head into the lieutenant’s space. “You got a minute, Loo?” he asked.

      “Not since I signed on to take over this department,” the older man lamented.

      Pausing and saving the screen he was working on, Lieutenant Mike Handel, father of three and twenty-one-year veteran with the department, turned his chair fifteen degrees to the left and looked at the two occupants standing in his cubbyhole of an office.

      “Yes?”

      “Phelps just left,” Bryce informed his superior. Then, gesturing toward the woman beside him, he said, “And this appears to be his replacement.”

      Handel half rose in his chair in a minor show of respect. Gaunt, with what looked to be a two-day shadow, he appeared to be impressed. “Nice to know that Personnel can operate so efficiently. I don’t recall even sending down the proper request form to Human Resources for a replacement.”

      “You didn’t,” Scottie said, speaking up. “It was just serendipity. I asked for the transfer.”

      The lieutenant smiled but his expression beneath the smile was unreadable.

      “‘Serendipity,’” he repeated. “Now there’s a word you don’t hear every day. I’m Lieutenant Handel,” he told the young woman standing in front of his desk. He extended his hand to her.

      “Detective Alexandra Scott,” Scottie replied, taking the hand the man offered and shaking it.

      “Tell me, ‘Detective Alexandra Scott,’ I’m curious...” Handel asked, sitting again. “Did you request to be transferred into Robbery or out of Homicide?”

      Scottie paused only for a second before answering. “A little of both, sir.”

      Handel nodded. “Good answer—except for the ‘sir’ part. ‘Sir’ is for my father and the Chief of Ds. If you want my attention, just say ‘Loo.’” And then Handel put his hand out again, waiting.

      Belatedly, Scottie remembered that she was still holding on to her transfer orders along with a file containing a thumbnail summary of her police service background.

      “Sorry,” she murmured, placing the file in front of him on the desk.

      “Nothing to be sorry about, Detective.” Opening the file, Handel skimmed through it quickly then looked up at her again. “Everything seems to be in order, Detective. I take it that you already know you’ll be partnering up with Cavanaugh here.”

      Scottie didn’t pretend to smile at the prospect. “Yes, sir—um, Loo. But I thought I should mention that I work better alone.”

      Mentally, Scottie crossed her fingers even though she had a feeling that it was hopeless.

      Just as she’d guessed, her statement had less than no effect on her new commanding officer.

      “Superman works alone. The rest of us work in pairs. Except for me. I work with all of you. Trust me,” Handel went on, “in this department, you’ll need all the help that you can get. Stupid criminals exist mostly in amusing anecdotes in Reader’s Digest. Today’s breed of thief is smarter, quicker and way sharper than the thief from your father’s generation.”

      Scottie was still standing at military attention. “I’ll keep that in mind, si—Loo.”

      Handel laughed, clearly tickled by her struggle to address him correctly.

      “Work on that, Detective. You’ll get the hang of it.” And then Handel turned to look at Bryce. “Why don’t you help the new kid here catch up on what you and some of the others have been working on?” he suggested.

      “You got it, Loo,” Bryce answered, more than ready to accommodate his superior. He and Scottie turned, beginning to leave the small inner office.

      “Oh, Scott,” Handel suddenly called out.

      Scottie turned and glanced at the man, wondering if he was having second thoughts about her transfer or if there was something else that was wrong. She had learned, long ago, never to expect smooth sailing even if the surface of the lake was as smooth as glass.

      “Yes, Loo?”

      Because she hadn’t stuttered and stumbled over his name, Handel smiled his approval then told her what he’d wanted to say. “Welcome aboard.”

      “Thank you,” she murmured.

      She followed her new partner out.

      “He takes a little getting used to,” Bryce confided as if he could read her thoughts. As do you, probably, Bryce added silently.

      “No more than anyone else,” she replied with a vague shrug. “Everybody’s got their rules and quirks.”

      “What are yours?” he asked as they got back to their desks.

      “I’ve just got two,” she told him simply. “Rules, not quirks,” she clarified. “Do a good job and never mix work with home. Can we get to work now?” she asked, signaling СКАЧАТЬ