Cavanaugh Reunion. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ on her heels and shook her head.

      This psychopath needed to be found and brought to justice quickly, before he did any more damage.

      And she needed to get some sleep before she fell on her face.

      She wondered where the displaced residents of the shelter would be sleeping tonight. She took comfort in the knowledge that they’d be returning in a few weeks even if the construction wasn’t yet completed.

      With a weary sigh, Kansas stood up and headed for the front entrance.

      Just before she crossed the charred threshold, she kicked something. Curious, thinking it might just possibly have something to do with the identity of whoever started the fire, she stooped down to pick it up.

      It turned out to be a cell phone—in pretty awful condition, from what she could tell. Flipping it open, she found that the battery was still active. She could just barely make out the wallpaper. It was a picture of three people. Squinting, she realized that the obnoxious detective who thought she needed to be carried out of the building fireman-style was in the photo.

      There were two more people with him, both of whom looked identical to him. Now there was a curse, she mused, closing the phone again. Three Detective O’Briens. Kansas shivered at the thought.

      “Tough night, huh?” the captain said, coming up to her. It wasn’t really a question.

      “That it was. On the heels of a tough day,” she added. She hated not being able to come up with an answer, to have unsolved cases pile up on top of one another like some kind of uneven pyramid.

      Captain John Lawrence looked at her with compassion. “Why don’t you go home, Kansas?”

      “I’m almost done,” she told him.

      His eyes swept over her and he shook his head. “Looks to me like you’re almost done in.” Lawrence nodded toward the building they’d just walked out of. “This’ll all still be here tomorrow morning, Kansas. And you’ll be a lot fresher. Maybe it’ll make more sense to you then.”

      Kansas paused to look back at the building and sighed. “Burning buildings will never make any sense to me,” she contradicted. “But maybe you’re right about needing to look at this with fresh eyes.”

      “I’m always right,” Lawrence told her with a chuckle. “That’s why they made me the captain.”

      Kansas grinned. “That, and don’t forget your overwhelming modesty.”

      “You’ve been paying attention.” His eyes crinkled, all but disappearing when he smiled.

      “Right from the beginning, Captain Lawrence,” she assured him.

      Captain Lawrence had been more than fair to her, and she appreciated that. She’d heard horror stories about other houses and how life became so intolerable that female firefighters wound up quitting. Not that she ever would. It wasn’t in her nature to quit. But she appreciated not having to make that choice.

      Looking down, she realized that she was even more covered with dust and soot than before. She attempted to dust herself off, but it seemed like an almost impossible task.

      “I’ll have a preliminary report on your desk in the morning,” she promised.

      Lawrence tapped her on the shoulder, and when she looked at him quizzically, he pointed up toward the sky. “It already is morning.”

      “Then I’d better go home and start typing,” she quipped.

      “Type later,” Lawrence ordered. “Sleep now.”

      “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a nag, Captain Lawrence?”

      “My wife,” he answered without skipping a beat. “But then, what does she know? Besides, compared to Martha, I’m a novice. You ever want to hear a pro, just stop by the house. I’ll drop some socks on the floor and have her go at it for you.” He looked at her. “I don’t want to see you until at least midday.”

      “‘O, Captain! my Captain!’” Throwing her wrist against her forehead in a melodramatic fashion, Kansas quoted a line out of a classic poem by Walt Whitman that seemed to fit here. “You’ve hurt my feelings.”

      He gave her a knowing look. “Can’t hurt what you don’t have.”

      “Right,” she murmured.

      She’d deliberately gone out of her way to come across like a militant fire investigator, more macho than the men she worked with. There was a reason for that. She didn’t want to allow anything to tap into her feelings. By her reckoning, there had to be an entire reservoir of tears and emotions she had never allowed herself to access because she was sincerely afraid that if she ever did, she wouldn’t be able to shut off the valve. It was far better never to access it in the first place.

      Heading to her car, she put her hand into her pocket for the key…and touched the cell phone she’d discovered instead. She took it out and glanced down at it. She supposed that she could just drop it off at O’Brien’s precinct. But he had looked concerned about losing the phone, and if she hadn’t plowed into him like that, he wouldn’t have lost the device.

      Kansas frowned. She supposed she owed O’Brien for that.

      She looked around and saw that there was still one person with the police department on the premises. Not pausing to debate the wisdom of her actions, she hurried over to the man. She was fairly certain that the chief of detectives would know where she could find the incorrigible Detective O’Brien.

      

      “I could drop it off for you,” Brian Cavanaugh volunteered after the pretty fire investigator had approached him to say that she’d found Ethan’s cell phone.

      She looked down at the smoke-streaked device and gave the chief’s suggestion some thought. She was bone-tired, and she knew that the chief would get the phone to O’Brien.

      Still, she had to admit that personally handing the cell phone to O’Brien would bring about some small sense of closure for her. And closure was a very rare thing in her life.

      “No, that’s all right. I’ll do it,” she told him. “If you could just tell me where to find him, I’d appreciate it.” “Of course, no problem. I have the address right here,” he told her.

      Brian suppressed a smile as he reached into his inside pocket for a pen and a piece of paper. Finding both, he took them out and began writing the address in large, block letters.

      Not for a second had he doubted that that was going to be her answer.

      “Here you go,” he said, handing her the paper.

      This, he thought, was going to be the start of something lasting.

Chapter 4

      Ethan wasn’t a morning person, not by any stretch of the imagination. He never had been. Not even under the best of circumstances, coming off an actual full night’s sleep, something СКАЧАТЬ