Cavanaugh Watch. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ chair that was against the wall. “I guess you can sit there.”

      Sawyer grabbed the top of the chair, swinging it over to the side of the desk without saying a word. He planted the chair, not himself.

      Just then, the phone rang and she almost sighed with relief. Something to draw her attention away from how very crammed and how very close the lack of space within the room made everything feel.

      Hand on the receiver, she cleared her throat before raising it to her ear. Her voice was crisp when she spoke. “Cavanaugh.”

      There was silence on the other end. For a minute, she thought whoever was calling had dialed a wrong number. But there was no hurried hang-up, no muttered apology, no uncertain voice asking to speak to someone she’d never heard of.

      She tried again. “Hello?”

      This time, someone did speak. “Is this Janelle Cavanaugh?”

      The deep resonant voice vibrated against her ear. She listened closely, wondering if this was one of her brothers or male cousins, playing a trick on her. “Yes, this is Janelle Cavanaugh.”

      There was another pause, as if whoever it was on the other end of the line was absorbing her voice. “He’s innocent.”

      She frowned, definitely not in the mood to play along. “Who is this?” she demanded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sawyer become alert.

      “This is Marco Wayne,” the man on the other end informed her. His voice was strong, but laced with emotion. That surprised her. “My son is innocent.”

      “Mr. Wayne—” The moment she said her caller’s name, Sawyer drew closer to her. The look on his face was hard, as if he expected a bomb to be transmitted across the telephone wires. Annoyed by the lack of privacy, she turned her body away from him, only to have him circle in front of her.

      Great, she thought, there was no getting away from him. This was not going to work.

      “Mr. Wayne,” she repeated, “this is highly inappropriate. You can’t be calling me about this. About anything,” she added quickly before he could protest.

      If she meant to cut him off, she failed. “I’m calling because you’re involved in this trial and I want you to understand that my son had nothing to do with what he is accused of.”

      “If he didn’t do it,” she said for form’s sake, because everything they had pointed to Tony’s guilt, “he’ll be proven innocent.”

      “Not with the evidence that was planted against him,” Wayne countered. “He was framed.”

      She wasn’t about to stand here, arguing with the man. “I’m hanging up now, Mr. Wayne.”

      There was an urgency resonating in the voice against her ear. “I just want what every father wants for his son—a fair chance.”

      Janelle pressed her lips together. She knew damn well that she should be disconnecting the call. Every rule demanded it. This was highly unprofessional and unethical. But although she willed it, her hand did not replace the receiver in the cradle, did not disconnect the call. She couldn’t seem to help herself.

      The man sounded sincere.

      She supposed that was why he’d gotten as far as he had, being able to get to people, to bend them to his will. One way or another.

      She tried once more. “And you’ll get it. The D.A.’s office has no intentions of railroading anyone, Mr. Wayne. You son is going to be given a fair trial. You have my word on it.”

      The man on the other end was not finished. “Talk to that scum of a witness again. He’s lying. If you offer him a deal, he’ll say anything you want him to.” There was a pause. “Tell him that Marco Wayne will make sure he burns in hell if his son is harmed.”

      Anger flashed in her eyes. “I’m not a conduit for your threats, Mr. Wayne.”

      It was the last thing she said to the man before Sawyer disconnected her.

      Chapter 4

      For a second, everything seemed to freeze around her. Janelle didn’t believe what had just happened, what she was seeing. Sawyer with his finger pressed on the black telephone cradle, pushing the button down flat. Disconnecting her from the man she’d been speaking to.

      Who the hell did this jerk think he was?

      It didn’t matter that she was about to terminate the call herself, that she hadn’t wanted to talk to Wayne in the first place. All that mattered was that this so-called bodyguard she neither wanted nor felt she needed had decided to take it upon himself to exercise his will over hers.

      He had a lot to learn about dealing with a Cavanaugh.

      It was all Janelle could do to keep from throwing the receiver she was holding at his head. Instead, she threw it down hard into the cradle. The impact caused it to bounce back out. She glared as Sawyer replaced it. He was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

      She swung around to face him. There were less than two inches of viable space between them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

      Maybe it was his imagination, but he could almost feel the heat sizzling between them. This was one angry woman. Not to mention reckless.

      “Saving you from improper conduct charges,” Sawyer replied mildly. He paused, as if thinking the matter over. “Maybe even saving your butt.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “I can take care of my own butt, thank you,” she informed him icily. “The only thing your job calls for is blending in with the scenery and, on the off chance that some time during our hopefully short association there might be a bullet hurtling toward me, throwing yourself in front of me so that the bullet gets you and not me. However, until that bullet does come hurtling toward me, I would be grateful if you just find a way to fade into the shadows—and keep your hands at your sides.”

      Stripping off his sports jacket, he hung it over the back of his newly acquired chair. The muscles on his chest and arms seemed to have a life of their own as they rippled and flexed. Janelle tried not to notice, but they were even more impressive than the holster and weapon he wore strapped to his upper torso.

      “You through?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

      Janelle lifted her chin, a fighter not about to give an inch. “For now.”

      “Talking to Wayne like that is enough to get you thrown off the case and most likely out of the D.A.’s office if anyone finds out—unless ‘Daddy’ can pull some mighty strong strings for you.”

      The smug bastard. Right about now, she found herself wishing that her father was able to pull a noose, not a string. Tightly.

      Janelle blew out a breath, refusing to lose it and let this cocky detective think he got to her.

      “For the record,” she told him evenly, her voice flat in order to retain control over it, “‘Daddy’ has got nothing to do with my career, how far I advance or don’t advance. We happen to share the same last name and the same genes. СКАЧАТЬ