Crime and Passion. Marie Ferrarella

haven’t heard anything so far.”

      Ilene hated the way this all sounded so predictable. There had to be some explanation. Good people didn’t do heinous things.

      But if she truly believed that, why was she here?

      She looked down at her nails, rendering the answer through teeth that were almost closed. “Right.”

      Janelle nodded. “And how long ago was that?”

      “A week.” It sounded like an eternity. “I thought about talking to him again.” Ilene had almost gone in today, wanting to give Walken another chance. She’d changed her mind at the last minute. “But—”

      “Your instincts told you to come here.” Janelle’s blue eyes smiled at the other woman. “Good instincts. Hope your survival ones are just as keen.”

      “Is this police-protection thing really necessary?”

      “It is if I want to sleep at night. Excuse me for a second.” Janelle drew the phone in closer to her.

      Turning her body away from her, Janelle let her fingers quickly tap out the familiar numbers. Her father, Brian, was the current chief of detectives and the younger of the two surviving Cavanaugh brothers. His three sons, her brothers and six of her seven cousins were also with the police force. Only Patience had broken free, following her own destiny to become a veterinarian. But even Patience had continuing contact with the police force. Janelle’s cousin treated the German shepherds that made up the K-9 squad.

      There were times when Janelle thought of the police force as her personal cavalry. This was one of those times.

      Connected to her father’s private line, she lowered her voice as she began to speak. After a few moments of obligatory give and take and a promise to stop by “soon,” Janelle told her father why she was calling. Quickly, she gave him Ilene’s background story and what she’d brought to the table.

      Listening to her father’s answer, Janelle had no way of knowing she was setting into motion something that was going to mushroom out until it touched all of them.

      “You look much too happy for a Monday morning,” Kyle Santini, Clay’s partner of two years grumbled as he slumped down in his own seat. The sudden action all but sent his coffee sloshing over the sides of the chipped, worn mug his five-year-old had made him in camp last year. Carefully, he set the misshapen royal-blue mug on his desk, keeping it away from any important papers. Kyle eyed the man considered by the squad to be the personification of the carefree, happy bachelor. “You still seeing that stripper?”

      “Exotic dancer,” Clay corrected. “And no, I’m not still seeing her. Ginger and I came to a parting of the ways more than a week ago.”

      A knowing look came over Santini’s face. “Let me guess, she wanted to have ‘the talk.”’ Taking a long drag of the mud that passed for coffee in the precinct, Kyle chuckled to himself. “Sooner or later, they all want to have ‘the talk.”’ Kyle shook his head, a man to whom women would always remain a mystery. “What is it about women that makes them want to clip a man’s wings?”

      “I don’t know,” Clay said honestly. “But it never got that far with Ginger and me.”

      He thought of the woman he’d seen a handful of times in the past six weeks. One fateful night her screams had brought him into the alley where she’d been dragged by some low life intent on turning his fantasy into reality. Rescuing her had earned him Ginger’s gratitude and a few other things, as well. The woman had a body that wouldn’t quit and a mind that wouldn’t start.

      Even though he’d told himself that was exactly what he wanted at this stage of his life, Clay had found himself getting restless and looking for an excuse to end the romance. The woman had given him one when she’d suggested a threesome.

      “Ginger was a free spirit,” he told a more than mildly interested Santini. “She just wanted to be a little freer than I liked.”

      Kyle groaned as if he’d just been deprived of his reason for living. “Don’t let my mind go there. You’re talking to a monk.”

      Clay grinned. In the past six weeks, this had been a familiar complaint. “Alice is just about due, isn’t she?”

      “If you ask me, she’s about overdue.” Santini sighed. Apparently prenatal was no better than post-natal. “Then I get to listen to her complain about how men should be the ones to have the kids.” Shaking his head, Kyle shot Clay an envious look. “You don’t know how lucky you are, being a bachelor.”

      “Yeah, lucky,” Clay echoed then laughed. His partner wasn’t fooling anyone. He’d cut off his right arm before he’d give up what he had. “I’ve seen you with your son. You wouldn’t change that for the world.”

      “No, but there are times I’d be willing to trade Alice in, at least for a weekend.”

      Clay rocked back in his chair. He knew better. “Any man looks at her twice, you’re ready to knock them into last year.”

      Santini shrugged. “That’s beside the point. That’s just my hot temper.”

      Straightening up, Clay decided these reports weren’t going to file themselves, no matter how much he wished they would. He got busy, or tried to. “Nothing wrong in admitting you love the woman you married, Santini. Not enough of that going around.”

      Santini clearly wasn’t interested in platitudes, he was interested in details. Preferably juicy ones. “You still didn’t answer me. If you didn’t get a little last night, why are you grinning like some loony hyena?”

      Clay knew his answer was going to disappoint the man. “Because I just found out we’re going to have a judge in the family. My sister’s getting married.”

      “You’re going to give me more of a hint than that, Cavanaugh. You’ve got three sisters,” Santini reminded him.

      “Callie.”

      Clay couldn’t remember his older sister ever looking so excited. She’d waited until they’d all sat down to Sunday dinner. For once, his father had managed to corral everyone, even his uncle. They’d all but poured out of the dining room, even with the extra leaves added on to the table his dad had specially made for family affairs.

      Putting two fingers into her mouth, Callie had whistled the way she used to as a kid, getting the roar at the table to die down to a whisper and then, as sweet as could be, she’d made the announcement. She and Brent were getting married. And just like that, he was going to become an uncle, thanks to the judge’s five-year-old daughter, Rachel.

      “You’re kidding me.” Santini whistled, shaking his head. “Damn, and here I was hoping she’d give me a tumble after I leave Alice.”

      “Fat chance. In more ways than one.” Clay paused. “Why don’t you call up and send your wife flowers?”

      Kyle laughed. Flowers were usually to apologize for something. “That’ll throw her.” And then he grinned. “Maybe I will.”

      Captain Reynolds leaned into the cubicle, his gray eyes sweeping over both the men. “Cavanaugh, Santini, the chief just called. He wants the two of you to protect a witness. Apparently this is a big deal. The D.A. doesn’t want anything to happen to her.”

      Clay rolled his eyes. He’d never been much for baby-sitting detail. One of the desk jockeys could do just as well. “I’ve got a desk full of work.”

      The gray-haired man looked at him, his manner friendly but brooking no nonsense. Reynolds liked to stay on top of things at all times, which meant exercising control, but never holding the leash too tight. Taut leashes had a way of snapping.

      “Which’ll still be there whether or not you pull this detail. Consider it a vacation with pay.” About to withdraw, Reynolds stopped again. “Either of you boys got any stock in Simplicity Computers, I suggest you cash it in right now. Seems one of the