Crime and Passion. Marie Ferrarella

at you, Clay?”

      Yes, something was eating at him, Clay thought. And had been ever since he’d seen Ilene this morning. It had only increased while he’d watched her at the park with her son. Seeing her playing with the boy, laughing, had created an incredible ache in his chest, one he didn’t know how to handle.

      But he wasn’t about to talk about it, at least not until he worked it through in his system. “You mean other than those spicy meatballs?”

      Clay nodded toward the large tray of browned meatballs that were still waiting to be plucked up from their perch. The bartender’s wife, Greta, had made them. They smelled a great deal better than they tasted, at least to those who were accustomed to better fare.

      “The woman tried her best,” Andrew said, then grinned. “Can’t hold a candle to mine, can they?”

      “Nope.” Clay watched his father do further justice to the beer he was holding. “And might I add that your modesty is blinding.”

      “No reason for modesty.” Finished, Andrew set down the mug on a nearby table already littered with empty mugs. “Just the facts.”

      About to comment, Clay held his finger up, stopping his father from continuing. His cell phone was vibrating in his back pocket.

      “Hold it, Dad, I’m getting a call, Dad.”

      Andrew sighed, waving him away to take the call. “No getting away from technology these days, is there?”

      “Price you pay for progress.” Clay made his way out of the bar to take the call.

      “See you at breakfast,” Andrew called after him before turning back to the party and the very inebriated guest of honor.

      While Callie and Shaw dropped by the house for breakfast with a fair amount of regularity, Clay, like his twin sister Teri and Rayne, had only to come down the stairs. He’d moved out of the family house with fanfare at twenty-one and grudgingly moved back in approximately six months ago. Circumstances had necessitated it.

      The apartment he’d been subletting had been reclaimed by its owner who’d decided to come back to Aurora in order to pursue his career. That left Clay pursuing apartments, not an easy task for a police detective on call most of his days and nights. Especially when his funds were of the limited variety.

      Clay was always being generous with his money, an easy touch for friends, or even acquaintances, who found themselves down on their luck. That left him with little money to spend on the things that were important to his own life. Like shelter.

      But every weekend found him sitting down with the newspaper, determined to find an apartment that suited his purposes and his pocket, and every Monday found him still home, much to his father’s secret contentment.

      Though he wouldn’t admit it, they all knew that Andrew missed the sound of another male voice in the house. And another male set of hands he could commandeer whenever the whim moved him to undertake yet another remodeling of the house or another much-needed repair project. Unwilling to accept any money from his son in exchange for food and shelter, Andrew took it out in trade. Clay called it slave labor. Both men seemed to be happy with the arrangement, knowing it was only temporary and would change all too soon.

      Stepping outside the bar, Clay turned his collar up as the air swirled around him. In contrast to the almost hot atmosphere inside, it was downright cold out here. Standing under the streetlamp, he flipped open his phone. “Cavanaugh.”

      “Clay?”

      Even though the person on the other end had only uttered his name, he knew who it was. Her voice was never far from the recesses of his mind.

      And right now he could hear fear echoing in it. “Ilene?”

      He heard her sharp intake of breath. “Clay, I think someone’s trying to break in.”

      The address she’d given him was less than fifteen minutes away by car.

      He made it in seven.

      The Ilene he remembered didn’t frighten easily. Which meant that this was serious and not just the figment of an overactive imagination.

      He should have stuck with his instincts and kept up watch, he upbraided himself. If she hadn’t been so damn adamant about making him leave…

      It wasn’t an excuse and he knew it.

      As he drove, peeling through yellow lights and ones that had just turned red, Clay kept his siren on. With any luck, it would scare away whoever it was who was attempting to break into her house. He tried not to let his imagination run away with him.

      It was the longest seven minutes he could ever remember spending.

      Pulling up in front of Ilene’s fashionable, tidy two story tract house, Clay all but ripped the key out of the ignition. He was out of the car almost before it stopped moving.

      Someone raced from the side of the house.

      Clay lost no time giving chase.

      With a decent lead, the darkly clad figure dashed straight for the entrance in the gray cinder-block wall that led onto the greenbelt beside the development.

      He was only a few seconds behind the man, but by the time Clay reached the entrance, he couldn’t see anyone in either direction. Whoever had tried to get into Ilene’s house had melted into the shadows.

      Clay bit off a scalding curse and hurried back to Ilene’s house. The lights were on in the front, but he couldn’t see any movement through the curtains. He rang the bell. There was no answer.

      His heart froze in his chest. Had he caught the perpetrator breaking in or leaving the scene of a crime? Abandoning the bell, he knocked on the door. Pounded on it would have been a more apt description. He wasn’t a patient man when agitated.

      “Ilene, damn it, it’s Clay, open the door.”

      Taking out microtools that were not exactly smiled upon by the department, he was about to break into Ilene’s house himself when he heard the lock on the other side being flipped.

      The next moment the door opened. Ilene stood there, her eyes wide with a fear she desperately tried to contain. A fear she was clearly unaccustomed to and hated.

      She scanned the area right behind him. The street-light showed the street to be empty. Ilene held on to the door for support, her knees feeling horribly rubbery. “You came.”

      Clay walked in, taking command of the situation the way he always did. His voice remained deceptively laid-back. “Protect and serve, that’s our motto.”

      He could see that she was trying to hold herself together as she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Only when her breathing was steady did she ask, “Did you see him?”

      He nodded. “I saw someone running from the side of the house into the greenbelt. But then I lost him.”

      Ilene knew how he hated that, hated losing at anything, whether it was a card game or a sporting event. Clay was destined to be a winner and expected to be, no matter what the situation. He’d always equated losing with having a personality flaw. Being part of a large family had made him competitive at a very young age.

      Just having him here made her feel better. Stronger. And maybe a little silly for overreacting. But that was partially his fault. He and his cousin had made her believe her life was in danger.

      Embarrassed, annoyed at having to ask for help, she shrugged, moving toward the mantel and straightening photographs that were perfectly orderly.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take you away from anything.” When he looked at her curiously, she explained, “I heard noise in the background when I called.”

      Ilene felt herself fumbling for words as if they were covered with slippery soap and she was trying to grasp them with her hands. Damn it, what was happening to her? To her life? She’d always wanted to be in control and now it felt as