The Cavanaugh Code. Marie Ferrarella

was when it occurred to Taylor that she’d been so eager to get away from Laredo, she had completely forgotten to ask for Carole Stevens’s address.

      With a sigh, she dug out the card the private investigator had pressed into her hand just before they parted company.

      “In case you change your mind and decide you want to collaborate,” he’d said, punctuating his statement with a rather unsettling wink just before he’d sauntered off to his car.

      She recalled thinking, almost against her will, that Laredo had the tightest butt she’d ever seen on a man. That was when she’d almost thrown his card away. But there weren’t any trash containers in the immediate vicinity, so she’d temporarily stuffed it into her jacket pocket.

      Looking now at the plain white card with its bold, raised black lettering, Taylor read the cell number twice, repeating it under her breath before putting it into her own phone.

      The phone on the other end rang four times. She was fairly certain it would go to voice mail, but then she heard a noise. The next moment, a deep male voice rumbled against her ear and she was certain she had the real deal, not a recording.

      “Laredo.”

      Something suddenly and unexpectedly tightened in her gut. Annoyed with herself—and him—Taylor almost flipped the phone closed. Damn it, she was acting like some indecisive schoolgirl, she upbraided herself. This just had to stop. Now.

      “That you, Detective McIntyre?” she heard the deep voice ask when the silence stretched out. She could swear she heard a smile in his voice.

      “Yes,” she bit off grudgingly. “It’s me.” How had he known? It wasn’t as if she’d indicated that she was ever going to call him, at least, not until such time as the Winter Olympics took place on the frozen terrains of hell.

      As if reading her mind, he said, “Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Miss me?”

      “Like a toothache.” Taylor could almost see the smirk on his lips. “I need Carole Stevens’s phone number and address.”

      He was the soul of cooperation. “Sure thing. Got a pencil and paper?”

      “Of course I do,” she answered, quickly opening her glove compartment and tossing things onto the passenger seat in a frenzied attempt to locate the items.

      “I can wait,” he offered, as if he could see her rummaging.

      The man made her exceedingly uneasy. “The address,” she repeated, issuing the words like a direct order.

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      Carole Stevens lived in the older part of town, Taylor thought as she wrote down the street address. Had those been Eileen’s roots as well? she wondered, quickly writing down the phone number Laredo recited.

      “Thanks.”

      “Anytime, Detective McIntyre,” he replied cheerfully.

      Last time, Taylor countered mentally. She quickly terminated the connection before he could say anything else.

      Why the hell was her heart racing? Taylor silently demanded as she turned the key in the ignition. There was absolutely no reason for it to be beating as if she’d just completed a hundred-meter dash.

      She really needed to go on that vacation. The minute that Aaron came back, she would take off for a couple of weeks. Let him go solo for a while. It would serve him right, leaving her in a lurch like this.

      What was the matter with her? Taylor thought the next moment, guiding the car to the main thoroughfare. She was happy for Aaron. She knew how much he and his wife, Rachel, had wanted this baby, how long they had tried to get pregnant. They deserved to enjoy their little girl.

      Taylor sighed, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. Just when had she turned into the Wicked Witch of the West?

      Since her path had crossed Laredo’s. There was no point in denying it. She didn’t know what it was about the tall, muscular private investigator with the intrusive manner, but he made her feel as if she was walking on a foundation made of gelatin.

      What she needed, until she could go off on that mythical vacation, was to hang out a few mornings at Andrew’s house. The former chief of police threw his doors open every morning, making gastronomically thrilling breakfasts for whichever member of his family happened to wander into his house. The man loved to cook and he loved his family. And everybody knew that. The atmosphere within Andrew Cavanaugh’s house was energizingly positive and right now, she could use a little positive reinforcement.

      Since her mother was married to Brian, Andrew’s younger brother, that connected her to the family patriarch. Not that she actually needed an excuse to show up. Andrew considered most of the people on the police force his extended family.

      How the hell did that man manage to keep enough food around to feed everyone? she couldn’t help wondering. It was like one of Aesop’s fables come to life, the one about the bottomless pitcher of milk. No matter how many glasses were poured, the pitcher always remained full. In this case, it wasn’t a pitcher, it was a bottomless refrigerator.

      Someday she would have to ask Andrew about that.

      

      There were two cars in Carole Stevens’s driveway when Taylor pulled up twenty minutes later. Did the woman have company? she wondered as she parked her car at the curb.

      Maybe it was a friend, offering condolences to the poor woman. Taylor was grateful that she wouldn’t have to break the news to Eileen Stevens’s mother about her daughter’s murder. There was nothing worse than having to tell a parent that their child wasn’t coming home again.

      There should be a chaplain on the force who took care of that sort of thing. It was hard enough getting through each day alive, always running the risk of being shot—or worse.

      Making her way up the front walk, Taylor took out her detective shield and ID. She held it up so that it would be the first thing that the woman would see.

      There was a Christmas wreath on the door, in direct contrast to the sorrow that now resided within. Taylor rang the bell. It opened almost immediately.

      “Mrs. Stevens?”

      The question was merely for form’s sake. The tall, thin woman who opened the front door was an older version of Eileen Stevens. And, eerily like Eileen, the light had been drained out of her eyes.

      “Yes.”

      Taylor raised her shield slightly, calling attention to it. “I’m Detective McIntyre—”

      “Yes, I know.” It was then that the woman opened the door further, allowing Taylor to see that Carole Stevens wasn’t alone. She had a six-foot-three guardian angel next to her. “Laredo told me you’d be coming.”

      Taylor’s eyes shifted to Laredo, who smiled at her. She allowed her mouth to curve, but there was no humor in the expression.

      “How thoughtful of him.”

      Laredo acted as if they’d just exchanged a hearty greeting. “Nice to see you again, Detective.”

      “I can’t say the feeling is mutual,” Taylor murmured under her breath. Eileen’s mother didn’t seem to hear her, but she was certain that Laredo did. His smile widened.

      “Laredo is just here to support me,” the woman told her, her voice echoing the hollowness that she obviously was feeling inside. Carole glanced at the man beside her and did her best to smile her gratitude. “Chet thought it might be a good idea.”

      Taylor looked from Laredo to the woman. Where’d she heard that name before? “Chet?”

      “My grandfather,” Laredo reminded her.

      The man had a gift, she thought. Without uttering a single, derogatory word, he made her feel as if she were the intruder.

      Taylor