Cavanaugh Watch. Marie Ferrarella

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. He did not get me here and he cannot keep me here if Kleinmann is unhappy with my work.” She raised her head and unconsciously rolled forward on her toes because, even in her four-inch heels, she was at least a half foot shorter than Sawyer was and it galled her. “Do I make myself clear?”

      He let his eyes wash over her slowly, thoroughly, before saying, “Yes.”

      The man was mocking her, Janelle thought, but she couldn’t very well say that without sounding as if she were just this side of crazy. A Neanderthal like Boone would probably say something about it being her time of the month rather than the fact that he was an insufferable jerk.

      “Oh, and one more thing,” she added, her tone deceptively calm.

      About to sit down, Sawyer looked her way and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

      She did her best not to raise her voice. There was a knock on the door, but she ignored it until she finished making her point. “Don’t you ever, ever do something like that again.”

      “And if I do?”

      “I’ll cut off your hand.”

      Tough, he thought, appraising the petite woman before him. He wondered if that was because of her last name or because it was inherent in her nature. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      Janelle could literally feel her back going up. Damn, what had she done to have this jackass thrust into her life?

      “Do that.” Whoever was on the other side of her door knocked again, just as timidly as the first time. “What?” Janelle shouted before she could catch herself.

      The next moment, the door opened slowly, as if the person on the other side wasn’t sure if it was safe to come in.

      Mariel Collins stuck her head in. Appointed to the A.D.A. six months ago, the tall, dark-haired young woman walked into the room as if she were literally treading on eggshells, afraid of damaging even one of them.

      Her brown eyes looked down at the papers she was holding before she extended them to Janelle.

      “Um, this just came in for you. I thought you might want to see it.” There was no conviction in her voice, just an appeal for understanding.

      In her hand, Mariel held one of the dreaded blue-bound notices. Once unfolded, they were always found to contain motions to suppress inside of them. Everyone at the D.A.’s office hated the sight of them because they always moved to suppress evidence crucial to making a case.

      Blue, once her favorite color, was swiftly becoming her least favorite, Janelle thought. With a sigh, she crossed to Mariel, who had still not gone any farther than the threshold, and took the folded papers from her.

      Opening them, Janelle scanned the papers quickly. “Damn.”

      “Bad news?” Mariel asked nervously. Her mouth twitched in a sickly smile as her attempt at conversation fell flat.

      Janelle squelched the urge to crush the papers in her hand. Instead, she tossed them on top of her desk. “Wayne’s lawyer is moving to suppress his client’s BlackBerry.”

      Mariel looked at her, perplexed. “Suppress his cell phone?”

      “No, his handheld PC,” Janelle corrected. Damn it, she should have known things were going too well. The BlackBerry contained a detailed journal that confirmed their informant’s information. “That had all the names of Tony’s customers on it. It helped tie him up with a big red bow.” She frowned as she perused the legal document again. The words refused to change. “He’s calling it inadmissible evidence.”

      “How did you obtain it?”

      The question came from Sawyer. She looked at him over her shoulder. She knew what he was thinking.

      “Not by tossing the apartment.” That was probably the way he operated, but not the detectives who had brought Wayne in. “The arresting detective said it was cold outside and that when he made the arrest, Wayne asked for his jacket. It was on a chair next to his desk. When the detective got it for him, the BlackBerry fell out of one of the pockets.”

      “And right at his feet.” Sawyer smirked. “Convenient.”

      She felt a surge of anger. “Are you accusing the arresting detective of something?”

      Her eyes flashed when she was angry, he noted. And they turned from a medium green to a darker shade that was almost emerald. Didn’t take much to get her going. “Why?” he asked mildly. “Are you related to the arresting detective?”

      She didn’t like what he was implying. And she didn’t much like him. “No. But I happen to believe in the integrity of the Aurora police department.”

      Being part of a team had never interested him. If you relied on people, they generally let you down. Usually when you needed them most. Like his parents had, divorcing and deserting him before his seventh birthday. “I’d guess you’d have to, wouldn’t you?”

      She had had just about enough of this man’s veiled comments and cryptic words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Instead of answering right away, Sawyer swung the chair with his jacket on it around so that the back faced her. He straddled it. “Judging from the evidence, you’re bright enough to put two and two together. I don’t think I have to explain it to you.”

      Janelle realized that by now, Mariel had faded back across the threshold and was in the corridor. The next moment, the woman closed the door, sealing them in together.

      They were alone. And that made her temper harder to hang on to. She did her best, clenching her hands at her sides so hard, she wound up digging her nails into her palms in an effort to sound calm.

      “Try.” It wasn’t a request; it was an order.

      After a beat, with a slight incline of his head, he obliged her. “With so many members of your family on the force, if there was dirt, it might rub off on one of them.” He made it sound elementary. “So you pretend there isn’t any.”

      Janelle opened her mouth to retort, then shut it without saying a word. He was putting her on the defensive. One of the first lessons her father had ever taught her was to keep her opponent from backing her into a corner. The best way to do that was to go on the offensive. Growing up with her brothers and cousins had given her a great deal of practice.

      She took a long, deep breath, then exhaled before asking, “How long have you had this dark view of the world, Detective Boone?”

      If she meant to rattle him, she didn’t succeed. “Ever since I could remember.”

      It was a lie, because he vaguely remembered a time when there had been hope. When the world had not come in dark colors. But then his parents had gone their separate ways and he’d been shipped off to his mother’s mother, a woman who was far more interested in strange men than in raising