Cavanaugh Fortune. Marie Ferrarella

of a prank that was religiously played on the “new kid” on the block. She glanced in Alex’s direction, hoping to be proved right.

      His expression gave nothing away.

      “Easy. I remember seeing it there just before he wound up in the hospital. He used it every day,” Alex told her.

      Valri squared her shoulders. “Okay. If you say so,” she said as she began to feel around in the general vicinity, spreading her long, graceful fingers beneath the scattered papers.

      Alex thought it would take her a while to locate the laptop, but he hadn’t counted on the fact that like most of her family, Valri was born with a stubborn streak that wouldn’t allow her to give up. It had her tackling each challenge as if she was competing for first place in a marathon. Nothing less would do.

      Within a few minutes, she was grinning broadly, her eyes all but dancing as she glanced up at Alex. He found himself wishing that she looked more like his absent partner than a beauty pageant winner—bubbly, with a flawless complexion and what looked to be killer curves beneath her clothes. His partner was 0 for 3 in that department. “You’re right,” she cried, sounding as if she had just located buried treasure rather than an MIA laptop. “It’s right here.”

      Almost in slow motion, Valri extracted the laptop from beneath a pile of papers, careful not to dislodge any of the documents.

      To Alex’s surprise, she actually managed to do it, leaving the stacks upon stacks of papers almost exactly the way they were.

      And then, as she held up the laptop for his benefit and her own delight, it happened. As if the piles of papers had been set on a ten-second delay timer, suddenly the less than well-ordered stacks began to fall, fast and furious, to the floor right before her feet.

      And on her feet, as well.

      Within seconds, there was an entire off-white mountain of papers engulfing her practically up to her knees.

       Chapter 3

      “Brody, what’re you trying to do, lose another partner before she even gets started by burying her alive in Montgomery’s useless garbage?”

      The sharply voiced question came from behind Alex. He didn’t have to turn around to know who the gravelly voice belonged to. Only one person in the squad room talked like that. Len Latimore, the lieutenant who had recently taken over the Homicide Division, had a voice that sounded as if he had spent the past twenty-nine days drinking hard liquor that went down anything but smoothly.

      “I’m not trying to bury her, Len,” Alex said, although now that he thought of it, that didn’t sound like altogether a bad idea. “She was trying to locate Montgomery’s laptop, which was supposed to be in there somewhere.”

      Of medium height and build, and appearing as if he were permanently rumpled, Latimore scowled as he circumvented the off-white avalanche around the newest addition to the division.

      “Looks like she found a lot more than that.” If there was anything Latimore hated, it was clutter not of his own making. “Get a large box out of the supply room and clean this stuff up,” he instructed.

      “Yes, sir,” Valri responded. She’d just assumed, since she was low woman on the totem pole and, after all, she had been the one to disrupt the precarious stacks in the first place, that the lieutenant was talking to her. “Which way is the supply room?” she asked.

      “Not you,” Latimore snapped. “You, I want to see in my office. You—” he turned to face Alex “—can get all of Montgomery’s junk cleared away.”

      “Montgomery’s going to want all this when he gets back,” Alex pointed out. It wasn’t that he was particularly fond of the mess that his partner made, but he knew how he would have felt if someone had come and moved all of his things while he was in the hospital, especially since he’d been put there by job-related injuries.

      “Yeah, well, what he wants and what he gets are two damn different things. This isn’t his squad room, it’s mine, and I don’t want to see this when I come out again,” he warned, pointing to all the papers scattered on the floor around the chief’s cousin. “Do I make myself clear?”

      “It’s my fault, sir.” Valri was quick to speak up. “I caused the papers to fall.”

      The last thing she wanted was for this to cause any hard feelings between her and Brody. She might still be green, but she knew that wasn’t the way to start a new partnership, temporary or otherwise.

      Latimore’s frown deepened. “I’m not talking about whose ‘fault’ it is, Cavanaugh. I’m talking about cleanup.

      “In my office, Cavanaugh,” Latimore ordered gruffly. “Now.”

      Valri had no choice but to do as she was told. She couldn’t risk getting the lieutenant any angrier than he already seemed to be. Otherwise, she would have remained to help clean up the blizzard of pages before she went into the short, bull of a man’s office.

      Valri glanced over her shoulder at her partner. She fervently hoped that the detective wouldn’t hold this against her. He didn’t look overly thrilled to be working with her to begin with. Having to clean up a mess she had caused, accidentally or not, was only going to make matters worse.

      She was acutely aware of garnering covert glances as she followed the lieutenant to his office.

      Reaching the glass-enclosed lair that looked barely larger than a small walk-in closet, Latimore waited impatiently until she had crossed the threshold. The second she did, he closed the door behind her.

      He walked to his desk and sat down, waving at the chair that faced him and expecting her to take the hint. When she didn’t, he ordered, “Sit,” as if he were training a dog. Rumor had it that Latimore was better with dogs than he was with people.

      Valri didn’t remember bending her knees and dropping into the chair, but she must have because the next moment, she was sitting and uneasily facing the lieutenant.

      All but holding her breath, she waited for the man to speak.

      Not one for being delicate or standing on ceremony, Latimore got right down to the question he wanted resolved.

      “You got any trouble looking at dead people?”

      For a moment, the question caught her completely off guard. Of all the things she had anticipated that Latimore could ask her, this was not one of them.

      “I don’t know,” Valri answered honestly after a beat. “I’ve never looked at a dead person.”

      Latimore grunted. He didn’t look as if he was satisfied with her answer. “How long have you been on the force?”

      “A little more than two years, sir.”

      “And in all that time, you never saw a dead homicide victim?” he questioned skeptically.

      “No, sir. I’ve dealt with a couple of victims who had been shot, but they were still alive. Mostly,” she enumerated quickly for his benefit, “I’ve dealt with break-ins, home invasions and robberies.”

      “How do you think you’ll react to seeing a dead body?” he asked.

      She took a breath before answering. “It’s not something I’d look forward to, but it’s part of the job.” And she was here to do her job.

      Latimore looked far from satisfied, scowling at her. “Not answering my question, Cavanaugh. If you’re going to fall apart, I need to know up front—like now,” he emphasized, narrowing his eyes as he pinned her with them.

      “I’m not going to fall apart because it is part of my job,” she replied in a surprisingly calm manner, given her penchant for bubbliness. “I wouldn’t be much good to Brody or the victim if I fell apart,” she added. Not to mention