Читать книгу Dangerous Disguise - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

The nature of Detective Jared Cavanaugh’s work did not allow him to clock in and clock out. It demanded his attendance 24/7. When he worked, he worked hard. And because of this, he played even harder when he had the opportunity.

Last night he’d gone to his local police haunt, the one he frequented when he wanted to just be himself, the second son of Brian Cavanaugh. Because he was slipping into character in less than twenty-four hours, he’d spent most of the evening at Malone’s in the company of an attractive blonde who had indicated to him several different times that she would have been more than willing to see the night end with him in her bed. He’d been tempted, but he needed a clear head to face the following day. So with much regret, he took a rain check. A rain check he had every intention of using when he had the chance.

He enjoyed living life to the fullest, drinking deeply from the well before continuing on his journey.

The same set of rules that governed his life had him sitting here this morning, for probably the last morning in at least several weeks to come, at his uncle’s table. Enjoying being part of the family.

Jared knew from an early age that he was born lucky and he never took that fact for granted. His line of work, amid the dregs of society, only brought it home to him that much more clearly.

He was a Cavanaugh, part of the Cavanaughs, and family mattered.

In total, the Cavanaugh family had nine police detectives, one chief of detectives, one retired police chief, an assistant district attorney and a vet. But even the latter was involved with the force. His cousin Patience treated the dogs that were part of the department’s K-9 squad. It was that very connection that had led her to meet the man she was eventually to marry. Brady was partnered with a German shepherd and now they were both partnered with Patience.

When they all showed up at breakfast with their various partners and a number of short people who’d been added to the grand total, the custom-made kitchen table needed all of its leaves. It took up most of the room, leaving very little space for Uncle Andrew to operate in.

It didn’t matter since Andrew always seemed to manage, no matter how many people showed up for a meal. And somehow, the food just kept on coming out of that vast cornucopia his uncle called a refrigerator. There were times when Jared could have sworn Andrew was part magician. Other times, he was sure of it.

This morning saw only half the Cavanaugh brood. Various appointments and duties kept them away. Jared found himself wishing that he could see them all this morning. It was the same wish he always had just before going under cover. There was something about the danger of the situation that both thrilled him and made him oddly sentimental, making him feel that he needed to see his family one last time before he took on another life.

Not that he was about to admit this to any of his relatives, he thought, helping himself to a huge stack of his uncle’s pancakes. He smiled at his Aunt Rose as she passed him the syrup dispenser she’d just refilled.

Undercover work made him hungry.

His eyes swept over the group again, memorizing expressions, absorbing scents and sounds as if they would somehow sustain him until the next time. Then burying them deep inside for future viewing.

This assignment was different from the ones he usually took. The other personas he’d taken on had lived on the fringes of society, associating with the dregs of humanity, a fact that made him doubly grateful to have the family he did. This time, though, he was going to be entering a world filled with a better class of people.

At least on the surface, he amended, digging into his meal. If what the witness said was true, the restaurant was a front for money laundering. The only thing that set the people involved apart from the usual class he dealt with was that the former bunch wore better clothes and had nicer homes.

But dirt was dirt no matter how you dressed it up.

“You seem a little preoccupied.”

Jared started as he realized that Andrew was standing at his elbow, a platter in hand. The man had bent over to whisper in his ear. There was concern on his uncle’s face. “Sure you got everything down?”

“I’m aces, Uncle ’Drew,” Jared said, grinning.

“He’s just getting in character,” Janelle, his sister commented. She was the only attorney in the lot, other than his cousin Callie’s husband, the Honorable Judge Brenton Montgomery. Her eyes were shining as she looked across the table at her big brother. “Don’t worry about him, Uncle Andrew. He’s in his element. He really likes to playing pretend, don’t you, Jared?”

Her playful tone masked the fact that, like the others, she was concerned about Jared. About the way he left himself open, vulnerable to retaliation, without benefit of backup close by.

Concern and fear were things they all had to make peace with in their own way. It was something they all had to live with.

Alex, his cousin Clay’s little boy, looked at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “You’re playing pretend? Can I play, too?”

Jared laughed, absorbing the noise, the warmth and the good-natured teasing. Hoping it would somehow last inside of him until the next time he could see them.

“Maybe some other time, sport.” The disappointment he saw registering on the boy’s small face had him adding, “Tell you what, when I get back, we’ll play anything you like.”

“When will you get back?” Alex pressed, echoing a question that occurred to several of the others at the table.

“I’m not sure, but the second I do, you’ll be the first one I look up.”

Alex looked thoughtful for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Jared declared, shaking the small hand. He looked over the boy’s head toward Clay. “He’s just like you were at his age. Except he’s a lot more likable.” He winked at the boy, who beamed broadly. “Digs right in and wants to pin you down.”

“Everybody wants to pin you down,” Dax interjected.

Like Troy and Janelle, Dax had made a special effort to be here this morning for their brother. No one knew how long Jared would be gone or when they would see him again. There was no set timetable for the kind of assignments Jared took on. A week, two, a year; he would have to keep at it until either the job was done or his cover was blown. Jared’s father was the only one who was kept fully apprised of everything that went on at the station house.

At that moment Andrew made the short trip from the stove back to the table. In his oven-mittened hand he was holding another helping of his special French toast, something that was always welcomed at breakfast. “You need anything, you call,” he instructed Jared.

“Careful, Dad,” Teri warned. “Otherwise you’re going to get calls in the middle of the night for an emergency food run.”

Andrew laughed, obviously enjoying the idea. “Wouldn’t mind that, either.”

He was only half kidding, Jared thought. Again he was struck by the thought that he was one of the lucky ones who walked this earth. If he wanted a best friend, someone to confide in, or even a child to borrow for the afternoon in order to enjoy the fruits of a familial relationship without having to be tied down by the same, it was all right here, waiting for him.

He felt sorry for anyone who was deprived of these things. Nothing beat having a family as a support group.

It was something that Maren Minnesota could only fantasize about.

She’d never known a large family, never known what it was like to feel a mother’s touch. But rather than deprived, she thought of herself much in the same terms that Jared did. She felt lucky. Lucky to have someone like Joe Collins, “Papa Joe”, in her life for as long as she could remember. He cared for her. It was because of him that she was here, working at Rainbow’s End.

It was because of him that she was anywhere, she thought, not for the first time. The tall, broad-shouldered man had taught her how to look on the bright side of life, to see the good in everything and to never be afraid of going after what she wanted.

She owed him so much and she meant to pay on that debt every day of both their lives.

As was her custom, she came into work early and opened the place up. This morning it was the produce man and the butcher whose deliveries she anticipated. She had them all on rotating schedules. Some came every day, others every two days, making their deliveries in the early morning hours so that by the time the doors opened at eleven-thirty, everything was running like proverbial clockwork.

Maren liked being in control, liked being on top of things and prided herself on being able to meet every emergency with some sort of a contingency plan. She’d come here two days after graduation, her business degree still warm, and gone right to work. That was a little more than five years ago, and she hadn’t stopped since.

After signing for two deliveries, she entered her office and paused to flip the page on her calendar. She’d just passed the new guy, Jared, as he was coming in to work. He’d surprised her and the word “hello” had all but backed up in her mouth.

Maren realized that she was working her bottom lip and stopped. Usually she forged ahead with confidence and rarely second-guessed herself. But she wasn’t altogether certain she’d done the right thing by hiring this new man. She’d hired him on impulse after seeing him in action. Not hiring him would have been on impulse, too, she silently pointed out. Not hiring someone because they were too good-looking wasn’t exactly a credible reason.

Just a gut instinct geared strictly toward self-preservation.

She shook her head, laughing at herself. What self-preservation? It wasn’t as if they were going to spontaneously combust within five feet of one another. And it wasn’t as if she was going to have anything to do with the man outside of the confines of work, she silently insisted. Maren sat down at her desk and picked up the coffee that Max had brought her.

There was nothing to be uneasy about.

Unless, of course, the new man couldn’t cook.

Jared couldn’t make up his mind whether or not his so-called boss was a genuine ice princess, or if Maren Minnesota just believed that there was a strict dividing line between management and staff.

Or if it was something about him that made her act icy.

The thought nagged at him. Granted he’d only been here a couple of hours, but he’d found that women usually warmed up to him immediately. It didn’t matter whether they were young, old, married, single, he had the ability to make them light up like Christmas trees whenever he put his mind to it. Women were also an excellent source of information and he made the most of that, becoming their confidant at lightning speed.

But Maren had ignored every opening he’d left for her so far. Other than the chance encounter this morning, he’d stopped by her office twice, each time on some pretext or other. Each time she’d answered his questions about work crisply, without any embellishments or going off on any tangents. He was dropping bread-crumbs right in front of her and she was oblivious to it all, crushing them beneath her size six shoes.

She didn’t take up any of his leads.

Unlike April, the salad girl with the excellent lungs, he mused. He caught her struggling with a large basket of freshly washed celery. Gallantly he took the basket from her and carried it over to the butcher block. Beaming, she thanked him and he lingered at her workstation, handing her stalk after stalk as she prepared them for the salad bar.

Ever flexible, he decided to cultivate April first. There were a number of hostesses and waitresses he could work on before having to turn to Maren. No point in having her linger on his mind.

But she did.

“How long have you been working here?” He watched April work the large knife like a machete and found himself thinking she needed to go slower.

“Six months.” She slid the coarsely chopped pieces into an aluminum bowl, then took another stalk and began the process all over again. “My uncle got me the job. He knows Joe.”

That would be Joe Collins, the bookkeeper, Jared thought. But there was no way he was technically supposed to know that since the man hadn’t been in during the interview yesterday. He looked at her innocently. “Joe?”

“Joe Collins.” The sound of her knife hitting the butcher-block table punctuated her every word. Her smile was guileless as she added, “Great guy. Heart as big as the Grand Canyon. Maren’s crazy about him. I guess we all are.”

The man who had come to the department with his story about money laundering hadn’t bothered to fill them in on this detail. Jared displayed just the right amount of interest to keep the woman talking. “He and Maren have a thing going?”

He wasn’t prepared for her response. April began to laugh, her knife never missing a beat. “Him and Maren? No way.” Her mind paused to think, but her hands kept going. “Although, strictly speaking, I suppose it would be all right.” She raised her eyes to his face. “I’ve seen movies where that kind of thing happens.”

She’d lost him. It sounded as if April was talking about something unsavory or tasteless. Was the manager sleeping with the bookkeeper? The DMV photograph they’d pulled up of Joe Collins had been of an older man. Was April talking about May-December romances, or possibly something worse?

“What kind of thing?”

“Hey, you—new guy,” Max Anderson, the heavy-set man who occupied the position of head chef as zealously as a despot controls a tiny kingdom, cut into the conversation.

Jared turned to see Max waving him over. His weight and demeanor, not to mention his full black beard, made him look like a Kodiak bear. At the moment Max stood in front of a huge pot that was moments away from boiling over. “I want you to watch and learn.”

“Better go.” April lowered her voice. “Max has a temper and he thinks he runs the place.”

Jared nodded. “Thanks for the tip.”

He made a mental note to get back to the conversation that had been interrupted, even though on the surface it didn’t seem as if it had anything to do with the real reason he was here. Still, knowing everything he could about the people he was dealing with made him feel as if he was better prepared to handle whatever might come up. Because something always came up. It was the first thing he’d learned on the job.

By the look on Max’s face as the other man scrutinized him, Jared figured it was a safe bet that Max didn’t care for competition in his kitchen. Or maybe there was another reason he looked annoyed at having someone new on the premises. New people were liabilities. The competitive thing could have been just an angle, so much camouflage. It bore looking into.

In any event, Jared decided to make it a point for the man not to feel threatened by his presence.

“Heard your résumé was pretty impressive.” Each word out of Max’s mouth was a challenge.

Jared could have sworn he heard the strains of “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better” as the other man spoke. He all but expected him to pick up a ladle and draw a line on the concrete floor.

He kept his expression mild. “Where did you hear that?”

The man’s nostrils flared, growing wider. Any second now he was going to start pawing the ground. Dislike oozed from the man’s every pore. “Maren told me. If you think you’re coming in to take over—”

“Just want to put in my time, learn from the best, and go home.” Jared offered Max his most genial, innocent smile. The one that could, with a little effort, look as if it bordered on dim-witted.

“Oh.” For a moment it appeared that the wind had deserted Max’s sails. Unchallenged, Jared had a hunch that Max could be a fairly decent man, if somewhat conceited. “Okay, then.” He seemed placated. “Hand me some saffron.” Eyes on the boiling pot, Max wiggled his fingers in the general direction of the spice table. A wealth of containers were arranged on it in a system known only to Max.

Thank you, Uncle Andrew, Jared thought as he selected the glass jar that contained what appeared at first glance to be red, long-legged spiders. Though he had always been talented in the kitchen, the names of various spices and sauces, as well as elaborate food preparation had mystified him. But then the assignment had come up and Andrew had taken him under his wing. His eyes were opened. Food became cuisine and he had discovered that there were more spices than he thought possible. Andrew had drilled him until he knew each one by name, description and sight.

Which, Jared saw, now turned out to be extremely fortunate.

Handing the jar to Max, the latter proceeded to undertake a running commentary on what he was doing. Unlike Andrew, Jared thought, Max sounded extremely full of himself.

“You have to hold the slotted spoon just so as you stir the spaghetti or—”

A particularly loud thwack resonated behind them, at the table where he had left April chopping celery. Celery, it was apparent, wasn’t the only thing that April had chopped.

For the second time in the two days since he’d made her acquaintance, April screamed. Unlike the scream she’d let out yesterday, which had only been filled with surprise and a touch of fear, this one had a blood-curdling quality about it.

“What the hell?” Max exclaimed. The sentence abruptly terminated, to be replaced by, “Oh my God,” as Max looked in April’s direction. The next moment, he was clutching his less than strong stomach, a gurgling sound escaping his lips.

“My finger!” April shrieked, staring at the blood as it gushed with horrified eyes. “I cut my finger! Oh my God, my God, I cut my finger off. I—”

Instantly alert, ignoring the gagging sounds behind him, Jared grabbed one of the small white towels that seemed to be placed on every flat surface in the kitchen not directly in the way of a flame. He only glanced at it to make sure it was clean. The bleeding had to be stopped at all costs.

He almost collided with Maren, who had raced out of her office to see what the excitement was this time. “Sorry,” he bit off. Even as he said it, he was wrapping the towel around the bleeding digit. Finished, he raised April’s hand up high over her head. All the color had drained out of her face.

“Hold it up,” he ordered.

But the second he released her hand, it sank down, as if all the bones inside of it had liquefied. “I can’t,” April wailed. “I…think…I’m…going to…pass…out.”

“No, you’re not.” There was no nonsense in his voice, an order issued to a subordinate.

For a second his command seemed to jolt her to her senses. April attempted to do she was told. But the sight of her own blood, coupled with the trauma of the event and fear had her sinking against him like a bag stuffed with used tissues.

Frustrated, Jared raised April’s arm and held it up high, his other arm wrapped around her waist to support her. He looked around for help and saw Maren. He didn’t hesitate. “Get some ice and something to put the severed part in. We have to pack it and get her to the hospital right away.”

With every word he uttered, April looked as if she was getting weaker and weaker. The next thing he knew, her eyes had rolled to the back of her head and she sank bonelessly against him. He had no choice but to scoop her up into his arms, balancing her so that he could keep her one hand up in the air.

The next thing he was aware of was Maren returning to his side. She held a bag crammed with ice in her hand.

“You’re going to have to put her finger in there,” he instructed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Max backing away. Jared was fully prepared to have Maren turn squeamish on him, as well, protesting that she couldn’t bring herself to touch the severed fingertip. In his experience, most people did not react well to handling body parts, even small ones.

He saw her grow pale.

Maren could feel her stomach rising up to her throat, threatening to spill its contents. It took effort to block out the sensation and not give in to it. She wasn’t any good with blood. But this wasn’t a time to think about herself. She knew that every second counted. They needed to get April and her finger to the hospital and have them rejoined within the hour if the young woman was to ever regain use of that part.

Taking a breath, Maren picked up the finger from the edge of the butcher block and deposited it into the plastic bag. She tied off the end of the bag tightly.

“I’ll drive,” she told Jared, nodding toward the rear entrance where she’d left her car parked. “I’m going to need you to carry her into the E.R.”

Max deliberately avoided looking at the bag in her hand. “Want me to call 9-1-1?” he offered.

Maren vetoed the idea. “It’ll be faster if I just drive her there.” She turned toward Jared. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, a little surprised. Somehow, the woman had managed to take the command away from him.