Cavanaugh's Bodyguard

Wide shoulders rose and fell in a noncommittal shrug. Since she wasn’t going through the doors, he did. And then he held them open for her.

“Nothing,” he responded dismissively.

Bridget slipped through the doors quickly. She wasn’t about to give up that easily.

“Yes, there is,” she insisted. They were on the same wavelength, she and Josh. Something was off. She could feel her protective side being roused. “Now spill it. Your latest main squeeze hounding you for a commitment?” she guessed, deliberately keeping her voice upbeat and light. The idea of her partner committing to a single woman was as far-fetched as Prince Charming actually turning out to be a skilled day laborer. And, if she were being utterly honest with herself, she rather liked it that way.

Why should that matter? she silently upbraided herself. The guy’s your partner, not your lover, remember?

It annoyed her that the word “lover” had even popped into her head in reference to Josh. What was with her lately?

Josh paused, gazing out on the parking lot. He wasn’t looking for his car—he knew where that was—he was looking for his patience, which seemed to be in short supply this morning.

“No, not her,” he finally said.

Bridget heard things in his voice that he was leaving unsaid.

Not for long, she thought.

“Then who is?” she asked. Josh merely frowned in response and went down the cement steps, heading toward the vehicle they were using for the day. Bridget followed quickly.

But, getting into the passenger seat, she paused for a second and offered to switch places with him. Whether hungover, coming down with something or disturbed, he wasn’t himself today.

“You want me to drive?” she asked.

“Nope.” Josh buckled up. “I’m not ready to die today,” he told her.

Bridget was quiet for a moment, trying to get to the bottom of what was eating at him. And then it hit her. Belatedly, she finally buckled up.

“It’s your mother, isn’t it?” she guessed just as he turned the key in the ignition. The car came to life and he slowly backed out of his space.

“It’s my mother what?” he asked shortly, straightening out the wheel and then heading out onto the main thoroughfare.

She ignored the shortness of Josh’s response. “It’s your mother who’s hounding you to make a commitment, isn’t it?”

Damn it, he thought irritably, the woman was like a pit bull once she latched onto something. She just wouldn’t let go. “Not sure how things are done in your world, Cavelli, but in this state, mothers and sons can’t get married.”

She was right, Bridget thought. She could tell by the set of his jaw. “You know damn well what I’m saying, Youngblood.” This wasn’t the first time his mother, a really affable woman, had been on his case. “Your mother’s after you to settle down, isn’t she?”

He gave up trying to get her to back off. “Grand-kids,” he declared, annoyed. He really loved his mother. They had gotten extremely close after his father had been killed in the line of duty and as far as mothers went, she was rather sharp and with it—except for this one annoying flaw. “She says she wants grandkids. I told her she was too young for that.”

“Flattery.” She nodded her approval. “Nice. Did it work?”

He laughed shortly and shook his head. “Nope. She says there’re a lot of young grandmothers around these days. According to her, she’s the only one of her friends whose kid is still single.”

“She’s lonely,” Bridget guessed, feeling for the woman. She’d met Eva Youngblood a number of times and found her to be extremely affable. They got along really well. The woman would make someone a really nice mother-in-law someday. “That’s what you get for being an only child.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault,” Josh pointed out. “After my dad died, lots of his buddies on the force came around to make sure we were all right. They took turns bringing me to ball games, coaching my team, helping me study. They did what they could to be there for her, too. I know that more than one of them really wanted to get serious with her.”

He frowned, remembering what it was like, hearing his mother cry late at night when she thought he was asleep. It broke his heart and made him promise to himself that he would never love someone so much that he couldn’t breathe right without them.

“But Mom swore up and down that Dad had been the love of her life and she was not looking to get married again. Ever. And even if she was, it wouldn’t be to another policeman. She said she couldn’t go through that kind of pain again. Couldn’t stand there and be on the receiving end of a condolence call.”

Bridget supposed she could understand that. Once hurt, twice leery. “So, instead of building a second life,” she surmised, “your mother is after you to finally build yours.”

He sighed. “That’s about it.”

Parents, she knew, could be exceedingly stubborn when it came to their kids. Her father was laid-back, thank God, but her late mother had been fairly intense. Looking back, she realized it was all out of love, but at the time it had driven her crazy.

“So, what are you going to do?” Bridget asked, slanting a glance in his direction.

He’d already looked into this solution. “I’m going to get her a dog.”

Bridget laughed, pretending to study his profile for a moment. “I can see the resemblance, but I really don’t think that’s what your mother actually has in mind.”

Whether she did or not, this was the plan for now. He was stalling for time until something better occurred to him. “I’ll tell her it’s just a placeholder until I find the girl of my dreams.”

Surprised, Bridget shifted in her seat. This was a side of Josh she hadn’t expected. In the three years they’d been partnered, Josh had only gotten serious about their work, not about any of the myriad women he’d gone out with in that time.

She caught herself holding her breath as she asked, “You actually have a dream girl?”

“Yeah.” Josh spared her a quick, meaningful look. “One who doesn’t ask me any questions or make any demands of me.”

For a minute there, she’d thought he was serious. She should have known better. Bridget laughed, shaking her head. Feeling relieved more than she thought she should. “Then I’m afraid that you’re doomed to being alone, Youngblood.”

“I’m not going to be alone,” he told her. They came to a stop at a light. He took the opportunity to turn toward her and flashed a wide, brilliant grin. “I have you.”

The very first time she’d seen that smile, it had gotten to her. She hadn’t grown immune to its effects, but at this point she knew that he meant nothing by it. He was just charming. And while she caught herself wondering what it would be like to be with Josh, really be with Josh, who could have been the living, breathing poster child for the words “drop dead gorgeous,” she told herself that she didn’t want to ruin a good thing. She and Josh worked well together, anticipated one another and for the most part, thought alike.

At times they wound up completing one another; what one lacked, the other supplied. Partnerships like that were exceedingly rare, not worth sacrificing in order to scratch an itch.

She’d been quiet too long, she realized. To deflect any kind of suspicions or possible questions on Josh’s end, she got back to the reason they were out here in the first place. “Yeah, well, if we don’t come up with some kind of answers for the narcissistic fool they made our acting lieutenant, Howard might wind up splitting us up out of spite.”

He sincerely doubted that would ever happen. When they had first been paired, all he saw was what one of his late father’s friends had described as a “hot babe.” It didn’t take Bridget very long to set him straight. She might have killer looks, but it was her brain power that he actually found sexy. The fact that she didn’t trade on her looks was another plus in her favor.

It also allowed him the freedom to tease her now. “You could always go and complain about Howard to your ‘Uncle Brian.’”

Bridget sat up a little straighter as she gave him a withering look. “Hello, possibly we haven’t been introduced yet. My name’s Bridget Cavelli and I fight my own battles.”

“So, you’re keeping it?” Josh asked, picking up on the name she’d used. “You’re not changing it?”

“Changing what?”

“Your last name. Technically, you are a Cavanaugh, you know. You have no real ties to that moniker you’ve been sporting around for the last thirty years—”

“Twenty-eight,” she corrected tersely. “I’m twenty-eight.”

He knew exactly how old she was—knew a great many other things about her as well—but he liked getting under her skin. It helped to keep things light. It also helped him deflect other feelings he was having. Feelings that had no place on the job and would only get in the way of a working relationship.