Cavanaugh Pride

“Way I see it, I’m not trying hard enough.” His expression turned grim. “The killer’s still out there somewhere, daring us to catch him. Every second he’s out there is a second less the next victim has.”

“We’ll get him,” Riley said confidently. “You’ll get him,” she emphasized. It wasn’t often that she told him she thought he was good. But he was. “Just don’t alienate everyone else while you’re doing it.”

Rising, he turned his chair around so that he could sit in it properly. He sighed and picked up the mug again. Another long sip didn’t change anything. “Sometimes I think I’m in over my head.”

“We all are.” Riley laughed shortly. “This is where the dog paddle comes in really handy. We’re all just treading water until the killer makes a mistake. When he does, we’ve got him.”

The shrug was careless. He didn’t know if he bought into that philosophy. So far, the killer had been anything but careless. It was as if he was a ghost, depositing lifeless bodies into Dumpsters. Six in all, counting the one in Mission Ridge, and nobody had seen him.

To get his mind off the case, Frank changed the subject. “So, did you learn anything about the detective from Mission Ridge?” he asked, doing his best to sound offhanded.

Riley slanted a glance at her brother’s face. There was interest there, she’d bet a month’s pay on it. Personal probably although he’d try to keep it professional.

“Not a thing, except that she’s thorough.” The woman had studied the files without getting up from her desk all afternoon. “But she’s not exactly chatty.”

“Yeah, well, that might be a nice change,” he speculated, looking at her deliberately.

Riley swatted him.

“Hey,” he warned, pulling his head back. “You’re not supposed to hit your superior.”

“We’re off duty, remember?” Riley countered. “You’ve got to learn how to turn it off, little brother, or it’ll take you apart.”

Frank said nothing to confirm or deny the wisdom of her words. Instead, he just took another sip of his beer and thought about the woman fate—and his stepfather—had brought into his life.

Julianne could have driven back home. “Home” was only about forty-two miles away. But in the interest of time, Julianne had decided to rent a room in a hotel close to the police headquarters.

Taking the suitcase she’d thrown together last night out of the trunk of her car, she walked into the Aurora Hotel, a wide, three-story building that, from the outside, resembled one of those 24/7 gyms that had become the rage.

The decor inside could have used a little modernizing and upgrading. But in comparison to what she’d lived with when she was growing up, it was on par with the Taj Mahal.

The lobby was empty. No one sat in the five chairs scattered about, their gray color all but fading into the equally gray rug. The bored, sleepy-eyed desk clerk came to life as she approached the front desk, obviously grateful for any diversion that would make this long, drawn-out evening move a little faster to its conclusion.

Ten minutes later, with her keycard in her hand, Julianne got out on the third floor and walked to her room. As uninspired as the lobby, it at least gave the semblance of cleanliness, which was all she required. Setting her suitcase down by the pressboard writing desk, she didn’t bother unpacking. There was time enough for that later.

Right now, she had a job to do, which was the real reason she hadn’t balked at being loaned out to an adjacent police department. She had streets to drive up and down, people to question and show the picture she carried with her at all times.

Throwing some water into her face, Julianne was ready. Dinner would be fast food. She didn’t care what; it was just fuel anyway.

She wasn’t one to believe in miracles, but, as she’d said to Riley, she liked to think that she had an open mind about things. Silently, she challenged God to prove her wrong about miracles. Someone had told her that finding Mary would come under the heading of a miracle.

Mary.

Her cousin was out there somewhere because living on the street was preferable to living at home, subjected to nightly abuse at the hands of a father who didn’t deserve the name. “Monster” would have been a far more fitting title.

But he would never bother anyone again. Events had arranged themselves so that she could make that claim to Mary—when she found her—with certainty.

She hadn’t gone over to her uncle’s house to kill him even though she’d wished the man dead more than once. But when he’d come at her the way she knew in her heart that he had come at Mary time and again, she’d had no choice but to defend herself any way she could.

Julianne wasn’t even sure just how the knife had come into her hand. She only knew that when she’d told him she’d use it if he didn’t back off, her uncle had laughed at her. He’d mocked her, saying that she was just as cowardly as her father had been.

And then he’d told her what he’d do to her for daring to point the knife at him. She remembered her blood running cold. Remembered feeling almost paralyzing guilt for not having taken Mary with her before her cousin had been forced to run away.

Her uncle had lunged at her, knocking the knife from her hand and screaming obscenities at her. There’d been a struggle for possession of the weapon. They’d wrestled and though to this day she wasn’t certain how it happened, somehow the blade had wound up in his chest—up to the hilt.

Her first inclination had been to run. But she knew she could never outrun her own conscience, so she’d gone in to the captain without bothering to change her torn clothing. Numb, in shock, she’d told him the whole story.

People who lived in the vicinity knew the kind of man her uncle had been. In short order, Harry White Bear’s death was ruled self-defense, and she was free to go on with her life.

Her search for Mary began that day.

She wanted to bring her cousin home with her, the way she should have done right from the beginning instead of fleeing herself and leaving Mary behind. She’d left because her uncle had made advances, but she’d never, in her wildest dreams, thought that he would force himself on his own daughter.

That was when she still believed that there was some good in everyone.

She didn’t believe that anymore.

Julianne wanted to find Mary to let her know that she didn’t have to look over her shoulder anymore, that her father wasn’t going to hurt her again, that she could become something other than a woman who lived on the streets.

“I’m going to make it up to you, Mary. Somehow, someway, I’m going to make it up to you,” she murmured to the photograph she’d placed face up on the passenger seat. “But first, I’ve got to find you.”

Julianne knew she had a long night ahead of her. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding Mary.

The next morning, after only about four hours of sleep, Julianne was at her desk by seven-thirty. She wanted to go over the last of the files she hadn’t gotten to the previous day.

When she heard someone entering the squad room shortly after she arrived, Julianne was surprised. From what she’d been told, the detectives came in at eight-thirty. She’d assumed that she’d have some time to herself before the room filled up with noise.

Her surprise doubled when she looked up and found Frank standing over her desk. Something instantly tightened inside of her. Every nerve ending had inexplicably gone on high alert and she wasn’t completely sure why.

“Can I help you?” she asked, successfully stripping her voice of all emotion and the tension.

He studied her for a moment before asking, “Whose picture were you showing around on McFadden last night, White Bear?”

The question caught her utterly off guard. Stunned, Julianne couldn’t answer him immediately. How had he known where she was last night? Was he following her? That had to be it, but why?

A sudden thrust of anger surged through her. This wasn’t going to work. She wanted out. Her eyes narrowed. “You were spying on me?”

He heard the accusation in her voice, but managed not to rise to the bait. While she was part of his task force, he was accountable for her. He needed to know exactly what he was getting himself into. “I was driving down McFadden when I saw you.”

Julianne pressed her lips together, trying to choose her words carefully. She had a temper, but most of the time managed to bury it. Now it was closer to the surface than usual. She wasn’t sure she believed him, and yet, what sense did it make for him to be spying on her?

For now, she gave him the benefit of the doubt—as long as he could answer her question to her satisfaction. “What were you doing there?”

How had this gotten turned around to be about him? Still, he’d learned that in order to get something, you had to give something. So rather than pull rank, which he was obviously entitled to do, he answered her question.

“I was retracing what I thought might have been the last victim’s steps. What were you doing there?”

He waited to see what kind of an answer she’d give him. It didn’t seem plausible that she would be out, her first night on the case—her first night in Aurora—showing around one of the victim’s photographs to the ladies of the evening on that particular corner of the world.