Becoming a Cavanaugh

“You are if you’re a cop,” he told her.

He had no idea why he was extending the invitation or saying any of this to her. The entire day, all he could think about was getting into his car and going home—to silence. At the very most, maybe he’d call Ethan or Greer to see how their day went. He’d already made up his mind that he wasn’t going to show up at Andrew’s tonight for the party.

But for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he’d changed his mind. He knew that the former chief of police felt personally guilty for the way Kyle and his siblings had been physically and emotionally abandoned by the man responsible for bringing them into the world in the first place.

Ordinarily, someone else’s guilt was none of Kyle’s concern, but Cavanaugh had tried to do right by them. He supposed that not showing up tonight would be an insult. It’d be tantamount to throwing the man’s hospitality in his face.

That he felt a certain obligation to go was understandable. The real mystery was why he was asking Rosetti to come with him.

Maybe it was as simple as just feeling sorry for her.

And then again, maybe not.

“I was thinking of dropping over there tonight. He’s having some kind of gathering,” Kyle explained vaguely. “If you wanted to tag along…” He left the rest unsaid.

There was silence for exactly two seconds.

“Sure. Yes. That would be very nice.” Eagerness increased with every word she uttered. And then she shook her head. “You know, O’Brien, you’re a damn hard man to figure out.”

Kyle had a perfect solution for that. “Then don’t try.”

“Now that sounds more like you,” Jaren responded, grinning. “Look, I just have to get my car. I’ll follow you over to the house.”

He took out his worn notebook, vaguely realizing that there were only three empty sheets left. Kyle turned to a fresh one and wrote something down, then tore it out and held it out to her.

“Here’s the chief’s address. In case you get lost,” he added when she raised a quizzical brow.

There was no chance of that, he thought as he drove to the chief’s house. Jaren Rosetti followed closer than a heartbeat, leaving hardly enough room between his car and hers for a thin mint.

When he pulled up to the curb, she was right there behind him, matching movement for movement. “You know,” he said as he got out of his car, “if there’d been an eager cop around, you could have gotten a ticket for tailgating.”

“Lucky there was no eager cop around,” she countered, amused. They both knew that uniforms didn’t issue tickets to detectives unless gross misconduct was involved. Jaren examined the house number they’d parked in front of and turned to him. “This isn’t the address you gave me.”

“That’s because there’s no space left to park in front of the chief’s house.” He nodded toward the middle of the street. “It’s one of their birthdays and he’s throwing a party. Everyone was supposed to come.”

That stopped her dead. “Birthday?” Jaren echoed. She suddenly felt awkward, not to mention emptyhanded. “But I don’t have anything to give.”

“Why should you? You don’t even know Callie.” Callie was the chief’s oldest daughter, married to the judge whose kidnapped daughter she’d helped rescue.

He had a point, but he was missing the main one. “But if I don’t even know her, why am I—?”

“You hungry or not?” he demanded.

“Hungry,” she confirmed. Hungrier for company than she was for anything that could be served on a plate, she added silently. While she was comfortable enough in her own skin, she had to admit that she did like the sound of people’s voices and she really enjoyed interacting with them.

“Then stop arguing and come on,” he ordered.

Jaren hurried to catch up as he walked quickly down the block.

He was right. The entire way from where they parked to the front of Andrew’s house was jammed with cars, all going nose to tailpipe. She didn’t envy the owners when they attempted to free their rides in order to go home.

Music greeted them before they ever reached the house, as did the sound of laughter. Andrew Cavanaugh’s house seemed to exude warmth.

Walking up to the front door, Kyle didn’t bother ringing the bell. Instead, he knocked on the door. Hard.

When there was no response, he tried the doorknob and found it wasn’t locked.

“He leaves his door unlocked?” she asked, stunned. The neighborhood where she’d lived with her father had slowly gone downhill. By the time she’d sold the place, the front door had been outfitted with double locks coupled with a chain.

Kyle glanced at her over his shoulder just as he opened the door. “If you were a thief, would you walk into this?”

This was practically a wall of people, mostly detectives with their spouses and children. There was also a smattering of uniformed officers who’d come straight from work.

“Not unless I had a death wish,” she agreed. It looked as if half the precinct had gathered here. There wasn’t a solemn face in the lot.

This was it, Jaren realized. This was exactly what she’d longed for all of her life. Enough family stuffed into a house to make the very walls groan and bow. As far back as she could remember, there’d only been her parents and her. And, from the time she turned twelve—when her mother had decided that she’d just had enough and walked out, never to be heard from again—there’d been only her and her father.

Officer Joseph Rosetti had been a handsome man, quick to smile, quick to tell a joke and quick to raise a glass in a toast—even if he was the only one in the room. Most of her childhood had been spent either taking care of her father, or searching the local bars for his whereabouts in order to bring him home. Despite his shortcomings, Jaren loved him dearly and she knew that, in his own way, her father had loved her, too.

Just not enough to conquer the grip that alcohol had on him.

More than once when she was growing up, she’d found herself wishing that there was someone she could turn to—an aunt, an uncle, a sibling or grandparent—just someone with a few good words to cheer her on and buoy her up. But the only family she had was a man who seemed intent on pickling his liver one bottle at a time.

Eventually, he had. Liver failure claimed him, taking him, in her opinion, years before his time.

Lost in thought and wishful thinking as she scanned the large group of people, she suddenly felt a large hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw a tall, smiling man with the kindest blue eyes she’d ever seen. He’d placed himself between her and her new partner.

Instinctively, she knew this had to be Andrew Cavanaugh.

“You came!” he exclaimed, his booming voice echoing with both pleasure and surprise. He turned approving eyes toward the young woman with his brother’s son. “And you brought someone with you.”

Kyle nodded. “This is my new partner, Andrew. She’s new to Aurora and she asked me if I knew anyplace that served really good food.”

“And you brought her to me,” Andrew concluded, pleased. “Well, young lady, I hope you don’t come away disappointed. By the way, Kyle forgot to introduce us. I’m Andrew Cavanaugh.”

“Yes, I know,” Jaren said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm and warm. She noted that he didn’t insult her by weakening his grip in deference to her softer gender. She liked that. Nothing worse than a limp-wristed handshake. “My name is Jaren. Jaren Rosetti.”

“Rosetti,” Andrew repeated. His eyebrows drew together as he thought for a moment. “I used to know a Joe Rosetti. He was on the Oakland police force. Had an occasion to work with him early on. Great guy. Any relation?”

A spark of pride ignited. Until the end came when he had to be hospitalized, her father had somehow managed to be a functioning alcoholic, never drinking on the job, just continually from the moment he was off duty. He’d fooled a lot of people, she remembered.

“He was my father.”

“Was?” The concern in Andrew’s eyes was genuine. She liked him immediately.

Jaren nodded. “He died a couple of months ago.” It was still hard for her to say that. Harder still to imagine a world without Joe Rosetti.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Jaren. Your father was a good cop.” Somewhere in the distance, a timer went off, but Andrew continued talking to the young woman his nephew had brought into his house. “He must have been proud to see you follow in his footsteps.”