Marie Ferrarella - Mission - Cavanaugh Baby

Shane shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “If you like that sort of thing,” he agreed.

The deliberate nonchalant reply had Sean looking up at his son. “You always like that sort of thing,” Sean reminded him. “At least, you used to,” he amended.

For the past eight months, his son had been engaged to be married—until she’d broken it off last month after his partner had been shot on the job. For a while, it had been touch and go for Shane, but after what he’d just witnessed, Sean felt that his son was definitely on his way to recovery.

“Not when they’re mouthy,” Shane countered.

Sean was really intrigued now. “She’s a challenge. Good, you could use one. And cute or not, the ladies are always far more interesting when they don’t just fall at your feet in complete surrender. I noticed that you used to lose interest when women looked at you with those puppy-dog eyes.”

Shane shrugged. All he wanted now was a good time. Getting serious just led to complications he didn’t want anymore. “What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s no lightning, no lasting attraction,” his father pointed out. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’d tell you, but I’m not sure you’re old enough to hear that kind of stuff.”

Sean saw through his son’s words and his attempt at diverting him. “Is this one getting to you?” he asked.

The grin faded as Shane’s expression became deadly serious. “Why would you say that?”

“Because instead of shrugging off what I say, you’re making denials, protesting. That usually means only one thing—”

“Okay,” Shane said, cutting him off. “This is me shrugging. Watch.” He raised and lowered his wide shoulders in an exaggerated fashion.

But Sean wasn’t buying any of it. “Too late for that,” he told his son.

“Too late for what?” Shane demanded, completely at a loss as to where this complicated conversation was actually headed.

The look in Sean’s eyes all but shouted, “You know, the die has already been cast, my boy.” Out loud, Sean said, “Go, observe. Be a detective. Detect.”

Shane shook his head. Ever since his father had gotten married again, to the mother of his sister’s fiancée, he seemed determined for all of his offspring to be harnessed in a similar tether. Well, that might work for the others—it seemed as if everyone except for himself and Declan, his brother, seemed to be dropping like flies at the marriage altar—but he’d tried to go that route and gotten kicked in the teeth by cupid. Life had decreed that he was going to remain single, just like Declan. Currently, in their immediate family, they were the last two men standing.

He intended to remain “standing” for a very long time to come.

Putting his father and his father’s less-than-subtle hints out of his head, Shane looked around the bedroom. Aside from a small bureau and a double bed, every other stick of furniture and random item in the room all but shouted baby.

This woman had been getting ready for her unborn child.

He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the dead woman. The next moment he upbraided himself. Feeling sorry for the woman wasn’t going to help solve the case. He was going to have to work at hardening his reaction if he hoped to get a permanent transfer to Homicide.

Donning a pair of disposable gloves, Shane carefully handled the contents of a fancy shopping bag. The bag was light blue on one side, light pink on the other. The words Baby Mine were written in fancy lettering on both sides.

“It’s an expensive baby boutique,” Sean told him when he noticed him staring at the bag.

Shane looked at him, puzzled. That was an odd piece of information for a man his father’s age to have. “How would you know that?”

“I know a lot of things,” Sean answered, amused at his son’s attitude. “I don’t just go home at the end of the day and crawl into a shell, pulling the door closed after myself.”

Shane shrugged. “I just figured that things like babies and all the stuff that goes with them are way in your past by now.”

Sean glossed over the comment about his age. “Maybe so, but grandkids aren’t.”

It took a second for his father’s words to replay themselves in his head. At that point, it was as if his brain did a double-take. “What grandkids?” he asked.

“Show up a little more often at those Sunday dinners your uncle Andrew likes to throw, and maybe you’ll find out,” Sean told him mysteriously.

It still felt strange calling someone he’d grown accustomed to knowing as the former chief of police his uncle. It was going to take more getting used to, he thought—just like his last name. Half the time he still wanted to say “Cavelli” when he introduced himself for the first time to someone.

“I’ve shown up at a few,” Shane told his father defensively.

“Show up at a few more,” his father countered, then, glancing up, he waved him off. “You’re in my light, Shane.”

Shane stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding bumping into a pile of stuffed animals, all still with their price tags on.

He picked one up to look over. Since he was wearing latex gloves, he couldn’t feel the toy’s furry texture, but he had a feeling that it was exceedingly soft. He shook his head as he put the stuffed animal back, feeling exceptionally sorry for the victim again.

“It looks like she was really looking forward to being a mother,” he commented to his father.

“Yes, she was,” Sean agreed.

Shane shook his head over the waste of it all. “Shame she’s never going to get the chance.”

Sean agreed with his son completely. “Make it up to her.”

He didn’t even know the victim. Just how was he supposed to do something like that?

“And just how do you propose I do that, seeing the woman’s present condition?” he asked his father.

“Catch her killer,” Sean said simply.

“Right.” With a nod, Shane left the bedroom. He had just caught his very first homicide case, he thought, still trying to get used to the idea.

He needed to get busy.

Chapter 4

“Sorry about the accommodations.”

Ashley directed her apology over her shoulder. It was for the four-footed passenger riding inside the van portion of her police vehicle. With slots located on all four sides to allow for the flow of air into the rear of the official vehicle, she knew that Albert could hear her voice, and hopefully, it would calm him down a bit.

At the moment, though, she could hear the dog moving around all four corners of the area that was accessible to him. He was obviously looking for a way out, an escape from his confinement.

“They just want to make sure that you don’t have anything embedded in your fur that might have been accidentally left behind by your mistress’s killer.” Easing to a stop at the crosswalk as she waited for the light to turn green, she turned her head so that her voice would carry to the rear of the van. “And they probably want to swab your paws, too, even though you did do a lot of running around. The problem is that you ran through that poor woman’s blood, you know.”

In response to her low-key voice, she heard the animal continue to whine. And maybe it was her imagination, but he did seem to slow down a little—or at least he didn’t seem to be bouncing off the walls of the van as much as he initially had.

“I’ll be with you the entire time,” she promised the terrier. “And I’m not sure exactly what they’re planning on doing in the way of taking evidence, but I do know that it’s going to be totally painless. I promise,” Ashley added.

Mindful of the stressed-out animal, she kept up a steady, low, soothing monologue for the entire trip back to the precinct.