Marie Ferrarella - Cavanaugh Or Death

Gilroy studied her for a prolonged moment and she had absolutely no idea what was going on in the detective’s head. She really hoped that this wasn’t going to be a regular thing while they worked together. Moira hated being in the dark about anything, especially when it came to her partner. Warner wasn’t a bundle of joy, but he was very predictable and that, in turn, made her feel confident.

“Maybe we will work together well, after all,” he exhorted.

That could have knocked her over with a feather. It was official. Detective Davis Gilroy was entirely unpredictable.

Clearing her throat, Moira moved on.

“Okay, first order of business, we take the elevator down. I get enough exercise first thing every morning jogging around this city for an hour.”

“Every morning?” he questioned, making it sound as if he found her claim suspect.

“That’s what I said.”

“Why?”

She gave him the same answer she gave herself every morning. “It wakes me up.”

“Getting out of bed should be able to do that for you,” he said drily.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she quipped, her remark indicating that it clearly didn’t.

With that, she led the way to the far end of the hall where the elevator was located. She pressed for it, hoping that it would show up before Gilroy decided to take the stairs again. She wasn’t altogether certain the man would wait for her by the precinct’s rear doors if he got there first.

Though she had been the one to talk him into joining forces with her, she had no idea what to expect from this tall, handsome walking clam.

The next moment she made a mental note to ask Valri to look into his background and give her a thumbnail sketch. Maybe if she had that, she’d be a little more prepared when it came to what to expect from him.

She had a very strong feeling that even after they spent some time on the job together, Gilroy wasn’t the type to fill in the blanks unless he was absolutely forced to. And while she did like her share of surprises, she also liked to know what she was getting herself into.

Her instincts told her that Gilroy was a good cop and a damn fine detective—what she’d told him about her reasoning was true—but that still didn’t tell her enough about Gilroy the man, other than that he was an only child—and that was something she’d uncovered on her own. Most of all, she wanted to know how far she could trust him, and if he had her back.

“You want to drive?” she asked him as they got into the elevator.

He looked at her before answering.

She was beginning to think that carefully analyzing the person he was talking to was a thing with him and that he never spoke just off the cuff.

“You don’t?” he asked her after a beat.

Moira shrugged. “I don’t care one way or the other. Why?”

“I just figured that, as primary, you’d want to be in control.”

His reasoning was just a tad flawed. Odd as it might have seemed, that gave her a little bit of hope again. She wasn’t after perfect when it came to a partner, she was after sharp.

“Driving a car doesn’t make me in control. Staying in control of the situation makes me in control,” she told him matter-of-factly. “That doesn’t include insisting on playing a glorified taxi driver.”

Her response had him regarding her thoughtfully for another long moment before conceding, “Okay, I’ll drive.”

She had a hunch that he preferred it that way. Score, Cavanaugh side.

Contrary to the ending in Casablanca, Moira thought, this did not have the earmarks of the beginning of a long, beautiful friendship.

But she would give it her best shot—at least for now. She was a firm believer in working with the present. That way, if all went well, the future would take care of itself.

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