Marie Ferrarella - Cavanaugh Or Death

Or maybe he just wanted her to back off once and for all, and the only way he felt he could do that was to frighten her off. He reasoned he could do that by kissing her.

Which was why he’d turned toward Moira and, operating on what amounted to automatic pilot, he suddenly and without a word pulled her to him despite her seat belt. He didn’t even remember leaning against the rather awkward transmission shift that was between them, dividing them from one another like an old-fashioned bundling board. All that he did remember was that he kissed her.

Kissed her hard.

Kissed her until neither one of them could breathe anymore and the only sound within the sedan was the one created by two pounding hearts.

* * *

Be sure to check out the next books in this exciting series:

Cavanaugh Justice—Where Aurora’s finest are always in action.

Cavanaugh or

Death

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling and RITA ®Award-winning author MARIE FERRARELLAhas written more than two-hundred-and-fifty books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.

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To Kristin Costello, With deep appreciation For being more Than a nurse.

Contents

Cover

Introduction Davis wasn’t sure just what had possessed him at that moment. Most likely it was frustration. Or maybe he just wanted her to back off once and for all, and the only way he felt he could do that was to frighten her off. He reasoned he could do that by kissing her. Which was why he’d turned toward Moira and, operating on what amounted to automatic pilot, he suddenly and without a word pulled her to him despite her seat belt. He didn’t even remember leaning against the rather awkward transmission shift that was between them, dividing them from one another like an old-fashioned bundling board. All that he did remember was that he kissed her. Kissed her hard. Kissed her until neither one of them could breathe anymore and the only sound within the sedan was the one created by two pounding hearts. * * * Be sure to check out the next books in this exciting series: Cavanaugh Justice —Where Aurora’s finest are always in action.

Title Page Cavanaugh or Death Marie Ferrarella www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author USA TODAY bestselling and RITA ® Award-winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two-hundred-and-fifty books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com .

Dedication To Kristin Costello, With deep appreciation For being more Than a nurse.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Dawn was beginning to touch the edges of the darkness, hinting that first light was not far away.

Davis Gilroy was only vaguely aware of the time, having glanced at his wristwatch just before entering St. Joseph’s Cemetery, the larger of the two cemeteries in the city of Aurora, California, where he had lived all of his life.

Davis assumed that there was a groundskeeper in the area somewhere, possibly grabbing a catnap in one of the three mausoleums on the far end of the property. Or maybe the man was sleeping on the creased brown leather sofa back at the office right off the cemetery’s chapel. But other than the groundskeeper, Davis was fairly certain he was the only one in the area.

That was the way he liked it. He liked being alone.

Although he was a detective in the police department’s major crime division, Davis wasn’t much of a people person. Especially since losing his last two partners, Detective Mike Chan and Detective Ed Ramirez, both of whom now permanently resided at this same cemetery.

But he wasn’t here to pay his respects to the two men he had worked beside for a total of less than three years. They were each decent men and good detectives in their own right, though he hadn’t socialized with either of them in life and saw no reason to visit them now that the conversation would only be one-sided.

The only people he had one-sided conversations with these days were his parents: James and Martha Gilroy. It was their mutual grave he’d come to visit, as he did at least once a month, more often if he got the chance. For the most part his life consisted of work and sleep—and work kept him pretty busy. Coming here was his only deviation from that narrow path.

Davis stood in front of the double headstone. It was a wide, expensive marble piece that had taken him months to save up for—putting aside every cent he could out of his paychecks—until the tombstone was finally paid off and in place over his parents’ grave instead of the meager one his uncle had put there.

They were together in death just as they had been in life. His father had taken pride in the fact that it had been love at first sight for both of them. As he’d gotten older, Davis had pretended not to listen, though he’d never tired of hearing the details.

He’d been almost thirteen the day they died. They had been together in the car that Sunday, but only he had survived.

That still haunted him.

Davis was kneeling over their grave, the bouquet of fresh white roses—his mother’s favorite—placed just beneath the headstone. Spring had been part of the terrain for a good month. His mother had always loved spring.

He felt the sting of tears smart at the corners of his eyes and was glad no one was around to see him.

Here, alone with his parents, away from other inquisitive eyes, he was free to be himself the way he wasn’t in his daily life. Six-foot-two, thirty-four-year-old men didn’t get emotional or shed tears about events that had happened more than two decades ago.

But there was no one here to judge him.

“Sorry I haven’t been around lately—had a case that wasn’t easy to solve. But I’m here now and that’s what counts, right, Dad?”

His father had never bothered berating him for time that had been lost; he’d only pointed out that there was time ahead to be used—until there wasn’t any time ahead left.

“Can you believe it?” Davis asked, addressing the two people beneath the tombstone. “It’s been almost twenty-one years now. Twenty-one years since you and Mom relocated here.”

That was as specific as he allowed himself to get, even when “talking” with the two people who had been ripped out of his life by that fatal car accident. An accident that had taken them from him and subsequently thrust him in with his father’s older brother, John. Being the only family member he had left, John had begrudgingly taken him in.