Marie Ferrarella - Becoming a Cavanaugh

“Terrific.”

Jaren waited for a moment. When her unwilling new partner said nothing further, she took the initiative. “So, what would you like me to do?”

“Stop talking, for one,” Kyle answered without skipping a beat, or looking up from the folder he’d opened on his desk.

Rather than back away, she asked another question. “I take it you’re the strong, silent type?”

He made a mental note to stop at the hardware store and buy a roll of duct tape. The clear kind so people wouldn’t immediately notice that Rosetti’s mouth was taped over.

“Something like that.”

He heard her laugh softly to herself. “I’ve run into that before.”

“I bet you have.”

Jaren leaned over her empty new desk in order to get closer to him. “Don’t worry, O’Brien, you’ll find that working with me won’t be such a bad thing.”

Abandoning what he was trying to read, Kyle finally raised his head. He gave her a long, penetrating look. Had he met her off the job and a year ago, when he thought he knew who and what he was, and when the world was still recognizable to him, he might have even been attracted to her—once she learned not to talk so much. But now, well, now he had a feeling he would count himself lucky if he didn’t strangle her by the end of the day.

“We’ll see,” he said, his voice showing no glimmer of hope in that direction.

Suddenly, his new partner was on her feet again like a Pop-Tart escaping a toaster. “I’m going for coffee,” she told him. “Can I get you any?”

“No, thanks.” She took five steps before she stopped and turned around again. He had a feeling that she would. “What?”

“Where is the coffee machine?” she asked, her demeanor so sunny it just blackened his mood.

Kyle sighed and began to point in the general direction where the machines were located, then remembered that they had been moved last week. If he were still a churchgoer, he would have thought of this woman as penance.

Reluctantly, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

He didn’t think it was humanly possible for her to brighten, but she did. “Thank you, that’s very nice of you.”

“No, it’s not,” he denied, walking out of the squad room and into the hallway. “For the record, it’s called selfpreservation. If you’re drinking, you won’t be talking.”

His sarcastic remark earned him yet another grin. “I’ll try to keep it down,” she promised.

“If only,” Kyle murmured to himself under his breath. He had a feeling she heard him because she slanted an amused look in his direction.

The vending machines’ new location wasn’t that far away from the elevators. They were almost there when he heard a woman call out his name. They both turned around, Kyle almost unwillingly, and Jaren with the bright enthusiasm of a newcomer who was eager to absorb her surroundings as quickly as she could.

He found himself facing Riley McIntyre, newly attached to the Cavanaugh clan herself, as were her two brothers, Zack and Frank, and her older sister, Taylor.

At this rate, the Cavanaughs were going to be able to populate their own small city, he thought cynically.

He saw her giving the woman beside him a quick, scrutinizing look. This almost constant sharing of his life was new to him and he didn’t much like it. “Heard you got a new partner, Kyle. This her?”

She obviously waited for an introduction, but was never one to stand on ceremony. “Hi, I’m Jaren Rosetti,” Jaren said, extending her hand to the woman.

Riley wrapped her fingers around Jaren’s hand. “I’m Riley McIntyre, Kyle’s stepcousin.” Riley’s eyes danced as she made the introduction.

Okay, that was a new one, Jaren thought. She looked from the blonde to Kyle. If any explanation was coming, Riley would do the honors. Getting words out of Kyle O’Brien was like pulling teeth. Very strong teeth.

“Stepcousin?” Jaren repeated.

Riley nodded. “My mother recently married Brian Cavanaugh. He’s the chief of detectives here. And Kyle’s his nephew. That makes me his stepcousin. There’re four of us on the force—stepcousins,” Riley qualified, flashing a grin at the younger woman. “Don’t worry, it gets easier as time goes on,” she said.

“Not hardly,” Kyle muttered to himself. Looking for a way to garner a few seconds of peace and quiet, he decided to do what he ordinarily never did—ask for a favor. “Riley, can you show her where the coffee machine is?”

Riley shrugged. “No problem. I was on my way there myself.”

And the next minute, Jaren found herself being taken under the wing of a Cavanaugh by marriage. Any misgivings she might have entertained about transferring to Aurora’s police department quickly faded away in the face of Riley’s sunny disposition and easy manner.

She was going to like it here, Jaren decided.

“I brought you some coffee.”

She was back, Kyle thought. So much for peace and quiet.

He glanced up from the report he was finishing. He hated the paperwork that went along with the job, and it was hard enough tackling it when he was in a good frame of mind. This was going to take him all day.

His new partner, Mary Sunshine, stood there, holding in each hand a container of what passed for coffee at the precinct.

“I don’t remember asking you to,” he said, making no attempt to take either container from her.

“You didn’t,” she answered, keeping a smile on her face. “I just thought you might like to have a cup. Newest studies say that three cups of coffee a day help keep your memory sharp.”

Part of him knew he was being unreasonable and ornery, but he just didn’t feel friendly at the moment. And for her own good, Rosetti had better understand his moodiness early on.

“And just why would you think that you have to appoint yourself the guardian of my memory?” he asked.

Jaren placed the container she’d brought back for him on his desk, then sat down at hers. She studied him for a moment.

“You know, I’d say that you got up on the wrong side of the bed today, but I’ve got a feeling that today, there wouldn’t have been a right side.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee, then asked, “Or is that just a given?”

Kyle didn’t bother giving her an answer. Instead, he just looked back at the paperwork on his desk.

She sighed, but refused to give up. “Look, I’m trying to make nice here.”

He raised his eyes, meeting hers for a fleeting second. “Don’t.”

There was no such thing as don’t in her language. Jaren tried again, relying on logic, something she felt probably appealed to him. “Until one of us transfers or dies or they rearrange the room, we’re going to be stuck facing each other like this five days a week. Don’t you think it would make things a little easier on both of us if you stopped acting as if I’m the devil incarnate?”

“Nope.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I think you should know I don’t give up easy.”

She wished he didn’t look so damn sexy as he raised his eyes again and said, “You do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.”

She had no idea if she was being warned, put on notice or dismissed. But she wasn’t about to put up with any of that.

Before she could think of something to say in return, she saw the lieutenant walking toward them. Barone held a slip of paper with writing on it in his hand.

“Dispatch called to say a hysterical receptionist just got in to the office to find the doctor she worked for—a Richard Barrett—dead.” The lieutenant held out the slip of paper that contained pertinent information, including the address. “You two are up.”