Marie Ferrarella - Cavanaugh On Call

“Okay,” she finally replied. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll have that beer with you.”

Her wording caught his attention. “So then we’ll be even, is that what you mean?”

“I don’t see it that way,” she admitted, “but since you went out of your way like this to reunite me with my phone and, for some reason I don’t understand, having a drink after work means something to you, and since I am in your debt, the answer to your invitation is yes.” Having agreed, she pressed her lips together. “I’ll follow you there.”

She expected Bryce to get into his car, but he remained where he was. “Table or stool?” he wanted to know.

Scottie stared at him. Was this some kind of code? “Excuse me?”

“If you’re following me,” he patiently explained, “that means I’ll get there first. I just wanted to know if you would rather sit at a table or take a stool at the bar?”

A table represented more privacy, a small haven from the general press of bodies and the noise, but a bar stool, while implying brevity to her also left her out in the open and vulnerable. She liked neither choice so she shrugged. “Surprise me.”

He studied her for a moment. Part of him felt she had no intention of showing up, which had him wondering a host of other things he hadn’t quite nailed down yet, but he wasn’t about to stand out there in the parking lot, negotiating details.

“I’ll do my best,” he told her with a wide, inviting smile.

The man obviously thought he was too good-looking for his own good, Scottie decided as she made her way to her car. Reaching it, she turned in his direction and waved her hand, indicting that he could go.

He didn’t. Instead he waited until her vehicle drew closer to his and then he put his car into drive and pulled out of the parking space.

Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw that Scottie was indeed following him.

How long was that going to last? he mused, still not certain he could take her at her word—which in turn would bode rather badly for their fledgling work relationship. A man had to trust his partner, otherwise his life wouldn’t be worth the proverbial plug nickel for long.

Bryce drove slowly, as if he was a sixteen-year-old driver with a brand-new learner’s permit going on a maiden run under his father’s watchful eye. Approaching intersections, if the light had turned yellow, he came to a full stop instead of pressing down harder on the accelerator to make it through before the light went red. Looking back over his life, Bryce couldn’t remember ever driving as slowly as he did tonight.

Consequently, it felt like getting to Malone’s took forever, but finally he found himself pulling into the parking lot.

He parked in the first space he found, then got out quickly and looked over his shoulder to see if his partner was still behind him.

A silver Honda was just pulling into the lot.

“Son of a gun. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” he murmured to himself, grinning. She’d actually followed him, he thought, astonished.

Parking her car, Scottie got out and then wove in and out of the rows of vehicles, making her way toward Malone’s front entrance and, apparently, to Cavanaugh who was just standing there, watching her every move.

A lesser woman would have felt self-conscious, but it had never been about looks for Scottie. Everything else had always been too important for her to waste any time worrying about her appearance or spending hours fussing with her hair. She had a living to earn and a brother to raise.

She’d done progressively better and better with the first part. The second part, not so much, she thought now. She’d showed Ethan’s photo to everyone at the shelter, but no one had seen her brother. The shelter had once been his go-to place when he’d wanted her to find him. Helping out at the shelter in turn seemed to help him and center him.

He was a good guy, she thought. He just needed help to stay the course.

“I thought you were going to find someplace for us to sit,” she said to Bryce as she approached.

“Changed my mind,” he said mildly. “I thought I’d wait since you might have trouble finding me once you were inside.”

“I wouldn’t have any trouble, I’d just follow the light from your aura,” she quipped.

Rather than get his back up, or take offense, Bryce seemed amused by her wisecrack. “And here I thought I’d hidden it so well.”

She wasn’t about to stand out there, talking half the night away. She reached for the door. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

“‘Over with’?” he repeated. “This isn’t a root canal, Scottie. It’s just two partners having a drink together, getting to know each other.” Turning from her, he reached for the heavy oak door, opened it and then stood there holding it for her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder just before she crossed the threshold.

“I don’t need to ‘get to know’ you. I know all I need to know about you,” she informed him.

“Probably not,” he countered easily. “And I know that I know next to nothing about you,” he said as he ushered her into the large room.

For a moment Scottie stood just inside the bar. She’d been on the force for five years, but this was her first time inside the bar most of the other officers and detectives frequented.

Depending on the day of the week, Malone’s was full to varying degrees of that word. Tonight, a Wednesday, it was all but teeming with patrons, men and women who made it their life’s business to keep the residents of the city safe and secure in their beds.

Slowly looking around, Scottie saw a number of people she recognized, people she had formerly worked side by side with in Homicide. She saw the surprised looks on several of their faces.

They obviously hadn’t expected to see her there. Well, no more surprised than she was to find herself there, Scottie thought. She promised herself that she would have one bottle of beer with Bryce Cavanaugh—probably not the entire contents—and then, her so-called debt repaid, she’d be free to go.

When she felt the hand on her elbow, her first reaction was to pull away. She actually tried, but the hand just took a tighter hold.

“Easy, Scottie, I’m not trying to take your elbow from you, I’m just guiding you over to that table,” Bryce whispered against her ear.

He did so because the noise level inside Malone’s was steadily increasing and he instinctively knew she wouldn’t want attention drawn to her by having him raise his voice so she could hear him. He had no way of knowing that getting so close to her, whispering so that his breath glided along her neck, would cause Scottie to unexpectedly feel something that had her instantly bracing herself.

But, braced or not, it was too late, Scottie realized. She could feel something stirring as if in automatic response.

Not the time, not the time, Scottie harshly told herself, tamping down the feeling that had no place in her life right now.

Her entire focus had to be on Ethan, on finding him and, if it came to it, saving him, although she was still fervently praying there was some acceptable reason why he wasn’t home, why he wasn’t picking up his cell phone.

A reason that had nothing to do with these break-ins.

“This okay?” Bryce was asking her.

It took her a second to focus and realize what Bryce was saying. They were at a small table for two. It looked to be almost intimate if it wasn’t for the fact that there was so much noise surrounding them. She supposed this was as good as anyplace.

“Sure, why not?” she said with a shrug.

“Good answer,” he remarked with a smile. “What’s your poison?”

Scottie never hesitated. “Pushy partners who won’t back off.”