Marie Ferrarella - Cavanaugh Watch

Sawyer snorted. “Like you could be their poster girl.”

Normally, being referred to as a girl didn’t rankle her. She had no problem with the word because she had no problem with her self-esteem. And anyone who knew her knew what kind of mettle she was made of. But for some unknown reason, everything out of this man’s mouth, including probably hello, promised to rankle her. Clear down to her bones.

She didn’t waste her breath denying his statement or reading him the riot act because of it. She had a bigger question on her mind. “If you find this assignment beneath you, why didn’t you protest when you were given it?”

“I did,” he answered simply. Sawyer led the way to her office on the other end of the building. He obviously already knew the layout of their floor, she thought. “I got overridden.”

“That makes two of us,” she told him. Sawyer looked at her and she could have sworn she detected a hint of surprise in his eyes. “I guess then,” she continued, “this is something we both will just have to suffer through.”

Sawyer said nothing. He barely nodded in response to her last statement, hiding his surprise that someone he’d just naturally assumed had been spoiled within an inch of her life would balk at being offered protection from the “bad guys.”

Unless something wasn’t kosher here. Maybe this was a publicity stunt on her part to attract attention to the case. Maybe she was after a change of venue and this sort of thing could just do it. Not unheard of.

“For the record,” she said as they reached her office door, “I don’t want you here as much as you don’t want to be here.”

For the first time since he’d rescued her, the corners of his mouth curved up just a fraction. “I really doubt that, Cavanaugh.”

Without making a comment, Janelle opened the door and walked into the office she affectionately called her cubbyhole. It was no more crammed and cluttered now than it had been before she’d left for the courthouse this morning. But somehow having an extra body with her cut down on her space. She hadn’t minded when Woods had given the tiny office to her. She didn’t require much.

But there was hardly any room within the enclosure to stuff in another book, much less a warm body that was larger than hers by a long shot.

She glanced around, trying to see the area through his eyes. “I really don’t know where you’re going to hang around,” she finally said.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of me. And you,” he added after a slight pause.

She felt as if she were being put on notice. And she didn’t like it. Didn’t like not feeling in charge. Control was a very, very important thing to her, something she had had to fight for ever since she could remember. That, and respect. It had been awarded within her household, but not automatically. You received respect when you earned it. This new speed bump in her life was going to be one hell of a challenge to surmount.

She indicated a chair that was against the wall. “I guess you can sit there.”

Sawyer grabbed the top of the chair, swinging it over to the side of the desk without saying a word. He planted the chair, not himself.

Just then, the phone rang and she almost sighed with relief. Something to draw her attention away from how very crammed and how very close the lack of space within the room made everything feel.

Hand on the receiver, she cleared her throat before raising it to her ear. Her voice was crisp when she spoke. “Cavanaugh.”

There was silence on the other end. For a minute, she thought whoever was calling had dialed a wrong number. But there was no hurried hang-up, no muttered apology, no uncertain voice asking to speak to someone she’d never heard of.

She tried again. “Hello?”

This time, someone did speak. “Is this Janelle Cavanaugh?”

The deep resonant voice vibrated against her ear. She listened closely, wondering if this was one of her brothers or male cousins, playing a trick on her. “Yes, this is Janelle Cavanaugh.”

There was another pause, as if whoever it was on the other end of the line was absorbing her voice. “He’s innocent.”

She frowned, definitely not in the mood to play along. “Who is this?” she demanded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sawyer become alert.

“This is Marco Wayne,” the man on the other end informed her. His voice was strong, but laced with emotion. That surprised her. “My son is innocent.”

“Mr. Wayne—” The moment she said her caller’s name, Sawyer drew closer to her. The look on his face was hard, as if he expected a bomb to be transmitted across the telephone wires. Annoyed by the lack of privacy, she turned her body away from him, only to have him circle in front of her.

Great, she thought, there was no getting away from him. This was not going to work.

“Mr. Wayne,” she repeated, “this is highly inappropriate. You can’t be calling me about this. About anything,” she added quickly before he could protest.

If she meant to cut him off, she failed. “I’m calling because you’re involved in this trial and I want you to understand that my son had nothing to do with what he is accused of.”

“If he didn’t do it,” she said for form’s sake, because everything they had pointed to Tony’s guilt, “he’ll be proven innocent.”

“Not with the evidence that was planted against him,” Wayne countered. “He was framed.”

She wasn’t about to stand here, arguing with the man. “I’m hanging up now, Mr. Wayne.”

There was an urgency resonating in the voice against her ear. “I just want what every father wants for his son—a fair chance.”

Janelle pressed her lips together. She knew damn well that she should be disconnecting the call. Every rule demanded it. This was highly unprofessional and unethical. But although she willed it, her hand did not replace the receiver in the cradle, did not disconnect the call. She couldn’t seem to help herself.

The man sounded sincere.

She supposed that was why he’d gotten as far as he had, being able to get to people, to bend them to his will. One way or another.

She tried once more. “And you’ll get it. The D.A.’s office has no intentions of railroading anyone, Mr. Wayne. You son is going to be given a fair trial. You have my word on it.”

The man on the other end was not finished. “Talk to that scum of a witness again. He’s lying. If you offer him a deal, he’ll say anything you want him to.” There was a pause. “Tell him that Marco Wayne will make sure he burns in hell if his son is harmed.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “I’m not a conduit for your threats, Mr. Wayne.”

It was the last thing she said to the man before Sawyer disconnected her.

For a second, everything seemed to freeze around her. Janelle didn’t believe what had just happened, what she was seeing. Sawyer with his finger pressed on the black telephone cradle, pushing the button down flat. Disconnecting her from the man she’d been speaking to.

Who the hell did this jerk think he was?

It didn’t matter that she was about to terminate the call herself, that she hadn’t wanted to talk to Wayne in the first place. All that mattered was that this so-called bodyguard she neither wanted nor felt she needed had decided to take it upon himself to exercise his will over hers.

He had a lot to learn about dealing with a Cavanaugh.

It was all Janelle could do to keep from throwing the receiver she was holding at his head. Instead, she threw it down hard into the cradle. The impact caused it to bounce back out. She glared as Sawyer replaced it. He was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.