Cavanaugh's Secret Delivery
This Cavanaugh detective guards his ready-made family
A brand-new Top Secret Deliveries thriller
Delivering a stranded woman’s baby? All in a day’s work for Detective Dugan Cavanaugh. But the new mother is investigative reporter Toni O’Keefe, who’s hot on the trail of the drug cartel Dugan is tracking. Now with infant Heather and Toni in the cartel’s lethal sights, Toni’s fragile trust in Dugan is their only shot to get Cavanaugh justice!
“Damn it, Toni, I’m only a man.”
Dugan saw the smile that came into Toni’s eyes. “I’m not complaining.”
He knew he should just push her away but he couldn’t get himself to do that. Maybe if he warned her, he could get her to back off on her own.
“If you don’t let me put any distance between us,” Dugan told her, “I might not be responsible for what happens.”
Toni caught her lip between her teeth, never taking her eyes off him. “And that would be...?” she asked breathlessly.
Taking hold of her, Dugan brought Toni closer and kissed her. Not with any sort of tenderness he might have exhibited if this was any other situation, but roughly, so that she would finally understand what was going on here and run for her life.
But Toni wasn’t frightened away. She didn’t come to her senses and run. Instead, her arms went around his neck, her body pressed against his and she kissed him back with every fiber of her being. Kissed him as if this was the very first time she’d ever kissed anyone and she didn’t want it to end.
Ever...
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Be sure to check out the previous books in the exciting Top Secret Deliveries miniseries.
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Dear Reader,
Once upon a time, I ached to be a writer. As I went along, collecting rejection letters, that ache never went away. I was determined to not just be a writer in my own head, but to get published even as that pile of rejection letters kept growing until I had enough to wallpaper my house. But I didn’t want to decorate my house with rejection letters—I wanted to decorate it with books. My published books. I’m Polish and there is one thing that Polish women are known for. We are very stubborn. In the dictionary, when such things still existed and were on the shelf, under the word stubborn there is a picture of me (look it up). So I kept writing.
When that fateful, wonderful day finally came and I was holding my very first published book in my hand, I placed it on the coffee table in my living room (we had a huge coffee table at the time) and I said to my husband words I’m sure the man has long since forgotten. “Someday, I am going to cover this table with my books.” I hung on to that coffee table until I could make my prediction come true.
This is my 300th book. Not with Harlequin (for them, it’s number 289) but in total. I did it. But it’s not the end. This, dear reader, is only the beginning.
As ever, I thank you for taking the time to buy and read one of my books, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.
All the best,
Marie
CAVANAUGH’S SECRET DELIVERY
Marie Ferrarella
USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award–winning author Marie Ferrarella has written more than two hundred and fifty books for Harlequin, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, marieferrarella.com.
Books by Marie Ferrarella
Harlequin Romantic Suspense
Top Secret Deliveries
Cavanaugh’s Secret Delivery
Cavanaugh Justice
Mission: Cavanaugh Baby
Cavanaugh on Duty
A Widow’s Guilty Secret
Cavanaugh’s Surrender
Cavanaugh Rules
Cavanaugh’s Bodyguard
Cavanaugh Fortune
How to Seduce a Cavanaugh
Cavanaugh or Death
Cavanaugh Cold Case
Cavanaugh in the Rough
Cavanaugh on Call
Cavanaugh Encounter
Cavanaugh Vanguard
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To
Tiffany Khauo-Melgar
With Love
Contents
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
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Excerpt from Agent Bodyguard by Karen Anders
Chapter 1
Man, he’d really needed this night out, Detective Dugan Cavanaugh thought. He loved his job, no question about it, but after putting in what felt like three weeks straight to get all those slippery little ducks in a row, it really felt good to unwind and blow off some steam tonight, even for a little while.
However, the problem with blowing off steam was that sometimes time did manage to get away from him. Like tonight. It was ten after midnight.
He really hadn’t intended to be out this late.
“And tomorrow is a school day,” he chuckled to himself under his breath. That meant that he couldn’t sleep in—not that he even knew how at this point in his life. “Time to get you home, Detective Cavanaugh, before you suddenly turn into that pumpkin that your mama used to read to you about way back when.”
Dugan grinned to himself. Anyone overhearing him would have thought he was three sheets to the wind. Truth was, he wasn’t even quite one sheet. Despite coming out to Malone’s and hoisting a few beers, he wasn’t drunk, just feeling very good.
And relaxed.
But he wasn’t intoxicated. Dugan knew better than to get behind the wheel of his car if he were. The beers, both of them, had been consumed over the course of six hours, and given the fact that he was six-three and had a physique that would have made a bodybuilder envious, those beers had less than no effect on him. It just felt good to get together with a number of his friends and family.
This was what it was all about for him, Dugan thought. Friends and family. And keeping the world safe for those friends and family—as well as the public at large.
But right now, it was time to go home and get some very well-deserved sleep so that tomorrow morning, he could get up and do it all again. For him, as well as most of the members of his family, that meant finding ways to put the bad guys away—the faster the better. In his particular case, that involved getting the goods on drug dealers.
He stifled a yawn. Man, he was more tired than he thought, Dugan realized. He’d also parked his car farther away than he’d thought. But when he’d arrived six hours ago, the parking lot behind the bar was packed and there were cars lining both sides of the street. It turned out that there was an impromptu bachelor party being held at the bar, so the pl
ace was really packed. That made the owner quite happy, Dugan thought, remembering the wide grin on the former police officer’s face as the man tended bar. But the extra customers had made parking a particular challenge.
“Maybe I’ll walk off some of those calories from the beer,” Dugan murmured as he crossed what was normally a busy intersection. At the moment, the streets were totally deserted.
His upbeat attitude was due to the fact that he’d been taught to always look at the bright side of things, even when things appeared to be dark and bleak. It was something his late mother, Eva, had instilled in him, as well as in his three younger brothers, and while none of them could be accused of being mindlessly happy-go-lucky, her philosophy had helped all of them weather the personal storms that came their way.
There it was, Dugan thought, finally sighting his pride and joy, an old 1965 Mustang he had personally rebuilt and restored over the course of three summer vacations in between juggling part time jobs while he was going to college.
A warm feeling filled him the way it always did whenever he looked at the cherry-red product of all his hard work.
“I’m almost there, old girl,” he said, as if the car could hear him. “Almost—”
A screeching sound suddenly disrupted the otherwise still April night.
Dugan stopped short, instantly alert—just in case. Turning his head toward the sound, he listened, trying to discern where it was coming from and, more importantly, what it was.
Was that awful noise coming from a cat being attacked or—
The sound came again, louder this time and definitely filled with agony. It wasn’t a cat, it was human—of a sort.
It was the kind of sound that, had he been lost in the Alaskan wilderness, he would have attributed to coming from a Yeti, a mythical creature sometimes equated with the equally mythical Big Foot.
All this was going through Dugan’s head at lightning speed as Dugan broke into a run, heading toward the source of the unearthly screeching.
In short order, he realized that the gut-wrenching noise was coming from a car that was pulled up, askew, against a curb in an alley that was a block away from where his own car was.
The car’s lights were on, but the engine appeared to be off.
Another scream, even more powerful this time, ripped though the air. Dugan pulled out his weapon just before he reached the vehicle.
Cautiously, not knowing what he was about to find, he looked into the car and saw a woman, gripping the steering wheel. Her face was contorted with pain and she was screaming. There was a gun lying on the passenger seat beside her.
She also had to be the most pregnant woman he had ever seen.
* * *
Dugan knew he was taking a chance.
Ordinarily, a gun on the scene demanded that certain protocol be adhered to. But unless the woman was smuggling a double order of watermelons, she appeared to be in just too much pain to be a threat. She certainly didn’t look like any drug dealer he had ever come across.
So, taking a breath, he lowered his weapon and rapped on her partially opened window to get her attention.
“Ma’am? Do you need help?”
The woman instantly jerked at the sound of his deep male voice, looking his way. Fear telegraphed through her with the speed of a lightning bolt.
She was not about to die in this car tonight, she thought.
Working her way through the searing pain, she reached toward the gun on the passenger seat, stretching and groaning.
Dugan reached in through the open window even though it was tricky and managed to grab the gun before the woman could get her fingers around it.
“Give...me...that!” she managed to grind out. She was breathing hard now and every word took effort. She felt as though her dark blond hair was plastered against her forehead. Even the top of her head felt as if it was coming off at any second.
“Look, lady, I heard you shrieking and I came to see if I could help, but I’d like not to get my head blown off while I’m doing it.” Dugan saw the terror in her face. It was after midnight and she was alone. He couldn’t really blame her. “I’m a cop,” he added, hoping that would reassure her.
She definitely didn’t believe him. “No...you’re... NOT!”
The woman had one hell of a set of lungs on her, Dugan thought, opening the passenger door. Rather than argue with her, in the interest of expediency, he took out his badge and showed it to her.
“See?” he asked her.
She still wasn’t convinced. “You...could have...gotten...that...in any...toy store,” she bit off.
“Fair enough.” He took out his ID next and held it up almost in front of her face. The woman was sweating profusely, he noted. This had to hurt like hell, he thought. “Okay?” he asked, nodding at his wallet.
“O...kay,” she panted. Her eyes widened as she saw him get in and reach over to her seat belt, releasing it. She was wary again and there was nowhere to retreat. “What...are...you...doing?” she demanded with as much indignation as she could manage.
Before he could answer, she shrieked again, pushing against the floor with her feet as she arched back in the seat now that she was no longer restricted by the seat belt.
It didn’t help. Nothing helped. The pain just couldn’t be escaped.
“I can’t help you from outside the car,” Dugan told the woman.
“Get...away!” she ordered, panting so hard she was getting dizzy. It took everything she had to keep from passing out.
“Don’t worry,” he told her, “neither one of us wants to be here, but you need help and I’m the only one around.” He weighed his options, then shook his head. “I don’t think I can get you to the hospital in time. If it’ll make you feel any better, my aunt drives an ambulance.”
He was talking about Aunt Maeve and she actually owned the company at this point, but he didn’t think the pregnant woman was in any condition to listen to any lengthy explanations. Not the way she was screaming and certainly not the way she was arching her back and moving from side to side. The simplest explanation was the best one.
“She taught all of us a few basic emergency procedures,” he told the pregnant woman in a calm, friendly voice. “One of which was what to do when a woman went into intense labor.”
There was still skepticism in her eyes. “You...swear?” she demanded.
He told himself that she was scared and that made him feel for her. “I swear,” he told her with all the solemnity he could manage.
“O-KAY!” she screamed.
Her contractions were coming closer and closer. There was hardly any time between them at this point. And this time, because he was close, she grabbed his hand and held on to it so hard Dugan thought his fingers were going to snap off.
When the contraction passed and she breathed a little more regularly, she released his hand.
Dugan flexed his fingers, surprised that he still could. “Hell of a grip you have there. What is your name, anyway?” he asked.
He could tell by the way she was breathing that she was bracing herself. The next second, she was being seized by yet another massive contraction.
“Scarlet,” she managed to say just before she was once again writhing in pain.
She’d grabbed his hand again. This time he tried to go with it, waiting it out and hoping he still had use of his fingers when she finally let go. He felt really awful for her, and not too keen for himself, either.
Dugan looked toward the backseat. It looked relatively empty. If he could just get this woman to go into the back, it would be better for both of them, given the situation.
“Ideally, we should get you into the backseat. There’s a little more room to work with—”
By the time the words were out of his mouth, she was arching her back again and definitely trying to get away from the pain, even as she t
ried not to scream at the top of her lungs.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Dugan rethought the situation. He had to work with what he had. “Okay, I need you to lie on your back.”
She was huffing, trying not to push. She didn’t want her baby born in a rental car. That wasn’t right. It was bad enough that it had been conceived in one. Her eyes shifted toward the cop.
“That’s...how... I...got...this...WAY!” she ground out.
He could tell that she wasn’t very happy with him. “You know, if this was just eight hours from now, that scream of yours would have brought a whole bunch of people running, but right now, I’m all you’ve got, so let’s see if we can get this done as painlessly as possible.”
Too late Dugan realized what he’d said. “Sorry, wrong choice of words. Just lie back,” he told her again. “Please.”
This time, she listened.
He left the passenger door open so that he had some space to do what he needed to do. She didn’t even seem to notice.
“Okay, I apologize ahead of time,” he told her.
She was moaning loudly, trying her best not to scream, and he doubted if she’d really heard him, but that didn’t matter. He’d said it just to make sure he was covered.
As swiftly as possible, he got rid of her underwear, pushed back the oversized blouse that was covering her swollen belly and took a closer look at what he was up against.
“Good news, you’re crowning,” he told her.
Her eyes felt wet and there was a ringing noise in her ears. She tried to concentrate on what he was telling her.
“What’s...that?”
He looked up and tried to smile encouragingly at her. “It means that you’re going to be a mama soon,” Dugan said.
That wasn’t good enough. This pain was ripping her in half. “HOW... SOOON?”
“Very soon,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, it won’t be long now,” he said, feeling almost as amazed as he figured she probably was right about now. Hope you were right, Aunt Maeve. “Okay, Scarlet, when I tell you to push, I want you to push. Push!” he ordered.