The Strong Silent Type Read online

  She’d gotten him.

  Gotten to him with her nails-on-chalkboard-grating cheerfulness and her over-the-top optimism. Because Cavanaugh seemed to care about everything and everyone, she’d somehow managed to get to him. To burrow her way under his skin and take up residence.

  He didn’t want to be gotten.

  He wanted to continue just as he was, being a dedicated detective working the cases he was assigned. He didn’t need a social life. Just work, just the feeling that somehow, some way he was making the slightest bit of difference by tilting the balance between good and evil to the plus side just a fraction.

  That was all he needed.

  But now, with this woman—his partner—buzzing around in his life like an annoying hummingbird that wouldn’t fly away, he needed more.

  Wanted more.

  Wanted her, he realized with a shock.

  Marie Ferrarella

  THE STRONG SILENT TYPE

  To Jessi and Nik, who grew up much too fast.

  Love, Mom

  Books by Marie Ferrarella in Miniseries

  ChildFinders, Inc.

  A Hero for All Seasons IM #932

  A Forever Kind of Hero IM #943

  Hero in the Nick of Time IM #956

  Hero for Hire IM #1042

  An Uncommon Hero Silhouette Books

  A Hero in Her Eyes IM #1059

  Heart of a Hero IM #1105

  Baby’s Choice

  Caution: Baby Ahead SR #1007

  Mother on the Wing SR #1026

  Baby Times Two SR #1037

  The Baby of the Month Club

  Baby’s First Christmas SE #997

  Happy New Year—Baby! IM #686

  The 7lb., 2oz. Valentine Yours Truly

  Husband: Optional SD #988

  Do You Take This Child? SR #1145

  Detective Dad World’s Most Eligible Bachelors

  The Once and Future Father IM #1017

  In the Family Way Silhouette Books

  Baby Talk Silhouette Books

  An Abundance of Babies SE #1422

  Like Mother, Like Daughter

  One Plus One Makes Marriage SR #1328

  Never Too Late for Love SR #1351

  The Bachelors of Blair Memorial

  In Graywolf’s Hands IM #1155

  M.D. Most Wanted IM #1167

  Mac’s Bedside Manner SE #1492

  Undercover M.D. IM #1191

  Two Halves of a Whole

  The Baby Came C.O.D. SR #1264

  Desperately Seeking Twin Yours Truly

  * The Reeds

  Callaghan’s Way IM #601

  Serena McKee’s Back in Town IM #808

  Those Sinclairs

  Holding Out for a Hero IM #496

  Heroes Great and Small IM #501

  Christmas Every Day IM #538

  Caitlin’s Guardian Angel IM #661

  The Cutlers of the Shady Lady Ranch

  (Yours Truly titles)

  Fiona and the Sexy Stranger

  Cowboys Are for Loving

  Will and the Headstrong Female The Law and Ginny Marlow

  A Match for Morgan

  A Triple Threat to Bachelorhood SR #1564

  * McClellans & Marinos

  Man Trouble SR #815

  The Taming of the Teen SR #839

  Babies on His Mind SR #920

  The Baby beneath the Mistletoe SR #1408

  * The Alaskans

  Wife in the Mail SE #1217

  Stand-In Mom SE #1294

  Found: His Perfect Wife SE #1310

  The M.D. Meets His Match SE #1401

  Lily and the Lawman SE #1467

  The Bride Wore Blue Jeans SE #1565

  * The Pendletons

  Baby in the Middle SE #892

  Husband: Some Assembly Required SE #931

  The Mom Squad

  A Billionaire and a Baby SE #1528

  A Bachelor and a Baby SD #1503

  The Baby Mission IM #1220

  Beauty and the Baby IM #1668

  Cavanaugh Justice

  Racing Against Time IM #1249

  Crime and Passion IM #1256

  Internal Affair Silhouette Books

  Dangerous Games IM #1274

  The Strong Silent Type SE #1613

  MARIE FERRARELLA

  This RITA® Award-winning author has written over one hundred and twenty books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

  MEET THE CAVANAUGHS…

  Detective Teri Cavanaugh loves a good conversation, but she loves a challenge even more. Can she get her gruff partner, Jack Hawkins, to warm up to her? Or will this sexy and oh-so-serious man show her a thing or two about his philosophy of less talk and more action?

  Retired police chief Andrew Cavanaugh loves his children and hides from them his secret quest to find his long-lost love. Fifteen years ago his wife disappeared, and Andrew won’t give up hope that she’ll come home….

  Rose “Claire” Cavanaugh went out for a drive fifteen years ago and found herself with a new identity and no recollection of her past. Can a kindly, handsome man who claims to be her husband bring her back to the fold?

  Let’s not forget other members of the Cavanaugh brood:

  Callie (Racing Against Time, IM#1249),

  Clay (Crime and Passion, IM#1256),

  Patrick (Internal Affair, Silhouette Books)

  and Rayne (Dangerous Games, IM#1274).

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  T here was no recognition in the woman’s eyes.

  Try as he might to will it there, Andrew Cavanaugh didn’t see even the slightest hint of acknowledgment that he and she had grown up together, that the teasing and name-calling of two shy adolescents had masked the growing attraction they shared for one another.

  There was no indication on her face that she remembered they had gotten married straight out of high school and that soon afterward, while he struggled to make his way up through the ranks of the Aurora police force, they’d been blessed with children. Five in total.

  No indication that she even knew who he was or that he’d spent the past fifteen years of his life searching for her, praying that she’d somehow managed to escape the watery grave that had claimed the vehicle she’d been driving that day.

  She was Rose, his Rose, he was sure of it, even though the name tag on her uniform proclaimed her name to be Claire. She didn’t belong in this diner. She belonged home.

  With him.

  With her family.

  She was his Rose, even though her hair was a little less blond now than he remembered. Her eyes were still as blue and her shape as supple as the day he first made her his wife.

  He could feel his heart aching as the woman walked by him again, then paused and retrace her steps.

  “What will it be, mister?” the woman called Claire asked in Rose’s voice.

  He desperately wanted to answer, “You,” then demand to know how she could look at him and not feel what he was feeling, not throw her arms around him the way he wanted to throw them around her. All his training as a policeman, as a detective and then as the chief of Aurora’s police force strained to hold him in check. To keep his hands from grasping her shoulders
and shaking her until the clouds lifted from her eyes.

  “Just a cup of coffee,” he told her.

  He watched as “Claire” placed a cup and saucer before him.

  She smiled, wrenching his heart further, and asked, “Cream?”

  He took his coffee black—he always had. Why didn’t she remember that?

  Patient, damn it. You’ve got to be patient, Andrew silently insisted.

  He watched her slender fingers spread out on the counter as she waited for his reply. And then he knew what he needed to do.

  “Yes, please.”

  With a nod of her head, sending her soft dark blond hair bobbing, the waitress placed a small metal container filled with cream beside his full cup. Then, reaching into the freshly cleaned utensils, she plucked out a teaspoon and placed it next to the container.

  Leaving him with his coffee and his memories, she went to wait on the family of five who had just taken the booth beside the entrance.

  Andrew left forty minutes later, having nursed his coffee and his memories for as long as he could. The coffee was poor to fair, the memories almost too agonizingly sweet to bear. He’d remained because he couldn’t tear himself away.

  And because he kept praying he’d see the light of recognition in her eyes.

  But he didn’t. He was going to have to arrive at his goal by other, less quick means.

  The spoon “Claire” had handled was carefully wrapped up in a paper napkin and tucked into his pocket.

  At bottom, Andrew Cavanaugh was an emotional man and unashamed of it. But he’d spent too many years as a cop not to recognize the need for hard evidence.

  He had her fingerprints.

  Detective Teri Cavanaugh stole a glance at her partner’s heroic-in-a-superhero-sort-of-way profile as they came out of a hairpin turn.

  Nothing.

  No change of expression, no comment that the car he was driving had all but taken the turn on two wheels and probably come close to turning over. Nothing. It was like being partnered with a sphinx. A very sexy, sensual-looking sphinx, but a sphinx nonetheless.

  It had been nine months since they had first been teamed up by some ironic whimsy of fate and her uncle Brian Cavanaugh, the chief of detectives. Nine months and Detective First Class Jack Hawkins had uttered maybe three dozen sentences on his own without having had the words pried out of him with a crowbar.

  She sighed and shook her head. You’d think that after spending her childhood in the never-ending company of four brothers and sisters and six cousins, she would have welcomed these quiet moments of respite with the Aurora Police Department’s version of a mannequin.

  But noise was her element—it always had been. She thrived on chaos and confusion, found herself thinking better that way. Detective Jack Hawkins, however, seemed to thrive on silence. The very same atmosphere that was guaranteed to drive her crazy.

  Just as it was now.

  Silence made her itchy, restless. She would have had trouble sitting still even if he wasn’t racing to a call dispatch had just taken.

  Enough, she thought, completely abandoning her plan not to be the first to talk today but to wait him out. There weren’t enough minutes in the year for that.

  “Do you realize that you haven’t said ten words since you came on duty this morning?”

  Hawk spared her a glance only after enough beats had gone by to convince Teri that he was going deaf and hadn’t heard her.

  “Don’t see the need. You’re doing fine on your own,” he answered without even a hint of a smile on his lips.

  Annoyance had her shifting again, just before they flew through a yellow light. She blew out a breath. “Damn it, Hawk, I don’t like carrying on monologues. A little input once in a while would be nice.”

  His wide, muscular shoulders rose and fell in less than the blink of an eye. “Yeah, well, we can’t always have what we want.”

  She frowned. Lately, she thought, she’d done a lot of frowning. And this statue of a partner had a lot to do with that. “You stand a better chance of getting whatever it is you want if you vocalize it.”

  Hawk allowed himself one swift glance in her direction before he looked back on the road. What he wanted was for her to stop prodding at him, to accept things the way they were and to maybe shut up for a while, while he still had his sanity. The woman talked more than any three other people he knew. It didn’t help his mood any that lately she seemed to be getting under his skin more and more. Not just because of how much she talked, but just by being. There was an itch growing within him, an itch he didn’t much care for and one he knew he couldn’t scratch. Ever.

  His voice was stony, completely devoid of emotion. “Not from where I’m looking.”

  And just where is that? she was tempted to ask, not that she figured he would get her an answer. Hawk didn’t do well when it came to give and take. Everything she knew about Jack Hawkins she’d gotten by hacking into his personnel file.

  Okay, she had to admit that the man hadn’t had an easy time of it. Orphaned at a young age when a drug dealer killed both of his parents, Hawk had swiftly been incorporated into the system when no relatives came to claim him. In effect he’d been given a one-way ticket into hell, to survive as best he could.

  That he’d gone on to become a police detective rather than a drug pusher himself was a credit to the man, and she would have been the first to praise him. However, as far as she could tell, he hadn’t made the full transition from the dark side to the light even after he’d reached this plateau. And after nine months in his company, she was still utterly committed to the quest of dragging the black-haired, icy-blue-eyed man into that light. Or die trying.

  It was on days like today that she was fairly certain it was going to wind up being the latter.

  Teri saw another corner coming and she braced herself. “Then maybe you need to take another look, a clearer one this time.”

  “Let’s just concentrate on the home invasion in progress,” Hawk advised without the benefit of giving her another glance.

  Teri held on as her partner took the next corner sharply. The man might behave like a monk who was determined to observe a vow of silence at all costs, but he certainly didn’t drive like one. She braced both hands against the dashboard as he took another quick right.

  He all but stole her breath away. The thought evoked an unconscious smile. There were days he did that when he wasn’t driving at all. But that was something she couldn’t allow to surface. It would throw the partnership right out the window.

  They were on their way to a home invasion that was still in progress, having been alerted to it thanks to a call made by one of the victims, a brave little ten-year-old girl who, as far as Teri was concerned, had more on the ball than most adults.

  It was the fifth such home invasion in Aurora in less than a month. This time, the robbery was taking place in an upscale apartment complex on the west side. Dispatch had the little girl, who was hiding with her cordless telephone receiver in a closet, on the line, allowing them to get a heads-up on what was happening as it took place.

  Dispatch had just narrowed down the perimeter and confirmed the address less than two minutes ago. It was enough to make Hawk press down on the accelerator the rest of the way.

  As cars frantically scrambled out of the path of the oncoming vehicle and its siren, Teri tried not to wonder if they were going to arrive in one piece.

  “Think it’s the same ones who pulled the past four jobs?” she asked, slamming her hands back on the dashboard as Hawk made a razor-sharp left.

  Horns blared at them from all directions, the sound blending in with the screeching of brakes.

  He didn’t even appear to think about the question. For once, his answer was fired out. “Probably.”

  Most people knew enough to quit while they were ahead, but those on the other side of the law were a special breed. The brains they were issued at birth weren’t the garden variety that enabled them to exercise restraint, to consider c
onsequences instead of gains.

  She shook her head as she saw scenery whiz by. Not a single red light had caught them. “I guess success makes you bold.”

  Hawk was tempted to ask just what it was that had made her so bold and brassy, but he knew he’d probably get an answer several paragraphs longer than he was willing to bargain for. So he kept the question to himself, letting it die a natural death.

  He wondered if she knew that he’d be willing to talk more if she talked less. Maybe it was just as well things went on this way. Talking led to places he wasn’t willing to go.

  For the life of him, Hawk had no idea what the chief had been thinking, teaming them up like this. The man was her uncle, for God’s sake, he had to have a clue as to what she was like. For his part, Hawk came home every night, thinking about headache tablets and missing his old partner, a man who knew the value of silence and didn’t speak until he was spoken to. In three years he and Edmunds hadn’t exchanged as many words as were wont to fly out of Cavanaugh’s mouth in three hours.

  He damned Edmunds for getting in harm’s way and then deciding the gunshot wound had been an omen that he’d used up his share of luck. Edmunds was now behind a desk, pushing a pen, which he found preferable to pushing up daisies, he said. The request for a desk job coincided with Cavanaugh’s partner retiring. From what he’d heard, it was her second retiree. Hell, he would have retired, too, if it meant finally getting a little peace and quiet—and putting a lid on this damn restlessness he felt inside.

  Reaching his destination, Hawk abruptly brought the unmarked squad car to a halt in front of the building in question. They had beaten the uniforms getting here, but then he’d expected nothing less. That had been his intent all along.

  The Wongs’ apartment, according to the terrified daughter who placed the call, was located on the second floor—2E. Hawk lost no time, jumping out of the vehicle and slamming the door in his wake. He didn’t bother to look over his shoulder to see if the blond, blue-eyed bane of his existence was behind him. There was no need. If he’d learned nothing else in the past nine months, it was that the woman stuck like glue.