Cavanaugh’s Woman Page 13

  “Not today. Not if you listen to me.” His heels against the wall, Shaw moved slowly toward her until he was within arm’s length of her. As Moira held her breath, Shaw stretched his hand out toward the younger woman. “See, here’s my hand. Can you feel my fingers?”

  Plastered against the wall, eyes fixed on the top of the tall building in the distance, Carrie seemed afraid to breathe. “Yes.”

  “Okay, this is going to be slow.” He spoke to her as if he were trying to gentle a wild deer, knowing that any sudden move on her part could be the last for both of them. “I’m going to work my fingers along your hand until I’ve got your wrist. Then you’re going to move your feet—very slowly—side-ways.”

  “I can’t,” Carrie sobbed.

  “Yes, you can,” Moira told her firmly. “You can do this, Carrie.”

  “We’ve got all night,” Shaw said quietly, “so you don’t have to hurry.”

  “Yes, I do.” Carrie’s voice quavered. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  It was so ludicrous, so fundamental, he almost laughed. “Then maybe you’ll move a little faster. The pace is yours, Carrie.”

  She ventured a look down. Gasping, she tried to melt even farther against the wall. “I’ll fall.”

  “I won’t let you fall, Carrie.”

  There were tears in Carrie’s voice. They matched the ones clawing in Moira’s throat. “You promise?”

  “I promise,” Shaw insisted.

  Moira held her breath, watching. Praying. It felt as if everything was happening in slow motion.

  Holding Carrie’s wrist, talking her through every second, Shaw worked his way back along the ledge inch by torturous inch.

  They were almost there when her sister took a misstep, her foot slipping. For a horrendous moment, it looked as if it was all over, as if Carrie would plunge from the ledge, taking Shaw with her.

  Moira’s heart stopped. She’d never felt so helpless in her life.

  And then, miraculously, it was over. Shaw had edged his way back into the hotel suite, his fingers locked in an iron grip around Carrie’s wrist. Less than a second later, Carrie was inside the room, as well.

  The moment she came through the window, Carrie sank to her knees, every bone in her body liquefying. She began to sob.

  Moira was there to throw her arms around her sister, holding the younger woman to her.

  “It’s all right, Carrie, it’s all right. The worst is over.” Moira looked over her sister’s head at Shaw. She knew enough about the law to know that all attempted suicides were supposed to be reported. She didn’t want Carrie being taken into custody, not when her emotions were so fragile. “Right?”

  He understood her meaning perfectly. “Right. Why don’t you help your sister into the bathroom?”

  Nodding, she helped Carrie up to her feet, then took her to the bathroom. Leaving her there, Moira came out and closed the door behind her.

  She searched Shaw’s face. “You don’t have to report this, do you?”

  “I should, but…” He shook his head. “She’s got enough to deal with. Just make sure she doesn’t try this kind of thing again, because then I will report it. For her own good.”

  “I understand.” She allowed herself a smile as she looked at him. When she thought of what could have happened tonight, her blood ran cold. But everything had turned out all right. Because he had insisted on coming with her. “You realize you’re my hero, don’t you?”

  “Why?” A hint of a smile played on his lips. “Because I went out on a ledge for you?” In more ways than one, he added silently, thinking of earlier. She’d made him emotionally vulnerable and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  “Yeah.”

  Taking hold of his lapels, she rose on her toes and kissed him with all the pent-up emotions churning inside of her, seeking release. The kiss threatened to ignite right there.

  He let it go on as long as he dared. Backing up, Shaw blew out a breath.

  “One more like that and I’m not going to be able to leave.” And then he looked over her shoulder toward the bathroom. There were more important things going on tonight than satisfying his reawakened sex drive. “You going to be all right with her?”

  Pressing her lips together, she nodded. “I think the worst is over. When you got her to agree to come back in, I knew we’d be all right.”

  He told himself to get going. He found himself lingering instead, taking her hands in both of his. Lengthening the moment and hardly recognizing himself. “Did you mean what you said about always wanting to be an aunt?”

  The smile began in her eyes, or maybe her inner core, ultimately shining on her face. “I love kids.”

  “Putting that mothering instinct of yours to work,” he guessed. He didn’t want to explore the other feeling that had just popped up, the one of wanting to share children with her. He’d never wanted kids before. Where the hell had that come from?

  “Something like that.” He released her hands. She walked him to the door, wishing he could remain. Knowing he couldn’t. Carrie needed her. Whatever else was going on right now was going to have to wait. “Here, take my car.” She handed him the keys.

  “Don’t you need it?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll have someone drive me.” She looked at him, tears coming into her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  He took the keys she offered. Standing on the threshold, he ran his thumb along her lower lip. And felt something quickening inside of him. “You already did.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He looked at her blankly. “The ride-along,” she prompted. “It’s my last day.” A pang accompanied the words.

  “Yeah, right,” he muttered, turning away. Somehow that fact had gotten lost tonight. “Call me if she uses the window to go out and get a breath of fresh air,” he told her as he walked down the hall. If he turned around to look at her, he knew he wouldn’t leave.

  “I’ll do that,” Moira promised. She heard the bathroom door opening behind her. “But I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

  How had a week gone by that fast, he wondered as he walked down the hall to the elevator. He reminded himself that he’d been the one who’d wanted it to sail by in the first place.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Truer words had never been written, he decided as he got into the elevator.

  Shaw watched her walking toward him, absorbing every nuance, every sway of her hips. He’d come to the precinct early, just to be in this chair, taking in this view. “So how is she?”

  Moira was touched that he cared enough to ask. “I left her with Edwin. He’s in charge of preproduction,” she was quick to explain. “Edwin will keep Carrie busy all day.” She’d told him to do as much.

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Lot of work being a stand-in?”

  Moira smiled. Because Reese wasn’t there yet, she sat down in the chair next to Shaw’s desk.

  “There will be for her. Carrie and I were up half the night, making plans for the new baby. By tonight, she’s going to be so exhausted, the only place she’ll feel like crawling to is bed.” Reaching over the desk, she put her hand on his. “I really can’t thank you enough for last night.”

  Coming to join them, Reese stopped dead. He looked from one to the other, clearly feeling out of the loop and convinced he knew which way that loop was swaying. “I miss something last night?”

  Moira never missed a beat. “I was talking about going to the Shannon. It had such wonderful atmosphere. Perfect for the movie.”

  “It was my idea to take you there,” Reese reminded her.

  “Yes, it was, and I really should be thanking you, not him.”

  Reese slowly nodded his head, not completely taken in. “Maybe. Unless there’s something else to be thanking him for.”

  This time, Shaw was the one who stepped up. “The pleasure of my company.”

  “Ha. That’ll be the day.” Reese hooted. “You know—” his
voice dropped to a confidential level “—I don’t know about my partner, but I’m going to miss having you ride along with us.”

  “Thank you.” She rose, ready to get started. “By the way, we are doing some local shooting and if it’s all right with your captain, we could use you and Shaw and some of the others as extras.”

  Reese grinned from ear to ear, tickled by the idea. “Sounds good to me.”

  She noticed that Shaw made no comment. Just as he hadn’t attempted to add anything about missing her once she was gone. She was surprised that it bothered her, but told herself that it was just his way, that he’d more than proven himself by what he’d done for her sister. As for the other, well, she knew there were no strings attached to their relationship.

  As she walked out with the two men for the last time, Moira found herself longing for strings.

  Chapter Twelve

  Shaw waited until the bartender refilled Moira’s glass and then moved on to serve someone else before he made his observation.

  “You look disappointed.”

  They’d been here for close to an hour, most of the time being spent with her telling the officers who dropped by the table that she truly felt privileged to have taken part in their world for the past week. Stopping at the Shannon had come at the end of rather an uneventful day. They had followed leads that had gone nowhere. Shaw and his partner were no further along in their investigation than they had been several days ago.

  Yes, she thought, she was disappointed. For more reasons than one. But she hadn’t thought it showed that obviously. She offered him a self-depreciating smile. “I was hoping for some spectacular bust to cap off my week’s career.”

  Shaw pushed aside his beer. The half-full glass was his second of the evening and his limit. He got more of a kick just looking at her.

  He shared her disappointment, but he knew the case would come together by and by. He wasn’t about to back off until it did. “You spend months, years on some cases, gathering information, putting things in place, and then, when you least expect it and aren’t looking, things align themselves just right.”

  She felt a shiver sliding down her back. For a moment, the rest of the people in the small, friendly bar seemed to fade into the walls. “Are you talking about a bust, or love?”

  He laughed softly, looking into his glass and watching the lights dance around on the pale amber liquid. “A bust. Why?”

  She gave a half shrug. It had to be her state of mind. She was reading too much into things. “Because the same words could be applied to love. If I believed in love,” she added.

  Shaw studied her for a long moment. The question, he knew, was loaded. But he couldn’t make himself walk away from it. “You don’t believe in love?”

  Her smile found him where he lived, then undulated up and down through his system.

  “I sell make-believe for a living.” She thought of her unorthodox childhood. “I always have, as far back as I can remember.” And because she did, there were times when she felt as if nothing was real. Like now. “Love is a sleight of hand, an illusion.”

  “Damn, but that sounds awfully dark for someone so sunny.” He leaned over the table, creating an aura of intimacy within a crowd of people. “Or is that sunniness an illusion, too?”

  There was a sadness in her this evening that caused her to be more introspective than normal. She realized that she really didn’t want this to end. That she wanted to go on seeing Shaw.

  Her own weakness upset her.

  “Partially,” she admitted. “For my own sake. If I keep on smiling, keep on projecting positive thoughts, maybe I’ll buy into it, too.” Her mouth curved. “At least for a little while.”

  Moira paused to sip a little more of the ginger ale she’d ordered. Someone came up to the table and asked her to sign an autograph. She obliged, signing one of the napkins as she took the time to talk to the burly man, saying how much she admired his work.

  “Keeping the peace, keeping people safe, doesn’t stop because someone yells ‘Cut,’ at the end of the day.” She handed the man the napkin. “You’re on duty 24/7. I don’t know how you do it.”

  The policeman went away grinning from ear to ear, holding the napkin as if it had turned into something precious.

  Shaw leaned back, watching the man rejoin his friends. “Well, he’s a lifelong fan now.” He turned back around to face her. “I don’t think his feet were touching the floor when he walked away.”

  She made no comment about the patrolman’s reaction. “I meant what I said. I don’t know how you do it. How you manage to fit in a life with all you do.”

  Shaw had been around it all his life. It had been the one bone of contention between his parents. His mother always felt his father spent too much time with his cases, not enough time with his family. His father had only managed to change his ways after his mother had disappeared.

  “You have to want to,” he told her simply.

  And the funny thing was, he was finding himself wanting to. Maybe it was because she wasn’t pushing for anything that he found himself thinking along those lines, he honestly didn’t know. All he knew was that when she finally left, he was going to miss her a great deal more than he ever thought he would.

  But “finally” wasn’t here yet and he was going to concentrate on the moment.

  Shaw moved closer to her, so that he didn’t have to shout. His question was only for her. “So, now what happens?”

  She thought of her schedule. “We start shooting Monday.”

  “No. I mean now.” He looked at her, emphasizing the word.

  Anticipation whispered through her. She ran her thumb along the glass’s moist side, leaving a trail. “I’m going to finish my ginger ale and go to my hotel room.” Moira raised her eyes to his. “Unless I get a better suggestion.”

  He wanted to take her home, but even that wasn’t simple. There were other things to consider. “What about your sister?”

  That he gave any thought to Carrie’s situation touched her more than she could ever begin to put into words. “Edwin took up most of her day and now I have her busy rehabilitating Amy.”

  According to the preproduction assistant, when she called him earlier today, the two girls, both needy in different ways, had hit it off immediately on the set. Moira had been quick to act on it, calling Carrie and asking for her “help” in keeping Amy from thinking about returning to the street. Carrie had been more than interested in hearing Amy’s story.

  Moira smiled fondly. It had been the perfect solution. “Carrie does very well with projects. I figured this would help them both out.”

  There was no doubt about it—Moira McCormick was not just another beautiful face. “You might be right.”

  Finishing her drink, she placed the glass on the table, pushing it with her fingertip until it butted up against his almost empty one. The next move was his. She knew where she wanted to spend the next part of the evening, but she wasn’t about to say it.

  He took his cue. Shaw laced his hand through hers. “Let’s go.”

  She looked at him innocently, so innocently that for a moment, he felt as if he’d misread her signals. “Where?”

  “My place.”

  She said nothing, only rose from her chair, her hand remaining in his. He led her out.

  Moira was vaguely aware of people moving out of their way as they made their way to the establishment’s front door. She was far more aware of her heart rate increasing with each step she took.

  They barely made it to his apartment door.

  Leaving the Shannon, Moira followed him in her vehicle, feeling that would be the simplest way to go even though she would have rather driven over in the same car, would have rather spent every moment she could in his company. There were precious and few enough of them for her to want to husband every second she could.

  The moment she parked her car, she was hurrying up to the cluster of apartments where his was nestled.

  Shaw waited for her at
the top of the stairs, his door already open.

  Dashing up the flight, when she reached the last step, Moira couldn’t help thinking the scene was right out of a movie.

  The scent of his cologne filling her head, the sound of crickets chirping in concert somewhere close by in the dark, she flung herself into Shaw’s arms, lost herself in his kiss. She allowed the heat that hovered about her to overtake her.

  She was vaguely aware that they made it inside, the closing door registering somewhere on the outer perimeter of her brain. The rest of her brain was completely taken up by thoughts of him, by sensations and emotions all associated with him.

  Waiting a second longer threatened her sanity. Fingers moving quickly, Moira tore off his clothing. Shirt, pants, shoes—they all went flying, ripped in some places when they offered resistance.

  He was gentler with her clothing, undoing buttons, taking time with zippers. Whether it was because she would need them again later to leave his apartment, or because he wasn’t on fire in the same way she was, Moira didn’t know, and there wasn’t enough brain power available to her at the moment for her to sort it out.

  All she knew was that since last night, the only thing she could think about was making love with him again. And again.

  But this time, at least part of it was going to be on her terms, she promised herself. She wanted to leave as much of an impression on him as he had left on her. She didn’t want to blend in with all the other women who had been in his life.

  Who would be in his life after she was gone.

  The thought drenched her with an incredible wave of sorrow and she struggled to get past it, all the while doing things to his body that he had done to hers until every secret was unlocked, every inch had been committed to memory through her sense of touch.

  The urgency between them grew, embracing them and taking command.

  Getting carried away, she wrapped herself around him and pushed him to the floor. She’d managed to jar an end table. There was the sound of something crashing as it found the same level they did.

  She didn’t bother looking in the direction of the crash. “I’ll pay for that,” she promised.