Cavanaugh's Bodyguard Read online

  She and Josh hadn’t even gotten halfway across the lab to the door when her cell phone began ringing. Pulling it out of her pocket, Bridget absently glanced down at the tiny screen as she opened the phone. Brenda’s image appeared under Caller ID.

  There had to be some mistake, Bridget thought as she placed the phone to her ear. Was there a glitch in her phone?

  “Cavanaugh,” she said uncertainly.

  “Right back at you,” she heard Brenda say.

  Turning around to face the woman at the computer, the phone still held against her ear, Bridget looked at Brenda quizzically. Slowly, she hit End and returned the phone to her pocket.

  “You’re calling me?” she questioned.

  Brenda looked at her innocently. “You said to call you when I had something.”

  “You have something?” Josh asked, stunned. The woman couldn’t have been here for very long. Just how fast did she work?

  “I wouldn’t be calling you if I didn’t,” Brenda said with a trace of seriousness.

  Bridget shook her head in awed disbelief. “You are an amazing woman.”

  “So I keep telling Dax,” Brenda answered with a laugh, as she pulled up the screen for them to look at. “Apparently our grieving fiancé dropped out of medical school when his girlfriend was killed. He disappeared off the grid for almost a year, then surfaced. From the tax forms I pulled up, he bounced around from one menial part-time job to another, never staying very long at any of them.”

  That could be someone who was heartbroken and couldn’t move on emotionally—or someone who was trying not to get caught, Bridget reasoned.

  “What’s he doing now?” Josh wanted to know.

  Brenda went to another screen. “Well, for almost the last two years, he’s been working at a nonprofit medical transport service. It’s underwritten by the Warner Foundation—” a charitable organization that was run by one of the state’s more high-profile billionaires “—and for a nominal fee, the service provides transportation for elderly citizens who don’t drive as well as for the handicapped.”

  “Sounds pretty selfless,” Bridget commented. Maybe too selfless, she added silently. She saw the expression on Brenda’s face. “I’m sensing that there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

  “Could be,” the other woman allowed. “From what I can see, nobody who was interviewed at the time of the student’s murder could remember her actually being engaged. This includes her best friend and her parents.”

  That still didn’t make the man a murderer, but it did raise the odds that he had been lying about his whereabouts the night of the murder. Bridget’s interest was immediately piqued.

  “Oh?”

  “Anyone question this guy about where he was the night his so-called fiancée was killed—and why no one knew she was his fiancée?” Josh asked. Standing behind Brenda, he looked at the screen, but saw nothing there that answered his questions.

  Brenda scrolled down the screen before answering him. Reading, she said, “Yes. According to this, the investigating detective did ask. He had an alibi for the time of the murder and it seems that the engagement had just happened. He told the detective that he had just asked her the day before and when she said yes, he gave her his grandmother’s engagement ring.”

  “Let me guess,” Bridget said, picking up the thread of events. “When they found the victim, she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring.”

  Brenda nodded. “Give the lady a cigar. And,” she added, “there was no telltale line on her ring finger to indicate that she’d been wearing a ring. But then, if he’d just given it to her the day before, there wouldn’t have been one formed yet.”

  “Conveniently,” Josh murmured.

  He had a feeling that the man had made everything up. Perhaps had even spun an elaborate fantasy for himself involving him and the girl. When she burst his bubble, he killed her for it.

  “We have a picture of this grieving fiancé?” Bridget asked.

  “Just his DMV photo,” Brenda answered, pulling it up.

  Bridget stared at the small picture. For a moment, there was this feeling that she’d seen the man before, but she couldn’t nail it down. And then it came to her. “Who does that look like?” she asked Josh eagerly.

  Josh took another, closer look. This time, the similarities registered. “The sketch that architect did for us of the creep who’d been stalking his fiancée.”

  Bridget grinned. “Bingo!” Turing toward Brenda, she requested, “Let me see the address to this transport service.” When Brenda pulled it up, Bridget turned the screen toward her, then jotted the address down on her well-worn, dog-eared pad. Finished, she tore off the page and surprised Josh by holding it out to him. “Here, take Langford or Kennedy, whoever you find first, and see what the people running the transport service can tell you about our ‘employee of the month.’”

  Folding the address, Josh slipped it into his shirt pocket. They all but had the guy. Hanging back like this wasn’t Bridget’s style. She would have taken the address and run with it. After all, she was the lead on this case and he knew how much catching this guy meant to her.

  “You’re not coming?” he asked.

  But Bridget shook her head. “In case he’s currently at the service, I don’t want him to see me.”

  And then he understood. Josh suppressed a wave of anger. He’d thought they’d put this to rest. “You’re not still talking about that fool idea of yours, are you?”

  Brenda stopped typing. “What fool idea?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Bridget answered automatically.

  For once, because he was so angry at the very idea of her risking her life, Josh didn’t hold his peace and back her up the way he usually did. “She wants to dye her hair red and set herself up as bait for this bastard,” he told Brenda.

  It was obvious that Brenda didn’t like the idea any more than he did. “Maybe you’ll get enough on this guy from what his boss says to arrest him.”

  “And maybe not,” Bridget countered. She didn’t understand why everyone was so against this. It would make everything so much simpler. They needed proof, and while the sketch was helpful, it wasn’t anything they could use in court. It was all circumstantial. “Having him try to add me to his collection of victims would make nailing him for these murders a sure thing.”

  Josh snapped at her, “It’s not worth risking your life for.”

  The way she saw it, either she did it, or the dirtbag killed someone else. “You’d rather risk another victim’s life instead?” she asked.

  Josh threw up his hands. Sensing an ally in the woman behind the computer, he deferred to her. “Brenda, you talk some sense into her.”

  But instead of adding her voice on the side of common sense, Brenda surprised Josh by shaking her head.

  “You’re a Cavanaugh, all right. No doubt about it.” Looking at Josh, she explained, “There’s no talking to them when they get like this. They do what they want to, what they believe is right. Trust me,” she told Bridget’s agitated partner, “I know. Heads like rocks, the whole lot of them.”

  Josh’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the source of his irritation. “I could tie you up,” he threatened Bridget.

  “We’ll talk kinky later,” Bridget promised. “Right now, we’ve got a killer to bring in.”

  Brenda laughed at Bridget’s initial comment, then looked down at the computer screen and pretended to be engrossed in what she saw there.

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything else,” she told them as they left.

  Bridget’s mind was already racing. “Okay, I’ll come with you, but I’ll stay in the car, out of sight.”

  “Good enough.” He knew she couldn’t just hang back. At least this way, he could be sure she wasn’t doing something stupid. “If the guy’s there,” she was saying, “bring him in for questioning.”

  He didn’t like the tone of her voice. She was leaving something unsaid. “And if he’s not there?”

  She gave him
a serene smile. “Then maybe I’ll get to find out what I look like as a redhead.”

  They were going around in circle. “I don’t like this,” he growled.

  The smile faded immediately. Bridget became very serious. “I’m not asking for your permission, Youngblood,” she informed him crisply. “If this guy is our killer, he’s got to be stopped.”

  “No argument,” he agreed. “But why do you have to be the bait?”

  “Somebody has to,” she said simply, “and I’m not about to ask someone else to do what I’m not willing to do myself.” Bridget stopped walking just before they reached the up elevator. No one else was around as far as she could see. For a moment, she allowed herself to get personal. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.” The scowl remained on his face. “I can put it in writing if you’d like,” she added when he made no response.

  “What I’d like is for you to stop acting like some kind of superhero who thinks she’s bulletproof,” he said.

  “Too late,” she told him cheerfully. The elevator arrived and she walked in ahead of him, pressing for the squad room floor. “I’m already taking ‘bends steel in her bare hands’ classes.”

  He grabbed hold of her shoulders, then struggled not to shake her. “Damn it, Bridget, this isn’t some game or a joke.”

  “I know that,” she answered him quietly, her tone deadly serious. “I’ve read all the autopsy reports. Besides,” she went on, allowing a hint of a smile to return as she tried to lighten the mood for him, “you’ll be lurking in the shadows, remember? You won’t let anything happen to me.”

  He only wished he had her confidence.

  * * *

  With the car parked inconspicuously out of the way, Bridget sat in the backseat, listening to Josh and Kennedy talk to the man who managed the transport service. The three were inside the building located several hundred feet away.

  They had stopped back at the lab to pick up some equipment—tiny equipment—before heading out to interview the manager of the transport service, Gerald Green’s boss. Josh was wearing the same sort of transmitter/receiver that she was, a tiny device that once inserted inside the ear could easily be missed. It allowed her to hear without being seen, just the way she wanted it.

  Right now, as she listened to the manager speak, she frowned. Speaking with only a slight foreign accent, the man had nothing but glowing words of praise to say about Gerald Green.

  “I wish I had five of him,” the man enthused. “All our clients love him. They call to tell me that he’s gentle, polite and I guess most important of all, that he listens to them when they talk. The guy’s clearly a saint,” he went on.

  Bridget seriously debated marching into the building to ask what the manager was smoking if he didn’t stop heaping all these accolades on the former medical student.

  But as she listened, the manager only continued listing Green’s virtues.

  “He works the odd hours no one else wants, especially the night shifts, and he always returns the rigs looking even cleaner than when he first took them out.” It was clear that Green had won the manager’s heart with this single act of cleanliness. “I have to keep after the others to make sure they clean up the vans, but not him. Gerald’s a self-starter. Why are you asking all these questions about him?” he finally asked.

  There was silence for a moment as Josh searched for a way to phrase this without alerting the serial killer’s possible unwitting ally.

  “We’re investigating a cold case,” Josh explained. “Gerald Green’s fiancée was murdered four years ago and some new evidence has come to light.”

  “Wow,” the manager said, obviously stunned by the information. “I didn’t know. He never said anything about having a fiancée or her being killed. But then, he doesn’t talk much about himself. His attention is always on the clients he picks up and delivers. That’s why he’s so popular. Everyone asks for him, even when he’s off duty. Like I said, wish I had five of him.”

  “No, you don’t,” Bridget muttered to herself.

  “Tell me, was he on a run last night?” Josh asked.

  The manager didn’t even have to check his schedule. It was apparent that he’d already checked his log when he’d come in this morning.

  “He was on duty, but no one called in according to the phone log. He left a note saying it was slow and that he was taking the rig to one of those do-it-yourself stalls to give the van a good once-over.”

  Yeah, I just bet he is, Josh thought. Out loud he asked, “Did anyone see him come back?”

  “We just had the one guy on duty at night—Gerald,” the manager conformed. “We usually don’t get calls, unless someone wants to be taken to the E.R. They call us when it’s not really a 911 type of emergency,” the man explained.

  “Where is Green now?” Bridget heard Kennedy ask the manager.

  “He’s working a double shift,” the manager answered. Pulling up a screen on the office computer, he located the driver. “Said he needed the money. He went out on a run over an hour ago to pick up Mrs. Phelps on Baker Street and bring her over to her daughter’s house—we do that sort of thing to pick up some extra money when it’s slow,” he explained.

  And then, frowning slightly, the man glanced at his watch. “But he should have been back by now. We don’t have the van wait for our clients. We drop them off, then go back out and pick them up when it’s time.” He looked again at his watch even though not more than half a minute had gone by. “Don’t know what could be keeping him.”

  The manager laughed to himself. “Unless, of course, he’s off somewhere cleaning his van again. He’s practically OCD about that,” he confided to the detectives. “Hates to see anything out of place or dirty. Takes a lot of pride in keeping his vehicle absolutely spotless. You could probably eat off those floors.”

  Or kill on them, Josh couldn’t help adding silently. “Well, you’ve been very helpful,” he said aloud to the manager. He and Kennedy rose to their feet. “We’d appreciate you giving us a call when Mr. Green gets in,” Josh said. He took out one of his business cards and placed it on the manager’s desk blotter.

  “Sure thing.” The manager left the card in the center of his desk. He shook his head again in wonder. “A murdered fiancée. Who would have thought? Just shows you how closed-mouthed the guy could be. If it’d happened to me, I’d tell everybody. Get a little play out of the sympathy something like that would generate, know what I mean?” he asked Josh with a wink.

  “Yeah, I do,” Josh answered, silently adding, Unfortunately. Maybe they should be looking at the manager, too. The man certainly didn’t seem upset by the mention of a murder, only that Green had kept it to himself. Takes all kinds, he decided.

  “So, what do you think?” Kennedy asked him the moment they walked out of the small, crammed office.

  “Compulsively cleaning his van every night before bringing it in?” Josh repeated. “Hell, I think we just found our suspect.” He did a quick review of the facts in his head. “Between this and that sketch, I think we’ve got enough to have the local ADA convince a judge to issue us a search warrant for the man’s home and his so-called squeaky clean van.”

  “Aren’t a couple of the Cavanaughs married to judges?” Kennedy asked him. “And the ADA,” the older detective suddenly remembered, “she’s a Cavanaugh, too, right? The chief of D’s daughter, Janelle, as I recall.”

  Josh nodded. There was no denying it, the Cavanaughs were a very useful family to know.

  “Does make things a little easier that way,” he admitted. Personally, he couldn’t understand why Bridget resisted the association for even a moment. If it had been him, he would have changed his return labels in a heartbeat. It was a win-win situation as far as he could see.

  As he and Kennedy drew closer to where they’d left the car, Josh frowned. Quickening his pace, he hurried over to the backseat.

  “Hey, where’s the fire?” Kennedy called out, then protested, “I can’t run
, Youngblood. My knees gave out five years ago.”

  Coming to a stop beside Josh, Kennedy’s attention was focused on him. He noted that Josh was scowling. “What’s the matter?” Kennedy asked.

  Josh gestured toward the backseat. “Notice anything missing?” he bit off, irritated.

  The car was exactly where he’d left it. And it was empty, which was not exactly as he’d left it.

  “Where’s Bridget?” Kennedy asked.

  “That’s the question,” Josh verified, fuming as he looked around the immediate area. He didn’t see her—or anyone—around.

  Kennedy was obviously not as disturbed about Bridget’s absence as he was. He shrugged his slightly bowed shoulders and guessed, “Maybe she had to take a break, you know, go looking for a ladies’ room or something.”

  But Josh was shaking his head as he scanned the immediate area. “The woman’s a camel. We were on a stakeout once and I swear she didn’t go once in twenty-four hours, even though she had like four cups of coffee.” Josh looked around the backseat. There didn’t appear to have been a struggle. She’d left on her own, he thought. Still, he had a bad, uneasy feeling about this. “Where the hell did she get to?” he demanded.

  “Why don’t you call her on her cell and ask her?” Kennedy suggested.

  Annoyed that he hadn’t thought of that himself, Josh pressed the second programmed number on his keypad and listened to the phone on the other end ring.

  Once.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  “Damn it,” he fumed. “When we find her and she’s all right, I’m going to kill her for taking off like that.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Kennedy quipped.

  “‘Reasonable’ is wasted on that woman,” Josh complained. “She thinks she’s bulletproof.”

  “Okay, let’s spread out and look for her,” Kennedy proposed. “She’s on foot so she couldn’t have gotten very far.”

  “Yeah,” Josh responded with absolutely no conviction in his voice.