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  Turning her chair, she wound up looking right up at him. She was closer than she was happy about, but she had nowhere to back up to. “‘We’?” she repeated. “You want to come with me?”

  Did she think he was just going to send her off? “We’re working the case together, aren’t we?” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Yes, but I just assumed there’d be a division of labor. I’d question the victims while you...worked on other possible leads,” she tagged on.

  Cavanaugh was smiling at her, the kind of smile that belonged on the face of an indulgent parent. That and having him standing closer to her than her shadow did nothing for her frame of mind.

  “What?” Scottie all but demanded.

  There was no way he was letting her off on her own. He still had no idea just what sort of a detective she was and since this was his case, he was responsible for it—and, in a way, for her.

  Still, he knew if he said anything of the sort, he’d have a problem on his hands. So, instead, he decided to appeal to her common sense.

  “Ever hear that old saying about two heads being better than one?” he asked.

  “What about it?” Her tone was wary.

  “Well,” he went on to point out needlessly, “each of those heads has a set of ears.”

  She was still waiting, but she was also resigning herself to being teamed up with Cavanaugh. She would have to be careful with her questions, she thought.

  She conceded. “No argument.”

  His grin grew wider. “Finally,” he couldn’t resist saying. “Anyway,” he quickly continued, “one of us might hear something the other doesn’t when we question the victims again. Sometimes, the slightest thing could lead to solving the crime.”

  He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t already thought on her own. She’d resisted the idea of having Cavanaugh come with her when she questioned the victims because having him there would make her feel hemmed in and constricted. She wouldn’t be able to show any of the victims Ethan’s picture to see if they’d seen him in the vicinity—not without having her partner start asking her questions.

  But there was no way she could protest having him along without possibly arousing his suspicions. “You’re right,” she told him. To her amazement, he began to write on his pad again. “Now what?” she demanded.

  “‘New partner can be fair and is willing to concede arguments,’” he read out loud, putting down his pen.

  “Are you going to keep doing that?” she demanded.

  “Only when you blow me away,” he told her. He meant it as a compliment. She wasn’t taking it as such.

  Instead her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “Don’t tempt me,” she muttered under her breath only to have him laugh.

  “I heard that,” he told her, amusement playing over his chiseled features.

  “Then you also heard that I said you could ask me two questions at the end of the day, so put that damn pad away,” she ordered. “Or that offer I just made will be null and void.”

  “Your wish is my command,” Bryce quipped, dropping the yellow, ruled pad into his center drawer and then closing the drawer.

  Scottie glanced at him one more time before they headed out. “If only,” she replied only to hear his resonant, full-bodied laugh in response.

  Taking the first three folders with him, Bryce led the way to the elevator.

  “By the way,” he said, pressing the down button for the elevator, “your presence created quite a stir at Malone’s last night. My brothers came up to me after you left and wanted to know what I had on you.”

  “‘Had on me’?” she repeated, not certain just what he was implying.

  “Yeah. They thought I had stumbled across some dire secret of yours that I threatened to make public unless you came to Malone’s with me. They didn’t think anything else would make you come.”

  Granted she had never set foot in the popular hangout before, but she hadn’t thought anyone had noticed. She wondered if Cavanaugh was just pulling her leg now. “You people have nothing better to do than talk about why I came to Malone’s?” she asked incredulously.

  “Cops always have something to talk about,” he reminded her. “The whole point in unwinding is having something inconsequential to talk about so that the heavy-duty subjects get put on hold for a little while. You know that.” He looked at his partner as they got on the elevator. Maybe Scottie had a different sort of escape mechanism. “Don’t you?” he questioned.

  She shrugged, dismissing the subject. “I don’t kick back.”

  He wasn’t sure if he believed her. But just in case she was telling him the truth, he said, “Well, that’s going to have to change.”

  What gave him the right to think he could just come in and reorchestrate her life just because she was working with him? “And just why is that?”

  He would have thought the answer was obvious to her. “Because if you don’t kick back, you’ll self-destruct. I’ve seen it more than once. If you’re going to be my partner—and it looks like you are—I’d like you to last for a while.”

  Several retorts rose to her lips, but all of them would just lead to arguments so she forced herself to say, “We’ll see.”

  Right now she needed Cavanaugh, for cover, if for no other reason. She needed to remain in Robbery until she satisfied herself that her brother was just being thoughtless and immature—which at the moment was the best-case scenario she could come up with.

  She didn’t want to think about worse case.

  “Yeah, we will,” Bryce agreed. “By the way,” he went on as they got off the elevator and headed for the rear exit, “I’ll drive.”

  She didn’t care about driving one way or another—or thought she didn’t until he had made that declaration. And then she felt her back going up. She’d been in charge for so long, she didn’t know how to take orders without feeling as if she was being slighted.

  “Why you?” she asked.

  Was she serious? he wondered. “Because I’d need a shoehorn to get into your car and because I’ve seen the way you drive and I’d like to live long enough to know if I’m going to be an uncle or an aunt,” he said as he led the way to his car.

  She quickened her pace to keep up. “Come again?”

  “Just my way of trying to lighten the mood,” he told her. “I was referring to finding out whether Duncan’s wife is going to give birth to a girl or a boy.”

  She vaguely remembered the conversation at Malone’s last night. Right now, her attention was focused on what he’d just said a minute ago. “What’s wrong with the way I drive?” she asked.

  “Nothing if you’re driving the getaway car after a high-stakes bank robbery,” he told her.

  Meaning he thought she drove too fast, Scottie thought. She took offense at that. She only drove as fast as it seemed safe. “You’re exaggerating,” she informed him coolly.

  “For once, no, I’m not,” he told her with finality. And then, for the sake of the fledgling partnership and because he wasn’t the type to walk all over someone’s feelings unless absolutely necessary, he said, “Okay, how’s this for a reason? Because I’m lead detective on the case.”

  Scottie shrugged. In her experience, most lead detectives preferred to be driven than drive.

  “Still not a good reason,” she informed him, getting in on the passenger side of his vehicle, “but have it your way.”

  “Thanks.” Bryce said the lone word with feeling, as if they were having a regular conversation and he was actually thanking her for something. He went so far as to put the key into the ignition and then he turned to her to ask, “You went through the files yesterday, right?”

  Why was he asking her that? He’d given her the files and he’d seen her go through them. For the sake of harmony and not coming across
any more combative than he probably already thought of her, Scottie refrained from saying as much and instead just said, “Right.”

  “Any thoughts?”

  The question struck her as rather vague. “About who did it?”

  He started up his vehicle and pulled out of the parking spot. “About any of it. Anything you read stick out, in your opinion?”

  She did a quick review of what she’d read. “The break-ins all occurred around the same time of day. They all occurred when there was no one home. And they all occurred in houses that were located in the upscale area of Aurora.”

  And considering that all the neighborhoods in the city were deemed to be upper-middle class, that was saying a lot.

  “Anything else?” he asked her.

  Scottie looked at him. By his tone, she knew there was something else but she was temporarily drawing a blank. “Should there be?”

  “They all had insurance.”

  Where was he going with this? “You think there was collusion?” she asked.

  “Could be something to explore,” Bryce suggested.

  She looked at his profile in silence for a long moment.

  Feeling her eyes on him, it was his turn to ask, “What?”

  “I guess you’re not just another pretty face, after all,” she deadpanned.

  She was rewarded with the sound of his rich laughter. She hated to admit it, but it really did have a nice sound.

  “I think we’re having our first moment, Scottie,” he told her, amused as well as relieved to discover that she did have a sense of humor.

  “If you say so,” she replied.

  He glanced at her then back to the road. The impression of his smile lasted awhile in her mind’s eye.

  “I say so,” he acknowledged.

  Scottie did her best to block out his presence as well as his smile. She had a string of break-ins to solve—and a wayward brother to possibly save. There was no room for a devastatingly handsome detective in that mix.

  Chapter 7

  “I suppose you’re going to want to ask all the questions,” Scottie said as they approached their first break-in victims’ house, an impressive-looking, custom-made home.

  “No, we can take turns,” Bryce told her. “But I’ll start,” he said as he took out his ID and rang the doorbell.

  Scottie followed suit, taking out hers just as the front door opened.

  An average looking man in his late fifties stood in the doorway. He eyed them a bit warily. “Yes?”

  “Detectives Cavanaugh and Scott, sir,” Bryce said, introducing himself and Scottie. “We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding the recent break-in you experienced.”

  “Don’t you people talk to each other?” Donald Taylor asked irritably as he looked from one ID to the other. “I already gave my statement to the police officer who responded to our call. And to the detective he called in. And to the insurance company, so we could eventually be reimbursed. Frankly, I’m tired of talking about it.” He continued to hold the door ajar. “Myra and I just want to put the whole thing behind us.”

  Bryce put his foot in the doorway to keep the man from closing the door on them.

  “We understand that, sir,” he told the software CEO, “but you might have heard in the news that yours was apparently the first in a series of break-ins occurring in Aurora.”

  The expression on the man’s face said he found that piece of information annoying, as well. “Yes, I heard. You people are really having trouble doing your job, aren’t you?” he scoffed.

  “Which is why we’d like your help,” Scottie put in before the exchange devolved into an altercation of heated words.

  A mild interest flickered in the break-in victim’s eyes as he looked in her direction. “I can’t see what I can do,” he told the two detectives.

  “If you could just go over everything one more time, something might come to light that was overlooked before,” Bryce suggested patiently.

  It was obvious that the theft victim’s back went up. “You think I’m hiding something?” the man demanded angrily.

  “No,” Scottie assured him soothingly. “It’s just that things come back to us at different intervals. You might remember something now that you didn’t when you were first giving your statement.”

  Taylor frowned, thinking her words over. “Sounds reasonable, I guess.”

  “Stop being so antagonistic, Donald. They’re only trying to do their job,” his wife admonished, sweeping into the foyer and drawing the door open. “Please, won’t you come in?” the woman invited. “My husband’s used to people cowering at the sound of his voice. Donald forgets that not everyone works for him.” She gave her husband a withering look then beckoned the detectives into the house.

  Myra Taylor led them into a tastefully—and expensively—decorated living room with eighteen-foot vaulted ceilings. Taking a seat on a wide sectional, she indicated the love seat opposite it.

  “So,” Mrs. Taylor said, settling in, “how can we help?”

  “Is this going to get my coin collection back?” Taylor wanted to know before another word was uttered. “The insurance claim adjuster said they’d be cutting a check to cover my loss but there’s no way that money is going to begin to cover it,” he complained adamantly.

  “Donald’s a coin collector from way back,” his wife confided. It was easy to see she didn’t share her husband’s enthusiasm about the collection. “He liked telling everyone about them. Showed them off at the drop of a hat.” She frowned disapprovingly. “I knew it would only be a matter of time before someone tried to steal them,” she declared knowingly.

  “They didn’t just try,” her husband snapped, irritated. “They succeeded.”

  Not wanting this to turn into a family argument, Bryce quickly stepped in.

  “Why don’t you walk us through that day?” he suggested. “And then, if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like a list of what was taken.”

  Taylor’s irritation grew. “I already gave that to the insurance company,” he protested.

  “I made a copy,” Myra cheerfully volunteered, getting up. “I can get it now.”

  Bryce stopped her by assuring the woman, “After we go over the events of that day will be fine, Mrs. Taylor.”

  In quick, staccato sentences, Taylor went over coming home from a meeting in the late afternoon the day of the break-in and not realizing at first that anything had been taken.

  “I noticed that the back door wasn’t locked,” Myra spoke up.

  Her husband shot her an annoyed look. “Yeah, after we saw that, I decided to check the safe in the master bedroom to see if anything was taken.” His scowl intensified. “Everything in there was gone.”

  “Everything?” Bryce questioned. “Could you be a little more specific?”

  “Yeah, coins, jewelry, cash. Everything,” Taylor emphasized grudgingly.

  Scottie wondered if the house had been deliberately targeted. If Taylor had bragged about his coin collection, he might have also mentioned that he kept cash in the safe, as well.

  “How much cash?” she asked.

  His wife spoke up before Taylor could answer the question. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  The amount sounded a little excessive, Bryce thought. “Do you usually keep that much available cash in the house?”

  “It wasn’t ‘in the house,’ it was in the safe,” Taylor corrected. “And, yes, I do. I like to feel that if anything unexpected comes up, I can deal with it.”

  And how many people did he tell that to, Bryce wondered. That would definitely tempt a lot of cash-strapped people. “You said you had home insurance?”

  “Yes, mainly for my jewelry,” Myra interjected, “but it covered the coin collection, too.”

  “Not really,�
� Taylor grumbled. “There were pieces in the collection that were irreplaceable—and priceless as far as I was concerned,” he declared sullenly.

  “We’re going to try to get your collection back for you, Mr. Taylor, as well as your jewelry, Mrs. Taylor,” Scottie told the couple. “Now we just have a few more questions—”

  Mrs. Taylor looked far more cooperative than her husband. “Ask away,” she urged.

  * * *

  Getting answers to the “few more questions” took longer than either Scottie or her new partner expected. Consequently it seemed like hours before they were able to finally take their leave of the couple.

  Tired before, Scottie felt definitely drained as she and Bryce drove away from the three-story, custom-designed home.

  Bryce blew out a breath as they put distance between themselves and the victims. “Well, that’s definite proof that money doesn’t buy happiness,” he commented. Glancing in Scottie’s direction, he asked, “Want to stop for lunch?”

  “What I want is to go question the second victim,” she told him.

  He didn’t feel he’d learned anything new questioning the Taylors, but that didn’t mean talking to the victims was a waste of time. Obviously, Scottie seemed to think it was worthwhile.

  “The number’s in the file,” he told her. “Call and see if he’s home.”

  “Apparently he’s not,” she told Bryce after her third attempt to reach victim number two went to voice mail. With a sigh, she put away her cell phone.

  “Now can we go get something to eat, or do you want to jump to victim number three?” Bryce asked.

  She didn’t want Cavanaugh to think she was being unduly obsessed with the break-ins. He might find that suspect, so she switched gears.

  “Are you one of those people who gets grumpy if he’s not fed regularly?” she asked him.