Cavanaugh Vanguard Page 8

  “Feel like swinging by Malone’s for a beer?” she asked as she sent a copy of the hotel’s guest list to her home computer. She wanted to get a head start on locating these people once she got home. There was a sense of urgency humming through her that she just couldn’t seem to shake. But she also needed a little downtime as well, which was why she was going to Malone’s.

  “Do I feel like it?” Del Campo echoed. “Hell yes,” the detective said with the enthusiasm of a man who had been envisioning a tall mug of beer shimmering before him all day.

  “Okay.” Finished, Brianna shut down her machine. “I’m heading there myself and—”

  “But I can’t,” Del Campo injected in a forlorn voice. He trudged to the squad room’s threshold like a man who had been drained of all hope. “If I don’t get home at a decent hour, Louisa is going to make me sleep in the tub—with the water still in it.”

  Brianna pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh at the image that created in her mind.

  “Sounds pretty soggy. What did you do to get her so angry at you?” She’d met Del Campo’s wife on several occasions, and the woman was nothing if not easygoing and sweet.

  “Two weeks of coming home late,” Del Campo confessed as he reached the hallway.

  “You’ve been doing overtime?” Brianna asked. Did their lieutenant have Del Campo working on another case in his spare time?

  “Maybe,” Del Campo said vaguely. And then he added, “At Malone’s.”

  Brianna grinned as she joined him at the elevator. “It’s starting to all make sense to me.”

  The elevator door opened, and they both got on. “Louisa wants me to put in some equal time parenting Joey.”

  “She has a very valid point,” Brianna told him. “Go home to your family while you still have one, Francisco.” They reached the ground floor and got out. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sure,” he answered sadly. “Have a drink for me—make it a double.”

  “Beers don’t have doubles,” Brianna reminded the detective.

  “Then make it a really tall glass.”

  It’ll probably be a short, quick one, she answered silently as she and Del Campo parted company. Francisco tended to park in the building’s front lot while she usually parked in the rear.

  Brianna walked back to her car quickly, even though she told herself that there was no real hurry. She doubted that her temporary partner had gone on to Malone’s the way she’d suggested. However, she was still going to go there herself. Not for the beer. As far as she was concerned, beer, a necessary evil, was the price she paid for the camaraderie of her fellow police officers.

  Her siblings and cousins had a tendency to turn up at Malone’s as well. She never knew who would turn up at the bar at any given time, but it was a sure bet that she’d see someone she knew. Kicking back at Malone’s was a good way to unwind around people who understood exactly what she was going through.

  In the job, there was a certain formality that had to be adhered to, and while she could kid around with her family members and other police personnel she knew, there were still lines that couldn’t be crossed. But at Malone’s, there were no lines. There were only men and women who wore the blue proudly and who bled the same color as she did.

  There was a certain comfort in being around people like that.

  The drive from the precinct to Malone’s was only a couple of blocks. As she approached, she saw that the bar’s parking lot was overflowing, as was the parking lot of the dry-cleaning business next door, even though the dry cleaner was closed for the night.

  Driving around, Brianna managed to find what appeared to be the last available spot in the area.

  Malone’s was doing very good business tonight. The establishment was never empty during business hours, but it was usually only teeming like this on a Friday or Saturday night.

  Brianna wondered if her new case had anything to do with the increase of traffic at Malone’s. Maybe finding bodies in the walls and speculating how they got there was, in an eerie way, good for business.

  That was cynical, she silently chided. Maybe Muldare really was rubbing off on her. That couldn’t be good. If anything, she was supposed to be rubbing off on him, not the other way around.

  The wall of noise hit her the second she opened the door. Brianna paused, catching her breath. It took her a minute to acclimate to the cacophony of dozens of raised voices, all vying to be heard over one another.

  Glancing toward the front of the establishment, she saw one of Malone’s newest owners, Dan Reynolds, his face slightly flushed, looking exceedingly happy. Dan was moving rather quickly for a man of his girth. A former police officer, he had a steely look about him despite his smile. It was a look that never really left an officer, even after retirement.

  She scanned the immediate area. She knew a lot of the people here tonight, but apparently Muldare was not among them.

  She might have known. Next time, she silently promised, she was going to handcuff him and drag him here herself.

  A movement behind the bar caught Brianna’s eye. When she looked in that direction, she realized that Dan was trying to catch her attention. Once he did, he pointed toward the very back of the establishment. Curious, she turned and glanced in that general direction.

  At first, she didn’t know what Dan was trying to direct her attention to. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

  And then she saw what Dan was pointing to.

  Or rather, whom.

  Son of a gun, Brianna thought. Maybe miracles do happen.

  When she finally reached the small table for two where Jackson Muldare was sitting, he greeted her with, “I was just about to give up on you. I figured I’d drink your beer, too, and then call it a night.”

  Brianna looked at her watch as she took the seat opposite him. Talk about being impatient. Not much time had gone by since he’d left the precinct.

  “How fast did you think I’d get here?” she asked Jackson.

  “Faster than this.” He gestured toward the only beer mug that had any brew in it. “I told Dan it was for you, so if it’s the wrong brand, blame him.”

  “I’m not a connoisseur,” she assured him. “As long as it’s not dark ale, I’m fine with it.” Taking a quick sip, she set the mug down again and looked at the table. There was nothing else on it except for his empty beer mug and hers. “You didn’t get anything to eat?”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you can be pretty demanding?” he asked her.

  He was doing it again, trying to distract her from getting an answer to the question she’d asked. “I’m not trying to be demanding—”

  “You could have fooled me,” Jackson responded philosophically.

  Refusing to let him distract her, or worse, to allow thoughts of him to dwell on her mind, Brianna pushed on. “But the whole point of getting you to stop here was so you—we,” she corrected before he could make another reference to her acting like a mother hen, “could get something to eat. Stay here—I’ll go order a couple of hamburgers.”

  As she pushed back her chair to get up, she all but bumped into Dan, who was right behind her, carrying a tray with two hamburgers on it as well as a basket of fries.

  There was amusement on Jackson’s face. “You were saying?”

  “That you are a source of constant surprise,” she told him evenly, even though several other descriptive words rose in her mind as well.

  “Your friend here said to hold off making the food until you got here.” Dan placed a hamburger in front of each of them, then put the basket of fries on the side. “Good thing I’m fast,” Dan told Brianna with a touch of pride.

  “Good thing,” Brianna agreed, flashing a smile at the retired patrolman.

  “Okay, I gotta get back,” Dan told them, tucking the tray under his arm. He looked back toward the bar a
nd shook his head. “That new bartender my partner hired looks like he’s having trouble keeping up,” he said just before he hurried back to the front of the room.

  Brianna turned back toward Jackson. “You could have told me that you’d ordered the food instead of letting me go on like that.”

  “And miss seeing your eyes flash like lightning during a summer storm when you really get going?” Jackson questioned. “Not a chance.”

  Brianna shook her head as she took her first bite of hamburger. She allowed herself a second to savor the taste before she told Jackson, “You know, I just don’t understand you.”

  He wished she’d stop making everything personal. He didn’t want her getting personal. It made maintaining distance between them difficult, and he needed distance in order to function.

  “You’re not supposed to understand me,” he told her. “You’re supposed to be trying to understand what would make someone go on a killing spree and then stick all those bodies into the walls. And then, when you’ve figured that out, figure out how he got those bodies in the walls without anyone noticing.”

  Why was he so afraid of anyone getting close to him? “I can do both,” she told him. When Jackson raised one eyebrow in a silent question, she elaborated, “I can try to understand you and figure out why the killer put the bodies there instead of just getting rid of them in some field or ditch.”

  “Even if you can do both,” he told her, “I suggest that you do the latter first. You might have more luck with that, and in any case, that’s the important puzzle here, not me.”

  Her smile was enigmatic, he thought. And maybe just a little bit sexy.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” she told him.

  Well, being subtle wasn’t working, he thought. Maybe he just needed to be blunt. That usually worked better for him, anyway.

  “Look, O’Bannon,” he said sharply, “I don’t want you rooting around in my head, and I don’t want you analyzing me. Understood?”

  “Understood,” she echoed in a dutiful voice.

  Jackson frowned at her. She wasn’t fooling him for a second. She was just humoring him.

  “But you’re not going to listen, are you?” he challenged. It was a rhetorical question. He already knew the answer to the question.

  Brianna smiled at him. “One right answer out of two isn’t bad.”

  The expression on Jackson’s face was dark. He pushed the basket of French fries toward her and retorted, “Eat your fries.”

  “Only if you do,” Brianna countered.

  Jackson blew out a long breath, frustrated. He was usually indifferent to the people he worked with. She made him want to strangle her. “Why do you always have to set conditions on everything?”

  “I don’t,” she protested with enough feeling to make him believe that she actually thought she was serious.

  Which, upon reflection, made him laugh. “Right,” Jackson mocked. “I’m a grown man, O’Bannon. I don’t have to be told when to eat or even if I should eat.”

  Since he was missing the point, she explained it to him. “It’s called caring about someone, Muldare.”

  Caught off guard, Jackson looked at her as if she was crazy. “And why would you care about me?” he demanded. “We’re strangers.”

  “We’re not strangers,” she insisted. “We’ve worked together before.”

  “Yeah, we’ve worked together,” he repeated, emphasizing the word although he could see that she wasn’t getting the message. “But that doesn’t make us friends.”

  What he was saying only made her more convinced that she needed to get through to him. “You and I have a different perspective on that,” she told him mildly. “Relax, Jackson. What are you afraid of?”

  “Strangling a temporary partner,” Jackson answered between gritted teeth as he struggled to keep his temper from exploding.

  “I’m serious, Muldare,” she insisted.

  His eyes met hers. “So am I.”

  Feeling that he was really going to lose his temper at any moment and fairly certain that an entire room full of cops would jump on him for that, he decided to take the safe way out.

  Wiping his lips, Jackson dropped his napkin on his plate and rose to his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow, O’Bannon.”

  She knew what he was doing. He was avoiding a serious conversation with her. But she let it slide. Anything else might result in a scene, which wouldn’t benefit either one of them, least of all him.

  Brianna nodded. “Okay.” And then, as he started to walk toward the front door, she called out, “Don’t forget to call your brother.”

  He didn’t turn around and he never lost a step. But he did allow a strange guttural noise that sounded like a cross between an angry bear growling and a coyote howling at the moon to escape his lips.

  “Hey, I know that sound,” Christian O’Bannon said, sitting down in the seat Jackson had just vacated. The tall, dark-haired detective with liquid green eyes grinned at his younger sister. “That’s the sound of someone you’ve just driven absolutely crazy.”

  “Nice to see you, too, Chris,” Brianna commented. She didn’t want to talk about Muldare, even though she could see that her brother did. Pushing the fries toward her brother, Brianna said, “Have a fry.”

  Christian eyed the half-empty basket. “Is that what he just had?”

  “Very funny. If you don’t want them, don’t have any. More for me,” she said, picking up a rather long French fry and popping it into her mouth.

  “Heard about the case you just caught,” Christian said, taking a fry himself.

  “Not exactly breaking news. Apparently everybody in the precinct’s heard,” she told him.

  “Sounds like a real puzzle. If you want any help,” Christian went on, specifying, “unofficially, just let me know.”

  Softening, she smiled. “Thanks. Right now, we don’t even know what we don’t know,” she told him, giving voice to her frustration.

  Christian rose, taking a small handful of fries with him. “Then you can only go up from there,” he told her with a confident smile.

  “If you say so,” she sighed.

  “I’m serious. If you need any help, just yell.” Looking over his shoulder, Christian grinned at her. “As I recall, you were always good at yelling.”

  “Go,” she told him, waving him off. “You’re ruining the moment.”

  “I was never here,” he replied just before he made that claim a reality.

  Chapter 9

  “Well, don’t you look bright-eyed and chipper,” Francisco Del Campo commented with a knowing grin as he walked into the squad room the following morning and passed Brianna at her desk. He paused to look at her more closely. “I take it last night went well?”

  “Last night went exactly the way it should have,” she informed him icily. “One beer, one burger, a few fries and then home.”

  Del Campo was obviously waiting for more. “And then?”

  “And then I got to work,” she told him. She thought back to the three hours she’d put in, searching for the current locations of the people who were listed as the guests of the Old Aurora Hotel during its last year of business.

  “On...?” Del Campo asked, appearing far more interested than she thought he would. She’d had no serious relationship ever since he’d come to work for homicide, and she guessed that he thought she was way overdue. Sitting on the edge of her desk, Francisco leaned forward, determined not to lose a single word.

  “The list of hotel guests that you unearthed for me.” She sighed, shaking her head as she scrolled down to the next page. “You know, for a guy, you really seem to thrive on gossip.”

  Del Campo spread his hands and shrugged. “I can’t help it. Something’s got to add color to my dull life,” he said, deliberately sounding mournful. “I’m living vicariously through you an
d all the other single detectives here.”

  Brianna laughed drily. “Well, if you’re living vicariously through me, you’d better find a way to stay awake through the daytime.” She deftly switched topics, getting on more stable ground. “Between last night and this morning, I’ve managed to track down almost half of these people.” She tapped the sheet. “A number of them have either moved out of the county—or, in some cases, they’re dead.”

  “I’ll interview the last group,” Del Campo volunteered, keeping a straight face.

  “Very funny. Speaking of interviews and doing a little digging...” Brianna said, letting her voice trail off as she looked expectantly at the detective.

  “I haven’t had a chance to look into that little matter for you,” he answered. “Why don’t you ask Valri in the computer lab to do it? Legend has it that she can ferret anything out—and isn’t she a cousin of yours?”

  There were days when she felt as if she was related to the entire police department. Most days that was handy. Some days, it wasn’t.

  “Yes, but not a close one, and I’d rather not start asking for favors in an official capacity from someone I really don’t know all that well.” Not unless there was no other way around it.

  “Oh, but it’s okay to ask me?” Francisco asked, pretending to take offense.

  “Sure,” Brianna answered without any hesitation. The smile curving her lips made her partner uneasy. “You owe me a favor.”

  “Yeah,” Francisco said with a resigned sigh. There was no question that she had covered for him a couple of times and probably would do so again in the future. “I’ll see what I can do. By the way,” Del Campo asked, looking at the clock on the far wall, “isn’t Mystery Man supposed to be here by now like the rest of us hardworking peasants? It’s almost nine and it’s a little early in the game to be slacking off, don’t you think?”

  She had no idea why she felt this sudden protectiveness going into high gear within her, but there it was.

  “Muldare’s not slacking off. He’s taking care of a personal matter,” she informed Del Campo.