Chapter Five

Fallon jogged through the park. The rain had ended, leaving behind puddles, and she splashed through them as she ran. Rays of morning’s first light broke through the retreating night. Her breath was visible as she pounded up a flight of steps. Her body craved more, needed more mindless and repetitive motion. So she pressed on, tugging the hood around her head further forward. Fallon’s mind was going over what she had seen, or rather what she hadn’t seen in the report. What did it all mean? Would she ever find out the truth?

She rounded a corner on the path and almost stopped in her tracks. Her vantage point allowed her to see the sunlight just beginning to spread out over the bay. Golden rays struck across the water in a brilliant and dazzling display. With snow-capped mountains off in the distance, that feeling of purity and being home fell about her again. Fallon began walking to cool down, keeping her gaze on the gorgeous sight. Using the park bench for support, Fallon stretched her muscles out. After she was done, she stood behind the bench, hands in her sweatshirt pockets, and watched the water.

The image of her foster parents floated before her. Her eyes watched them as they smiled at her and vanished in the sunshine. Shifting slightly as the cold began settling in, Fallon vowed, “I will find out what happened.”

Closing her eyes against the threatening tears, she pivoted and began walking back to the car. She kept her hood up as she made her way along the paved trail. Fallon turned on the heat as soon as the car started. She really needed to get some better clothing.

“At least better jogging clothes,” she muttered.

Putting the car into gear, she headed for home. The house was still quiet when she entered. As she headed to her room for a shower and clean clothes, she hoped there was food for breakfast.

“Guys!” she hollered up the stairs once breakfast was ready. “Come get it.” Fallon walked back to the kitchen table and began to pour the juice.

“Mornin’ sis,” Dylan said as he walked in.

“Morning,” she responded with a smile. Fallon noticed his drawn face. “How are you doing?”

“I hurt, Fallon. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I was just about to move home. It’s not easy out there for me.” He reached for a cigarette.

“Not in this house. You smoke outside.” She smiled again to lessen the sting of her words.

“Sorry.” He put it behind his ear.

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us, Dylan. But we’re family. We’ll stick together and find out the truth.”

“What’s going to happen to the house?”

Fallon looked at the youngest sibling. There was such fear and uncertainty in his eyes it broke her heart. “It’s ours, Dylan. When Mom passed, Pops made sure the house would remain ours when he died.”

“If you’re sure?” His voice still sounded so young.

“I am. Now, eat if you plan on getting any. I hear Shawn and Clay.”

“Thanks, Fallon.”

She watched as he schooled his face and erased all trace of the scared little boy she knew still thrived within him.

Soon four out of the five Maddox siblings were eating breakfast. Fallon looked over her brothers as they made short work of the food she’d prepared.

Clayborne. The oldest and roughest of them all. He had a short fuse and a knack for finding trouble. Tanned, strong, blue-eyed, dark brown hair.

Shawn. Used to be a wide receiver for a pro football team, but his knee got blown. Dark-skinned, short hair, tightly clipped goatee, dark brown eyes. She and Shawn looked the closest thing to blood related siblings.

Dylan. Always pale. Light green eyes, strawberry blondish hair, scars on his face. He had a heart of gold.

She loved them all, even Herschel with his medium blue eyes and blond hair. But, trouble migrated toward them as if they wore a homing beacon.

“You guys clean up. I have something to do.” Fallon pushed away from the table.

“Do you need Pops’ car?” Clay asked. None of her brothers debated with her on cleaning up.

“No, I’m good.” She waved over her shoulder as she exited the kitchen. “Call if you need me.”

***

The skate park was pretty much empty. A few kids, who probably should have been in or on their way to school, were around. She ignored them, a particular destination in mind. She had memorized the photos of her father lying here and was looking for the placemakers she used.

There.

Fallon walked over to the spot. Closing her eyes to help her focus, she could envision the position Pops had lain. When she opened her eyes, it was as if the scene was there before her.

Fresh.

The body. The bullets. The blood.

Fallon moved around, seeing things only her eyes could see. Finally, she knelt down beside her father’s conjured image and reached out to touch him. She could feel him growing colder and she whimpered as his blood ran over her hand.

Shoving herself to her feet, Fallon gulped in the cold air. Her heart pounded erratically. That had been so real that she shivered, knowing it wasn’t because of the day’s chill.

“What am I missing?” She frowned as she cast a glance around. It was there. Whatever it was. Crying out for her to find it. But she couldn’t see it. She just couldn’t place it. Yet.

“Good morning, Ms. Maddox.” A deep voice penetrated her concentration.

She spun around and couldn’t stop the gasp. It wasn’t fear, well, not any kind she wanted to consider.

Detective Ian Cavanaugh stood before her.

***

Ian couldn’t believe it. He had been heading to the skate park, intending to see if he could figure out what seemed wrong to him. Much to his surprise, he had a lovely view of a woman pacing around the area. Fallon Maddox was there.

Standing back, he allowed himself to enjoy the vision of her dark-headed beauty. Her black hair was drawn back in a tight bun. She wore a military green jacket, dark blue BDUs, and wore combat boots.

He estimated her height to be about five-seven. Her movements were as graceful as they were the previous night at the precinct. Effortless. Flawless. Purity of motion.

“Detective.”

Ian sighed. The amount of warmth in her voice made the fall morning feel like the equator. “I believe ‘good morning’ is what one says in polite company.”

Her eyebrows rose at that. Fallon lifted one shoulder in a brief motion. “I didn’t know I was.”

He bristled. “Well, I was raised with manners.”

She muttered something too low for him to hear.

“What did you say?” Ian moved closer to her, again struck by the fact he wasn’t floored by a sickly sweet smell, like many women seemed to bathe in. She had a very subtle smell to her, it drifted into his nose and lingered, tantalizing him. He didn’t know what it was, but he liked it. A lot.

“I was just wondering how those manners stacked up when it came to the truth.” She watched him with emotionless eyes. “Or are you like the rest of the ‘boys in blue’ and lie to protect your own?” Fallon closed the distance between them. “Tell me, Ian Cavanaugh, are you out to screw the Maddox clan? What color do you bleed? Red, like me...or blue?”

The last sentence she spoke was so full of ice it staggered him. He towered over this woman by about eight inches and he would have sworn all power was in her hands.

“I don’t cover up for anyone,” he growled, one hand clenching in anger at the implication.

“Tell me then, Detective, when you looked at that report, were you okay with the findings?”

He hesitated. He had experienced doubts, but to admit it to a Maddox, even a good-looking one like her...he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit anything. A look crossed her face as she stepped back. Ian swore; it was as if he had just disappointed her.

“That’s what I thought.” Fallon sighed and shook her head slightly. “You bleed blue. Not a bad trait, but not always the best one.”

Ian was motionless as he watched her leave. He stared at the back of her head as she vanished from sight.

His phone rang.

“Detective Cavanaugh,” he responded automatically.

“Ian Rorke Keefe Cavanaugh!” The tone was shrill.

Mother.

“Morning, Ma.”

“Don’t you ‘morning ma’ me. Why have you been to see your father more than me?”

Ian wanted to weep. His parents were driving him crazy. “I needed some advice, Ma. That was it. We went for ice cream.”

“Advice? Advice!” she screamed. “I’m good enough to give you life but not good enough to give advice?”

“Not that at all, Ma.”

“I know it wasn’t about a girl. He couldn’t keep me. What advice is he going to give you about girls? Was it on a girl?”

Ian felt a headache coming on. He paused for a second. His mom must have taken his silence as an affirmation of her claim.

“I don’t believe you’d go to him for advice on a girl instead of me.” The sounds of crying reached him. “I’m...” sniff, “...your mother.”

Ian sat down heavily on the edge of a bench. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. What did I do to deserve this?

“Listen to me, Ma. It wasn’t about a girl. It was police business, okay?”

More sniffling. “Take me shopping, Ian,” she ordered.

“Ma, I can’t. I have to work on this case. I can meet you for lunch, but I can’t spend the day shopping.”

She whimpered. “Why is that more important than spending time with me?”

Frustrated, running a hand over his eyes, Ian prayed for patience. “Ma, it’s what I do. I’m a homicide detective. When I get called, it’s because people are dead. Please don’t do this, not today. I’ll meet you at 1300 at Ruth’s Chris. I have to go. Love you, Ma.”

He hung up before she could say anything else.

His mood stayed low for the rest of the morning. Nothing seemed to work, no one remembered anything from that night. He had so many doors slammed in his face; he was ready to yell from the top of the Space Needle that all he wanted to do was solve a murder.

As he walked into the restaurant, his mind was on Fallon Maddox and the mystery that she had become to him. Something he couldn’t place existed between them. He thought about the supposed gang kill that led him to her.

“Who is she, Ian?” his mother asked as she ate a bite of her baked potato.

Ian chewed his steak slowly. His mother could be relentless. “There isn’t a ‘she,’ Ma. I don’t have time for a woman.”

“The right one is probably right before your eyes. You just don’t know it yet.” She paused for a fraction of a second. “At least you would if you didn’t work so much.”

“Sure, Ma.” Ian looked beyond his mother and tried not to chuckle. Big brown eyes were across the way, watching him. Fallon Maddox was there. There was a handsome black man beside her, but she was there. And her eyes were on him.