Chapter Thirteen

Ian woke slowly. It was Sunday after all. He blinked a few times and stretched. He had made love to Fallon a few more times throughout the night. Each time, her spirit was imprinted deeper on his. Fallon Maddox was an explosive lover. After the first time, the sex had become even more primal. The scratch marks on his back were proof of her intensity. He grinned as he felt the sting of his wounds, and then turned his head to the spot next to him. Empty.

Eyes opened wide as he rose up on his elbows. Glancing down at the empty place beside him, he scanned his bedroom. It was without the woman he looked for. Ian tossed the blankets back and climbed out of bed. He padded naked to his chest of drawers, pulled on a pair of SPD sweats, and headed to check the rest of his house.

There was no sign of her anywhere.

“Did I dream that?” He rolled his shoulders and leaned against the cool countertop.

Where’d she go? A scowl filled his face. Her words “seemed as thought you’d be a good fuck” echoed through his head. Was that all it meant to her? Had he filled her need for a fuck buddy? Fixing a pot of coffee, Ian thought over the previous night. Had anything ever felt so right before?

Once his coffee was ready, Ian took his mug and walked to his couch. The file was there and he tried to ignore it, only to find his attention drawn to it. Expelling a sigh, he gave in, reached for it, and began to read. He read words already committed to memory, given how often he’d gone over it. Nothing jumped out at him.

“I need to talk to Parsons again.” He drained the rest of his coffee.

I need to see Fallon again. Shaking off that thought, he began to get off the couch. The shrill ring of his phone broke the silence. Reaching over the arm of his sofa, he picked up the receiver. “Cavanaugh.”

“I need you in my office, ASAP,” Captain DeVane commanded.

“What’s going on, Cap?” he asked. He rose and put his cup in the sink before heading toward his bedroom.

Muffled voices reached him. “Cap?” he asked.

“ASAP, Cavanaugh. Get here now.” A loud dial tone buzzed in his ear.

Ian dropped the phone on his bed, showered and dressed in record time. He shoved his arms into his jacket as he ran for his garage.

So much for a peaceful Sunday.

He strode into the precinct, tossed out a few hellos, and made a beeline for the captain’s office. DeVane waved Ian in seconds after he knocked.

“Morning, Captain.”

“Took you long enough, Cavanaugh,” Rick DeVane snarled. “Shut the door behind you.”

He did and remained standing. “Something you needed, Cap?”

“I thought you were silencing that Maddox woman.”

Silencing? “Meaning?”

“Why the fuck am I still getting pressure from higher up?”

What had she found out? “I don’t know, sir. Miss Maddox hasn’t told me anything.”

Rick DeVane glared at him. His eyes brimmed with hatred. “Find out everything you can about her. All of them. I wanna know who she’s fuckin’ upstairs to keep them asking questions and breathing down my neck.”

Why was the captain put out by that? Sure, pressure from upstairs was a pain, but he seemed to be taking it personally. Very personally.

“Can I ask why the concern? Everything was done by the book so we have nothing to hide.”

“No!” DeVane snapped. “Don’t ask, Cavanaugh. Just do as you’re told. The only person you should pump for info is the Maddox chick.” He laughed lewdly. “And from how you were the other night, I doubt that’ll be much of a problem.”

Ian maintained a straight face, but it was very difficult. He envisioned his fist landing on DeVane’s nose, blood spurting everywhere.

“You are dismissed, Cavanaugh.”

Without a word, Ian left. He sat at his desk, called up the files for each of the Maddox children, and sent each file to the printer. As he walked toward the printer, Ian decided to call his father. One way or another he would find out the reason for the animosity. Gathering the printouts, Ian shook his head at all the lines on Clayborne’s file. I bet it will be interesting reading. He decided not to look at the others until after he returned to his desk.

As he wove through the metal desks of the squad room, he noticed his partner at his desk.

“Morning, Bill,” he said, striding up to his own gray desk and setting down the papers.

“Cavanaugh,” Bill responded. “You got called in as well?”

“Yeah.” He sat down and looked up at his partner. Bill O’Neill. Bill was a lanky Irishman, with pale cheeks that seemed to be tinged red as if he’d been drinking. Ian liked Bill and loved having him as a partner. The man was fifteen years older and his green eyes showed the strain of his job.

“What’s that?” Bill jutted his chin toward the stack of papers.

“History on the Maddoxes. Pulled up their records.”

A gleam filled Bill’s eyes. “Especially that filly, Fallon. What’s her file say?”

Ian bit back a grumble. “Why would you say that?”

Bill sat and arched a brow. “Really? Are you kidding me? I know you aren’t seriously asking me that. I’m older, but not blind.” He chuckled. “Not to mention she didn’t give you a second’s notice.”

Trying to ignore the flush he felt in his face, Ian shook his head and asked. “What do you know about the Maddoxes and the captain?”

As it had been when he posed the question to his father, all expression faded from Bill’s face. His eyes filled with some kind of silent warning. “I can’t tell you anything about that.”

“Bill,” Ian said, suddenly exasperated. What the hell was up with everyone saying nothing to him?

“No, Ian. Leave it alone.” He cast a glance toward the captain’s office. “Just leave it alone.”

“O’Neill!” DeVane’s bullish voice filled the room. “My office. Now!”

Bill tried for a smile, but failed. “Later, Cavanaugh.” He stood, grabbed his coffee and said, “Don’t forget what I said.” Then he walked off.

Ian didn’t say a word, just offered a short wave of acknowledgement. His phone rang the second his hand reached for Clayborne Maddox’s file.

“Detective Cavanaugh.”

“You think you solved the Maddox case? You’re wrong. You’d better find out the truth before more innocents lose their lives.” The voice was deep, but sounded digitally altered.

“Who’s this?” he demanded, grabbing a pen and finding a scratch pad.

“There was no gang shooting.”

“How do you know this? Who are you? Sir, what’s your name?” Ian grabbed another detective’s attention and signaled for a trace.

“No more will the innocents be silenced by the terror of men in blue.”

“What are you talking about?” His pulse accelerated. Who was this person? “Can we meet and talk about this?”

“No.”

Click.

Just like that, the voice was gone.

He immediately glanced to the man who’d called for the trace on his phone. Ian swore, replacing the handset of his phone as he watched Miles shake his head.

“Sorry, Cavanaugh. They weren’t on long enough and before you ask, the number they called from was a prepaid cell.”

“Damn it.” He glanced down at his notes and made sure he had everything that was said. “Did you get a general area?”

“South district,” Miles responded. “Nothing more concrete.”

“Thanks, Miles.”

Miles waved briefly before Ian dipped his head and looked at the information on the cluttered desk. Could the call have been made by a Maddox? Ian didn’t think so, but he wasn’t positive.

There was lots of animosity in the caller’s voice. This was getting more and more confusing.

Ripping off the paper, he stuck it in his pocket. Then he sat back to look over the Maddox files. So much for reading it later. With his coffee close at hand, he grabbed the top one. Clayborne Maddox.

All of the brothers had something on their record, although Herschel’s cleaned up after he hit twenty. The others had a long list between them.

He paused with his hand on Fallon’s. Why was he hesitating? The coldness and distrust in her eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. He stretched his legs out before him and opened it.

FALLON DELU MADDOX

Ht: 67in. Wt: 135lbs Race: AA Hair: Blk Eyes: Brn

Marital Status: Divorced Sex: F

No Priors

Served 15 yrs in the USMC

Achieved rank of Gunnery Sergeant

Current occupation: unknown

Current residence: unknown

Ian scowled. Most reports at least told what the person had done in the service of their country. His eyes scanned it again. It hit him. Fallon was divorced? He picked up his cell and called a friend at NCIS, Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

“Hey, Paul,” Ian said as his call was answered.

“Ian Cavanaugh. Long time, no hear. What’s up, man?”

“Got some time for coffee in the near future?” Ian looked around, noticing how his captain seemed to be working very hard at not appearing to watch him. When DeVane stood in his doorway, he was hard to miss.

“Sure. I’m actually in Seattle today. Can we meet now?”

He grinned. “Yes. Where are you? I’ll come to you.” Ian got the name of his location and ran off before anyone could ask him more questions.