Chapter Two

What the...?

Ian had no clue what just happened. One second he had Clayborne Maddox restrained, and the next, pain unlike any he had experienced before flowed through his body. Owned his body.

He couldn’t move. He was face down on the floor in the entryway of the Maddox home. Ian kept his mouth shut, knowing if he tried to speak all that would come out would be a wail, a cry of extreme pain.

Breathing had become a chore. What happened? Ian had been face down before but this time it was different. Not only the heavy boot on the back of his neck. No, there was something more. A pressure point.

His arm was wrenched back, his thumb felt almost snapped off, and there was pain emanating from a spot on his wrist.

“Move and I break it,” a low, raspy voice warned.

Warned?

No. It sounded like a promise. Ian remained motionless, hoping for the best, hoping he would be able to get the upper hand soon. Would Clayborne really let this person harm him? Probably.

He blinked back stinging tears of pain. His arm was going numb. I’m gonna lock you up, you fuck!

Cold air blasted over him as he heard footsteps coming near. “Well, well,” a young man’s voice said. “Who’s the mutt?”

“Let him go.” Clay’s voice.

The boot at his neck increased its pressure as if in defiance and warning before it was gone. His arm was dropped and he barely contained the roar of pain that tried to erupt as the blood began to flow again. It was a good ten seconds before the pain was tolerable and he could move. Getting up, Ian glared at Clay and the two other brothers, Shawn and Dylan. Eyes moved over their footwear. Damn it! They all wore big heavy boots.

“Who did it?” Ian demanded as he picked up his gun and shoved it back in its holster. No one made a sound. Three sets of eyes spat daggers at him and didn’t back down. “You want me to arrest you all?”

“For what?” Clay asked. “You assaulted me in my own home without identifying who you were.”

You know exactly who I am, Clay. Hell, you just damn near demanded a report from me. Ian stole a glance at the other two men there. There was Shawn Maddox, big strong man who’d played pro football for a few years until he vanished. They had been friends at one time, but now, as he stared into his dark face, he saw nothing but distrust.

Dylan Maddox was the youngest of the clan and the most impetuous. His pale face bore the scars of a fire from a previous foster home. The child had lived at many before becoming a Maddox. Still, he was loyal to a fault to his family.

The message he received from their unwavering glares was they would all have the same story. Despite them being on the wrong side of the law most times, even a fresh-faced public defender could get them off for that. He hadn’t identified himself as an officer of the law. It didn’t matter they knew him; he had personally failed to follow procedure.

Didn’t the Maddox boys have a sister? Ian couldn’t recall her name and her face was fuzzy to his memory as well. I don’t remember seeing a woman there today with them. Not other than Herschel’s wife.

Ian turned on his heel and headed for the door when he heard Clayborne.

“I want the report.”

“The case is closed. The Maddox boys don’t need to try and make trouble.” Ian walked out, slamming the door behind him.

He didn’t want to admit something didn’t feel right to him about this, but orders were orders. There were some who wanted the Maddox clan gone, given their disregard for the law. Herschel was the “good” Maddox.

I need to look at that autopsy report. Ian drove to his favorite bar. A cop bar owned and operated by a retired detective. The moment he entered the place that nagging feeling and earlier pain vanished. This was his family. The boys in blue.

***

“What the fuck do you mean, they said it was gang-related and they were closing it?” Fallon thundered.

She had already been welcomed home by her brothers, including Herschel, who had shown up late. Now they were discussing what happened. Fallon saw the shock on her family’s faces. It wasn’t normal behavior for her to swear.

“That’s what Ian Cavanaugh told me.” Herschel played with the spoon in his coffee mug, his eyes downcast, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Ian...Ian Cavanaugh?” Her eyes cut over to Shawn, who drank some beer. “Wasn’t he in your class?” When Shawn nodded, she continued her line of questioning. “Why is he on this?”

“He’s a homicide detective,” Clay supplied the information. “And he bleeds blue, so if this is a cover-up we’re going to have to go at it ourselves.” A smile flitted across Clay’s handsome, tanned face. “Especially considering how fast our little mad dog slammed him to the floor.”

That was Ian Cavanaugh I did that to? Narrowing her eyes, she snapped, “I thought he was hurting you.” When she’d released him, she slipped from the room, not wanting to be around when he got up. She had no doubt her brothers would keep her out of it.

Clay just laughed.

Shaking her head, Fallon stood. She was exhausted and had things to do before she could call it quits. Her body was still on a different time schedule and, according to its message, she needed more sleep.

“I’ll get that report tomorrow,” she said before kissing each brother on the cheek. “Right now, I’m going to bed.”

“Night, Fallon,” they hollered as she left the room. As she climbed into bed, the rain slammed against the windowpane. Fallon drifted to sleep, burrowed deep under the covers of her childhood bed, her stuffed cyclops held close.

***

“I need to speak to Detective Cavanaugh.”

The voice, although feminine, had no trouble reaching his ear in the bullpen. Even though he was on the phone, Ian waved over the officer escorting her. His eyes travelled over her she moved closer.

She glided more than anything; Ian almost looked around his desk to see if her feet even touched the floor. Graceful. His mind wandered from the call he was on.

Her skin was the color of toasted nuts, the nice expensive ones that were almost like butter melting in your mouth. She wore a black bomber jacket, which hid her shirt, and he could see blue jeans as well. No purse.

Her face was not stunning or beyond gorgeous, but she was attractive. The closer she got, the fuller her lips appeared and the larger her eyes became—a beautiful dark, chocolaty brown. The expression was almost perfectly serene, but he could see she was aware of more than she let on.

He was intrigued. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that captivated him, but it was there. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself; most of the women he knew would look haughty if they attempted to hold themselves or walk the way she did. Not this woman. It was like staring at a person walking through a downpour and no moisture touched her. A calmness emanated from her that amazed him.

She stopped beside him and stared at him for a moment before looking around. Ian felt dismissed. He also noticed that, unlike most of the women who sought him out, he hadn’t smelled any perfume on her. Normally he would be engulfed if they stood as close beside him as she did.

“Okay, good.” Ian hung up the phone and looked over the woman still waiting silently. He glanced at her feet.

Motorcycle boots?

Combat boots?

He wasn’t sure.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. She has some long lashes. There was no makeup on her face. “Miss?”

She glanced down at him, hands still in her jacket pockets. “I need a report.”

He frowned and gestured to a chair near her. “Please sit. You want to report a homicide?” He picked up a pen in his right hand.

“No.” Her voice never modulated. “I need a report. Not to report.”

“And which report would that be?” Ian watched his partner move up behind her to listen in.

“The autopsy report for case #567321 Alpha.” She barely blinked.

That sounded familiar to him. Why would she want it? Leaning back in his chair, he asked, “Why do you want it?”

“Case #567321A is closed according to this department. It should be available. It’s not and I want it.” She paused for a second. “I was told copies would be made available.”

More detectives began to watch.

“Who’s the vic?” Ian’s partner, Bill, questioned.

Ian noticed a twitch of emotion on her face before it was smoothed away.

A young clean-shaven officer walked up, holding a file. “Here you go, Detective Cavanaugh. This is the autopsy report for case #567321A. Someone will be by today to pick it up.”

Yes. She’s already here.

“Thank you.” Ian took the folder and opened it. Gregory Maddox. His eyes flew up to meet the gaze of the woman still waiting.

She put out her hand. It was covered by a matte black leather glove. “The file, please.”

“This is the jacket on Gregory Maddox’s case.” Ian closed it and set it on his desk.

“I know.”

“Who are you?” Bill asked, moving around to stand behind Ian.

“I’m his daughter, Fallon.” She took the file and opened it before either man seemed to realize what happened.

Fallon? Fallon Maddox? This woman was she? Ian didn’t know what to say. What could he say? More apologies? Probably not what she wanted to hear.