âI donât need a bodyguard since Iâll be off the case,â Janelle asserted.
âWayneâs men donât know that,â Sawyer replied. âNothingâs changed.â
âExcept for everything,â Janelle whispered.
âThe only thing thatâs changed is your knowledge of the situation. The chief isnât going to suddenly treat you differently. Your brothers arenât.â
Janelle looked at him with suspicion. âWhy do you care?â
âI donât,â he replied simply. âI just donât like illogical behavior.â And he liked the lost look in her eyes even less. âNow get up off the sofa and get out of those wet clothes.â
He watched the smallest hint of a smile bloom on her lips. âAre you coming on to me, Detective?â
Sheâd caught him off guard with that. Maybe because he had been thinking of her in terms other than just being his assignment.
âWhen I do, Cavanaugh, you wonât have to ask.â
When. Not if, when.
Dearest Reader,
Hereâs the last of themâthe last of the cousinsâBrianâs youngest, Janelle. I decided to do something a little different in this story, which is why I made Janelleâ¦well, youâll find out. I donât know about you, but Iâm going to be sad to see this bunch go. During the last couple of years, the Cavanaughs provided a nice haven to turn to when the outside world got a little too crazy. And since I have tied up Andrewâs story, Iâve been thinking that perhaps his younger brother, Brian, needed a lady to call his own, as well. Especially now that all his kids are grown and have found matches of their own. So Iâm not altogether certain this is the last youâve heard of the Cavanaughs after all. Weâll seeâ¦.
As always, I wish you much love in your lives.
Marie Ferrarella
To the untrained ear, it sounded very much like a car, backfiring. To the Cavanaugh ear, the noise sounded exactly like what it was.
A gunshot.
The shot was followed by several more rounds, fired in rapid succession.
Standing at the edge of the steps leading to the county courthouse, Janelle Cavanaugh automatically began turning in the direction of the sound, even as it was drowned out by screams and cries of distress and fear. She never completed the turn because, the next thing she knew, she was pushed to the ground so quickly the very air rushed out of her lungs.
Startled, she still had the presence of mind to protect her head as she went down. This kept a concussion from becoming part of her medical history.
A manâs body spread over the length of hers. A heavy body. Heavy, not in the sense that the person on top of her was fat, or even large boned. Just tall and muscular. And damn near overwhelming.
At first, she thought the man had been shot and was slumped over her. But then she felt his breath against the side of her face and along her neck. Whoever this lead weight was, he didnât breathe like a man struggling for air, or even one particularly taken aback by the preceding events.
âStay down,â the deep male voice ordered harshly when she tried to move. He made her think of a marine drill sergeant, one who took no prisoners, brooked no nonsense. She wondered if that was to mask his fear, or if he just liked bullying people.
Straining, Janelle listened. Growing up with three rambunctious brothers and seven cousins, most of whom were male, she had perfected the ability to hone in on sounds and isolate them. Amid the sounds of panic, she picked out the silence.
No more gunshots.
âWhoever was shootingâs gone,â she informed the man, who was covering her almost as closely as a lid fit over a pot. A man who, for all she knew, was just taking advantage of the situation, playing hero while he copped a feel. âSo if you have the slightest notion of whatâs good for you, youâll get off me.â
âA simple âthank youâ will do,â the man growled in her ear.
The next moment, she felt his weight lessening. Her human shield rose to his feet and then offered her a hand. He did not offer her a smile.
Janelle felt a wave of antagonism rising up inside her. She ignored the hand, preferring to get up on her own power.
She was well-acquainted with the workings of a male mind and she could spot chauvinism. It was right there in the manâs deep blue eyes. Janelle might have tossed her head a little as she got up. She was sorry sheâd worn her blond hair up. The sight of a long mane flying over a shoulder always managed to underscore the look of disdain in her eyes.
Straightening her jacket, Janelle took in a deep breath. As the youngest of the chief of detectivesâ children and, at twenty-nine, the youngest assistant to the assistant district attorney in Aurora, Janelle was acutely aware that she was the target of a great deal of attention, not usually the welcomed sort.