officers. She signed autographs and behaved like a benevolent queen bestowing favors on her subjects.
As he’d gone toward his cubicle, Moira McCormick had turned her head in his direction and their eyes had met over the heads of the officers around her. She smiled at him, directly at him, and something had stirred inside his gut.
Probably the chili he’d grabbed for lunch.
He had to get something better than lunch wagon fare, Shaw told himself as he’d sunk into his chair.
Reese, he noted, stayed behind with the throng around Moira.
There had to be a way to get out of this.
But even as he thought about it, Shaw knew it wasn’t possible. Once his uncle made up his mind, that was it. Brian Cavanaugh didn’t say things just to hear himself talk. And there was the matter of the extra revenue to the city coffers. Times were tough. No one was going to turn his back on money.
A week. It would be over in a week. He had to keep telling himself that.
“Hey, Shaw, I just heard about your new assignment.”
He didn’t have to look up to know that the gleeful voice belonged to his brother. Clay dropped into the chair beside his desk, grinning broadly.
“Always said that Uncle Brian liked you best.” Clay glanced over his shoulder toward the movie star and the ever-increasing crowd around her. “Just never thought you’d hit the jackpot like this.”
He didn’t bother asking where Clay had gotten his information about the ride-along. Rumors flew around the precinct faster than a hummingbird gathering breakfast and there had been over eight hours for the news to get out. If he didn’t miss his guess, it had probably been all over the precinct within the first ten minutes.
“No jackpot,” he told Clay evenly. “It’s just a damn annoying baby-sitting assignment.”
“Some baby.” Clay hooted with the proper amount of appreciation. “Moira McCormick can play at being my baby anytime.”
Before Clay had settled down and lost his heart to Ilene, he’d been involved with more women than could be found in the population of any given Alaskan town. Now that he thought of it, this kind of assignment was definitely more up his brother’s alley than his, Shaw decided, but he knew there was no use in suggesting it to his uncle.
Picking up a paper clip from a caddy on his desk, Shaw began to straighten it out. “I’m sure Ilene will be thrilled to hear that.”
At the mention of his fiancée’s name, Clay sobered ever so slightly. Shaw knew that there was no way his brother would jeopardize what he had for something as insignificant as a fling with a movie star, or anyone else, no matter how tempting—and this woman gave the word temptation a whole new, deeper meaning. However, Clay’s wild-oat-sowing days were now behind him.
Unlike him, Shaw thought. Wild-oat sowing had never been in his makeup. He vaguely wondered if he was missing something, then dismissed the thought.
“Hey,” Clay protested, “don’t get me wrong—”
Shaw laughed, tossing aside the wavy paper clip. “Easy, stop sweating. I’m not going to tell Ilene you became a drooling moron like Reese, at least not until there’s something in it for me.”
He flashed his brother a grin, then looked over toward where Moira was still holding court. The crowd around her just kept getting larger and nosier. He knew that some of the men had called their wives, who promptly put in an appearance. So far, Moira was taking it all with good grace, but then, wasn’t that what movie stars liked? Adulation?
Shaw blew out a breath. “Look, what’s the big deal? So she’s beautiful, so what? Beauty is only skin deep. Take that away and what do you have?”
Clay looked over his shoulder again and sighed. When he looked back at Shaw, there was a slightly lopsided smile curving his lips. “A damn sexy skeleton, I’m willing to bet.”
“Any way you can ask Brian for this assignment?”
Clay vehemently shook his head. “Oh, no, that’s all I need—to tell Ilene I’m going to be riding around in my car with Moira McCormick at my elbow.”
He thought of his brother’s fiancée. “Why should that be a problem? Ilene’s a gorgeous woman.”
“No argument, but she’s not a movie star.”
Shaw laughed shortly, picking up another paper clip and going to work on it. “Thank God.”
“You know what I mean.” The sound of Moira’s laughter floated back to them, somehow managing to rise above the din. Shaw’s frown only deepened as Clay said, “There’s an aura around them.”
“They’re people, same as you and me. Two hands, two feet, one head, a torso in between. Same parts.”
“But they look better.”
If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Clay was smitten with the paper person at the other end of the room.
“That’s lighting, nothing more. And without it, they fall apart. Actors tend to be illusions. You want to know why the good ones are so good at what they do, why they can take on other roles so easily?” Warming to his subject, Shaw leaned forward. “Because they have no substance of their own, nothing to rework. They’re shape-shifters, Clay, as interesting as the parts they play—nothing more.” He paused. A strange look flashed across Clay’s face, half amusement, half unease. “What’s the matter with you? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
And then he felt a hand on his shoulder and knew the reason for Clay’s odd expression before he ever heard her say a thing. “Not a ghost. A shape-shifter, I think you called me.”
Shaw slowly turned his chair around. Moira McCormick was standing behind his desk. The entourage that had been hovering around her had melted into the background, watching the exchange like an audience in search of entertainment.
By the looks on their faces, he’d delivered, big-time.
“I was talking in general terms,” Shaw said.
“I think it was an apt description,” she replied cheerfully. “Shape-shifter.” Moira rolled the word on her tongue, as if testing how it felt. “I like it.” She lowered her voice as she nodded toward the others behind her. “And I like the fact that you didn’t join in back there.”
“I’m not a joiner.”
“I sensed that.” She made herself comfortable on the edge of his desk. “A rebel, right?”
“No, just an average Joe, out to earn a living.”
“That’s not what your uncle said.” Brian Cavanaugh had nothing but glowing words for the man he’d coupled her with. There were a number of good things to be said about Steven Reese, as well, but to an extent, the latter had negated it with his clear case of adoration.
“The chief says a lot of things.” Shaw rose, taking care not to brush against her as he did. For once, he was going home early. He couldn’t
