ran into me,” she corrected him tersely.
Was it his imagination, or was the woman looking at him suspiciously?
“Why do you want your cell phone?” Kansas asked him. “Do you want to take pictures of the fire?”
He stared at her. Why the hell would he want to do that? The woman really was a nut job. “What would anyone want their phone for?” he responded in annoyance. “I want to make a call.”
Her frown deepened. She made a small, disparaging noise, then began to dig through her pockets. Finding her own phone, she grudgingly held it out to him.
“Here, you can borrow mine,” she offered. “Just don’t forget to give it back.”
“Oh damn, there go my plans for selling it on eBay,” he retorted. “Thanks,” he said as he took the cell phone from her.
Ethan started to press a single key, then stopped himself. He was operating on automatic pilot and had just gone for the key that would have immediately hooked him up to the precinct. He vaguely wondered what pressing the number three on the woman’s phone would connect him to. Probably her anger-management coach, he thought darkly. Too bad the classes weren’t taking.
It took Ethan a few seconds to remember the number to his department. It had been at least six months since he’d had to dial the number directly.
He let it ring four times, then, when it was about to go to voice mail, he terminated the call and tried another number. All the while he was aware that this woman—with soot streaked across her face like war paint—was standing only a few feet away, watching him intently.
Why wasn’t she getting herself checked out? he wondered. And why was she scrutinizing him so closely? Did she expect him to do something strange? Or was she afraid he was going to make off with her phone?
No one was picking up. Sighing, he ended the second call. Punching in yet another number, he began to mentally count off the number of rings.
The woman moved a little closer to him. “Nobody home?” she asked.
“Doesn’t look that way.”
But just as he said it, Ethan heard the phone on the other end being picked up. He held his hand up because she’d begun to say something. He hoped she’d pick up on his silent way of telling her to keep quiet while he was trying to hear.
“Cavanaugh,” a deep voice on the other end of the line announced.
Great, like that was supposed to narrow things down. There were currently seventeen Cavanaughs on the police force—if he, Greer and Kyle were included in the count.
He thought for a moment, trying to remember the first name of the Cavanaugh who had been appointed head of this task force. Dax, that was it. Dax.
Ethan launched into the crux of his message. “Dax, this is Ethan O’Brien. I’m calling because there’s just been another fire.”
The terse statement immediately got the attention of the man he was calling—as well as the interest of the woman whose phone he was using.
“Give me your location,” Dax Cavanaugh instructed. Then, before Ethan had a chance to give him the street coordinates, he offered, “I’ll round up the rest of the team. You just do what you have to do until we get there.”
The chief had appointed Dax to head up the team. Calling them was an assignment he could have easily passed on if he’d been filled with his own importance. But Ethan had come to learn that none of the Cavanaughs ever pulled rank, even when they could.
Ethan paused for a moment as he tried to recall the name of the intersection. When he did, he recited the street names, acutely aware that the woman to his right was staring at him as if she were expecting to witness some kind of a rare magic trick. Either that or she was afraid that he was going to run off with her cell phone.
“You want to call the chief, or should I?” Dax was asking, giving him the option.
Ethan thought it just a wee bit strange that Dax was referring to his own father by his official title, but he supposed that just verified the stories that the Cavanaughs went out of their way not to seem as if they were showing any favoritism toward one of their own.
“You can do it,” Ethan told him. “The chief’s most likely home by now, and you have his private number.”
Ethan shifted to get out of the way. The area was getting more and more crowded with survivors from the shelter and the firemen were still fighting the good fight, trying to contain the blaze and save at least part of the building.
“And you don’t?” Dax asked in surprise.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan saw the woman moving in closer to him. Apparently, she had no space issues. “No, why should I?”
“Because you’re family,” Dax said, as if Ethan should have known that. “My father lets everyone in the family have his home number.” To back up his claim, Dax asked, “Do you want it?”
Dax began to rattle off the numbers, but Ethan stopped him before he was even halfway through. “That’s okay, I’m going to have my hands full here until the rest of the team comes. You can do the honors and call him.”
The truth of it was, Ethan didn’t want to presume, no matter what Dax said to the contrary, that he was part of the Cavanaugh inner circle. Granted, he had Cavanaugh blood running through his veins, but the way he came to have it could easily be seen as a source of embarrassment, even in this day and age. Until he felt completely comfortable about it, he didn’t want to assume too much. Right now, he was still feeling his way around this whole new scenario he found himself in and wanted to make sure he didn’t antagonize either Andrew or Brian Cavanaugh.
Not that he would mind becoming a real part of the family. He wasn’t like Kyle, who initially had viewed every interaction with their newfound family with suspicion, anticipating hostile rejection around every corner. He and his sister, Greer, secretly welcomed being part of a large, respected family after all the years they’d spent on the other side of the spectrum, poor and isolated—and usually two steps in front of the bill collector.
But he wanted to force nothing, take nothing for granted. If Brian Cavanaugh wanted him to have his private number, then it was going to have to come from Brian Cavanaugh, not his son.
“Will do,” Dax was saying, and then he broke the connection.
The moment Ethan ended the call and handed the phone back to her, the blonde was openly studying him. “You a reporter?” she asked.
Damn, she was nosey. Just what was it that she was angling for? “No.”
The quick, terse answer didn’t seem to satisfy her curiosity. She came in from another angle. “Why all this interest in the fires?”
He answered her question with a question of his own. “Why the interest in my interest in the fires?” he countered.
Kansas
