Officer,” Sean Cavanaugh called as he stepped out of the bedroom for a moment. “Before I forget, we’ll need to check out that terrier. We might find something in his fur that’ll tell us something about the person who did this. I can have one of my people take him over to Animal Control when we’re done.”
Ashley looked down at the dog. She could feel the animal begin to tremble against her, as if he actually understood what was being said and knew he was about to be separated from her.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take him. He doesn’t really look as if he trusts any of you.”
She knew her request wasn’t according to protocol, but had sensed that the elder Cavanaugh might not be a stickler for the letter of the rules, just the spirit.
“That would be fine,” he told her, “as long as you take him in right now. I can’t have any possible evidence being contaminated.”
“Understood,” she replied, then flashed a smile intended strictly for the senior Cavanaugh. “I’m on my way,” she announced, leaving.
* * *
For a moment Shane watched the woman leave with the canine she was protecting.
The second she walked out the door, he turned toward his father—only to find that he had retreated into the bedroom. Shane was quick to make his way to the back of the apartment.
Having the case land in his lap like this seemed almost serendipitous because lately he’d been thinking about asking to be transferred to the homicide division. Homicide was where all the up-and-comers wanted to go, so why shouldn’t he?
Walking into the bedroom, he saw another crime scene investigator in the room with his father, collecting physical evidence. Probably the same man his father had intended to have transport the terrier to the lab before the officer had volunteered to do it.
Shane nodded at the man then planted himself in front of his father, waiting until Sean was finished with whatever he was doing.
Looking up, his father noted his presence and went back to photographing the bedroom.
“Cute,” he pronounced out of the blue.
“What is?” Shane asked.
Sean looked up at him as if to ask, “Are you kidding me?” But he obliged his son by spelling it all out for him. “That officer with the material witness in her arms.”
Shane shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “If you like that sort of thing,” he agreed.
The deliberate nonchalant reply had Sean looking up at his son. “You always like that sort of thing,” Sean reminded him. “At least, you used to,” he amended.
For the past eight months, his son had been engaged to be married—until she’d broken it off last month after his partner had been shot on the job. For a while, it had been touch and go for Shane, but after what he’d just witnessed, Sean felt that his son was definitely on his way to recovery.
“Not when they’re mouthy,” Shane countered.
Sean was really intrigued now. “She’s a challenge. Good, you could use one. And cute or not, the ladies are always far more interesting when they don’t just fall at your feet in complete surrender. I noticed that you used to lose interest when women looked at you with those puppy-dog eyes.”
Shane shrugged. All he wanted now was a good time. Getting serious just led to complications he didn’t want anymore. “What’s wrong with that?”
“There’s no lightning, no lasting attraction,” his father pointed out. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“I’d tell you, but I’m not sure you’re old enough to hear that kind of stuff.”
Sean saw through his son’s words and his attempt at diverting him. “Is this one getting to you?” he asked.
The grin faded as Shane’s expression became deadly serious. “Why would you say that?”
“Because instead of shrugging off what I say, you’re making denials, protesting. That usually means only one thing—”
“Okay,” Shane said, cutting him off. “This is me shrugging. Watch.” He raised and lowered his wide shoulders in an exaggerated fashion.
But Sean wasn’t buying any of it. “Too late for that,” he told his son.
“Too late for what?” Shane demanded, completely at a loss as to where this complicated conversation was actually headed.
The look in Sean’s eyes all but shouted, “You know, the die has already been cast, my boy.” Out loud, Sean said, “Go, observe. Be a detective. Detect.”
Shane shook his head. Ever since his father had gotten married again, to the mother of his sister’s fiancée, he seemed determined for all of his offspring to be harnessed in a similar tether. Well, that might work for the others—it seemed as if everyone except for himself and Declan, his brother, seemed to be dropping like flies at the marriage altar—but he’d tried to go that route and gotten kicked in the teeth by cupid. Life had decreed that he was going to remain single, just like Declan. Currently, in their immediate family, they were the last two men standing.
He intended to remain “standing” for a very long time to come.
Putting his father and his father’s less-than-subtle hints out of his head, Shane looked around the bedroom. Aside from a small bureau and a double bed, every other stick of furniture and random item in the room all but shouted baby.
This woman had been getting ready for her unborn child.
He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the dead woman. The next moment he upbraided himself. Feeling sorry for the woman wasn’t going to help solve the case. He was going to have to work at hardening his reaction if he hoped to get a permanent transfer to Homicide.
Donning a pair of disposable gloves, Shane carefully handled the contents of a fancy shopping bag. The bag was light blue on one side, light pink on the other. The words Baby Mine were written in fancy lettering on both sides.
“It’s an expensive baby boutique,” Sean told him when he noticed him staring at the bag.
Shane looked at him, puzzled. That was an odd piece of information for a man his father’s age to have. “How would you know that?”
“I know a lot of things,” Sean answered, amused at his son’s attitude. “I don’t just go home at the end of the day and crawl into a shell, pulling the door closed after myself.”
Shane shrugged. “I just figured that things like babies and all the stuff that goes with them are way in your past by now.”
Sean glossed over the comment about his age. “Maybe so, but grandkids aren’t.”
It took a second for his father’s words to replay themselves in his head. At that point, it was as if his brain did a double-take. “What grandkids?” he asked.
“Show up a little more often at those Sunday dinners
