in a way, he did. Hollis had just agreed to go willingly to serve a life sentence—unless this was his trade-off, what he intended to do until something better struck his fancy.
Still, Declan didn’t back off right away. “You’re going to be doing what, taking photographs of cheating husbands cheating on their wives, wives cheating on their husbands? Is that really what you want to be doing with your life ten years from now? Trying to do with your life?” he amended in case the battle wasn’t going to be won with just one major skirmish.
“The pay’s a lot better,” Hollis confided with a triumphant air. “I’m going to be earning at least three times as much as what I get here. And no more 2:00 a.m. calls. I can sleep in.”
“You sleep in half the time now,” Declan pointed out to the man, his expression completely deadpan.
Hollis snorted as he went on packing up his desk. Eighteen months amounted to three boxes—full to capacity. “You’re just jealous.”
“Hey, you’ve got a pretty girl there, no doubt about it,” he acknowledged, referring to his partner’s new wife—everyone in the department had been invited to the reception and he had seen the woman up close and personal—or as personal as an ice cube could get. “But if regular hours means I’ve got to get married first, then you’re welcome to regular hours.
“As for me, I’m never settling down just to constantly keep finding the same warm body next to me in bed morning in, morning out. I’m just not made that way. Can’t think of anything worse,” he admitted, adding in a shiver to underscore his feelings.
“Suit yourself,” Hollis told him with a shrug. “But loving the same woman for the rest of your life, it has a lot going for it. I should know.”
Yeah, Declan thought, he should. But it was obvious that his ex-partner didn’t. He’d been brainwashed by a pro, if he knew his women.
“Enjoy it for both of us,” he said philosophically, then sighed. “I guess this means that I’ve got to break in a new partner—again.”
Hollis grinned. The look didn’t suit him. It made him appear a little goofy, as if his energy was just flowing away. “Operative word here being break?”
“Hey, if they’re not tough, they’ve got no business being a detective in Major Crimes,” Declan pointed out. He had no patience with weakness of any kind and a police officer displaying those traits was worse than useless, no matter how charming this partner could be on his own.
“Yeah. Well, go easy on whoever the new partner they send up is. The department’s only got so many detectives to go around.” Hollis put his hand out to Declan. “It’s been an experience, Declan. Keep in touch—and let me know if you ever want to start keeping regular hours. I’m sure the old man can find something for someone like you.”
Declan supposed that was meant to flatter him. It failed, through no fault of his well-intentioned about-to-be-ex-partner. “Not me. I like things to be unstructured,” Declan told him. “Listen, I’ll buy you a drink after hours—provided something else doesn’t come up.”
Hollis nodded. “You’re on.”
The acting lieutenant for Major Crimes stuck his head into Declan’s tiny cubicle. “Hey, Cavanaugh, we got a call just now. Some officer got shot inside his own house.”
“Domestic dispute?” Declan asked, saying the first thing that came to mind. He was already reaching into the drawer for the weapon he’d placed there.
“No details yet, just that another one of our detectives went to check on him and found the body in the living room. Check it out. And when you come back, come see me. We’ve got to look into getting you a new partner now that this one’s making a break for it.” He jerked a thumb in Hollis’s direction.
“Just making plans to live the good life, Lieu, just making plans to live the good life,” Hollis told his superior innocently.
“Yeah, well, come tell me that in six months,” the lieutenant said. He stopped listening to the exchange between the two men the moment he turned away from them and headed back to his office.
“Looks like he’s not going to be throwing you any farewell parties,” Declan quipped. “Guess it’s all up to me—if I can find anyone who knows who the hell you are,” he added with a laugh.
Hollis could only shake his head. But he knew his limitations. Knew, too, that he might have very well invited a viper into his home space. With this in mind, he shook his head and proclaimed, “Nice, Cavanaugh, real nice.”
Declan spread his hands wide, accentuating his innocent shrugs. “Hey, I just tell it the way I see it, man.”
“Give my condolences to your new partner,” Hollis called after him.
Declan nodded, then stopped short of the doorway and made a prediction as he shrugged into his jacket. “You’ll be back.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Cavanaugh,” he chuckled, heading in the opposite direction. “You’ll get old, waiting.”
Declan shook his head. Had to be some kind of an epidemic, he decided. Some kind of a bug that was inducing people he knew—including his own siblings—to abandon their single existence, an existence that was highlighted by freedom and a myriad of choices in all directions—just to be yoked to another person, presumably for life.
And while he had to admit that he really liked and got along with the people that his brothers and sisters chose to become their “other halves,” the very hint of marriage, at least in his case, sounded far too much like a prison sentence, he thought.
And that was definitely not for him.
Chapter 2
The sound of raised voices greeted Declan the minute he got out of his car, thanks to the wide-open door leading into the victim’s house. Someone was having an argument, he thought, listening closely as he made his way up the walk.
“Look, Detective, there’s no pulse,” the paramedic with the two days’ growth on his face argued. He gestured in exasperation toward the body on the sofa. “The officer’s dead. There’s nothing we can do for him. You’ve already made us apply the paddles once. There is no jump-starting this guy,” he enunciated. “He’s gone. You don’t need an ambulance for him, you need the coroner’s wagon. He’s dead.”
Declan looked from the two frustrated paramedics to the woman they were arguing with. The woman who, with her back to the entrance, was deliberately blocking the paramedics’ exit.
“Try the paddles again,” she ordered.
There was something vaguely familiar about the voice and the woman’s stance, even though she had her back to him. Declan had the feeling that he knew her or, at the very least, that their paths had crossed once.
“He’s gone, Detective,” the other, older paramedic insisted, although his voice was gentler, more understanding than his partner’s.
The woman rested her hand on the hilt of the weapon holstered at her side. The inference was difficult to miss.
“Just one more time,” she told
