wouldn’t cost Megan her life—or have her disappear out of sight forever.
As they approached the elevator, Tom looked at the intense detective, and he could almost read her thoughts. He had to find a way to get her to lighten up. Otherwise she would self-combust on him.
“Do you always beat yourself up this much?” he asked.
He could see that his question had ticked her off. That wouldn’t have been his first choice for a reaction, but he’d take it. Being annoyed at him restored her fighting spirit, which was what he was trying to accomplish in the first place.
“Where is this lab?” she asked.
The elevator arrived just then and he waited for her to get in before getting on himself. When he did, he pushed the button labeled B.
“Guess,” he said. A smile played on his lips as he said it. One that she could only describe as seductively mischievous.
Too bad she was immune to that sort of thing, she thought.
“The basement,” she answered with impatient annoyance. Why was he playing games? And why was that smile of his causing this odd sensation to sprout and grow in the pit of her stomach?
“Very good.” As they rode down, Tom inclined his head as if he was bowing to her superior intellect. “You got it on the first guess.”
Kait instantly resented his frivolous tone. A little girl’s life was at stake. Didn’t he get that? Or didn’t he care? She wasn’t sure which was a worse offense, stupidity or indifference.
“Why aren’t you taking this seriously?” she demanded heatedly.
He could see where this was going, and he didn’t care for it. He wasn’t just a fairly decent detective, he was a damn good one. That meant he cared. More than he actually should at times.
“I am.”
Kait laughed shortly. “By making lame jokes?” she challenged.
Tom debated just letting the accusation hang in the air without answering it. To the undiscerning eye, he might appear laid-back, but he didn’t like having to explain himself and he certainly didn’t like to justify his actions. Especially not to his partner. A partner was supposed to have your back even if it was a matter of blind faith.
And, for better or for worse—and for the duration of this case—this woman was his partner. He might need her to have his back. Especially if they wound up stumbling on a kidnapping ring. And if that did happen, then alienating her now wouldn’t be such a wise move.
So he told her the truth. He told her why, at times, especially when all else might fail, humor ended up being his weapon of choice.
“By not allowing my outrage, my sense of horror and my anger at the lowlife who would rip an innocent child from her family to get to me to the point that I am almost paralyzed and utterly useless when it comes to working a case.” And then he attempted to lighten the mood by adding, “And the jokes aren’t lame. They’re just not overly clever.”
No one had gotten on or off, so they had ridden the elevator straight to their destination. The elevator doors opened as the car arrived in a corner of the basement.
“They’re lame,” Kait insisted, but this time, he saw that there was just a hint of a smile on her lips, as well as one that he could just make out distantly in Kait’s voice.
Tom silently congratulated himself. However minor, he was making headway.
Chapter 8
E ver since the bombshell had dropped into his world that he was not the son of the late Martha and Anthony Cavelli but was actually born into what had slowly transformed into the Cavanaugh dynasty, Sean Cavelli/Cavanaugh was forced to wrestle with a number of issues, including the so-called “simple” act of selecting which surname he was legally supposed to be using.
For more than five decades, he’d thought of himself as Sean Cavelli, a man whose relatives on both sides of the family had their roots in Italy. Never mind that he didn’t resemble either of his parents or any of his three siblings.
Currently, he could truthfully
As they approached the elevator, Tom looked at the intense detective, and he could almost read her thoughts. He had to find a way to get her to lighten up. Otherwise she would self-combust on him.
“Do you always beat yourself up this much?” he asked.
He could see that his question had ticked her off. That wouldn’t have been his first choice for a reaction, but he’d take it. Being annoyed at him restored her fighting spirit, which was what he was trying to accomplish in the first place.
“Where is this lab?” she asked.
The elevator arrived just then and he waited for her to get in before getting on himself. When he did, he pushed the button labeled B.
“Guess,” he said. A smile played on his lips as he said it. One that she could only describe as seductively mischievous.
Too bad she was immune to that sort of thing, she thought.
“The basement,” she answered with impatient annoyance. Why was he playing games? And why was that smile of his causing this odd sensation to sprout and grow in the pit of her stomach?
“Very good.” As they rode down, Tom inclined his head as if he was bowing to her superior intellect. “You got it on the first guess.”
Kait instantly resented his frivolous tone. A little girl’s life was at stake. Didn’t he get that? Or didn’t he care? She wasn’t sure which was a worse offense, stupidity or indifference.
“Why aren’t you taking this seriously?” she demanded heatedly.
He could see where this was going, and he didn’t care for it. He wasn’t just a fairly decent detective, he was a damn good one. That meant he cared. More than he actually should at times.
“I am.”
Kait laughed shortly. “By making lame jokes?” she challenged.
Tom debated just letting the accusation hang in the air without answering it. To the undiscerning eye, he might appear laid-back, but he didn’t like having to explain himself and he certainly didn’t like to justify his actions. Especially not to his partner. A partner was supposed to have your back even if it was a matter of blind faith.
And, for better or for worse—and for the duration of this case—this woman was his partner. He might need her to have his back. Especially if they wound up stumbling on a kidnapping ring. And if that did happen, then alienating her now wouldn’t be such a wise move.
So he told her the truth. He told her why, at times, especially when all else might fail, humor ended up being his weapon of choice.
“By not allowing my outrage, my sense of horror and my anger at the lowlife who would rip an innocent child from her family to get to me to the point that I am almost paralyzed and utterly useless when it comes to working a case.” And then he attempted to lighten the mood by adding, “And the jokes aren’t lame. They’re just not overly clever.”
No one had gotten on or off, so they had ridden the elevator straight to their destination. The elevator doors opened as the car arrived in a corner of the basement.
“They’re lame,” Kait insisted, but this time, he saw that there was just a hint of a smile on her lips, as well as one that he could just make out distantly in Kait’s voice.
Tom silently congratulated himself. However minor, he was making headway.
Chapter 8
E ver since the bombshell had dropped into his world that he was not the son of the late Martha and Anthony Cavelli but was actually born into what had slowly transformed into the Cavanaugh dynasty, Sean Cavelli/Cavanaugh was forced to wrestle with a number of issues, including the so-called “simple” act of selecting which surname he was legally supposed to be using.
For more than five decades, he’d thought of himself as Sean Cavelli, a man whose relatives on both sides of the family had their roots in Italy. Never mind that he didn’t resemble either of his parents or any of his three siblings.
Currently, he could truthfully
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