Cavanaugh's Bodyguard by Marie Ferrarella

name and she had that social networking page with her photograph on it. It wouldn’t have been hard to find it to see what she looked like,” he added. “All the guy had to do was look her up on Google.”
    She kept forgetting it could be that easy. Bridget shook her head as they walked back to the car. “Such a great invention and these jerks have to ruin it by using it to ‘virtually’ stalk people and kill them.”
    There was the optimist again, he couldn’t help thinking. Bridget was always trying to see the good rather than the bad. It was one of the things he liked about her. That and her mind. It also didn’t hurt that she had killer legs.
    Josh tamped down the grin that threatened to rise to his lips.
    “Happens with everything,” he said philosophically. “One of the first uses for the camera was to take what were considered to be pornographic pictures back in Edwardian times.” About to get into the car, Bridget gave him a questioning look. “I read a lot,” he told her. Getting in on the driver’s side, he started to buckle up when he saw her taking out her cell phone. “Who are you calling?”
    “Brenda,” she answered. “I want to see if she managed to trace back the IP address to SexyDude’s home so we can go talk to the creep.”
    Brenda was Brenda Cavanaugh, the wife of one of the chief of detectives’ sons. He’d heard that she was an absolute wizard at what she did, but, as he glanced at his watch, this was pushing it. It had been less than an hour since they’d handed over the laptop.
    “Aren’t you crowding her a little? I mean, she is still human.”
    “Only in a very broad, general sense,” Bridget deadpanned. “I’ve been told she’s very good at her job.” Because the line on the other end was being picked up, Bridget held up her hand, curtailing any further conversation with Josh for the moment.
    “Brenda? Hi, this is Bridget—right, Bridget Cavanaugh.” She deliberately avoided looking at Josh as she confirmed the other woman’s inquiry. “Did you happen to figure out that creep’s name and address yet?” The next moment, a huge smile bloomed on her face. “Terrific. I said you were the best. What is it?”
    This time Bridget did raise her eyes to Josh, silently indicating that she needed something to write with and a surface to do it on. Turning his body, Josh pulled out a pen, then, because he had nothing to give her to write on, he held up his palm for her. Bridget didn’t have the luxury of being choosy, so, bracing his hand with hers, she turned his palm up toward her.
    The next moment, she was writing across it with his pen. “Thanks, I owe you one— What? This Saturday?” She let go of Josh’s hand. “No, I’m not. I’m not busy. I can make it, yes. You’re sure? Really? I didn’t think I had one of those. Should be interesting. Okay, Josh and I will come by the lab later for anything else you can find. Bye.”
    Questions crowded his head by the time she got off the phone. “Didn’t think you had one of what?” Josh wanted to know.
    It took Bridget a second to match his question with something that she’d said previously. “Oh. That. A grandfather,” she explained. Why was he asking her that? “Aren’t you more interested in this creep’s name?”
    “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I can’t ask about this. You looked really surprised—and then kind of pleased—when you were talking to her and it wasn’t about the case. Made me curious what could make you look like that.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a partner who keeps his mind on his work and hell-bent on catching the bad guy,” she retorted.
    And then Bridget sighed as she leaned back in the seat. Josh would find a way to wheedle this out of her one way or another and if she got it over quickly, then they could focus on what was important. Bringing that bastard to justice.
    “Brenda said that Andrew— Uncle Andrew,” Bridget amended since the man was family, “got a call