Cavanaugh’s Woman (3 page)

“Some baby.” Clay hooted with the proper amount of appreciation. “Moira McCormick can play at being my baby anytime.”

Before Clay had settled down and lost his heart to Ilene, he’d been involved with more women than could be found in the population of any given Alaskan town. Now that he thought of it, this kind of assignment was definitely more up his brother’s alley than his, Shaw decided, but he knew there was no use in suggesting it to his uncle.

Picking up a paper clip from a caddy on his desk, Shaw began to straighten it out. “I’m sure Ilene will be thrilled to hear that.”

At the mention of his fiancée’s name, Clay sobered ever so slightly. Shaw knew that there was no way his brother would jeopardize what he had for something as insignificant as a fling with a movie star, or anyone else, no matter how tempting—and this woman gave the word
temptation
a whole new, deeper meaning. However, Clay’s wild-oat-sowing days were now behind him.

Unlike him, Shaw thought. Wild-oat sowing had never been in his makeup. He vaguely wondered if he was missing something, then dismissed the thought.

“Hey,” Clay protested, “don’t get me wrong—”

Shaw laughed, tossing aside the wavy paper clip. “Easy, stop sweating. I’m not going to tell Ilene you became a drooling moron like Reese, at least not until there’s something in it for me.”

He flashed his brother a grin, then looked over toward where Moira was still holding court. The crowd around her just kept getting larger and nosier. He knew that some of the men had called their wives, who promptly put in an appearance. So far, Moira was taking it all with good grace, but then, wasn’t that what movie stars liked? Adulation?

Shaw blew out a breath. “Look, what’s the big deal? So she’s beautiful, so what? Beauty is only skin deep. Take that away and what do you have?”

Clay looked over his shoulder again and sighed. When he looked back at Shaw, there was a slightly lopsided smile curving his lips. “A damn sexy skeleton, I’m willing to bet.”

“Any way you can ask Brian for this assignment?”

Clay vehemently shook his head. “Oh, no, that’s all I need—to tell Ilene I’m going to be riding around in my car with Moira McCormick at my elbow.”

He thought of his brother’s fiancée. “Why should that be a problem? Ilene’s a gorgeous woman.”

“No argument, but she’s not a movie star.”

Shaw laughed shortly, picking up another paper clip and going to work on it. “Thank God.”

“You know what I mean.” The sound of Moira’s laughter floated back to them, somehow managing to rise above the din. Shaw’s frown only deepened as Clay said, “There’s an aura around them.”

“They’re people, same as you and me. Two hands, two feet, one head, a torso in between. Same parts.”

“But they look better.”

If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Clay was smitten with the paper person at the other end of the room.

“That’s lighting, nothing more. And without it, they fall apart. Actors tend to be illusions. You want to know why the good ones are so good at what they do, why they can take on other roles so easily?” Warming to his subject, Shaw leaned forward. “Because they have no substance of their own, nothing to rework. They’re shape-shifters, Clay, as interesting as the parts they play—nothing more.” He paused. A strange look flashed across Clay’s face, half amusement, half unease. “What’s the matter with you? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder and knew the reason for Clay’s odd expression before he ever heard her say a thing. “Not a ghost. A shape-shifter, I think you called me.”

Shaw slowly turned his chair around. Moira McCormick was standing behind his desk. The entourage that had been hovering around her had melted into the background, watching the exchange like an audience in search of entertainment.

By the looks on their faces, he’d delivered, big-time.

“I was talking in general terms,” Shaw said.

“I think it was an apt description,” she replied cheerfully. “Shape-shifter.” Moira rolled the word on her tongue, as if testing how it felt. “I like it.” She lowered her voice as she nodded toward the others behind her. “And I like the fact that you didn’t join in back there.”

“I’m not a joiner.”

“I sensed that.” She made herself comfortable on the edge of his desk. “A rebel, right?”

“No, just an average Joe, out to earn a living.”

“That’s not what your uncle said.” Brian Cavanaugh had nothing but glowing words for the man he’d coupled her with. There were a number of good things to be said about Steven Reese, as well, but to an extent, the latter had negated it with his clear case of adoration.

“The chief says a lot of things.” Shaw rose, taking care not to brush against her as he did. For once, he was going home early. He couldn’t get anything done here, not with these hyenas hovering about, ready to burst out laughing. “Good night.”

“Good night.” As she watched him leave, she couldn’t help thinking that the man she’d selected had a very nice posterior. She was going to enjoy watching him walk away. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Shaw said nothing. It was a prophecy he really wished he could avert.

As he left the room, he heard Moira saying something to his brother. Clay began to laugh in response.

It was going to be a long week.

Chapter Three

I
f he had any intention of dwelling on the scene he’d just left, or on the woman who was going to be disrupting his life for the next week, Shaw found he had no time. His cell phone was ringing before he reached his car in the lot.

Digging it out of his pocket, he flipped open the lid. “Cavanaugh.”

“Shaw, I need you to come home.”

Twilight began to whisper along the fringes of the tree-lined parking lot. Shaw stopped walking, stopped thinking about how much Moira McCormick was going to impede his current investigation. His father was on the other end of the call and there was definitely something wrong. His father rarely, if ever, called during working hours.

Shaw couldn’t begin to fathom his tone. He could usually read his father like a well-loved book. Concern nudged at the edges of his mind. “Dad, is there something wrong?”

There was a pause, but no explanation followed. “Just come home. Now.”

Shaw didn’t waste time asking any more questions. He knew his father wasn’t given to drama. Whatever was going on, it was important.

“I’ll be right there,” he promised. Shutting his cell, Shaw was in his car and on the open road in less time than it took to think through the process.

He wouldn’t allow his mind to explore possibilities. The closest his father had ever come to sounding so urgent was when Uncle Mike had been fatally shot.

But no one at the precinct had said anything. If there was an officer down, much less a member of his own family, word would have gotten to him by now. Uncle Brian would have called him into his office immediately.

The more Shaw thought, the more he realized that the only other time his father had sounded so somber was when he’d gathered the family together to tell them that their mother’s car had been found at the bottom of the river. His father had gone on to say that there was every hope in the world that she had somehow managed to survive the accident.

That was his father, an optimist to the end even though he wasn’t usually vocal about it.

Even as the years went by and no clue of Rose Cavanaugh’s survival came to light, his father had never, ever given up hope that someday she would come walking through the front door to take back her place in their lives.

Waiting at a stoplight, Shaw scrubbed his hand over his face. Hell of a man, his father. Shaw didn’t know how he would have handled losing his wife that way and being left to raise five kids to boot. Shaw smiled to himself. He had to hand it to the old man—they didn’t make ’em like that anymore.

He wondered if Andrew Cavanaugh knew that he was his kids’ hero. Probably not.

As he approached his father’s house, Shaw saw that other cars were ahead of him. A quick scan told him that Callie, Rayne and Teri had gotten there ahead of him. One glance in his rearview mirror indicated Clay’s vehicle was right behind him.

Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have disturbed him. His father used any excuse to get them all together beyond the call to breakfast that he issued every day. Like as not, most mornings would find him making a pit stop at the family house, not so much for the food, which was always good, as for the company. Granted, he and his siblings all went their separate ways—his father encouraged that. But something always pulled them together no matter how independent they were.

His father had taught them that roots were by far the most important things in life. If you had deep enough roots, you could withstand any kind of storm that came your way.

Shaw couldn’t help wondering if there was a storm coming, or if it had already arrived.

After parking beside the mailbox, just behind Callie’s vehicle, Shaw got out of his car just as Clay pulled up behind him.

His brother was quick to climb out, slamming the door in his wake. One look at his brother’s face told him that Clay was as puzzled as he was for this sudden summons to return home.

“You have any idea what this is all about?” Clay asked.

Shaw shook his head. “Only that Dad said to come home.”

“Not like him to be so dramatic,” Clay speculated, frowning and falling into place beside him.

Because he was the oldest and the others looked to him to set the tone, Shaw remained deliberately low-keyed. “Maybe Teri’s changed her mind about Hawk,” he deadpanned, then nodded toward the door. “Only one way to find out.”

Neither one of them bothered to knock. They all had their keys, something their father insisted on. This had been their first home and it would remain their home no matter how far away they went. For Andrew, it was as simple as that.

“Okay, Dad, what’s the big mystery?” Clay called out, following Shaw into the living room.

Clay stopped dead right behind his brother.

His sisters were already in the room along with their father. They all sat on the sofa, smiling but looking far more subdued than Shaw ever remembered seeing them. The reason was seated rigidly on the recliner their father favored.

A ghost from the past.

The polite but strained conversation stopped the moment he and Clay entered the room.

For a single second, Shaw’s heart stopped beating as he was thrown back in time, then pushed forward to the present again. Hardly daring to breathe, he looked from the woman to his father, who nodded.

He wasn’t a police detective anymore, he was a son. A son whose missing mother had turned up in his living room.

They were already aware that Rose Cavanaugh was alive. His father had told them of Rayne’s discovery, of going up and seeing for himself the woman who answered to the name of Claire. He had wanted to persuade her to come home with him. Shaw also knew that the woman claimed not to have any memory of them.

Shaw could see a great deal of unresolved emotion in his father’s eyes. He could also see that while she was looking straight ahead at them, trying to smile, the woman who didn’t appear to know she was his mother was digging her fingertips into the leather armrests.

“And these are your sons, Shaw and Clay,” Andrew told her.

The woman inclined her head, rising slightly from her seat, and succeeded in smiling at them. At him. Smiling at him with his mother’s smile.

Shaw had no idea what to feel, what to think.

And then she shook her head, sorrow in her eyes as she turned them toward his father. Her apology throbbed with emotion, with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember them, either.”

Andrew nodded, resigned but ever hopeful. “You will,” he promised. “It’ll take time but you will.” He didn’t have a single strain of doubt in his voice. Andrew looked at his sons. There was triumph in his expression. “Boys, Claire has agreed to stay here with us for a while.”

Shaw raised his eyes toward his father, waiting for an explanation. Questions began to form in his mind.

“Claire?” he echoed.

“It’s my name,” the woman told him quietly. “At least, that’s the only name I’ve known for the past fifteen years.”

Her voice was soft, like his mother’s voice. Shaw felt an ache take hold. There was nothing he could do to fix this except ride it out. Compassion welled up within him. He sincerely felt for his father.

Unable to hold back any longer, Rayne was on her feet, standing in front of Claire. “That’s because you disappeared fifteen years ago,” she insisted. “You
are
our mother, you
are
his wife. Why can’t you see that?”

Her voice broke even as Shaw crossed to her. Ever protective of his siblings, especially of Rayne, who’d always been the most troubled and the most tormented by all this, he put his arm around his sister.

“This is why we never let you become a psychiatrist,” he teased, trying to lighten the moment if only a fraction. He kissed the top of her head, then he gave her a quick, heartfelt squeeze. Rayne had been the one the most vocal in her suffering when her mother had disappeared after the accident. The youngest, she’d been the most attached. “It’s going to be all right, Rayne,” Shaw promised. He looked at his mother. “It’s just going to take time, but we’ll all be there for you. For each other.”

Claire seemed filled with remorse that she didn’t know them. “I’m so sorry I can’t—”

On his feet, Andrew cut her short. “That’s okay. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“Now here’s something you should remember.” Taking her cue from the others, Teri tried to keep the conversation on a light, upbeat path. “Dad always has a corny saying to reinforce his points.”

Claire smiled bravely at these strangers around her. She’d been alone for so long, both physically and mentally. Alone, yet haunted by memories that refused to form beyond specters. To believe that there was a family waiting for her, ready to accept her with open arms, was more like a fantasy than reality.

But even so, she couldn’t make the wall keeping her from her past come down, couldn’t even chip away at it until there was the slightest clink in the mortar. Couldn’t access anything beyond the time she regained consciousness, found herself dripping wet and walking along a highway.

Going from nowhere to nowhere.

Andrew looked at the faces of his children. “Okay.” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s eat.”

Shaw laughed and shook his head. Food was his father’s solution to almost any dilemma. He maintained that if you had a pleasantly full stomach, problems didn’t loom as large.

Shaw had a feeling they were going to have to consume a mountain of food before this was all finally resolved to their satisfaction.

The alarm went off.

Reluctantly, Shaw rolled over on his side and stared at the blue digital numbers. It was early.

He’d always been an early riser. This morning, however, he entertained the idea of succumbing to the unfamiliar desire to remain in bed a little longer. He wanted sleep to anesthetize him.

Didn’t matter what he wanted. It didn’t work that way for him; it never had. Once he was awake, he was awake. And the next moment, like marauding soldiers, thoughts came crowding into his head.

Thoughts of last night with his mother.

It had been one strange evening. He felt as if he’d experienced it on two very different levels, both at the same time. Part of him had wanted to throw his arms around the delicate woman, to tell her how much he’d missed her, to tell her everything that had happened in the past fifteen years. The other part had stood off, afraid of getting hurt. Even so, he’d attempted to get to know this woman who hadn’t been a part of their lives for such a long time. She was both their mother and a stranger at the same time.

It was surreal.

So was getting up, knowing that he was going to be riding around with a movie star in the back of his car, he grumbled to himself.

Shaw threw off the covers. The less he thought about that, the better.

What he needed was a cold shower to bring him around. That, and maybe shooting a few hoops at the local park. Getting physical always helped him cope better.

Shaw wondered if Clay was up yet and if he could be persuaded to meet him at the park. Probably not. His brother was a slug. When they were growing up, more than once Clay had offered him money just to grasp five extra minutes in bed. But maybe he could rouse Clay before it was time to get to work.

Looking at the phone, Shaw tried to remember Clay’s new number now that he’d moved in with Ilene. He drew a blank.

He’d look for it after his shower, he decided.

A gentle, cool breeze pushed its way into the bedroom. Shaw glanced toward the window, remembering that he’d left it open last night. The breeze stirred the drapes he’d drawn before getting undressed.

Shaw stretched, the muscles of his taut, tanned naked body rippling and moving like an awakening panther.

He decided to leave the window open and walked into his small bathroom.

He had just stepped into the stall when he heard the ringing. At first, he thought it might be his cell phone or his landline, but then he realized that it was the doorbell.

Muttering under his breath, he turned the water off, grabbed a towel to secure around his middle and padded out to the front door. Because there was a threat made against his life—nothing out of the ordinary in his line of work and certainly nothing he was about to share with any of the members of his family—Shaw paused to pick up his second weapon. He took the safety off before approaching the front door.

The towel slid a little and he secured it again before turning his attention back to his unexpected, uninvited guest.

“Who is it?”

“Your shadow.” The woman’s voice on the other side of the door was flippant.

Shaw lowered his gun. He didn’t need any more identification than that. Half expecting one of his siblings to turn up on his doorstep after what had gone down last night, he still knew it wasn’t one of his sisters who was standing there now. It was
her.

Biting off a curse, he yanked open the door and glared at Moira McCormick. God, but he hated being right sometimes.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Swallowing my tongue at the moment,
she thought.

Wow.

It was the only word that even began to cover what her eyes took in.
Magnificent
was a close second.

The jacket Cavanaugh had worn yesterday had given her the impression of wide shoulders, but like as not, coming from the land of illusion the way she did, she knew the silhouette could have been just as much a credit to the tailor who had fashioned the article of clothing as it could have been to time spent in the gym, working out.

Seeing drops of water gleaming on his smooth, muscular chest and more droplets sliding invitingly down to the towel he had haphazardly draped around his waist—a towel that looked as if it were ready to break away at the very next large breath he took in—Moira was hard-pressed to come up with a time when she’d seen a better specimen of manhood.

“Absorbing you,” she finally murmured in response to the question he’d snapped at her.

She looked incredibly casual, he thought. Gone were the four-inch heels and the miniskirt, along with the carefully styled hair. She wore jeans, a baggy shirt that still wasn’t baggy enough to hide the fact that the lady was well endowed, and on her feet she had on a pair of comfortable sneakers. Her hair was needle straight and loose about her shoulders, a wayward blond cloud.