Free Cavanaugh’s Woman by Marie Ferrarella Page B

he’d been asked.
    With a shrug that was the sheer definition of careless, Shaw raised his voice and looked back at Moira. “All right. Where and when?”
    She crossed to him, pleased. “Wow, I didn’t expect it to be this easy.” She beamed at Reese, knowing he’d been behind it. “Jonathan’s reserved the Green Ballroom at the hotel.”
    The name meant nothing to him. Was it supposed to? “Jonathan?”
    “Jonathan Daley.” She realized that still had no meaning for him. “Sorry. He’s the producer.”
    “Why are you sorry?”
    Moira dragged her hand through her hair. She wanted a bath—a long, lovely, hot bath—but she’d settle for a shower. Time was short. “Because I just did what I swore I’d never been guilty of doing.” She saw his blank expression. Any second now, it would be chased away by impatience. “Name-dropping,” she explained. “It’s just that it’s hard not to….”
    Moira let her voice trail off, knowing there was no good way to end this sentence. There were times she wished she had her father’s glib tongue. Matthew McCormick could always explain his way out of things.
    That was just the problem. The more time that went by, the more certain she became that her father was using up his supply of luck and that someday, when it ran out, terrible things would happen to him. But he’d only laugh and tease her about worrying like an old woman. Eventually, not wanting to be there for the fateful day when it finally found him, she’d left.
    Right now, she decided to concentrate on her minor victory. “Would you like me to send a car for you?” She looked from one man to the other.
    Reese nodded, but Shaw wasn’t so easily led along. “Why? Something wrong with my car?”
    Why did he always gravitate to the negative side? “No. I just thought you might want to impress someone with a limo.”
    “There’s no one to impress,” he told her flatly.
    Okay, so maybe she was digging. He obviously didn’t live with anyone, but that didn’t mean that Mr. Sunshine wasn’t involved with someone. She cocked her head. “No one?”
    “No one.”
    She tried to sound innocent as she regained ground. “Then you’ll be driving in on your own?”
    “Been driving since I was sixteen. See no reason to suddenly stop now just because I’ve got an invitation to a crew party.”
    “Precast party,” she corrected automatically. “Then I’ll see you there.” She made an effort to look at both of them, and even to smile at Reese, but her attention was clearly on the taller of the two men. “Oh—” she realized that she’d told them the where, but not the when “—it’s at eight.”
    “We’ll be there with bells on,” Reese promised. Turning away as Moira left, he let out a low whistle. “Man, do I wish I was you right now.”
    “Why?” He began to head back to his desk. There was a report to file before he could leave tonight. “You’re invited, too. The only reason I’m going is because you want me to.”
    Reese trailed after him, a dreamy, puppy-dog expression on his face. “Yeah, but she didn’t look at me the way she looked at you.”
    In the squad room, Shaw headed straight for his desk, avoiding making eye contact. He wasn’t in the mood for questions. “And what way would that be?”
    “Like she’s got a yen for corn beef and you’re the last corn-beef sandwich on the shelf.”
    Sinking down in his seat, he looked at his partner incredulously. “Where the hell do you get these thoughts from?”
    Reese loosened his tie. “Doesn’t matter where I get them from. What matters is that she looks like she’s got a thing for you.”
    Shaw snorted. “She’s an actress. They get a ‘thing’ for anyone.”
    The explanation obviously did not seem to deter Reese. “Maybe, but she got it for you.”
    He found that his patience was severely limited tonight. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and if you keep on talking, I’m not going.”
    Reese