Cavanaugh on Duty - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,9

she tilted it back.

“Good,” she pronounced once she’d swallowed. “Ken has fake hair,” she reminded him matter-of-factly, as if she was talking about an actual living, breathing being instead of an iconic doll. “I never really liked Barbie’s boyfriend.” She held the bottle out to him again. “Don’t worry. I won’t get in your way.”

“Especially if you’re not there,” Esteban agreed flatly.

Kari shook her head. What the hell had the Chief gotten her into? “You are a hard devil to get close to,” she commented.

Now she was finally getting it, he thought. It was about damn time. “Not hard,” Esteban corrected. “Impossible—and I like it that way.”

She laid it out for him, although she was certain that he’d already figured this out on his own. What did he hope to gain by playing this little charade out? Did he think this was going to “put her in her place”? Establish their hierarchy in relation to one another?

“Well, it’s either partner with me or hit the road, and I think you’ve invested too much time into the job to just walk away. At the very least, you’d have to start all over again somewhere else.”

He paused his ongoing communion with the bottle she’d brought. His own—the one he’d opened tonight—was now empty and he wasn’t finished drinking. He was still standing. “I really don’t care what you think, Ms. Cavanaugh.”

“It’s Detective Cavelli-Cavanaugh,” she corrected him, deliberately slurring just a bit for his benefit.

Her apparent inebriation was, for the most part, staged. The drinks she’d been taking from the bottle, now that they had both forgone the niceties of actual glasses, were deliberately exaggerated in appearance. In reality, it all amounted to very little alcohol going down. Kari had no intention of getting drunk—and it wasn’t because she was worried about the regretful events that might consequently follow once she reached that state. Rather, it was because she just knew that if she couldn’t appear to hold her liquor, he would have even less respect for her than he did now.

And the point of this entire confrontation was to get Esteban to have a decent amount of respect for her, not less.

“Hell of a mouthful,” he muttered, referring to her hyphenated last name.

Kari smiled at him, the kind of smile that hinted at secrets being held back. “Yes,” she told him, “Actually, I am.”

“Think a lot of yourself, Cavelli-Cavanaugh, don’t you?” he asked, mocking the extralong name.

“Not a lot,” she assured him, then added, “just my due. And you can pick one of my last names to use. Just be consistent.”

He stared at her in stunned silence for a moment. And this time, when the laughter came, it was heartier and not quite so full of animosity. He’d already had more than his fair number of shots before this beautiful, ornery woman had descended on him bearing a liquid peace offering. He’d lost count by now just how much he’d consumed.

The upshot of it all was that, while he wasn’t feeling any more receptive to her now than before, the hostility that he did have—not so much against her as against the fact that he was being barred from continuing the work that had been his sole reason for living these past few years—was morphing into something else.

Something equally as strong and, from his somewhat detached point of view, equally as useless.

Something that, he was fairly certain, had he not been on his way to total intoxication, he would have been unaware of.

Namely that he felt attracted to this annoyance with the sexy legs. Not mildly or conveniently attracted, but teeth-jarringly, mindlessly, intensely attracted.

For the past three years, he had conducted his one-man crusade to bring down the men behind his half brother’s drug overdose—and his stepfather’s subsequent prison sentence—to the exclusion of everything else. This exclusion included not tending to any of his other needs beyond occasionally eating and sleeping...and he only paid nominal attention to those two things so he’d have enough stamina to continue working. Everything else—searching for creature comforts, entertaining desires of the flesh or even, moderately, of the soul—had been so completely neglected that they were just shut out as if they didn’t exist.

But they did.

And now, for some unknown reason that utterly confounded him, he felt a flare of desire in this woman’s presence. A flare of desire that didn’t just evaporate the way he’d fully expected it to, but went on to spread like a wildfire through his veins.

To spread and feed on itself, and