Cavanaugh’s Woman Read Free Page B

she concluded.
    “I’ve heard of you.” In the last seven years, he’d seen maybe five movies. He believed in other forms of diversion. If he needed to knock off some steam, he turned to sports. He loved basketball and baseball the most, but almost any sport, other than golf, would do. To him, playing golf seemed too much like standing on the sidelines. Maybe that was why movies seemed such a waste of time to him. Plunking down money for a two-hour vicarious experience had never really sat right with him.
    But he knew who she was. He would have had to be living in a cave not to.
    Still, if she was expecting him to turn into a puddle of pulsating semisolid flesh, the way Reese apparently had, she was in for a disappointment.
    Moira nodded. The detective’s reply had an air of finality to it. Which meant he wasn’t going to gush.
    Which meant he was perfect.
    She still had doubts about his partner, though, but that could be handled. Worst-case scenario, she could get Chief Cavanaugh to reassign the shorter detective to another partner for the time being.
    She wanted the stubborn one. In her gut, she knew he’d be the one to show her the ropes, the one who wouldn’t sugarcoat things. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.
    Flashing another brilliant smile, Moira turned toward the chief of detectives. “You’re right. He’s perfect.”
    Shaw didn’t like the sound of this. Wary, feeling like someone who’d just been blindfolded and pushed out onto a very thin tightrope, he looked from the movie star to his uncle.
    “Perfect for what? What’s going on here, Chief?” For the first time he saw that the woman had a small, thick spiral notebook on the desk in front of her. She was making notations in it. “Why’s she doing that?”
    “Ms. McCormick is about to make a movie dealing with an inner-city vice squad,” Brian said cautiously.
    “Good for her,” Shaw bit off.
    His uncle looked at him sharply and Shaw inclined his head by way of a minor apology. It was just that he didn’t see the point of making movies about the kinds of thing he and Reese dealt with on a daily basis. At best, his work could be described as long spates of monotony interrupted by pockets of adrenaline-rushing moments comprised of sheer danger and terror. If portrayed accurately, no one would come to see the movie because the kind of life they led was boring ninety-seven percent of the time. If not portrayed accurately, why bother making the movie at all? In his experience, movies such as the one his uncle was describing were just excuses to blow up a lot of things.
    He had no use for that kind of so-called entertainment.
    Shaw turned his attention back to the woman who was watching him so intently. Was she expecting him to perform tricks? He wasn’t about to be anyone’s trained monkey or stooge.
    “You know, I’m a huge fan,” his partner was saying, taking Moira’s small hand in his and shaking it again. “I’ve seen all your movies.”
    Very carefully, she managed to extricate her hand without giving offense. That, too, was training from way back when.
    “So you’re the one.” She laughed.
    Reese looked at her, his face a mask of confusion. Moira McCormick’s movies broke records. There was even talk of there being an Oscar nomination for her last role as a turn-of-the-century Irish freedom fighter. How could she downplay attendance?
    “What? Oh, that’s a joke?” And then Reese laughed as if he’d just caught the humor of it. He looked up at her much like a puppy looked at its master.
    Shaw struggled not to scowl. He’d never seen Reese like this. Just showed you never really knew a person. His impatience began to break through.
    “So you want to do what? Ask us questions? Pick our brains?” He glanced at his partner. “Such as they are,” he added.
    Moira exchanged looks with the chief. It was clear that she wanted to take the lead here. “Actually, I’d like to do more than that.”
    He really didn’t like the