“There are some things in life, Chief, that just don’t add up,” Bob said. “Chloe and I were at a protest meeting a couple of hours ago—”
“Cavanagh never outlives her enthusiasm for protests.” McGuire’s black eyes were mocking.
“Don’t I know it. But she’s so helpful. People love talking to her. Anyway, this most amazing thing happened.”
“Tell me,” McGuire urged, his deep voice a purr.
“It’s nothing,” Chloe murmured briefly, feeling embarrassed.
“Nuthin’ don’t say it.” Bob tilted his head to address his tall Chief. “There was this kid up a tree. About ten, stopped home from school so he could join the protest. Course the mother didn’t know. This big branch snapped under him. You had to hear the noise. Everyone scattered but not Chloe. While we all thought the kid could break a leg, Chloe, wait for it, positions herself like Arnie Schwarzenegger while the kid takes a nosedive.”
“No. So what did he break?” McGuire asked laconically.
“What I’m trying to tell you, Chief, is Chloe caught him.”
McGuire said nothing for a moment, not taking his eyes off Chloe’s flushed face, then he patted Bob’s arm. “Sounds like you two stopped off for lunch. Cracked a bottle of wine.”
“Never on the job,” Chloe said. “I’m still not sure how I did it. I’ve had this funny voice in my ear all day.”
“A visit to your doctor might help. You wouldn’t have it on camera, I suppose, Bob?” McGuire asked.
“Now this is the really amazing part. I got everything else but some outside force seemed to put the camera into freeze.”
McGuire set his fine white teeth. “You’ll have to excuse me, folks. Ordinarily, I love to hear the mad stories you two make up.”
“It wasn’t a story, truly. I did catch him,” Chloe said.
McGuire wasn’t convinced. “You? Listen, you look like you’d have trouble emptying your shopping trolley. Heck, what do you weigh?” He took a step towards her, eyeing her slight figure, then before Chloe could move he swept her off her feet in one lightning-fast movement. “I’d say about fifty-four kilos.” He actually bounced her like a baby. “Am I right?”
She was utterly devastated. Her heart did a mad somersault and the blood whooshed in her ears. “Put me down.”
“Soon.” McGuire saw the rush of feeling flash through her eyes. Probably saw herself as Jessica Lange borne aloft by King Kong. “It’s a joke, right?” he asked with elaborate casualness.
“There were plenty of witnesses.” Bob was fascinated by the sight of Chloe looking like a porcelain doll in the Chief arms. He had to be dreaming all of it. “I can find you someone to speak to,” he offered.
McGuire laughed. “So there’s magic in you, Cavanagh.” Just holding her made him feel bedazzled. “Magic to move people. Catch them if you have to. That has to be the reason. It’s also quite possible you two screwballs dreamed the whole thing up.”
Bob looked shocked. “We’ve got too much respect for you, Chief, to waste your time.”
McGuire looked down at Chloe, noting every nuance of her expression. The scent of her was in his nostrils; honeysuckle, golden wattle, the fragrance of Spring.
“Chief,” she said, exasperated. She knew he could hear her unsteady breathing. Those smouldering black eyes zooming in on the telltale rise and fall of her breast.
“This is where it all falls apart, Bob. Cavanagh couldn’t possibly break the fall of a ten-year-old boy. You know it I know it.”
“What happened was a miracle,” Bob proclaimed like a convert.
“Nope. You’re just mad.” McGuire lowered Chloe to her feet, keeping his hand on her shoulder for a moment as though recognising she was very fluttery. “Sorry, you two. Got to run. You might like to be there when the jury returns a verdict on the Chandler case. I’ve just had a tip-off it could be late this afternoon.”
“Does this mean you still trust us?” Chloe challenged.
McGuire looked back over his shoulder, gave a twisted grin. “Sure, Cavanagh. What you obviously need is a good night’s sleep.”
“I guess you could call it mass hysteria,” Bob said later.
Chloe looked away from him. She could still feel McGuire’s strong muscular arms wrapping her body. She could still feel the shock waves, the chemistry as old as time, the brush of heat. It shamed her. “Let’s put it out of our minds,” she advised. We have to concentrate on the Chandler job. It has to be guilty.”
“There’s always a shock verdict, Chloe.” Bob sighed. “I’ve discovered that. Hang on a minute and I’ll get another tape. There must have been something wrong with the other one.”
CHAPTER TWO
BEFORE she left Friday, Chloe popped her head around the door of McGuire’s office. He was on the phone and he gave her a quick warning look: Don’t interrupt.
“Right, what is it?” he gritted when he finished what was clearly an aggravating call.
Unbelievable! Why had she accepted his offer to drive her to the party?
“I wasn’t sure if you knew where I lived.”
“Piece of cake, I’ve run past the house several times.”
“Whatever for?”
He looked back at her, a tight smile at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? I like to know all I can about the staff. Bit big for you, isn’t it?” It was a beautiful old Colonial, the family home, he had since been told, but it had to be a drain on her resources, physical and financial.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” she said simply.
He was sympathetic to that. “So see you, then.”
“Fine. Wonderful.” She backed out quickly, muttering under her breath. Maybe he would be in a better mood tomorrow. If not she would simply call a cab.
Saturday morning found her shopping for the week’s supplies. Nothing much. She lived on fresh fruit and salads. She bought ham and cheese from the delicatessen, a roast chicken, a couple of loaves of bread she could pop into the freezer. There was no time to cook.
Mostly she didn’t have the inclination. Not after long hours on the job. Occasionally she and her friends went out to dinner when she made up for the slight deprivations. Early afternoon was spent in the garden trying to bring some semblance of order to the large grounds she was gradually turning to low-maintenance native plants. Her mother had adored her garden. So had her father when he had the time. Now they were both gone from this place.
A sense of loss beat down on Chloe but she tried to fight it back. In the early days after the double tragedy, she had experienced an overwhelming debilitating grief, a sense of futility and emptiness. How could she live without her father and mother? But when her mother had come out of the coma and into a waking dream state Chloe had started to fight back. She wanted to be around when her mother was returned to full life, even when the doctors told her day after day that was never going to happen.
Her skin glistening with tears, Chloe dug in a flowerbed overflowing with daisies, petunias, pink and white impatiens, double pelargoniums with a thick border of lobelia. A magnificent Iceberg rose climbed all over the brick wall that separated the house from their neigh-bour’s, spilling its radiance all over the garden. Her mother loved white in the garden, the snow white of azaleas, candytuft, the masses and masses of windflowers she used to