Cavanaugh's Surrender. Marie Ferrarella

mind.”

      Logan knew a brush-off when he heard one, and ordinarily he’d just let it ride. But this woman was obviously someone special to his father, and initially he had been rather coarsely oblivious with her.

      “No, really,” he emphasized. “I’m sure my father would like you to come, too. He seems to regard you as another daughter,” he said, trying to add weight to his invitation. He waited for that to sink in before saying anything more. Overkill was just as bad as neglecting to say anything at all.

      At the mention of his father, Destiny allowed herself a small smile. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure the man was still in the other room, she said, “Your father’s a very nice man.”

      “Well, we agree on that,” Logan told her.

      And more than likely on very little else, Destiny added silently.

      With a preoccupied nod, she began to leave the apartment. She’d let Sean do his work. If she felt there was anything to add, she still had the key to Paula’s apartment in her pocket. She could come back at a later date, when there was no one to get in her way.

      Her hand on the doorknob, Logan’s question made her pause in midstep.

      “You want someone to take you home?”

      Was he treating her like a civilian? Or did he just assume that she’d locked down her hysteria and was just a tiny step away from having a complete meltdown?

      Turning to face the younger Cavanaugh, she looked at him, not exactly certain just how to interpret what he’d just said.

      “What?”

      “Would you like an officer to take you home?” he asked her, tendering the offer with a smile. “I’d offer to take you home myself, but I seem to be a little tied up at the moment.”

      He was serious. Either he was being too kind—or too cynical and doubting her actual feelings. She wasn’t sure which bothered her more.

      “Why would you think that I’d need someone to take me home?” she asked.

      Why did she take everything as a challenge to her authority? He was trying to be understanding. Obviously that was wasted on this woman. “Well, you did just have a big shock.”

      “I’m not going home,” she told him. Not wanting to explain herself any more than she absolutely had to, Destiny walked out.

      “Are you going to be all right?” Sean asked as she passed him.

      Sean’s concern, at least, she didn’t have to wonder about. She knew it was genuine and smiled with gratitude.

      “Yes,” she told him, not wanting the man to worry about her. He had enough to deal with these days. He didn’t need her to burden him. Besides, she wasn’t about to share her pain with him or with anyone. That was hers and hers alone to deal with.

      And the way to deal with it was to keep busy.

      She wasn’t going home right now, even though the hour grew late. Home was just a medium-size shell that she got to rattle around in, waiting for the beginning of her next workday.

      And, since technically she wasn’t supposed to be working this case on the city’s dime, she had to do it on her own time. That meant going into the lab and the small cubbyhole that comprised her “office” during something other than her regular work hours.

      As in now.

      She took the elevator down to the ground floor. It went straight down without a stop. Getting off, she walked directly to the double outer doors and pushed them open. The night air was chilly and damp as it greeted her.

      Destiny drew in a deep breath and then another, trying to make herself come around.

      With renewed purpose and borrowed energy, she walked briskly from the entrance to the apartment building to the curb where she’d parked her car.

      And then she stopped dead.

      There was no way she was going anywhere. Some jerk had double-parked his car parallel to hers and was completely blocking her exit.

      She was stuck.

      Biting back a barrage of less than flattering words that leaped to her lips, Destiny peered into the offending vehicle, trying to see if she could ascertain what kind of village idiot belonged to the car.

      That was when she saw the official markings. And the communications radio that was mounted beneath the dashboard.

      A standard Crown Victoria, the white car was an unmarked police vehicle. And she had a really strong hunch she knew whom it belonged to.