Cavanaugh Cold Case by Marie Ferrarella

computer monitor to look at him. “You’re slipping, Malloy. You need to do a little brushing up on your acting.”
    â€œI’ll brush up on anything you want if you just help me out here,” he told her. Then, his expression lighting up, he added, “I brought food,” before she had a chance to put him off. To prove his point, he shook the bag he held in front of her so that its contents made a noise. “Hear that? It’s calling to you.”
    â€œDonuts do not call. They make noise hitting the sides of a paper bag as their glaze flakes off, but they definitely do not call.”
    Opening the bag, Malloy looked inside it as if he was checking out the contents. “I’d say those crumbs have your name on them.”
    â€œAnd I say you’re pushing it. You know, between you and Kelly and Moira, not to mention Duncan, it’s a wonder I ever get anything done for the department at all.”
    He pretended to lower his voice so he could whisper in her ear. “Don’t look now, baby sister, but Kelly, Moira, Duncan and I are part of the department, so technically, your complaint doesn’t hold any water.”
    She raised her eyes to his. “You want me to find that database or not?”
    â€œYour complaint holds lots of water,” he told her with feeling, backtracking quickly.
    â€œBetter,” she approved, nodding her head. Looking at the numbers that he had handed her from the medical examiner, she paused, thinking. “Give me a minute—this was for a hip prosthetic, right?” she asked, double-checking that he’d given her the correct information so that she logged on to the right database.
    â€œRight,” he answered. With that, he turned his back to her and stared at the opposite wall.
    The redhead at the next desk saw him and smiled right at Malloy. But for once, Malloy’s attention was not captured. It was focused on getting the information he needed from Valri.
    Looking at his back, Valri asked, “What are you doing?”
    â€œLetting you work,” he said, still looking at the opposite wall. “The medical examiner told me that a watched pot never boils.”
    â€œSince when did you start thinking of me as a pot?” Valri asked.
    The sound of her fingers flying across her keyboard, making the keys click, brought a satisfied smile to Malloy’s lips.
    â€œI don’t,” he assured her. “I’m just trying my best to be accommodating and unobtrusive.”
    â€œWell, stop it,” she told him sharply. “You’re frightening me. The Malloy I grew up with was not accommodating or unobtrusive.”
    â€œSure I was,” he insisted good-naturedly. “You’re probably confusing me with one of the other brothers you have. You know, the ones who were always dragging their knuckles on the ground and playing pranks on you.”
    He heard her announce, “Done,” with a flourish as the sound of the portable printer beside her computer coming to life underscored the word.
    â€œYou remembered which brother you confused me with?” Malloy asked innocently as he turned back around to face her.
    Valri held out the information she had printed for him. “No, I was referring to having found the number you were looking for in the database. And I didn’t confuse you with anyone. That was definitely you. You, Malloy, have always been one of a kind.”
    â€œI’ll take that as a compliment,” Malloy told his sister, accepting the paper from her.
    â€œNo comment,” Valri replied prudently, her expression giving nothing away.
    Malloy glanced down at the page. He had a name and information, which in turn might lead to more identifications.
    â€œYou’re the best, Val—and if that fiancé of yours doesn’t treat you like the queen that you clearly are, tell him he’ll have me to answer to. He makes you so much as frown, I’ll beat him to a