Cavanaugh's Surrender by Marie Ferrarella Page A

filled with files, notebooks and miscellaneous information.
    The expression on his face when Cavanaugh looked up told her that she’d made a tactical mistake with her wording. Again. What was it about this man that kept her tangling her words? She was seriously going to have to watch that. “To sit?” she added with emphasis, then repeated the question more fully. “Where do you want me to sit?”
    “You can take Sully’s desk. I don’t know when the others are liable to come back, and there’s no point in you having to play musical desks every morning, looking to see which is still unoccupied.”
    She deposited the cardboard box right in the middle of the desk and began to take out the files. Several looked thicker than he thought they should be, given that they’d only started their investigation.
    Finished, she placed what appeared to be a jump drive on top of the files. The neat way they were stacked was in complete contrast to the rest of the desk, which overflowed with papers and folders. In truth, it looked as if the other detective had just stepped away from his desk to make a quick run to the vending machine, not a trip to Hawaii for the better part of two weeks.
    Sitting down in the chair, Destiny found herself momentarily flustered when she discovered that her feet wouldn’t reach the floor.
    “Is your partner a giant?” she asked. Who would want their chair to be this high?
    “Close,” Logan allowed. He thought for a second, then said, “He’s six-six.” He watched as Destiny felt around along the bottom perimeter of the chair, looking for the height adjuster. “It’s on the right,” he told her. “The thing that adjusts your chair’s height,” he prompted.
    “Oh. Thanks.”
    Finding the adjuster, she pressed hard and suddenly found herself dropping down, seat and all, like a stone. The action jarred her, and it took a couple of moments for Destiny to start to feel all her individual parts back in working order.
    “Don’t mention it.” His grin grew wider still. And more inviting. He had to be some lady-killer when he got going, she couldn’t help thinking. That smile of his could definitely melt a rock at close range. “Anything I can do to help.”
    She merely nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak.
    “Oh, and speaking of help...” he interjected, his voice deliberately trailing away.
    “Yes?” she asked guardedly.
    “As soon as you’re settled in, I want to ask you a few questions,” he told her.
    What was it about this man that had her reacting so defensively? And heating so quickly? “What kind of questions?” she asked.
    “About your sister’s social life.”
    Oh. He was talking about the case. That was all right, then. She relaxed a little—but not all that much. “I’ve already put together a file addressing that.” She took it from the pile and placed it on his desk.
    “Of course you did,” Logan said more to himself than to her.
    This woman didn’t need his help to be detached, he thought. She needed his help in staying in contact with her human side. And while he was at it, he needed to get her to relax a little. He could feel her tension.
    “I’m not much on reading,” he finally told her after a beat. For now, he ignored the file she’d pushed toward him, preferring the personal touch. “Why don’t you just tell me what you wrote, and I’ll listen?”
    “You’re not much on reading,” she repeated in disbelief.
    If he noticed her reaction, he gave no indication. Instead, he merely shook his head in response. “Not really.”
    She stared at him. “You’re serious?”
    “Why?” he asked her innocently, doing an excellent job of hiding his amusement. It was his way of trying to get her to loosen up. In his experience, this was the only way to work a case without letting it get to you. Because if you allowed cases to get to you, it was only a matter of time before they became your undoing, and then you weren’t good to anyone, least