Jackson looked at her incredulously. “You really don’t ever give up, do you?”
“I don’t think I know how,” Brianna said honestly. “But in case you’re wondering, I did mean what I said yesterday.”
Jackson looked at her, surrendering. For now.
“You said so much yesterday,” he reminded her, “I really can’t keep track of it all. What are you talking about?”
“What I said about the chief’s gathering,” she told him. “If after you’ve spent some time there, you find that you’ve really had enough and just want to go home, we’ll go.”
She sounded sincere, but he knew better. “Define ‘some time.’”
Her grin returned. “Ah, well, ‘some time’ does mean different things to different people,” she replied loftily, then winked.
The sexy wink distracted him for a moment, but he collected himself quickly. “What does it mean to you?” he asked, trying to pin her down even though by now Jackson figured it was a totally futile effort.
Her smile widened just a little. “Why don’t we just let the morning and early afternoon play itself out and we’ll see?”
The expression on his face told her that he didn’t believe a word she was saying. “In other words, unless I walk out of there and keep walking, I’m stuck.”
“No,” she answered, surprising him because she looked utterly serious now. “All I’m asking is that you give it more than sixty minutes.”
He still didn’t believe her, but because he didn’t think she’d expect him to just give up so easily, he countered with, “Sixty-five.”
“Sixty-five is better,” Brianna answered, and then added as they drove off, “but maybe just a wee bit higher.”
“Maybe,” Jackson grunted, playing along. He’d expected nothing less from the woman.
Chapter 17
Brianna had just made the turn into one of the oldest developments in Aurora when she heard Jackson say, “I had some thoughts about the case.”
“So have I,” Brianna replied, as if he hadn’t been staring out the window, as silent as a tomb, for the last ten minutes.
His tone clearly indicated that he was annoyed. “My point is, shouldn’t we be working on that instead of, you know, partying?”
“Batteries need to be recharged, Muldare,” she said. “And we do what we do so that we can take these occasional breaks and party. Smile, Jackson. This isn’t going to hurt nearly as much as you think.”
As they drove through the residential development, passing a park and finally turning onto Andrew Cavanaugh’s block, Jackson took in his surroundings. There were cars parked on both sides of the street as far as the eye could see.
He let out a low whistle. “Looks like there are a lot of parties going on today.”
“Not exactly,” Brianna told him. Finding an open spot right near the corner, she quickly pulled in.
“What are you talking about? There are cars parked all over the place.”
Brianna came to a full stop, pulling up the parking brake. “I know.”
Jackson suddenly understood what she was saying. He looked at her in disbelief. “Just how many people are coming to this so-called gathering?”
“A lot,” she answered cheerfully, getting out of the car. “I don’t think that Uncle Andrew ever took a head count.”
Jackson left the car, moving in almost slow motion as he tried to come to terms with what she was telling him. It didn’t seem possible. “Wouldn’t the chief have to know how much food to buy?”
“We all take turns contributing toward these parties—it wouldn’t be fair otherwise. And Uncle Andrew has an uncanny ability to figure out just how many people are attending at any one time.”
By now, they were at the door. Jackson was surprised that it was unlocked. Brianna pushed the door open with her fingertips, and just like that, a wall of humanity became evident.
Jackson took it all in, slightly awed. “Wow. I’ve seen smaller crowds in soup kitchens during the holidays.”
Brianna laughed. “Surprisingly enough, you’re not the first person to say that.”
Jackson remained rooted in place. Brianna caught him off guard as she hooked her arm through his and tugged, bringing him across the threshold.
“Now park your attitude and suspend your judgment until you’ve been here an hour,” Brianna instructed. She was serious even though her smile was warm.
“An hour,” Jackson repeated, allowing himself to be drawn farther into the house. “And then we’ll go?”
“We said a bit longer than sixty-five minutes, remember? You’re frowning,” she noted, nodding. “You remember.” That resolved, she got down to why she had really brought Jackson here. “All right, let me introduce you around.”
“You don’t have to introduce me,” he protested. “I know some of these people from the precinct.”
But she was not about to relent. “Some, not all.” She tugged him into the living room. “Humor me.”
“That’s all I’ve been doing.”
“And you’ve been great,” she told him, tongue in cheek.
Before he knew what was happening, Brianna was bringing him over to the chief of Ds. It was only when he was standing directly in front of the man that Jackson realized that the man she had brought him over to wasn’t Brian Cavanaugh—he just bore a striking resemblance to him.
“Uncle Andrew,” Brianna said, “I’d like you to meet—”
“Detective Jackson Muldare,” the former chief of police said with a broad smile. “Yes. I know.” And then the strikingly personable man with the thick mane of silver-gray hair laughed. “Don’t look so surprised, Detective,” he told Jackson. “Just because I’m not the chief of police anymore doesn’t mean I’m out of touch. I’ve heard all about the case you and your team are working on.”
“It’s Detective O’Bannon’s team, sir,” Jackson dutifully pointed out.
Smiling, Andrew looked at Brianna. “A diplomat,” he said with an approving nod. “Ease up, Jackson. You don’t have to address me as ‘sir.’ We’re not that formal here. You’re here to enjoy yourself, like
