Читать книгу Witness... And Wife? - Kate Stevenson - Страница 10

“I feel fine,” Cassie protested.

“And you’ll feel finer tomorrow.” Dr. Denning’s tone brooked no argument. “A concussion, however mild, is nothing to mess with, young lady. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you walk out tonight. I’ll stop by first thing in the morning, and if things check out, you can go home then.”

“So what’s to check out?” Cassie grumbled, resentful of her forced inactivity. Headache or no, it felt wrong to be lying in bed like an invalid instead of up getting things accomplished.

The doctor smiled as though he understood her impatience. “Try to get a good night’s sleep,” he suggested before leaving.

Sleep! Since when did people sleep in hospitals? Between the staff’s poking and prodding, visits from overly cheerful volunteers and the shrill demand of the telephone, Cassie hadn’t managed to nap once today. Even the painkillers she’d been given didn’t make her tired.

Woozy, yes. Sleepy? No way.

Rebelliously she stared at the white tiles marching across the ceiling. If Denning wanted her to get some rest, he should send her home.

When the phone rang, she considered ignoring it. The last thing she needed was more sympathy from her family or another round with Peter Eckhart.

Peter, her boss and editor at the Denver Tattler, had expressed the same concerns as her father and brothers, but once satisfied Cassie was all right, he’d focused on her articles. His emotions had roller-coastered from fear she wouldn’t finish on time to elation over the possibility for a dramatic conclusion to the series.

Cassie didn’t blame him. He was only doing his job. But the thought of another such conversation stayed her hand. Five rings later she decided the caller wasn’t giving up. With a sigh she rolled toward the metal nightstand and lifted the receiver.

“Cassandra Bowers?”

Cassie had always hated her given name, and no one used it but her father. No one, she amended, except Luke, and he only did when he wanted to get a rise out of her. The certainty that this wasn’t Pop or Luke cooled her response several degrees. “Yes?”

“How’s your head?”

“Okay.” Her head felt like a helium-filled balloon, although she’d be darned if she’d admit it. Easing it back onto the pillow, she began a tally of tile holes.

“Such a tragic accident. A woman isn’t safe anywhere these days.”

The slight emphasis on the word tragic caught her attention, halting her tile-hole count. “Who is this?”

“Just call me a…concerned citizen.”

The caller’s chuckle gave Cassie the uncomfortable feeling she’d missed a joke. She shifted the phone to her other ear. Wishing she’d refused the painkiller the nurse had brought half an hour ago, she tried to focus on the raspy whisper.

“A smart girl like you should be more careful.”

Why was everyone always telling her to be careful? First her father and brothers, then Luke, now some crackpot with a frog in his throat. It wasn’t as though she went looking for trouble.

“Course, some people claim there’s no such thing as an accident. They talk about being stupid, sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

Borrowed trouble. That’s what her father had once called her job, and she’d denied it, laughing. I’m only reporting trouble, not borrowing it, she’d answered. She wanted to laugh now, but instead, a chill trickled along her spine.

“Play it safe. I’d hate to see more accidents happen.”

The caller’s voice droned on, scraping her nerves like a nail file against sensitive fingertips.

“…to your car some morning on the turnpike or to that cute little dog…”

A noose seemed to tighten around her neck, cutting off her air. Whoever this was, he knew far too much. About her. About the assault. About her life. An inner voice urged her to slam down the phone, slice off the rambling monologue, yet some contrary part of Cassie’s brain wouldn’t let her.

It took Luke, who chose that instant to walk in, to end the one-sided conversation. One glimpse of her frozen expression and, without a word, he pulled the phone from her numb fingers. He listened for only a minute, then carefully returned the receiver to its cradle. For long seconds he stared at the instrument, the muscles of his jaw clenched. From the hall came a burst of laughter.

“Recognize the voice?”

Cassie shivered, recalling the hoarse whisper. Mutely she shook her head.

Luke dragged a chair to the side of the bed and straddled it. Hooking an arm over the padded vinyl back, he took her limp hand in a grasp that belied the careful control of his voice. “What did he say?”

Warmth radiated into her cold fingers, giving her courage to relate what she remembered in a matter-of-fact tone. The caller had upset her more than she cared to admit. Now, reading Luke’s obvious concern, she experienced something she thought she’d long ago purged from her heart.

You’re a case, nothing more, she reminded herself. But as her fear slowly ebbed, she confronted the truth. Much as she hated to admit it, Luke’s presence made her feel a little safer.

“How many people did you call today?” Luke asked.

Puzzled, she met his intent gaze. “Dad and my editor. What difference—”

“The creep knows your name, knows you’re here. Since the papers and TV kept quiet, someone you talked to—” For an instant his grip tightened painfully.

Cassie’s sense of well-being disappeared in a wave of indignation. Pointedly she withdrew her hand from his grasp. “Now I’ve heard everything. Some kook calls and it’s my fault? What about reporters, police, ambulance drivers—even the coroner’s office? Anybody could have mentioned the murder, mentioned my name.”

“True,” he conceded with obvious reluctance. “But it’s obvious that someone—”

“Next, you’ll be saying this whole thing—” she motioned to her bandaged head, irritation smoldering “—wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been working on a series on local drug trade.”

“It wouldn’t have.” He ignored her scowl, picked up the phone and punched in a number.

Trust Luke to be literal, she thought resentfully as he filled Chief Bradley in on her call. Following his logic, if she hadn’t been working on the articles, Judge Wainright wouldn’t have called and she’d never have gone to the Justice Center that night! And if Thomas Wainright hadn’t been a good friend of her father’s, she might never have gotten his cooperation. And if Pop had never been a judge, himself… Well, she could go on forever.

She tuned back in to Luke’s fractured conversation in time to hear him deliver a curt “Yes, sir” before hanging up. His use of the phrase, more than the clipped tone, told her he wasn’t pleased with whatever the chief had said, though his carefully schooled expression told her nothing.

“Bradley wants someone with you when you go home tomorrow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can get myself home.”

“Getting you home’s not the problem. It’s what happens after you’re there.”

“Are you talking surveillance?”

Luke nodded. “Routine patrol, at the least. Possible round-the-clock if he can find the manpower.”

Cassie’s heart sank. Even she could see the sense. She was the sole witness to a murder, living alone. But the thought of strangers invading her home, watching her every move… No. She wouldn’t stand for it.

“Maybe your father or one of your brothers could stay—”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” She didn’t dare tell him she’d already turned down the same suggestion over the phone four different times today. While she loved her family dearly, their concern was stifling. No, Pop would smother her with attention, and her three brothers—well, they still treated her like a tagalong little sister. “They’d drive me crazy in minutes.”

Her face must have reflected horror because Luke suddenly grinned. “You’re probably right, but—”

“I’ll be okay,” she insisted. “I have a phone, locks on the doors and Duffy.”

“Duffy?” Luke raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Cassie’s lips twitched in an effort to maintain a suitably serious expression. While she’d be the first to admit the little terrier had problems following directions, she didn’t consider his behavior a laughing matter. At least not now, when she was trying to portray him as protection. “I’ve been taking him to obedience classes,” she said primly.

“I wondered why he raised one paw when I brought out the dog food.”

His comment pulled her up short. “You went into my house?”

“I had to get the tape of Wainright’s message off your answering machine, and since I was there, I couldn’t let Duffy starve.”

He remembers where I keep the spare key.

The thought of Luke walking through the rooms they’d once shared, touching her things, absorbing the nuances of the life she’d created without him was disturbing, but she dared not examine her feelings too closely. Shutting her eyes, she concentrated on important issues. Murder. Judge Wainright. The voice on the phone. She shivered.

“No one’s trying to curtail your freedom, Cassie. We only want to protect you.”

Her eyes snapped open. “I know,” she answered, wondering how he still had the ability to read her mind. “I just hate not having a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Cassie felt a knife edge of guilt as she remembered past choices, ones he had every right to censure her for. She darted a glance at him. His expression remained unreadable. Maybe she’d imagined the blame in his tone.

She sighed. “All right. I guess I can put up with anything for a while. I’ll just have to make the best of it.”

Luke lips thinned into a tight smile. “You always do.”

“Don’t be a damned idiot!” From behind his cluttered desk, Chief Bradley glared at Luke.

Knowing the chief of police was only venting frustration on the nearest target, Luke refused to take offense. Besides, in the last hour he’d called himself far worse. He knew how his request would be viewed. Friends would suspect him of living in the past, Cassie would accuse him of meddling, and his colleagues would say he’d taken leave of his senses.

Hell, he didn’t know, himself, why he was insisting on being put back on the case, and adding surveillance to his other duties was crazy. But he had to do it. Maybe because of the mess he’d made of things two years ago. Maybe to erase his one big mistake. And maybe because he had a weakness for people in trouble. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t just walk away now. He had to help her or carry the guilt for the rest of his life.

“You know the rules. No family. Period.” The chief’s chair squealed in protest as he leaned back, arms crossed over his massive chest.

“There’s nothing on the books. I checked.”

“Okay. So it’s unwritten. It’s still damned good policy.” Bradley’s scowl deepened. “Bad enough when the creeps get off on technicalities. Imagine what a good defense lawyer would do with an investigation headed by the victim’s nearest and dearest.”

“She’s hardly nearest and dearest. It’s been two years.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bradley grumbled. “They’d have a field day. You wouldn’t be able to hear the charges over the screams of prejudice and conflict of interest.”

Luke latched onto some of the infinite patience for which he was known and kept his mouth shut, aware of the chief’s propensity for arguing both sides of the issue without anyone else’s help.

“Crackpot lawyers,” Bradley muttered. “Whadda they know?” He stared glumly at Luke, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

Swearing, Bradley launched himself from his chair and paced across the room. “I’ve already had three calls from the D.A.’s office and one from Mayor Brannigan. ‘Shocking state of affairs when we’re not even safe in the Justice Center,’ he tells me. Says to make the investigation ‘top priority.”’ Bradley jabbed one finger at the duty chart on the wall. “McCormack’s tied up with the Swenson case, Haggerty’s too green, and Jessup’s already whining about not enough manpower. And the mayor wants top priority.”

Stretching his legs before him, Luke crossed one foot over the other and studied the tips of his dusty loafers, a perfect picture of unconcern.

“Crazy bureaucrats expect miracles. How am I supposed to deliver when they cut budgets and tie my hands?”

“Sure looks as though they have you over a barrel,” Luke observed.

“That’s what they think.” The chief swung around, eyes narrowed. “It’s been two years, you say?”

Luke nodded.

“Should be long enough to put things in perspective.”

“Plenty long enough.”

“No regrets?”

“None.”

“And you were first on the scene.”

Luke confirmed the chief’s statement with another nod.

“Then it’s settled.” Bradley lowered himself into his chair and shuffled the folders on the desk. “You’re back on the case. Investigation and surveillance.”

“Thanks.”

“Just make damned sure she stays out of trouble.”

“Guaranteed.” Luke unfolded himself from his seat, ignoring the chief’s snort of disbelief. “And if I can’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“She won’t appreciate it, you know.”

The chief’s words halted Luke as he reached for the doorknob.

“She never did like you interfering. I never met anyone so headstrong—” Bradley shot him a sly look from beneath bushy brows “—except for a certain bullheaded detective.”

Luke acknowledged the truth of his statement with a wry smile. He was bullheaded. No doubt about it. Which was exactly why he could handle Cassie. Resolutely he shut his mind to a voice that reminded him of the many occasions when he’d been less than successful handling her.

It wouldn’t be easy. Nothing concerning Cassie ever was. But, by God, this time he’d make sure she was all right, no matter how furiously she resisted his efforts.

As he left the office, he thought he heard Bradley chuckle.

“So when does she get here?”

“Who?” Luke watched Cassie stretch to retrieve two ceramic mugs from her kitchen cupboard, her shorts riding high on her bottom. She had no right looking so good when she’d been released from the hospital only this morning.

“My bodyguard—protector—whatever you call her.” Her bare heels plopped to the floor, and she threw him a puzzled look.

He swallowed, his mouth dry. “Oh, her.”

A scratching sound saved him from an immediate answer. Grateful for the reprieve, Luke opened the unlocked back door and let Duffy in. Knowing from past experience it would do no good to lecture Cassie about her bad habits, he merely closed the door and threw the bolt. The terrier bounced around him, his tail wagging furiously. Luke leaned down to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

“I can see he really missed me,” Cassie said, arching one delicate brow.

Luke shot her a sheepish look, remembering how the puppy he’d given her for a birthday present, the same puppy whose affection she’d courted with biscuits and hugs, had always preferred Luke’s company. “He just remembers I fed him last.”

“Right.” She poured coffee and brought it to the table. As she settled into her seat, Duffy wiggled past her and waited expectantly next to Luke’s old chair. Luke reluctantly took his assigned place, wondering how long it would take for Cassie to return to her original question.

Not long.

She stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, then looked up. “Well, when does she arrive?”

Luke met her curious gaze and decided to get it over with. “She’s here.”

“Where? Outside?”

“No, here.”

Her mug poised halfway to her lips, Cassie glanced toward the living room, then back at Luke.

“No.” He shook his head. Shifting one ankle to rest on the opposite knee, he dropped his bombshell. “She’s a he. Me. I’m your surveillance.”

Disbelief clouded Cassie’s expression. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Luke shook his head.

“Chief Bradley assigned you?”

“Yep. At least, when I’m not needed on the investigation.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And if I say no?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But I don’t want you,” she snapped, slamming down her mug for emphasis. Brown liquid sloshed onto the oak surface of the table.

“Too bad, baby. You’ve got me.”

She glared.

Luke feigned stony indifference. This was one battle she wasn’t going to win, no matter how hard she fought, because he was doing this for her own good.

Cassie was the first to look away, down at the puddle on the table. Her mouth tight, she grabbed a rag from the counter and dabbed at the mess, as though the spill was her biggest concern.

Luke knew she was using the time to regroup.

He waited while she tossed the rag into the sink. Waited while she stood with her back to him, staring out the kitchen window. And waited while she returned to her chair and studied her mug in silence.

He recognized the strategy as one of his own. Forcing the suspect to wait, stretching minutes till they seemed like hours, raising the anxiety level. She wasn’t half-bad at it. Even though he was aware of what she was doing, his nerves felt like strings on a fiddle, anticipating the bow stroke.

“There’s no way I can change your mind?”

“Nope.”

She gritted her teeth, releasing an exasperated breath of air. “So I’m supposed to sit around all day, staring at the walls.”

“No,” he replied, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a grin. “Just when I’m not here. When I am, you can stare at me.”

The look she threw him was murderous. “This may be funny to you, Luke Slater, but I’m dead serious. I can’t stop living my life because of some nebulous threat. I have a job, a social life….”

Something twisted inside him. He’d spent the last two years censoring his thoughts about who she might be seeing, who now shared her bed. Too much of a realist to believe she’d remained alone and celibate, he still wasn’t prepared to hear details. “Don’t worry,” he told her grimly. “I don’t plan to play chaperon to you and your current boyfriend.”

Indignation crossed Cassie’s face. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, he cut her off. “As for your job, have you considered the possibility that Wainright’s death might have something to do with what he wanted to see you about?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There could be dozens of motives for his death. Revenge, for instance. Or robbery—maybe he interrupted someone in the process of burglarizing his office.”

“We checked that angle with his secretary. Nothing was taken. No files were missing. No jewelry. He still had two hundred dollars in his wallet.”

“Maybe my arrival scared the robber off.”

He knew from her haunted expression that she was grasping at straws. Cassie didn’t want to believe Wainright’s death had anything to do with her, but even she wasn’t naive enough to believe a burglar would choose the Justice Center as a good place to pick up loot. He locked gazes with her and let his silence refute her reasoning.

Biting her lip, she looked away, but not before he caught the shimmer of tears in her emerald eyes. As she gazed unseeing out the window, Luke fought back an overwhelming desire to erase the stricken look from her face. He longed to trace the curve of her cheek and feel the velvet of her lips turn into his palm, seeking the comfort he could offer.

He didn’t dare. For her own good, she had to face facts, had to accept reality, no matter how harsh.

Cassie took a deep breath, then slowly released it. Her expression, when she caught his gaze, was calm.

Too late, a cold shiver of premonition shot through him. He stiffened, primed to speak, to defuse the quiet determination he read in her eyes.

“I’m going to finish my articles.”