Читать книгу Cassidy and the Princess - Patricia Potter - Страница 11

Cassidy paced restlessly, fielding questions from his boss as to manpower, risk and chances of success—with and without the figure skater.

“You sure she’s willing to go through with this?” Captain Haynes asked.

“Yes.”

“And you can protect her?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t believe I could.”

“There’s no other way?”

“She just didn’t see enough,” Cassidy said. “I’m pretty sure it’s someone connected to the hospital, but it could be one of their employees, ex-employees, people who go there often—med techs, police, ambulance drivers, even linen-truck drivers. That includes thousands of people.”

“Then, who do we get to protect her?”

“People I know,” Cassidy said. “I want to pick my team.”

“How long?”

“She has to leave next week.”

“And you feel the perp might go after her?”

“He took a tremendous chance in going to her room last night. There could have been cops inside. Hell, there should have been.”

“Maybe he had a cover story in case someone questioned him.”

Cassidy frowned. “I’m sure he did. He’s clever as hell. And if we don’t get him now, he’ll probably go underground for a while. What really worries me is that he might follow Marise Merrick to Seattle.”

“If we set a trap using her, and anything goes wrong, you know what will happen. We’ll both be busted to the streets—if not thrown off the force.”

Cassidy nodded.

“I’ll take this upstairs and give you an answer this afternoon. In the meantime, I would suggest you clean up. Get a few hours’ sleep. Someone with her now?”

“Two uniforms. And Manny.”

“What about your other cases?”

“They can wait for a few days.”

“Give them to Malcolm and Perry.”

Cassidy nodded. “Thanks.”

“Just make it work.”

Cassidy grabbed a couple of hours’ sleep, then washed and shaved. The phone rang. It was Manny.

“She’s being released,” he said.

“I think we’ll get the go-ahead. The captain signed off on it. Stick with her. Make sure there’s a uniform as well. Check their badge numbers with headquarters.”

“You don’t think…”

“I don’t think anything at the moment. I just don’t want to take any chances. Call me when you have the hotel and room number. Drive them over in your car.”

“My car isn’t very elegant.”

“Just do it.”

She was smaller and even shorter than he’d thought as she’d padded across the hotel suite barefoot, wearing a track suit. She had such a presence about her that he’d thought she would be taller. Five-three, he remembered her telling the artist. But it hadn’t really registered.

At six feet, he towered over her.

The bandage was gone. Her blond hair was damp and pulled back into a ponytail. She looked sixteen. She’s twenty-four. Nearly twenty-five, he told himself. He’d brought up the statistics on his computer. He’d wanted to know everything there was to know about her before taking that last step.

She was even prettier with a touch of lipstick and blush on her cheeks. Her blue eyes looked even more enormous and expressive.

She hadn’t opened the door. Manny had instructed them well. Paul Richards had opened it and stood aside. They had a small suite in a hotel near the auditorium where the competition had taken place.

Cassidy wondered whether Paul stayed in the same room, then told himself her sleeping arrangements were none of his business.

“I can’t talk either of you out of this, can I?” Paul Richards asked. He looked so miserable that Cassidy revised his original opinion of the man. He obviously did care about his partner.

“She can say no at any time.”

“She won’t. She’s set on this dangerous course. But you can stop it. You can refuse to go on with this plan.”

“If I thought she wouldn’t be in any more danger, I would,” he said. “But if we don’t catch him, he could follow you.” He hesitated, then added, “We’ll take every precaution.”

“She wants to help everyone,” Richards said. “Sometimes I even think she hates to win because someone else has to lose.”

Cassidy allowed that idea to sink in. A softhearted skater who could disable a bulky rapist. She was a far more complicated person than he’d first suspected.

Birthday: October 3O, 1977. College: B.A. degree mostly by correspondence courses. Major, English. Birthplace: San Diego, California.

The degree had encouraged him. That must have been difficult to obtain while staying on the road most of the year. She had determination as well as quick wits and an ability to defend herself.

“Where will I stay?” she said.

“With me,” he said.

Paul Richards started to say something.

“Don’t worry,” Cassidy broke in. “There will be plenty of chaperones. I live in a neighborhood of cops. At least two will be with her at all times, and there will be plenty of help within hollering distance.”

Richards stared at him for a long time, clearly trying to establish his possession.

Then Cara Merrick came into the room, her eyes red and her cheeks splotched with tears.

Cassidy looked at Marise Merrick. “You can still change your mind. No one would ever question it.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Detective. Where do we go from here?”

He looked at Mrs. Merrick in question.

“We are leaving in the morning for Seattle,” she said. “I’ll find a place for us for the next three weeks.” Then she stiffened and her eyes became steely. Formidable. “Take care of her.”

“She’s just going to be looking over photos,” he said. He didn’t like his own guilt at telling a half-truth. This was a really lousy idea.

He looked back to Marise. “Manny or I will be here, along with two uniformed officers. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

He looked around the suite. “Are there any other doors?”

“Only a connecting door to Paul’s room,” Marise said.

Well, that answered one question.

“And the only door from his room is into the hall?”

Richards nodded.

“I’ll leave you, then,” Cassidy said. “Manny or I will be outside. If you want any food, we will get it for you.”

He started to leave, then hesitated. “A reporter knows about the attack. Probably from someone at the hospital. We couldn’t stop it.”

“I know,” Mrs. Merrick said. “One reporter found us. We asked the desk not to put through any calls.”

“There will probably be television trucks as soon as the story breaks.”

“Maybe I should go with you now,” Marise said.

“You’ll be safer here,” he said. “I want to make sure everything is set.” Mainly he had to make sure his house was at least habitable. He was the epitome of the world’s view of a sloppy bachelor. What was really bad was that he was in the process of remodeling the house that he’d bought cheap because it was in such bad shape.

It was still the safest place for her, though.

He also needed final departmental approval before he took her anyplace.

“I’ll make sure that no reporters get up here,” he said. “I’ll tell the switchboard to allow my calls to go through, so if the phone does ring, pick it up.” He knew he sounded curt and officious, but he was also feeling an unusual sense of guilt and indecision that he didn’t like at all.

He also didn’t like the look of trust in Marise Merrick’s blue eyes.

“I’ll be here in the morning,” he said. “Eight.”

He left before he had any additional doubts.

Marise met him at the door the next morning. Her mother and Paul were tight-lipped but silent.

She gave them both a hug, then handed Cassidy her bag. There wasn’t much in it. A couple of track suits, a pair of slacks, a pair of jeans, a couple of blouses, a night shirt and robe. A pair of shoes in addition to the running shoes she was wearing now along with a shirt and slacks she was wearing. That was it. Her costumes would go with Paul and her mother.

She hoped she didn’t look as red-eyed as she felt. She’d gotten precious little sleep last night. She’d feared the nightmare would return and that if she woke her mother, there would be yet another battle to fight and more tears to stem.

Her head still ached slightly, and she had enough bruises to make moving uncomfortable. Most of all, she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. She and Paul did need practice time. Was she destroying his career because she didn’t care enough about her own?

Was this…idea simply a way to break away from an increasingly uncomfortable life, one that no longer satisfied her? Was it a selfish adventure that could destroy the hopes of people she cared about?

She only knew that despite the danger she was not foolish enough to ignore, she looked forward to a few days of freedom, away from routine and discipline and the feeling of being trapped.

Or was she just running into another kind of prison?

She was attracted to Cassidy MacKay. He was so different from any man she’d ever met. He exuded competence, and yet there was no arrogance about him, none of the constant anxiety that ran among many skaters.

“Quiet desperation,” she’d called it once.

Cassidy MacKay had none of that. He knew who and what he was.

He had that air of competence this morning. His usually unruly hair was combed, and he’d shaved; she caught a whiff of some masculine scent. Jeans hugged a body that was not the athletically sculptured form she’d grown accustomed to on the competition circuit, though he was obviously in good shape. His forearms were tanned, strong, but without the developed muscles that Paul had. His fingers were unusually long, even elegant, which didn’t go with anything else.

Her gaze met his. She’d noticed before that his eyes were dark, enigmatic. Guarded. They’d rarely shown any emotion. They didn’t now.

“We have a car in back,” he said. “I think we can avoid the reporters.”

She was relieved. She really had not wanted to cope with the media this morning. He opened the door for her, waited until she was out, then shut it gently behind him. Two uniformed policemen were seated in chairs outside her door, although that, she’d learned, had taken some negotiation with the hotel management. The manager had not relented until Cassidy had told the manager to simply explain to enquiring guests that they had an important celebrity they could not name.

They didn’t take the elevators but walked down four flights of stairs, the uniformed police at their heels. They went down to a parking garage, and as they stepped out of the elevator, they were met by Manny in his car.

She looked at both men, knowing she was putting her life in their hands, that she was stepping out of a world that had been safe, if not exactly secure. For a moment, she wanted to flee upstairs.

MacKay opened the back door of the car and held out his hand to help her in. The sudden warmth of it sent an electric shock through her. Her eyes met his, and this time they weren’t empty at all. He felt it, too. She could see it in the muscle that throbbed against his cheek.

This was another kind of danger. She knew it. She was also drawn to it.

Be careful, she warned herself, when his hand jerked away as if it had been burned. Be very, very careful.

Touching her was unwise. Very, very unwise. Cassidy had felt the sudden hesitancy in her, had seen her hand tremble for a moment.

But he didn’t want to lose her now.

He’d been able to get resources he’d only dreamed about before. The press on the killer was scaring the city. It had been bad enough when the victims were prostitutes, but now that an internationally known figure had been attacked, the public would be demanding results.

But he’d been warned that he had limited time, no more than a week. Any longer would be far too expensive in terms of both money and manpower. Which meant he had to bait the trap quickly.

His first concern, though, had been Marise’s safety. He would have additional detectives in the house at all times—ones he had chosen himself.

He also had asked to be told if any member of the department asked to be on the special squad. He still hadn’t dismissed the idea that the killer might be a cop. So he wasn’t taking any chances.

Once Cassidy had Marise inside Manny’s car, he threw his keys to one of the uniforms. “My car is the blue one over there,” he said, gesturing to where he’d parked in an emergency spot. “Do you have a squad car?”

The senior of the two officers nodded.

“Have someone pick it up. You two can take my car and follow us.”

The older one nodded. The younger one couldn’t take his eyes off Marise Merrick. For some reason, that annoyed Cassidy considerably. He put Marise’s bag in the front seat next to Manny, then got in the back seat with Marise.

He felt unusually large and awkward. Every movement Marise made was graceful. He felt like an elephant next to a gazelle. But then she smiled at him, and he didn’t feel awkward at all.

He felt something else altogether. And as he did, a knot of apprehension twisted his stomach. He didn’t need this. Any personal feelings interfered with what he needed to do: protect her and catch a killer.

He steeled himself against her appeal. She already treated him like a friend. She was that way with Manny, too. And that touch had been like a hot electrical wire, snaking across his body, sparking reactions he didn’t want to feel.

Cassidy knew he was glowering. Manny told him he did it better than anyone. But when he looked at Marise, he saw that she was unimpressed. Instead, she regarded him with bemusement.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For putting your life in danger?”

“For letting me do something about it.”

Something shifted inside him. She’d said the words with such simplicity. Even gratitude. He felt like a fraud. He was using her. Nothing more than that. And he wondered why she seemed to cater so much to her mother, and even to Paul, when there was so much strength and substance to her.

“Has your mother always been your manager?” he asked to dissipate the expectancy that was radiating between them.

She tensed slightly, then seemed to forcibly relax. “Yes,” she said. “She was a skater herself. She knows the business. She’s wonderful with the costumes.” Then she turned and looked out the window. “Are we really going to your house?”

“Don’t expect much,” he warned her. “I bought it at a bargain price because it needed so much work.”

“Are there really a lot of policemen in the neighborhood?”

“Manny lives half a block away. A captain in another division lives three houses down. Two other members of the Atlanta P.D. live within two blocks. A lieutenant in the sheriff’s department and a highway patrol major also live nearby. That’s how I found my house. It had been an eyesore, and Manny knew I like to work with my hands.”

She gazed up at him with those magnificent eyes. “You’re doing the work?”

“Some of it,” he said.

“All of it,” Manny interrupted. “My wife calls him when she needs something done. It’s humiliating.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. He didn’t see any other cars keeping pace with them, but then, they were not trying to hide. In fact, he was going to make sure her whereabouts were leaked.

They wanted the assailant to come after her. If all went according to plan, she wouldn’t be there then. A policewoman would be.

But there was something he’d learned long ago. Whatever could go wrong, would.

“What do we do next?” she asked.

“After you get settled, we’ll go back to the hospital and start going over personnel photos. He doesn’t know how little you really did see. We’re going to make him wonder a little more.”

“If he’s with the hospital.”

“My guess is he’s connected in some way.”

“What if he doesn’t find out I’m…helping to find him?”

“Then, I’ll leak a story to the media that we have a witness who can identify the killer and is going through personnel files. I’d rather he found out another way. It wouldn’t be as obvious.”

“If he’s as smart as you think he is, why would he walk into a trap?’

“Because doing nothing would be more dangerous. And serial killers usually think they are smarter than anyone else. He’ll know I’m protecting you. He won’t know about the others.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied.

As they drove into his driveway his stomach tightened. He’d tried to tidy up, but it was a man’s place. Still, it was probably the safest place for Marise. What neighbors were not law enforcement officers were sympathetic to them. All were friends. Manny planned to visit each house and ask that they keep an eye out for strangers.

It would be strange to have a woman in the house again. He’d dated since his marriage, but he’d never brought any of them home. Not since Laine left.

He’d not gotten around yet to painting the trim, and the house looked a little like an aging dowager without makeup. The exterior was a bungalow in an older neighborhood, a community where prices were spiraling because of their in-town location. After he and Laine had bought it, he’d spent the next two years fixing it up.

While he had thought the house would help the marriage, it hadn’t. He’d spent every waking moment away from the police department working on it. He hadn’t noticed her growing distance.

Marise was looking at the house with interest.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to apologize for it. Yet he knew she was used to much better. She probably had a large home somewhere.

Manny drove into the garage, which was one of the first things Cassidy had added. It was only a one-car garage—there wasn’t room for more—but he’d built it with a direct entrance into the house. Now he was grateful that he had; it made the place safer.

The exterior was brick with a screened front porch. There once had been a back porch but he’d closed that in and made a sunroom. For Laine. Now he seldom used it. He was seldom here, in fact.

He opened the car door and started to go around to the other side, but Marise let herself out. She didn’t act like a princess, but then, princesses didn’t agree to be bait. She didn’t say anything, but followed him toward the entrance to the house as the garage door closed behind the three of them. He opened the door leading to the kitchen.

It had undergone a frantic face-lift. Dishes in the sink had gone into the dishwasher, a five-day-old pizza had gone from the refrigerator into the garbage. There was nothing to brighten the room, however, but the yellow daisy curtains Laine had selected.

He led the way into the living room, which was furnished with what his male friends called “early bachelor.” Dark overstuffed sofa and chair, a large-screen television and bookcases. He’d put clothes away, but books and magazines, and even several newspapers, lay haphazardly on tables.

He saw Marise’s gaze go to the sunroom just beyond the living area. It had cheap patio furniture. But her eyes lit.

“What a wonderful room,” she said.

“Cass built it,” Manny said. “Cass can build anything. He’s building a sailboat up at his sister’s place.”

Cassidy noted that Manny did not call him Hoppy. Perversely, he was annoyed. Manny was obviously trying to play match-maker.

As if he and the princess had anything in common.

He was very aware of that as she stood awkwardly in the house of which he was so proud, the house he had remodeled, first with love and then with resignation. He was no longer building for the future. He was finished with that part of his life.

“You have my room,” he said. “We have detectives in the second. I’ll sleep in my office.”

“I’ll take the office,” she said.

“You haven’t seen it,” he said. “No one but me could find a way through it.”

She cocked her head. “That bad?”

“That bad,” he confirmed.

“All right, I’ll take the bedroom,” she agreed.

He took her suitcase into a bedroom and laid it down on a chair he’d brought in from the dining room. “There’s a bathroom right outside the room. It’s yours. We’ll use the one off the living room.”

“I feel like I’m dispossessing you,” she said with a hint of a smile.

“Believe me, as a stakeout, this is pure luxury,” he said.

“This is a stakeout?”

Her blue eyes were intense. He realized his error immediately. To him and the others, it might be a stakeout. To her, it was her life. But he wasn’t good at niceties. Never had been. He changed the subject. “Have you had any breakfast?”

“No.”

“What about some frozen waffles.”

She smiled. A genuine wide smile that made him want to do the same.

“It sounds wickedly wonderful,” she said.

“I doubt they’re wonderful,” he said. “Filling, yes.” But the anticipation didn’t leave her eyes, and he wondered about that. She was slim. How much had she sacrificed to stay that way?

Manny was taking care of the police officers. They would stay outside until the detectives arrived. Then the police officers would take the detectives’ vehicles back to the department. Cassidy didn’t want any extra cars in front of the house.

“I’ll unpack,” Marise said, and glided out of the room, leaving it very empty.

Manny returned and found Cassidy in the kitchen. “You got to be kidding,” he said as he eyed the package of frozen waffles.

“You have any better ideas?”

“Yeah. A lot of them. I’ll send Janie over to cook you all a good meal.”

“Maybe Janie will have something to say about that.”

“Nope. She’s dying to meet the princess.”

“She’s not a princess,” Cassidy growled.

“I think she is,” Manny said with offended dignity. “And she likes you.”

“She needs me. And you. There’s nothing more,” Cassidy said.

“You never fixed waffles for me.”

“They are frozen,” Cassidy said patiently.

“Those, either,” Manny said with a grin.

By the time the first popped up, Marise had returned to the kitchen. “I like your house,” she said.

“It’s not finished,” Cassidy said.

“I still like it. I always wanted to live in a home that looked like a real home.”

“Where do you live?”

“A condominium in California when we’re not traveling,” Marise said wistfully as she took a waffle on a plate. He’d already put a big dollop of butter on it, as well as real maple syrup.

He put another on a plate for Manny and popped one in the toaster for himself, then he leaned against the sink and watched her eat.

“A glass of milk?” he asked.

“Thank you.”

The milk was spoiled.

“Coffee?” he suggested.

“That would be good.”

He looked for the instant coffee jar. It was empty. Manny was shaking his head.

“Water would be fine,” she said.

He poured her a glass of water and sat down to discover that his own waffle was now cold.

This isn’t going to work.

But it had to.

It was going to be hell, though. Being in the same room with her disconcerted him. And it had been a long time since he’d felt so…inadequate.

Just a few days. Then he could reclaim his life. His instant coffee. His hot frozen waffles. A shirt thrown on the sofa.

A few days.

A very long few days.

And, he thought as he watched her enjoying those slightly over-toasted waffles, too few.

That last thought was more terrifying than any killer.