Читать книгу Cassidy and the Princess - Patricia Potter - Страница 9

“What happened?” her mother asked.

She shrugged. “I woke up last night, and there was an intruder in the room. I screamed, and he left.”

Paul’s brows furrowed. “Someone from the hospital?”

“I think it was the same man who attacked me outside the arena. There was the same odor about him.”

“He didn’t hurt you?” Her mother hurried to her side and clasped one of Marise’s hand in hers.

“No,” she reassured both of them. “I got away from him by rolling off the bed. All that falling served me well,” she said wryly. “I might have a bruise. Nothing more.”

“They should have given you protection.”

“I have it now,” she said. “Neither you nor I thought we would need it yesterday since we were using another name,” she pointed out.

Paul’s hand tightened around hers. “How could he have found you?”

“Detective…MacKay thinks it could be someone associated with the hospital.”

“That settles it,” Paul said. “We found a small jet that we can charter. We can leave this afternoon.”

“I’m not leaving,” she announced.

“Nonsense,” her mother said. “The plane is quite safe, even comfortable. And we can afford it with that last endorsement signing.”

“The police think that man killed other women,” Marise said. “They think I can help them.”

“Solving crimes is their problem,” Cara Merrick said. “They are detectives. You’re not.”

“There’s something else,” Marise said carefully. “If he believes I can recognize him, or something about him—and apparently he does or he wouldn’t have taken the risks he did last night—he might follow me if I leave. I’ll never feel safe again.”

“Nonsense,” Paul said. “Of course, he won’t follow us. He’ll just be relieved you’ve left.”

“Are you that familiar with the thinking of a serial killer?” she asked a bit too sharply.

Paul looked hurt.

“I can’t go,” she said. “Not as long as there’s a chance I can help the police.”

“Help the police?” her mother said as if it were a foreign concept. “How can you help the police?”

“A police artist will be here this morning.”

“I thought you said you didn’t see anything.”

“Detective MacKay seems to think that I might recall some things.”

“We can leave after that, then,” her mother said with relief.

“You didn’t listen,” Marise said. “He could follow me.”

“I can protect you,” Paul said.

At one time, she might have accepted that. Now protection took the form of a tall, lanky detective with mussed hair, intelligent dark eyes and a gentle touch. But she should know better than to depend on her own judgment.

She’d fallen in love once. Desperately. His name was Patrick Bennett, and he was a business executive with a sportswear company, older than her by fifteen years. Their relationship ended when she injured her ankle and no longer had the strength it took to be a singles champion with the increasing demand for higher and more complicated jumps and combinations. Her coach had suggested pairs skating. It took as much athletic ability but the strain wasn’t as consistent on her ankle, and Paul and her coach had always been careful to protect it as much as possible. She and Paul had been well-matched in height, technique and abilities.

Patrick had been concerned about her injury at first. Then the concern dissolved into coolness. Before long, he was dating another singles skater, and Marise realized he wanted a trophy companion, not part of a team. It had been bitter knowledge, and she’d guarded her heart ever since. That was also one reason she’d considered Paul’s offer. They were already friends with a lot in common. She didn’t have to worry about betrayal.

And she liked Paul. He had helped her through her heartbreak. He’d demanded her full attention, and the work had been a balm. Although he could be arrogant at times, he was also generous to her and hardworking. He seldom criticized or blamed when she made a mistake.

The only problem was that skating was all he really cared about. She wanted more. She’d always wanted more.

She wanted a home and family. She couldn’t imagine Paul as a homebody and father. He genuinely loved the spotlight and travel and glamor. He wouldn’t understand her compulsion to help capture someone who had almost killed her, who might well kill again.

Neither would her mother. To them, the gold medal was the only trophy worth pursuing.

As the two pressed her to take the flight, she wished MacKay hadn’t left. She wanted his support. Then she questioned whether he’d left because he was forcing her into making a decision.

“Marise?” her mother said, obviously believing the silence meant she was reconsidering.

“I’m going to stay,” Marise said. “It’s not just my safety. Nor other women he might attack. It’s me. He assaulted me. He tried to kill me. I…owe him. I want to help put him away. I want to look in his face when it happens.”

Paul and her mother stared at her as if in shock. But then, she had never been this angry before. She hadn’t realized how angry she was.

A knock came at the door, and the detective entered again, this time with a man with an overlarge briefcase.

“This is Alan Greene, our artist,” he said, as both her mother and Paul looked at him with disapproval.

Greene looked around. “Can we do this alone?” he asked.

Cara Merrick started to bristle.

“I think I should stay here with her,” Paul said, taking a defensive stand next to the bed. “She’s had a second shock in as many days.”

“She’ll be more helpful if she can concentrate,” the police artist said politely but firmly.

“Please wait outside, Paul,” Marise said.

“If that’s what you want…”

“It is, and you, too, Mom.”

Her mother frowned, obviously reluctant to leave. “If you need us…”

“I know,” Marise said. Her mother had been right outside for eighteen years, ever since she’d lost her husband and son. She’d accompanied Marise everywhere as her daughter won competition after competition, then became her business manager and agent.

Guilt about that accident so many years ago had kept Marise from suggesting another manager. And her mother did a good job. After she’d given up skating herself so many years ago, she and Marise’s father had run a skating school. Cara Merrick had been the business manager and deserved much of the credit for its financial success. She’d sold it years later and used the proceeds to finance Marise’s lessons and competitions and costumes.

Marise owed her.

She owed her—and her father—an Olympic Medal, the one shining goal neither of her parents had achieved. She and Paul actually had a shot at it. But first they needed a good showing in the Sectional and, hopefully, the U.S. Championships.

Her mother and Paul left reluctantly. Their coach had already flown ahead to Seattle with the costumes and equipment. One less mother hen with which to contend.

“Can the detective stay?” she asked.

The police artist nodded as he took out his computer and plugged in a modem.

Marise’s heart beat faster.

“Close your eyes,” the police artist said. “Think about impressions. Think about the night before last. What do you see?”

“Darkness. There was a street light, but he came from behind and dragged me into a dark corner. He wore a mask.” Her throat was dry. Her voice sounded scratchy.

“How big a man?”

“He seemed large.” She was picturing his bulk now. Her eyes were still closed, and she willed herself back to those moments. Back to the terror.

“His clothes?”

“Dark. Black, I think.”

“And the ski mask?”

“Black. Yes, black.”

“All right. Thin, fat?”

“Powerful,” she said. “Muscular. His arm was strong. I know muscles. I could feel them around my neck. I think he must work out.”

“Good. Very good,” the artist said.

“Height?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s between five-ten and five-eleven. I’m five-three, and he was about six inches taller than I am, about an inch shorter than Paul.”

He let out a surprised breath.

“I skate next to Paul every day. I know his height.”

“Good. Now his face. What did you see?”

“I didn’t exactly see it. It was too dark, and it happened so quickly.”

“Broad face?” he asked. “Narrow?”

“I don’t know,” she said desperately.

“Open your eyes,” he asked gently. His computer screen was turned toward her. He ran through several facial types. None of them brought any flash of recognition.

“Don’t try too hard,” he said. “Just watch and see if any ring a bell in your head.”

He had an easy way about him, and she found herself nodding and relaxing. Several more pages, then an impression…nothing more.

“Stop,” she said. “I’m not sure, but something about that face…”

It was a square face, heavy jowled. She stared at it for a moment, trying to remember more, to see more. Fear was crawling up her spine. What was it about that facial type?

The artist waited a few more moments, then suggested quietly, “Why don’t we try some eyes?”

A half-hour later, they had a picture. But she couldn’t say whether it was actually her assailant or a mishmash of memorable features that lingered in her mind. “I’m just not sure,” she admitted.

“You’ve done very well, Miss Merrick,” the artist said. “I’ll bet anything that when we find this man, there will be a resemblance.”

When we find him. If they found him.

Detective MacKay had not uttered a word during the entire time. Perhaps he had not wanted to break her concentration. But she had known he was there, and that had made her feel safe.

Now he came over to the bed. “Thank you,” he said in the rumbling deep voice that somehow gave her confidence in him. “That will be helpful.”

“I don’t know how,” she said.

“We have a lot of information we didn’t have before,” he said. “We know he’s familiar with hospital routine. He came in here during change of shifts when no one was likely to be in. He wears latex gloves. That’s probably where the smell came from. We finally have some leads. Thanks to you.”

“What now?” she asked.

“Perhaps you should go to Seattle.”

“You thought there was a chance he would come after me.”

His silence told her it was indeed a worry.

“If he came after me once, he’ll come again.”

Again a silence.

“What about using me as bait?” There. It was said. “That’s what you were thinking earlier.”

“You don’t know what I was thinking, Miss Merrick, and it’s a really lousy idea.”

“It’s the only way I can go on with my life.”

“It’ll be damn dangerous. I’m not sure I can get approval from my boss.”

She swallowed hard. The police artist was watching the exchange with interest. MacKay was frowning. He looked intimidating when he did that.

“Will you ask him?” she said.

“What about your mother and…partner?”

“I’ll manage that.”

“They could get hurt.”

“Not if they go on to Seattle.”

His face must have expressed his doubts. “They’ll leave? Without you?”

“Leave that to me,” she said. “Can you arrange it?”

He hesitated.

“I trust you,” she persisted.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know what I need to know. You went out of your way last night to make sure I was safe. You said you had a feeling and you came.”

His eyes measured her. “I’ll talk to the captain,” he said. “In the meantime, you should be safe enough. My partner, Manny, will stay in the room with you, and there are two uniforms outside. If you return to the hotel, Manny goes with you.”

“And you?”

“I’m going to talk to my superiors.”

“And get some sleep,” she said.

He rubbed his face with his hands. “Guess I could use a shave, too.”

A knock came, and the other detective entered, the one she remembered from yesterday. “Miss Merrick,” he said with concern. “Hoppy said someone came into your room last night, and—”

“Hoppy?” she interrupted.

He looked over at MacKay and his face turned red. Detective MacKay glared at him.

“Hoppy?” she asked again with a smile.

“His first name is Cassidy,” the detective named Manny said without looking at his partner, who was glowering.

The name didn’t mean anything to her.

“Hopalong Cassidy,” the detective prompted. “He was a cowboy on television in the fifties, a guy in a white hat.”

A guy in a white hat. She liked that image.

“Hoppy,” she tested again, and MacKay turned his glower on her.

“I prefer Cass,” he said.

She did, too, after thinking about it. Still, she tried to think of him as MacKay. That fit him, and it was far less personal.

The artist had packed up his equipment. “Gotta go,” he said. “A lot of business today. You were great, Miss Merrick.”

She felt a momentary pride. He had discovered more information that she thought she had. “You’re good at extracting information,” she said.

Detective MacKay was also inching toward the door. “Thank you, Miss Merrick,” he said. “I’ll be in touch later today.”

She watched him leave with the police artist.

The second detective looked at her with interest. “My wife is a big admirer of yours,” he said. “So am I.”

That surprised her. She hadn’t imagined a burly homicide detective would have an interest in figure skating. “Thank you,” she said.

“My wife, she loves figure skating,” he continued. “It sorta grew on me, too. And our kid.”

Just then, the door opened and her mother and Paul entered, eyeing the detective warily.

“I’ll be outside,” the detective said.

She wanted to ask him to stay, but this, she knew, was something she had to do alone.

“Thank you,” she said.

The two waited until the door closed.

“We talked to your doctor,” her mother said. “He said there’s no reason you can’t leave today. And you can start skating in several days.”

“We still have the plane on standby,” Paul added. “And now that you’ve talked to that police artist, you’ve done everything you can do.”

“Not exactly,” she said.

They both stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.

“I might remember more,” she said lamely. She wasn’t ready to tell them she’d offered herself as bait for a trap.

“You probably won’t,” Paul said sensibly. “If you do, you can contact them from Seattle.”

“I’m just not ready yet,” she said. “There are more questions…”

“We’ve lost days,” Paul said patiently. “We need practice.”

“You go ahead,” she said. “You and Mom. You can start practicing. I’ll be there in two or three days. I promise to be there for the competition.”

“If you insist on staying,” Paul said, “I’ll stay. We can practice here.”

“You said it would be several days before I can skate,” she said. “You need the time to get accustomed to the rink. And Mother needs to be there for publicity and to scout the competition. You two and David can make adjustments in the routine. And make sure the costumes are ready.” There was a different set of costumes for the Sectional. And a new program. It would have some of the elements they were perfecting here in Atlanta, but changes were always made.

“I’m not sure…”

Her mother was not often unsure of anything, but she was weakening. The costumes were her pride and joy. She’d designed them for the past six years.

“The detectives can’t properly protect me if they have to watch out for all of us,” Marise said. “Doing it this way will get me to Seattle much faster.”

“I don’t like it. You shouldn’t be alone,” her mother countered.

“I won’t be alone,” she said patiently. “I will be surrounded by the entire police department.”

“The publicity…”

“You can tell them I decided to stay and recuperate here,” she said. “Just think how bad the publicity would be if someone tracked me to Seattle and killed me.” She regretted the words almost immediately, when tears formed in her mother’s eyes. She went over to her and took her hands in her own. “I couldn’t be safer,” she said. “This really is for the best.”

“I want to stay here with you,” her mother said stubbornly.

Marise was surprised. She knew her mother well, and usually knew how to assuage her. “I need to do this, and I need to do it alone. I can’t help the police if I’m worrying about you.”

Paul looked rebellious, then resigned. “You’re determined?”

“Yes.”

Her mother looked horrified. “Paul?”

He shook his head. “If I’ve learned anything about Mare, it’s that when she makes up her mind, we might as well do as she wants.” He gave her a small grin. “She doesn’t do it often, but I’ve learned to heed her when she does.”

He looked back at Cara Merrick. “And I don’t like the idea of her living in terror for the rest of her life.” He turned to Marise. “When will you join us in Seattle?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “A few days. No later than the middle of next week.” She knew that was pushing it. But she could do their skating program in her sleep. Two weeks of practice should be sufficient. She was fully aware how important the Sectional was to Paul, and she would never, never ruin his chances.

“You’ll try to make it sooner?” he asked.

“Yes. I won’t let you down.”

He hesitated, then took her hand. “You never did answer me. The question I asked…before all this happened.”

She hesitated, then said, “Too much has happened in the past two days,” she said. “I…can’t make a decision now.”

But she had. And from the disappointed look in his eyes, he suspected it.

He said nothing. “We’ll stay with you until that detective returns and we know exactly what he plans to do,” he said. “We can stay at the hotel tonight and fly to Seattle in the morning.”

“You chartered the plane for this afternoon,” she reminded him.

“We can cancel that.”

She nodded. She couldn’t deny them that.

Her mother tried once more. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, after all…”

The familiar guilt surged through Marise again. But this time she wasn’t going to let it guide her. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Despite Paul’s seeming acquiescence, she knew they hadn’t given up. They were just going to give her time to reconsider on her own. She would surely see sense. She always did.

But she wouldn’t. Not this time. It was too important. Not only for her, but for others.

And MacKay would make sure she was safe.

She felt a rising excitement—and fear—as she thought of the days ahead. Perhaps, at last, she would have some influence on her own destiny.