by Sharon Sala
Mac glared. “You’re making fun of me.”
Caitlin laughed. “You’re an easy mark, McKee. It’s hard not to bait you.”
He started to argue, then saw his own reflection in the mirrored surface of her sunglasses and felt his stomach drop. He looked like a lovesick calf.
“Damn it,” he mumbled, and looked away.
Caitlin frowned. “Don’t be mad,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“My feelings are not up for discussion,” he said shortly. “Tell the man what you want.”
Caitlin turned, only then realizing that they were next in line.
“We’ll have two pretzels, please.”
“Four bucks,” the vendor said.
“For pretzels?” Mac asked.
“Do you see a better deal?” the vendor quipped, well aware that he had a corner on the market today.
Considering the fact that Caitlin was already chewing the first bite of her pretzel, he handed the man the money, took his food and moved on.
“Another reason why I left New York City,” he said.
Caitlin frowned. “Street vendors?”
“No. The high cost of living.”
“You can’t put a price on the place you call home,” Caitlin said.
The profundity of her words brought him to a halt.
“What’s wrong?” Caitlin asked.
He looked at her then, with the weak sunlight highlighting the fading bruises on her face. He sighed.
“Nothing is wrong,” he said softly. “The pretzel is tasty and hot, and you, my dear Caitie, have a fine way with words. Did anyone ever tell you that you had the makings of a writer?”
His tenderness was as unexpected as the compliment, and she could only stare at him in mute disbelief.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She shook her head no.
“Tell me when you want to start back,” he said.
She nodded, still too dumbstruck to speak. And so they walked and ate, occasionally talking of things they saw until the food was gone and Caitlin’s cheeks were a bright, rosy red.
“We’ve been out over an hour,” Mac said. “Time to start back.”
Mac took her hand to help her over a slick spot and didn’t bother to let go. The farther they walked, the larger the lump in Caitlin’s throat became. If she wasn’t careful, she might begin to think he really liked her. And if she ever deluded herself about that fact, she would be setting herself up for such a fall. Connor McKee wasn’t the kind of man women like her fell for—not unless they wanted their hearts broken. He’d said it himself. He wasn’t into lasting relationships, and she was not the kind of woman who could live with one-night stands. She wanted a forever kind of love, with a home and family. She dreamed of being a mother, sharing things with her children that she’d never had. Oh, she’d had everything money could buy, but little else.
If only Connor liked her, she could let herself believe something more than antagonism might grow between them.
By the time they got to the apartment building, her toes were numb and her cheeks were burning from the cold. Mike, the security guard, looked up as they entered.
“Have yourself a good walk, did you, Miss Bennett?”
“Yes, although I think I froze my nose.”
He smiled while eyeing the man beside her. “And how are you liking our fair city, Mr. McKee?”
Mac grinned. “Ask me that after the snow melts and I’ll have a better opinion.”
“It’s been a bugger, all right,” Mike said. “You staying long?”
“As long as it takes,” he said, then eyed Caitlin. “I want to talk to Mike about…stuff. Don’t you agree?”
Caitlin hesitated, then nodded. It would be foolish not to alert the security guard in her own building that her life was being threatened.
“Yes, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to go on up. The hems of my jeans are wet, and I want a hot shower and dry clothes, in that order.”
Mac started to argue, then stopped. She was going straight up to the penthouse. He would be right behind her. What could it hurt?
“Okay. I won’t be long.”
She waved goodbye to Mike and headed for the elevator, taking off her scarf and gloves as she went. Behind her, Mac began explaining the reason for Caitlin’s injuries and the danger she faced.
The almost silent upward motion of the elevator was expected, as was the elegant bouquet of flowers on the hall table beside the elevator doors. Pausing a moment to admire the arrangement and sniff a favorite flower, she took her mail from the mail basket and let herself in, disarming the alarm as she went.
The warmth of the rooms enveloped her as she shut the door. Absently dropping her wet gloves on the entryway’s black-and-white tiles, she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the hall tree, tossing her red scarf over it. Her feet were so cold they felt numb, but her shoes were still wet, so she sat down on a bench and pulled them off, too, before taking her mail to the living room. The thought of a warm shower was enticing, but she wanted to check for threatening letters.
A quick look at the envelopes assured her she was safe. The dark block letters the writer favored were on none of them. Relieved, she tossed the envelopes aside and picked up the packet that had been with her mail. Curious, she turned it over to see who it was from and then froze.
There on the front, written in bold, black letters, was her name and a holiday greeting. She picked it up, testing the contents by squeezing, then turned it over, staring at the flap as if it might burst into flames.
Finally she took a deep breath and opened, then turned it upside down over the coffee table and gave it a shake.
The contents fell out in hairy, blood-soaked chunks. When the head fell out, she started to scream.
Mac felt good about the day. Their truce was working, at least most of the time, and getting outside had done both of them good. Also, warning Mike Mazurka was like adding one more soldier to the battle, which Mac knew was far from over. He entered the elevator with a spring in his step. As it began to rise, he started reminiscing about their outing, remembering the way the sunlight had highlighted the silky texture of Caitie’s hair and thinking to himself that he’d always been a sucker for a woman in silk, when he heard her screams above him.
For a few endless seconds it was like watching helplessly as someone you love dies, and then the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. He came out shouting her name and ran through the unlocked door, following the sounds of her screams.
It took him several heart-stopping seconds to see her crouched in a corner of the living room, her head bent to her knees, her hands clutching her head as if she were being beaten. Once, when he had still been a cop, he’d seen a man burning to death in a car, and his screams were not unlike what he was hearing now. The sheer terror of the sounds cut all the way to his soul.
Readying himself for an attack, he gave the living room a quick, frantic glance, only to see she was alone. In three strides he had her on her feet and in his arms. Frantically he searched her body for signs of injury, but he saw nothing but the terror on her face.
“Caitie! Honey…what happened?”
The moment she heard Mac’s voice, her eyes rolled back in her head.
“No you don’t! I need you to talk to me!” he yelled, shaking her quickly to bring her back to her senses. If there was imminent danger, he needed to be aware of the direction from which it might come.
Caitie moaned as consciousness hovered. She was trembling so hard Mac had to hold her upright, and her screams had turned to huge, gulping sobs.
He was scared to death. Something had threatened her, and he didn’t know where to look.
“Caitie, talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk.”
She pointed and then covered her face, unable to look again.
Mac turned, looking without success for answers. His gaze raked the room, skipping twice across the furniture before he foc
used on the coffee table. And then he stared for a moment longer before he realized what he was seeing.
“Son of a holy bitch,” he said, then led her to a chair by the window. “Sit here, honey. I’ll be right back.”
He moved across the room, coming to a stop beside the table but not touching what lay on top.
“Did it come in the mail?”
“There’s no postmark,” she said.
Mac’s gut knotted. That meant he’d been here—at the least inside the building, at the worst outside her door.
He squatted down, looking inside the envelope without touching it and saw something white inside. He stood abruptly, took off his coat and gloves and laid them on a chair, and then opened his knife and squatted back down. Careful not to disturb anything more, he worked the small piece of paper out of the envelope and rocked back on his heels.
The message was brief.
You’re next.
He stared at the rat. It had been hacked to pieces.
The meaning was clear.
He flipped the note over with the tip of his knife, only to see it wasn’t a piece of paper after all, but the back of a photograph—a photograph of her.
It was the head shot used on the jackets of her books, only this one had been horribly defaced.
Mac’s stomach turned as he looked at the cuts on the picture, symbolically slashing her face into quarters. He’d seen enough of this during his years on the force in Atlanta to know they were dealing with a very dangerous individual.
He closed his knife as he stood, dropping it carefully into his pocket as he studied the gory message before him. Then he turned to look at Caitlin. The fear in his gut was turning to rage.
She looked at him then, her gaze on his face, searching for signs of hope, and he grunted as if he’d been punched. This wasn’t personal, it was worse. Those occasional twinges of jealously he’d been having, coupled with moments of unadulterated lust, had turned into something to which he’d sworn never to succumb.
He went to her and quietly took her in his arms. Somewhere between the sound of her screams and the moment she’d almost passed out, he’d fallen in love. He hadn’t meant for it to happen to him—not ever. But it had, just the same.
She curled into his embrace as if she’d been born to fit. He closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of her head, and pulled her a little bit closer. Her voice was shaking, her words thick with unshed sobs.
“Oh, Connor.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing her back as he would have a child’s.
“I don’t want to die.”
He felt cold from the inside out. Right or wrong, whether she liked it or not, she was his.
“You’re not going to die. I won’t let you,” he muttered. “I promise you, Caitie, I will make it all right.”
Nine
Kenny Leibowitz’s cell phone rang just as he entered the lobby of Caitlin’s apartment building. Pausing, he juggled the gift he was carrying to dig the phone out of his coat pocket.
“Leibowitz.”
“It’s Susan, Mr. Leibowitz. Your two o’clock appointment wants to reschedule for earlier today. You have an opening at one. Is that convenient for you?”
Kenny thought quickly, running down the places he was going after he left Caitlin and then answered.
“It’s cutting it too close,” he said. “See if tomorrow is okay. I won’t be back in the office today, so let me know.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and disconnected.
Kenny waved at Mike as he dropped the cell phone back into his pocket.
“She’s expecting me,” he lied, as he strode to the elevators.
“Yes, sir. I’m not surprised,” the security guard said.
Kenny frowned as he entered the elevator and pressed the button. Mazurka’s comment seemed odd, and then he shrugged it off, choosing instead to admire his reflection in the mirrored walls. Smoothing his hair, he smiled cockily at himself as the car rose quietly to the top of the building. It pleased him to have clients who occupied the entire floor of a building. It pleased him even more when the clients owned the building, which Caitlin did. What would please him even more was if she would see him as more than a publicist. But he was going to have to mend fences before that happened, which was why he’d come.
The gaily wrapped package under his arm was a combination Christmas and get-well present for Caitlin. He hadn’t talked to her since the day she’d been released from the hospital. The fact that they had parted under less than congenial circumstances still rankled. She wasn’t his only client. She wasn’t even his most lucrative client, although she was by far the wealthiest in her own right. But he’d invested too many years in getting close to the woman to give up now. Just because Connor McKee had stepped between them—even if only figuratively—there was no reason to stop his pursuit.
So when the car stopped, he shifted the present to his other arm, strode off the elevator and across the hall, then rang the bell. As he waited, he began practicing his smile and opening lines, but it was Aaron Workman who let him in, and he never got to put them to use.
Distracted by the latest development in Caitlin’s case and the police who were now in the living room, Aaron was less than congenial when he saw the publicist.
“Oh. It’s you. Did Caitlin know you were coming?”
Kenny frowned as he took off his coat, handing it to Aaron to hang up as if he were hired help.
“No. I just wanted to stop by and see how she’s doing. Is she in the living room?”
“Wait!” Aaron said, and grabbed him by the arm as he started to walk past him. “Don’t go in there.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
Aaron lowered his voice. “The police are here. If you want to wait, you’ll have to wait in the kitchen.”
Kenny frowned. “Police? I thought they’d already taken Caitlin’s statement at the hospital. Why are they here now?” When Aaron wouldn’t meet his gaze, his heart skipped a beat. “Workman…has something else happened?”
Aaron shrugged.
Kenny’s anger surged. It had, he knew it. And once again, it would seem he was the last to know what was happening to his own client. He grabbed his coat from Aaron’s arms and then thrust the present at him instead.
“Here,” he muttered. “Give this to Caitlin with my compliments, although I don’t know why I bother. It’s obvious that I’m continually the last person to know what the hell is happening to her, when I should be one of the first. How can I do my job when everyone keeps secrets?” He cursed beneath his breath as he thrust his arms into his coat. “Just tell Miss Bennett I was here. She has my number.”
He strode out of the apartment without looking back. Once in the elevator, he called his secretary.
“Susan, have you rescheduled my two o’clock yet?”
“No, sir. His line is busy.”
“Well, when you get him, tell him that one o’clock is fine after all. I assume it was to be at the same place?”
“Yes, sir. He was going to change the reservation if you could accommodate him.”
“Tell him I’ll be there,” he said and disconnected.
His face was a study in controlled fury as he rode the elevator down in silence. He was tired of being yanked around and tired of being figuratively gutted every time he was around her. A few moments later, the car stopped and he exited, still full of righteous indignation.
Mike looked up from reading the morning paper and smiled.
“That was quick.”
“Rejection usually is,” he muttered, and kept on walking.
Aaron frowned as he carried the present into the living room and set it down. There was something strange about Leibowitz’s behavior. It was too damned proprietorial, and as far as he knew, there was no basis for it. He reminded himself that he didn’t know everything there was to know about Caitlin. Maybe she and Kenny once had a thing going and Caitlin had called it off. Or maybe Kenny wanted more from Caitlin than
she was willing to give. Then he shrugged. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that Kenny didn’t like him. Maybe it was jealousy because he and Caitlin had more than a working relationship, or maybe Leibowitz was just homophobic. At any rate, it wasn’t worth a worry, because he didn’t like Leibowitz, either.
He slipped quietly into a nearby chair, noting that the detectives were still taking copious notes, especially the female, Kowalski. Neil seemed determined to connect with Caitlin on a personal level, but Aaron had seen the look on his brother’s face when Neil had taken the seat closest to her. If it happened, Mac wasn’t going down without a fight. Even more suspect, Aaron had seen Neil place a hand on Caitlin’s shoulder in a manner meant to be comforting. Personally Aaron thought he was stepping over the line.
Then he looked at Caitlin. She sat huddled in a corner of the sofa beneath her favorite afghan, her expression shell-shocked, her eyes brimming with tears. His stomach knotted. He loved Caitlin like a sister, and the threats to her life were escalating at a frightening rate. And they had no suspect—not even a glimmer of a clue as to who was behind them.
His frown deepened as he studied Caitlin’s hesitant, almost breathless answers to the questions the detectives were asking. Her fragility was evident. One harsh word, an unexpected noise, and she appeared as if she would come unglued.
He glanced at the large padded envelope on the floor near the female detective’s bag and shuddered. They were taking the rat to the lab, but he couldn’t imagine what they expected to find. It was a dead rat. Period. Granted, it had been hacked to pieces, but still…He shuddered again. What kind of a mind would come up with something like that?
His gaze moved from Caitlin to Mac, and as he watched, he saw something he’d never seen before. Always before, the antagonism between them had been palpable. But there was a difference now. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
Then suddenly she looked at Mac. Whatever passed between them brought Mac rushing to her side. He sat down on the sofa beside her, and when he did, Caitlin grabbed his arm as if the simple contact would keep her afloat. Tears came to Aaron’s eyes as he watched Mac smile, then carefully straighten the afghan back over her feet so they wouldn’t get cold. It seemed to Aaron that Mac had, both mentally and physically, put himself between Caitlin and the rest of the world, and God help whoever tried to move him. He scooted a little closer, curious as to what was being said.
