Snowfall

by Sharon Sala

  Mac pulled her into his arms. “It’s not your fault, Caitie. You have to know that.”

  Trudy Kowalski patted Caitlin’s shoulder in sympathy.

  “He’s right, Miss Bennett. You can’t take on the guilt for these women’s deaths. It’s the killer who’s to blame, not you.”

  “Theoretically, I know that,” Caitlin said. “But it doesn’t make their deaths any easier to bear.”

  Mac gave her a swift hug, then handed her his handkerchief. “Wipe your eyes. I’m taking you out for pasta. It’s a good, stick-to-your-ribs meal, and you’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.”

  Caitlin nodded, then shook Sal Amato’s hand.

  “Detective, we appreciate your help.” Then she looked at Trudy and J.R. “All of you. Thank you in advance for helping me. I’m so tired of being afraid.”

  Trudy smiled and winked. “It’s our job to help. And now, thanks to you, we have a whole new direction in which to take the case.”

  Mac took Caitlin by the arm. Even as they were leaving, Sal Amato was barking orders, sending Kowalksi in one direction and Neil in another.

  Satisfied that, for now, the worries were out of their hands, Mac and Caitlin left quickly, anxious to leave the premises and all they represented. Yet even when they were out on the street and hailing another cab to go to the restaurant, Caitlin knew that, no matter how far they went, she could not escape what was happening. Until the killer was caught, she was living on borrowed time.

  Kenny smiled in satisfaction as he hung up the phone. His source at the paper had assured him that they’d gotten the story they needed from Caitlin Bennett. It would be all over the news by evening for sure. He kicked back in his chair. Caitlin would be pleased. She owed him big time on this, and he would make sure to collect. To hell with the muscle-man who was stuck to her side. She was bound to come to her senses soon. Then she would see who really mattered in her life.

  The rest of the day passed in its usual busy way. And every time the phone rang, he kept thinking it would be her, calling to tell him what a genius he was. But it wasn’t, and by the time quitting time rolled around, she still had not called. Not once. Not even to say thanks.

  The slight to his ego was small compared to having to come to terms with the possibility that he was nothing more to her than an employee. She paid him to do things for her, and as long as he did them to her satisfaction, their relationship, such as it was, would continue. Beyond that, there was nothing. He didn’t want to accept it, but as his mother used to say, “Truth is a hard egg to swallow.”

  His steps were slow, his heart heavy, as he left the office for the day. And the sharp bite of winter cold was like adding insult to injury as he tried, without success, to hail a cab. With his head down, his shoulders hunched against the wind, he started the walk home.

  Caitlin Bennett’s story was all over the evening news. It was the lead in the papers and on two of the local television stations. Her taunt had hit a painful target.

  Buddy saw the first of the headlines on his way home from work. Unable to believe what he was seeing, he bought a paper and read it on the subway. By the time he reached his apartment, he was shaking with rage.

  The bitch. She’d called him juvenile! She’d said she wasn’t afraid. He would show her what true fear meant, but before he did, he was going to make her sorry in a whole other way.

  He tossed the paper on the floor as he entered his apartment, then used it to wipe his feet, leaving the dirty slush from his shoes behind on the pages.

  Work had been hell, and it had been all he could do to concentrate. He’d had a bagel for breakfast and nothing for lunch, and he suspected the headache he had was due to too much coffee and not enough food. But he would eat later—after he finished his little “gift” for Caitlin Bennett. By the time it reached its target, she would no longer be mouthing off about lack of fear.

  To the uninitiated, Aaron Workman’s office was a study in chaos, but he knew where everything was and when it was due. The manuscripts stacked on the credenza behind him were rejects, waiting for his assistant to mail them back to the senders.

  The stack on the floor beside his chair was new, and had as yet to be opened and read. The stack to the right of his desk was from contracted writers and was made up of overdue line edits.

  The stack to his left, which was the smallest, consisted of possible buys. Some needed cutting, and one needed to be added to, but the stories were there. Those were his favorites. Discovering new writers was why he’d taken this job.

  Years ago, his first editorial job had been for a small press in Pennsylvania that was no longer in business, but it had been the impetus he’d needed to know he was on the right track. This was his fourteenth year with Hudson House. The company was in good financial shape, and he was as happy as he’d ever been.

  Except for the mess with Caitlin. As an editor, it was unusual to have a personal relationship with one of his writers, but he loved her like the sister he’d never had. From the first book they’d worked on together, their friendship had grown. Now he considered her one of his best friends. During the day, he was able to block out his fear for her, but at night, when he was in the solitude of his own home, it was impossible to ignore. The only thing that kept him from coming unglued was the fact that his brother had come to her rescue.

  He paused, his hands still on the keyboard of his computer, and smiled as he thought of Mac. He was a fortunate man to have him for a brother, and he was beginning to think that Caitlin agreed. It had been a great disappointment to him when Mac and Caitlin had first met. The two people he loved most in the world had taken an instant dislike to each other. Now he was beginning to think it had been attraction from the start, only they’d both been too scared to admit it.

  He glanced at the clock, then back at the screen, and resumed the letter he was typing. As soon as he was finished, he was going to give Mac a call. He’d tried all day yesterday with no results and wondered what was going on. Maybe they could meet for dinner tonight. Unless pushed, Caitlin had no social life at all.

  A few minutes later he hit Save and then Print, getting up from his desk to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee as he waited for the letter to emerge.

  “Mr. Workman, your mail.”

  He turned, rolling his eyes at the new stack his assistant set on his desk.

  “Does it ever end?” he griped.

  She smiled. “No, and you would be sorry if it did.”

  He sighed. “You’re right, and thanks.” He set his coffee cup down and began to shuffle through the stack. “See anything interesting?”

  “The usual. Three submissions you asked to see based on proposals. A couple of unsolicited ones.”

  Aaron waved his hand. “Send them to a reader. I don’t have time to go through them first myself.”

  “Will do,” she said, and sorted them out. “Oh, I almost forgot. This is a Priority Mail envelope addressed to you and marked Personal. I didn’t open it.”

  Aaron took it, sipping his coffee as he looked for a return address, then shrugged.

  “Thanks, Teresa. I’ll give it a look in a couple of minutes. This time I want to finish my coffee without spilling it down the front of my shirt.”

  She laughed. It was a known fact within the office that Aaron could not do two things at one time without making a mess, which included reading and drinking. More than one manuscript had suffered the consequences of his spills.

  As she left, he turned toward the window, taking his coffee with him as he looked out on the city below. Even from the eighth floor, the streets looked filthy. Once lily-white snow was now a slushy mixture piled high at intersections and forming formidable barriers, sometimes impossible to step over, at curbs. If the weather would stay clear for more than two days at a time without added snowfall, they would be able to get out from under, but as it was, the city was barely keeping up with the snow.

  Wrinkling his nose at the mess, he took another sip of his coffee and th
en turned toward his desk. The red, white and blue of the Priority Mail envelope teased his curiosity. More than likely it was a wannabe writer trying to pull what he or she thought was a cute little stunt by marking a proposal as personal. But its mere presence on his desk taunted him like an unwrapped gift on the day after Christmas.

  Grunting at himself for delaying the inevitable, he set down his cup and reached for the envelope. With nothing more for a clue than a New York City postmark, he grabbed the pull tab and gave it a yank.

  There was a flash and an explosion, then the feel of searing heat. He heard a scream, unaware that it was his own, and then everything went black.

  Caitlin was watering an ivy plant when the telephone rang. Mac was in her office on his cell phone with his office manager. She raced to answer it before he was disturbed.

  “Bennett residence.”

  “Miss Bennett! This is Teresa Lane, from Hudson House Publishing.”

  “Oh, hello, Teresa. How are you?”

  “Oh, Miss Bennett. I have terrible news.”

  The smile froze on Caitlin’s face. After her day yesterday with four of New York’s finest, she wasn’t sure she could bear more bad news.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They said that Mr. Workman’s brother is staying with you, is that true?”

  Caitlin’s fingers curled a little tighter around the receiver.

  “Yes…yes…he’s here. What’s wrong, Teresa?”

  “It’s Mr. Workman. There was an explosion…he’s—”

  “Oh God.” Caitlin’s knees went weak, and she slid to the floor. “Please. Please tell me he’s not—”

  “No, no, but they’ve taken him to New York General.”

  “We’re on our way,” Caitlin said. She was already screaming Mac’s name as she hung up the phone.

  He came out of her office with a gun in his hand, stopping her square in her tracks. She didn’t have time to absorb the fact that it was the first time she’d known that he was armed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She grabbed him by the arms, willing herself not to shriek.

  “It’s Aaron. He’s been hurt. We have to get to the hospital right now.”

  The color faded from Mac’s face as his body went limp.

  “What? How?”

  Caitlin could hardly bring herself to say it.

  “There was an explosion at his office. They didn’t say anything more.”

  “Christ,” Mac said, then pivoted sharply, running toward his bedroom. “Get changed. And hurry.”

  Caitlin did as she was told. Now was not the time to remind him that her stalker had promised to bomb the publishing house for putting out her books, or to consider the fact that her interview with the media had most likely been the trigger that had set him off. All she could do was pray that when they got there, Aaron would still be alive.

  Fourteen

  Detective Amato met Mac and Caitlin at the entrance to the E.R.

  “My brother…where is he?” Mac demanded.

  “They took him up to surgery about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Ah, God,” Mac groaned, then slumped against the wall. The thought of losing Aaron was impossible to consider. They were all the family each other had, and although they did not share the same blood, they had a bond forged by years of love and friendship.

  “We were told it was an explosion,” Caitlin said. “Was it a bomb?”

  Amato nodded. “A letter bomb. As bombs go, it was a small one, but large enough to do damage to the person opening it.”

  Caitlin glanced at Mac, then grabbed his hand. “Aaron’s injuries…how bad are they?”

  “You’ll have to talk to the doctor for that,” Amato said. “All I know is he’s got flash burns on his face and hands. I would imagine his eyes were impacted, but it’s hard to know how much until they get him out of surgery.”

  The first wave of panic had passed, leaving Mac numb and searching for focus.

  “Amato, you said this was an explosion.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why are you here? You’re Homicide, right?”

  “When the bomb went off, the windows behind where Aaron was standing blew out, sending large shards of glass into the street below. One of them struck and killed a man who was getting out of a cab. That makes it murder.”

  Caitlin’s expression went blank. The urge to scream and never stop was overwhelming. Everything just kept getting worse and worse.

  “Dear Lord…because of me…because of me.”

  Mac grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, his voice shaking with emotion.

  “Stop it, Caitie! Don’t you quit on me now, girl. I need you to be with me on this.”

  The panic in his voice was more startling than the news they’d just received. Mac was her rock. He wasn’t supposed to come undone. A cold shudder rocked her body, and when she saw the devastation on his face, all she could do was apologize profusely.

  “I’m sorry…so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Just stay with me, okay?”

  Blinking back tears, she turned to the detective. “What can you tell us…? About the bombing, I mean.”

  “Not much. The bomb squad is at the scene now. I’ll have a full report in a day or so. Until then, all I can tell you is to be careful of your own mail. In fact, I would advise not opening any of it on your own. Bring it down to the bomb squad and let an expert check it first.”

  Another wave of disbelief swept over Caitlin, filling her with frustration and a sense of growing anger.

  “This is unbelievable,” she muttered. “This man, whoever he is, has not only killed wantonly, but has invaded every aspect of my life. If only we knew why, then maybe we could find out who.”

  “I have Neil and Kowalksi checking into your father’s old business associates. Maybe we’ll come up with something there.”

  “Have you spoken to Juanita Delarosa, Daddy’s old secretary?”

  “Detective Kowalski has been trying to contact her by phone, but we’re not getting an answer. If I’m not mistaken, she and Neil are going to New Jersey tomorrow to find out if she’s still at the same address.” He glanced at his watch and sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back to the station. If there’s anything we can do for you, let us know.” Then he gave Mac a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Sorry about your brother.”

  Caitlin hesitated, then spat out the words as if confessing a sin. “He was my editor, you know.”

  Amato looked startled. This cemented the bombing squarely into the middle of the case. “No, I didn’t get that connection.”

  “It’s because of me.”

  Now Amato was really confused. “In what way?”

  Caitlin bit the inside of her lip to steady her nerves. “You saw the story about me in the paper last night?”

  “Yes, but I assumed that—”

  Mac put his arm around Caitlin’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “She leaked the story herself.”

  Amato looked stunned. “Why the hell would you—”

  “I believe the explanation would be that she was using herself for bait,” Mac said.

  Guilt weighed heavily on Caitlin’s conscience as she confessed what she’d done.

  “I didn’t know about the women. I didn’t know that he was killing people who looked like me. I just wanted it to be over. I thought if I taunted him enough, he would make a mistake and then we could catch him.” A single tear silently rolled down her cheek. “I wanted this to stop. Instead I made it worse.”

  Amato shook his head in disbelief. “Well, if you’d asked me first, I would have told you it was a damned dangerous stunt, but I have to give you credit, Miss Bennett. It was also a real gutsy move, and in ordinary circumstances, it would probably have worked. However, I don’t think we’re dealing with an ordinary man. He’s not only crazy and cruel, he’s cunning. You be careful. Real careful.”

  “Yes. I will, but right now, all that matt
ers is Aaron. He has to be okay.”

  “I’m sure the doctors are doing all they can.”

  Caitlin nodded. “Please call if you have any news on the case.”

  “Yes, I will,” Amato said, then hurried out the door.

  Caitlin turned to Mac, expecting to see hate on his face. “If he dies, it will be my fault.”

  A sheen of tears glittered in Mac’s eyes, but the tone of his voice was hard and sure. “No, it won’t, Caitie. Don’t ever let me hear you say that again. I told you before, and I’m telling you again now, the only person at fault is the man behind the crimes.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his coat.

  “I love Aaron,” she said. “He’s like the brother I never had.”

  “I know,” Mac said, then managed a little grin. “He loves you, too.”

  “Thank you, Connor, more than you will ever know.”

  “Let’s go tell someone we’re here, so when the doctor comes out of surgery, they’ll know he has family waiting for news.”

  Caitlin let Mac lead her to the nurses’ station, but her thoughts were on what he’d said, not what he was telling the nurse in charge. Family. He’d included her in his family. She hadn’t had family in so long that it felt good to think she belonged, even if her feelings for Mac were anything but brotherly.

  A few minutes later they entered the surgical waiting area. Caitlin’s heart went out to the people who were already there, reminding her that she wasn’t the only one with troubles.

  “There are a couple of seats against the wall,” Mac said, cupping her elbow as he led her across the room. “Now, let’s get these coats off,” he said, and helped her out of hers, then took off his own, draping them across the back of the small sofa.

  She sat quickly, conscious of the other people’s curious stares, and looked down at her feet, afraid she might be recognized and forced to talk about what was happening.

  Mac slid his arm around her and pulled her close against his side. She looked up at him then, her chin trembling, her eyes welling with tears.