Snowfall

by Sharon Sala

  “Yes, the police already know,” Mac said. “Now, I really have to go before they throw me out. Is there anything you want me to do? Anyone you want me to call?”

  Aaron thought of David finding out about this through less than personal channels. It was too cruel to consider.

  Mac sensed his brother’s hesitation and leaned a little closer. “It’s okay, buddy. You and I came to terms with this years ago. Is there someone you want me to call?”

  Aaron sighed. It was getting harder to focus.

  “David…Caitlin knows.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Mac promised.

  Aaron’s consciousness was fading fast, but he needed to say what was on his heart.

  “You…love…” Aaron said, and then he was out.

  Mac fought back tears. “I love you, too,” he said softly.

  Leaving was harder than he’d expected. He stopped three times on his way out the door to look back, just to assure himself that Aaron was still there and that the machines were still beeping. As he started through the doors, Caitlin saw him coming and stood up.

  “How is he?”

  “Good, I think,” Mac said. “I talked to him a little.”

  Delight changed Caitlin’s expression. “Oh, Mac, that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, that he’s awake.”

  “Yeah, it’s good.”

  But she could tell that wasn’t all.

  “What?”

  “Do you know someone named David?”

  Caitlin gasped. “Oh my gosh! Yes! Poor David! I’ll bet he’s half out of his mind with worry.”

  “Why do you know him and I don’t?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because Aaron is my best friend.”

  “I thought I was your best friend,” he muttered.

  She gave him a considering look. “I don’t know just what we are,” she said. “And you have to remember that Aaron hasn’t hated my guts for the better part of the last few years. Surely you can’t be upset about a man in your brother’s life?”

  “No, of course not. Just concerned about what kind of man he is. Aaron doesn’t have to work, you know. His mother’s death left him independently wealthy. I would hate to see someone take advantage of—”

  Caitlin started to smile. “Ever hear of F & S Securities?”

  “The brokerage house?”

  “Yes, and David is the F, as in Freeh. His brother-in-law is the S, as in Sugarman. He’s financially sound. Trust me.”

  Mac nodded. “That’s all I wanted to know. Since you know him, the call about Aaron would be better coming from you.”

  Caitlin shook her head. “No, I think you’re the one who should call. Aaron is your brother. David will appreciate the gesture.”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean. Do you mind if I step over there to make the call?”

  “Tell him I said hello,” Caitlin said.

  Mac smiled. “I’ll do that. And thanks,” he said.

  “For what?” Caitlin asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know…. Just for being here, I guess.”

  “I would always be here for you,” she said quietly. “All you have to do is ask.”

  Before he could comment, she moved away, leaving him alone to make his call.

  Sixteen

  Aaron was moved into a private room two days after his surgery. To satisfy her own fears, Caitlin had hired private security to stand guard at his door in case the killer had thoughts of finishing the job, and filled his room with pots of blooming hyacinths, his favorite flower. He wouldn’t be able to see them, but the scent was sweet, and there was nothing wrong with his sense of smell.

  David Freeh was ever present, deeply grateful to know that Aaron was alive and more than ready to assume the duties of caregiver until the bandages were removed from Aaron’s eyes. Even though Mac would have preferred to have Aaron come stay with him at Caitlin’s apartment once he was released, it was agreed that he would be safer in another location. They had no way of knowing how much Caitlin’s stalker knew about her friends and their habits, but putting Aaron back in the line of danger was not in his best interests, especially since he was unable to see it coming.

  Caitlin moved through the days by working until she could no longer think. Then she would shut down her computer and crawl into bed. She knew it wasn’t healthy, going from one form of self-imposed isolation to another, but it was all she could cope with. Mac held her when she was scared and bullied her when she faltered, and, in a strange way, her emotional breakdown forced her to turn loose of her fears. Sometimes she felt she was at a crossroads in her life—waiting to see if she would be run over by a train or a bus—but other times her anger at being forced to hide would emerge. Those were the times when she felt hope, when she could see a time beyond the horror of what was happening now. And in those times she could almost believe she had a future with Mac McKee.

  Caitlin hung up the phone as Mac came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

  “Who were you talking to?” he asked.

  “Aaron. He’s being released tomorrow. I told him you would call later.”

  “Definitely,” Mac said, and let the towel drop as he reached for a pair of sweats.

  Caitlin pillowed her head in her hands as she leaned against the headboard of her bed.

  “Nice,” she said.

  Mac turned and grinned. “Admiring the view?”

  “No. Your sweats. Love that color.”

  “They’re gray, and you’re lying.”

  “Through my teeth.”

  “I suppose you want me to take advantage of you now?”

  “Only if you’re up to the task.”

  He arched an eyebrow, well aware that he was up in a most obvious way.

  “You be the judge,” he drawled, and let his sweats fall on top of the towel as he crawled toward her on her bed.

  Caitlin encircled him with her hand, smiling with satisfaction as he groaned.

  “You’ll do,” she whispered.

  “I’m going to do you, that’s for damned sure.”

  She sighed as his tongue dipped into her navel. “You’re rude.”

  “I know, but I’m good.”

  She pulled him up, making him look at her. “I don’t want good. I want great.”

  “I am the greatest,” he said.

  “That was Muhammad Ali’s claim to fame. You’re going to have to get another one.”

  He raised himself up on both elbows, gazing greedily at her face. He loved her so much, and she was making him crazy.

  “I’m the best man for the job?”

  She frowned, pretending to study the phrase. “I don’t know…that sounds a lot like a plumbing commercial.”

  He slanted a hard, hungry kiss across her lips, stopping only after he heard her moan.

  “Still need a recommendation?”

  “No…Lord, no,” Caitlin sighed, and pulled him down to her.

  Two hours later, they had yet to get out of bed. Caitlin was dozing and Mac was holding her close, watching the play of morning light across her face. The scar above her eyebrow was still a deep, shocking pink, although the bruises she’d suffered had long since faded. If only this nightmare they were living would disappear, as well.

  He glanced at the clock and then carefully slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleep. Grabbing his clothes, he dressed in the hall and headed for the kitchen. He needed to think, and before that could happen, he needed the kick of caffeine to jump-start his brain.

  He ran water in the carafe, then measured coffee into a filter before turning on the pot. Soon the scent of freshly brewing coffee began to make itself known. Mac walked into the living room and turned up the heat before moving to the windows overlooking the streets below.

  Snowflakes swirled within the eddys of air between the buildings on their way to the ground, adding inch upon deadly inch to the snow already there. He frowned. Would this snow never stop?

  He closed his eyes, l
etting his thoughts go back to last night. For him, making love to Caitlin had been something close to holy. Her breath on his cheeks had been soft and warm, the tears in her eyes, tears of joy. She’d come to him without hesitation, wrapping herself around him and pulling him deep into her sweet heat, and they’d both lost their minds. But reality had come and daylight, and he was afraid. So damned afraid of losing her like he’d lost Sarah.

  He turned away from the window and strode into the kitchen, quickly pouring himself a cup of coffee. There were so many obstacles between them. She lived in New York. He lived in Atlanta. Her worth was in the billions. He had yet to make his first million. Someone was trying to kill her, and he hardly knew where to begin in keeping her safe. She was aggravating and hard-headed, and he couldn’t remember ever being so attracted to a woman in his life. Not even Sarah had evoked the emotion within him that Caitlin did,

  He took a slow sip of coffee as he shook off the dread. He had to think positive and stay focused. Somewhere out there in the snow-covered city, a madman was planning his next move on Caitlin, and he had to be ready.

  He took another sip of coffee and filched a cookie from the cookie jar before returning to the living room. Washing down the last bite of cookie with another sip of coffee, he picked up the phone. It had been a week since their visit to the precinct, and he was curious as to how the investigation was going. After a brief search for Amato’s card, he made the call, waiting for the line to pick up.

  “Detective Amato.”

  “Detective, this is Connor McKee. Haven’t talked to you since my brother was admitted to the hospital. How is the investigation going?”

  “Had a little kink late yesterday evening,” he said.

  Mac frowned. “How so?”

  “Neil and Kowalski found the Delarosa woman.”

  “And she wasn’t able to help you?”

  “She was dead.”

  “That’s too bad,” Mac said. “I guess Caitlin didn’t know, although I remember her saying she was elderly.”

  “She didn’t die of old age,” Amato said.

  Something in the tone of the detective’s voice sent a chill up Mac’s spine.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “She was murdered, and based on preliminary estimates, a couple of days before we got there. Her house was like ice, and what with the cold weather we’ve been having, it was difficult to tell the exact time of death. I’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  The skin crawled on the back of Mac’s neck. “Are you suggesting that the killer got to her before you did?”

  “It’s looking that way.”

  “Her face…did he…?”

  “Naw, but he cut out her tongue. M.E. says she could’ve bled to death from that wound alone.”

  The devil walks among us.

  Mac shuddered, then set down his coffee cup, the phone still to his ear as he strode to the window. A simple winter scene. Snow-covered rooftops, people in colorful coats and scarves. Beneath the purity of the snow lay an ugliness impossible to conceal.

  “McKee? You still there?”

  “So she wouldn’t talk,” Mac said.

  “Yeah…we read it the same way.”

  Mac’s shock turned to anger.

  “Damn it, Amato, this doesn’t make sense! You and three other detectives were the only people who heard Caitlin speak that woman’s name. How in hell would he find out you were looking for her unless somebody told?”

  “Are you suggesting I’ve got a leak in my department?” Amato growled.

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just stating the facts,” Mac said.

  “Granted, my people knew, but so did you and Miss Bennett. How many people did you tell?”

  Mac’s voice lowered, his words slowed, but his fury was impossible to miss.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. There hasn’t been a word spoken about those details except in the presence of New York City’s finest and in the privacy of her home. Not even my brother knew what was going on, and look where he landed.”

  “Look, McKee, I can understand your concerns, but trust me, my people are one hundred percent. They’re professionals. They would not jeopardize an investigation like this in any way, shape or form. When I know something more, I will let you know.”

  “Fine,” Mac said, and hung up, knowing he was going to have to break the news to Caitlin and scared to death of how she would receive it.

  He sat down with a thump, gazing around the room in disbelief and trying to remember if anyone had been present when they were talking who could have leaked the name. To his knowledge, no one had been in this apartment since his arrival but Aaron, the detectives and a couple of takeout delivery boys. And Juanita Delarosa’s name had never been mentioned in front of any of them, of that he was certain.

  It was frightening to realize that the killer was inching his way toward his ultimate goal—Caitlin herself—and Mac didn’t know how to make him stop.

  Shoving his fingers through his hair, he kicked back in the seat and put his feet up on the edge of the table. This didn’t make sense. He’d been a cop. He knew how criminals thought. So if he was so damned good at his job, why couldn’t he see what they were missing?

  “God help me,” he whispered, his gaze wandering from the pale, celery-green walls to the ornate wainscoting above.

  He stared blankly, his thoughts jumping from one scenario to another, but the longer he looked, the less he thought about Amato and the more he stared at the room.

  Within seconds he was on his feet and reaching for the phone. Moments later, Mike Mazurka, the security guard downstairs, answered.

  “This is Mike. Is there something you need, Miss Bennett?”

  “Mike, it’s me, Mac, and yes, there’s something we need.”

  “You name it,” Mike said.

  “I need a stepladder. One that will get me to the ceiling.”

  “Give me a few and it’ll be right there,” Mike said.

  Mac hung up the phone, adrenaline racing through his system. It was something Amato had said about who Mac and Caitlin might have told that had gotten him thinking. Granted, they’d only talked about it between themselves, but in this day and age, that didn’t guarantee privacy. If her home had been bugged, it was his fault it hadn’t been found. He was in the security business, and she was being stalked. When he installed her alarm system, he should have checked the whole place as a matter of course, but he hadn’t, and his omission might have gotten a woman killed.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mac had the ladder in hand. He turned his attention to the room and all the places a listening device might be concealed. While waiting for the ladder to be delivered, he’d checked everything that was within his reach except the room where Caitlin was sleeping. He called himself a coward for hesitating to wake her, but he knew what would result when he did. The longer he could put it off, the better.

  “Okay. If I was a bug, where would I be?”

  Heating and air-conditioning vents were the most obvious places, so he started with them first. Dragging the ladder across the floor, he set it up and then started to climb. Halfway there, he realized he was going to need tools to take off the vent covers. He climbed down, cursing himself for not mentioning it to Mike when he asked for the ladder.

  He was on his way into the kitchen to see what he could find when Caitlin came out of her bedroom. He stopped, waiting for the moment when she would realize he was watching her, and wondering why it had taken him so long to admit that he was in such total love. Then she saw him and smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. After he told her the latest, that smile would be gone.

  “Hey there,” Caitlin said. “You look like you’re on a mission. What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a screwdriver.”

  Caitlin frowned. “There are several in the drawer to the right of the sink.”

  “Hot damn,” he muttered, and hurried into the kitchen.

  Caitlin follo
wed, her curiosity piqued. “Why do you need a screwdriver?”

  He palmed a flathead screwdriver as well as a Phillips.

  “I’ve got some bad news.”

  The color drained from her face as she grabbed the back of a chair. “Aaron! He didn’t—”

  “No, no, Aaron’s fine,” Mac said. “I talked to him right after you went to sleep.”

  “Then what?” Caitlin asked.

  Mac sighed. There was no easy way to say it. “The police located your father’s old secretary.”

  “Juanita? Wasn’t she able to help?”

  Mac crossed the room, laid the screwdrivers down and then took her by the shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before he continued. “I’m afraid not, baby. She was dead.”

  Caitlin immediately assumed what Mac had first thought, that she had passed away from old age.

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry I didn’t know. I would have gone to her services.”

  “You probably still can,” Mac said. “But she didn’t die of natural causes. She was murdered…and Amato is guessing less than forty-eight hours before they found her.”

  Caitlin stilled. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Mac slumped. He would give anything not to have to tell her the rest, but it was her life that was on the line. She deserved to know everything.

  “The stalker did it.”

  Caitlin flinched, but her gaze never wavered. “How do you know? Did he slash her face like he—”

  “No, baby.”

  “Thank God,” Caitlin said, and then realized that still didn’t explain how they knew who had killed her. “What made them think the same man killed her? This is an ugly world, Mac. Maybe she was being robbed and walked in on the thief. Maybe—”

  “No.”

  Her voice broke. “Then how? How do they know?”

  “He cut out her tongue.”

  Caitlin paled, then sat with a thump, trembling too much to stand. “So she wouldn’t talk.”

  “That was the inference the cops got. I agree with the theory.”

  Caitlin’s eyes narrowed again, her mind jumping to the same conclusion Mac had drawn.

  “Who told? Someone in the department had to leak that information.”