Protecting His Witness

by Marie Ferrarella

  To her joy, Zack made love to every part of her.

  And as he did so, he found he wanted more. Wanted to hear her cry out his name again after he'd brought her up to a climax using only his tongue and his lips. Wanted to feel her arch her flesh against his suckling mouth again. Wanted to feel the desire shoot through him as she spread a network of small, openmouthed kisses along his belly and lower torso, branding him the way he had branded her.

  They left nothing untouched. And finally, when they both felt as if they were on the edge of exhaustion, they came together and discovered another wealth of energy for the last conquest. For the last trip to the highest summit.

  When the climax came, Kasey prayed it would never let go. Prayed that this wondrous space of time would somehow be eternal. She was willing to die since she was convinced it couldn't possibly get any better than this.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Jeremy waited until Zack was directly in front of him. "You know I can get into trouble for this. We both can," he said in a low voice.

  The lab tech had summoned him with a three-word message: I've got something. Zack had broken a speed record getting down to the forensic lab. Jeremy's statement wasn't news. Zack already knew the man was climbing out on a limb. He gave Jeremy a safety net.

  "The woman was part of the case I was working on." Granted, it was a stretch, but there was a germ of truth in his statement. "I had to make sure she wasn't part of the people we were after," he added to bolster his claim. Jeremy began to look just a shade less nervous. "She did turn up rather conveniently less than half a mile away from where Seales shot me."

  Jeremy was silent for a long moment. "That's your story, huh?"

  Zack nodded without cracking a smile. "Yup."

  Jeremy blew out a breath. "Okay, works for me. Anyway, she doesn't look as if she's part of anything. Matter of fact, the DMV doesn't even have Kasey Madigan's thumbprint."

  But that didn't make sense. He'd seen her driving, although she always had him drive when they were together.

  "She said she traveled around. Maybe she still has her out-of-state license," Zack speculated. But even as he said it, he wasn't convinced. She'd said something about being at the bookstore for over five months. Wouldn't a person exchange her license after five months?

  Unless she wasn't planning on staying, Zack realized.

  "Maybe," Jeremy allowed loftily. It occurred to Zack that Jeremy seemed pleased with himself. "And maybe she shares a thumbprint with a dead woman."

  Zack stared at the tech. "Come again?"

  Excited, Jeremy picked up speed as he went on with his explanation. "When I didn't find 'Kasey Madigan's' prints on file anywhere, not even the DMV, I remembered this show I saw on one of those cable channels. You know," he couldn't help inserting the small sidebar, "the one that treats forensic lab technicians as if they were gods instead of flunkies—"

  Zack knew what was expected of him. He gave Jeremy what the man wanted to hear. A little ego stroking. "You're not a flunky, Jeremy. You're an important member of the team."

  Getting his due, Jeremy continued. "Anyway, I ran her thumbprint through the DMV's deceased database and guess what? Your lady's been dead for almost two years now. Not only that, but when she was alive, she had a different name."

  For a split second, there was a strange ringing in Zack's ears. Moreover, an eerie feeling came over him. As if everything had just stopped dead for him. His heart, the air, time, everything had just shut down. This couldn't be right.

  Oh no? Then why are you here? Why'd you ask Jeremy to see if he could lift any viable prints off the book? Why'd you even take the book in the first place if you had no doubts?

  He banked down the annoying voice in his head. "What name?" he asked.

  With a flourish, Jeremy turned his LCD monitor toward him so that he could see the license for himself. "Krystle Maller. She was a doctor, too." Jeremy turned the monitor back around again.

  Damn it, she'd lied to him. Lied. The word throbbed in his head. "How did she 'die'?"

  Jeremy shook his head. "I don't know yet, but I can probably—"

  Zack raised his hand to stop the flow of words, and any further action. "That's okay, Jeremy. You did good. I'll take it from here."

  Jeremy looked a little let down as well as confused. "You're sure?"

  "Yeah," Zack said. "I'm sure." Whatever he found out, he didn't want it out in the open where he couldn't control it. Not until he knew what to make of it all.

  Now that he had a name, tracking down more information wouldn't be that difficult. He wasn't one of those people who could make a computer tap dance and sing or coax the Internet to surrender all its secrets, but he knew someone who could.

  Ironically, because of his mother's marriage, they were family now, which gave him an in. He knew exactly who to approach for help. Or actually, it would be her husband he'd go to first. While the Cavanaugh family numbered several computer experts in their ever-increasing numbers, none was as incredibly proficient at getting technology to do her bidding as Dax's wife, Brenda.

  Murmuring "Thanks, I owe you one," to Jeremy, Zack walked out, completely preoccupied. He had a problem. The problem didn't involve approaching Brenda. He knew where to find Dax and everyone within the family was more than generous. His basic problem was deciding just how much he wanted anyone else to know about the situation.

  He was going to have to level with Dax and Brenda. But he honestly didn't know how he felt about all this. It had hit him too fast, too hard. One minute, he was up so high, there were clouds passing beneath his feet and now he was so low, he was buried six feet under without the benefit of a funeral service.

  The woman had turned him inside out.

  Granted, he admitted again as he walked down the corridor and to the elevator, if he hadn't been the slightest bit suspicious that something was off, he wouldn't have taken the book with her prints in the first place. That was his police training coming to the foreground. His gut instincts demanded that all bases were covered.

  But those instincts were nowhere in sight now. He had no idea what to make of the fact that "Kasey" had lied to him from the get-go. That everything she'd told him so far was most likely a lie, other than the fact that she worked at the bookstore.

  Was the other night a lie, too? he couldn't help wondering. Had she made love to him with some ulterior motive in mind? Had she orchestrated all this to make him fall for her for some reason he was unaware of? Because he had. He'd fallen for her—and he felt like a fool. He was supposed to be smarter than this, more savvy than this.

  Damn it, anyway.

  "You're jumping to conclusions, Detective," he muttered solemnly as he entered the empty elevator and pressed one for the first floor.

  He was convicting her without a trial. A glimmer of hope pushed its way forward—that would be his mother's influence. Maybe there was a logical explanation for all this. Maybe "Kasey" had been afraid to tell him the truth because, after all, he hadn't exactly made a sterling first impression, either. The first time she'd come in contact with him, he'd been shot, bleeding and unconscious, draped across the threshold of her back door. Not exactly his best foot forward.

  But he'd made amends after that, he silently insisted. After he'd come around to the bookstore, and to see her, to take her out and to introduce her to his family. There sure as hell had been time for her to tell him the truth during all this and she hadn't. She'd kept up the lies.

  Why?

  And who the hell was Dr. Krystle Maller anyway?

  * * *

  "She was an eyewitness to a mob hit," Brenda told him later that evening as he and Dax stood behind her desk, watching her unearth the information.

  Dax put a hand on her shoulder, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "We haven't called them 'the mob' for years now, Bren. They're referred to as 'wise guys' now."

  Among her other talents, Brenda could speed read and she'd already skimmed the arti
cle. "Not very wise the way this thing went down," she commented, nodding at the article she had pulled up on the computer. "Seems like this Dr. Krystle Maller you're asking about was an unwitting witness, along with her fiance, a Dr. James Strickland, to a 'wise guy' shooting. An execution, really. They went to the police and the D.A. had them both placed into protective custody until the trial."

  Zack looked closer at the screen, scanning for pertinent details. "So what happened?"

  "They're both dead," Brenda told him grimly. "James was shot in the hotel room where they were being kept. Krystle managed to escape, only to die in a house fire. Apparently she must have come back to her house to get some things and someone torched it while she was still inside. The house was burned down to the ground before the fire department could reach it."

  Zack looked at her. Maybe this was just a case of mistaken identity, a computer glitch, in which case, Kasey and this Krystle woman were not the same person. "They found the body?"

  Brenda switched screens, going to the more recent article she'd pulled up. "They found a body but it was too badly burned for the coroner to make a proper identification. According to the police report, one of her neighbors said she saw Krystle going into the house earlier. So the assumption is that her body was the one they found." Finished, she exchanged looks with her husband. Neither one of them liked evidence that couldn't be wrapped up tightly with a bow.

  Dax turned his attention to his new stepbrother. "Why all the questions, Zack? You think you found this woman?" He tapped the screen.

  Mindful of fingerprints, Brenda batted his hand away.

  "I'm not sure," Zack hedged. He needed to see this thing through before he admitted the full story. He looked at Brenda. "Is there anything else?"

  Brenda shook her head. "Not that I can see. But I can keep on looking," she volunteered.

  "Does it say anything about her friends, her family?" Zack wanted to know.

  She scrolled down on the first article. "It mentions a grandmother. Delia Delaney," she read. "According to this, Krystle's parents were killed in a car accident when she was a little girl and this grandmother, Delia, raised her. Here," Brenda hit ctrl-P on the keyboard. Instantly, the printer came to life. "Let me print the articles up for you."

  Zack nodded his appreciation. It didn't escape his attention that neither Dax nor Brenda put any real hard questions to him. He appreciated that. "You're the best, Brenda."

  "I'm a Cavanaugh," she answered with a grin, glancing at Dax before retrieving the newly printed pages and handing them to Zack. She winked. "Being the best just goes with the territory."

  * * *

  Days afterward, Kasey couldn't seem to get the wedding reception out of her mind. Being at the festive family gathering had not only created a warm feeling within her, but had also woken up a tremendous yearning coupled with guilt. Her grandmother was at the center of both emotions. She missed the older woman terribly. Missed her and felt terrible about not having gotten in contact with her all this time, save for the one postcard.

  Yes, it was for her grandmother's own protection, but she knew her grandmother would have chosen to be a little less safe if it meant seeing her, talking to her. Knowing firsthand that she was all right.

  In that department, Kasey had the advantage over the older woman. If knowing someone was ill could be considered an advantage. Delia Delaney had to visit her nephrologist on a regular basis because her kidneys were becoming less and less efficient. Eventually, they would shut down. Because of her ability to unobtrusively hack into databases, something she'd picked up from a former boyfriend in college, Kasey was able to follow her grandmother's progress. It also alerted her to the fact that Delia's doctor had sent her to the hospital for observation a few days ago.

  More than anything, Kasey wanted to go visit her. Wanted to hold her grandmother's hand and tell her that everything was going to be all right. But she also knew that her very appearance in her grandmother's room would complicate matters. For all she knew, the man who had ordered Jim killed had people watching her grandmother's every move, waiting to see if she'd "risen from the dead" and gotten in contact with the woman.

  Even so, her heart warred with her head.

  The fact that her grandmother was staying at the same hospital where she'd done both her internship and her residency, made it even more tempting to try to see her. Kasey even knew how to get in after hours via an entrance that the physicians used.

  Kasey knotted her hands together, as if to seal in her emotions. No matter what she wanted, she couldn't take a chance on risking her grandmother's life. She had absolutely no doubt that if the man who'd had Jim killed knew she was alive, he would have her grandmother taken prisoner in order to flush her out. For the most part, the man obviously still thought that she was dead. So dead she had to stay.

  Tears stung her eyes.

  * * *

  The small woman had two IVs, one in each arm, making them seem even more twiglike. Judging by the bump her torso made beneath the white blanket on her hospital bed, Zack estimated that she was no taller than five feet—if she stretched. Five feet and possibly ninety pounds or so. But her blue eyes sparkled when she smiled, reminding him of Kasey.

  Holding up his ID and the shield that was pinned opposite it, Zack introduced himself for a second time. The first time, his name seemed to float right over the woman's head without being absorbed. She'd blinked, then asked him to repeat what he'd just said.

  Delia Delaney nodded slowly at the name, then asked without embarrassment. "And do I know you, Detective?"

  He tucked his shield back into the inside of his jacket. "No, ma'am."

  The answer seemed to please her. At least she hadn't forgotten him. "A handsome young man like you should have better things to do than to hang around hospital rooms, talking to half-dead old women."

  "Not at the moment," he answered truthfully. "And you're not half-dead, ma'am. Not with those eyes."

  His comment widened her smile, just as he had hoped. Slipping his fingers into his pocket, he drew out the photograph that he'd had Brenda blow up. It was a picture of Kasey, taken at the wedding reception. Taken without her knowledge because every time someone had come around with a camera, she had deliberately turned away. Except once. And Dax had been the one to snap the shot.

  Zack held out the photograph to her. "Mrs. Delaney, do you know this woman?"

  Delia Delaney took the photograph into her paper-thin hand. He could have sworn he saw a flicker of something in her eyes for one unguarded moment. Happiness? And then, just as quickly, it was gone. Delia raised her clear blue eyes to his face. "Who did you say you were with?"

  It had been on the shield. Was she stalling for time, trying to think? Maybe he'd been on the job too long. Maybe he was becoming too suspicious. Not everyone had a hidden agenda.

  "I'm with the Aurora police department, ma'am."

  The answer made the woman appear more confused. "But this is Kensington. Why would you be looking for my granddaughter in Aurora?"

  "Then that's your granddaughter?" he asked, something inside of him sinking. He realized that until this moment, a very small part of him had been hoping for a miracle. Hoping that somehow, the computer had made a mistake and spewed out the wrong information for Brenda. Hoping that Kasey hadn't lied to him.

  Bringing the photograph closer, she squinted. "No, I've made a mistake. That's not my granddaughter. That's not Krystle." She looked down at the photograph one last time before offering it back to him. "It couldn't be."

  "And why's that?" he asked, taking the photograph from her. He held it in his hand rather than slip it back into the inside pocket of his jacket, keeping it in the woman's view. Maybe it would make her change her story.

  "Because I'm afraid Krystle is dead. She died tragically in a fire that destroyed her house, as well," she told him softly, knotting gnarled fingers together on top of the bed sheet.

  She sounded so sincere, so sad, he was tempted to believe her. If he
hadn't seen that initial glimmer in her eye.

  Delia took a deep breath, as if struggling to remain awake. "She's a pretty little thing, though. What's her name?"

  The old woman was actually pumping him for information. He couldn't help being amused. "Kasey Madigan."

  "Kasey," she repeated slowly as a smile that could only be described as nostalgic slipped over her lips. "My granddaughter used to love to play with trains—just like her father did as a boy, I'm told. I would tease her and call her my little Casey Jones. Casey Jones was—"

  "I know who Casey Jones was, ma'am." A railroad engineer immortalized in a kids' song, as he recalled. He even remembered some of the lyrics.

  "Good for you, Detective. Is this Kasey a friend of yours?" she asked, nodding at the photograph.

  Something twisted in his chest. His heart? Or was that the thrust of the knife of betrayal? "I thought so. But apparently she's someone I don't know at all."

  Delia took the information in stride. "This woman you think you don't know, is she well?"

  "She is."

  The woman nodded, pleased. "Good. Keep her that way," she entreated.

  A tall order, especially since Kasey/Krystle didn't trust him enough to be honest with him. "I don't think it's up to me."

  Delia reached out for his hand, placing hers on top of it for a moment. Her fingers were cold. "If you care for her, it is." She withdrew her hand again, letting it drop back in her lap. "It's up to all of us to look out for one another. People have forgotten that," she lamented softly. "I'm from a small town and we always watched out for one another. Can't beat that for a feeling of well-being."

  He liked the old woman. He had a feeling that if his mother's mother had lived, she would have been just like Delia Delaney. Feisty and spirited no matter what life had decided to throw her way.

  It occurred to him that he had tracked her down, but hadn't taken more personal things into account. "Why are you in here?" he asked suddenly.

  Delia shrugged, her thin shoulders rising and falling helplessly beneath the hospital-issue gown.