Cassidy and the Princess

by Patricia Potter

  He hesitated, then stepped inside with her. He put his arms around her again, and she melded her body to his with a needy desperation that expressed the fear, the relief, and all the other emotions she’d felt tonight, including the flood of joy when she’d seen him at the skating rink.

  He held her tight, and she buried her head beneath his chin. Against his heart. She felt in him the same anguished terror that she’d felt. Except that his terror, she knew, had been for her. She was feeling its aftermath now in his arms. She had kept it at bay earlier. She had used that iron discipline that allowed her to skate when she was in agonizing pain. But now, in his arms, she was shaking, trembling. His arms should have reassured her but they didn’t. Instead, she knew the hopelessness of inevitability, of sliding into disaster. She didn’t see any way out now. She knew of skaters who had been stalked. But those stalkers had turned out to be harmless.

  Hers was different. He was intent on killing her.

  Her life had been taken away, held hostage.

  And she had no idea how to reclaim it. Or even, oddly enough, if she wanted to reclaim it. Yet she must. For four more months, anyway.

  Four more months. Then other decisions had to be made.

  If she lived.

  His hand lifted her chin, and he looked directly into her eyes. She tried to blink back tears, but one fell and wove its way down her cheek. She felt its moisture. One of his fingers wiped it away with infinite tenderness.

  Then he leaned over and his lips touched hers. Tenderly at first. His hands touched the back of her neck, massaging it. They stood there together, blacking out the rest of the world. Her body gradually relaxed, as his fingers worked against her tense muscles.

  For the past fifteen years, every day, she’d known exactly what she was going to do the next day. Most of the time, even the next hour. Her life had been scheduled to the very last moment, and now that schedule was slipping away—the goals were shifting and she felt lost. Emotions were tumbling like rocks in an avalanche.

  Cassidy moved his lips from hers and rained soft kisses across her face. Then he led her over to the bed. She sat down.

  He kneeled and took off her shoes, then stood. “We’ll get him, love,” he said, his hand touching her shoulder.

  “Love.” He said it so easily. Too easily. A throwaway endearment. Nothing more. She felt another tear start to wander down her face. Her emotions were so raw.

  She lay down, not wanting him to see.

  He covered her with the spread, then sat next to her, taking her hand. “I’ll stay with you,” he said.

  She didn’t think she could sleep with Cassidy so close. But still, she closed her eyes. His hand felt warm in hers.

  Her lids were heavy. She felt safe.

  For now.

  Cassidy drifted in and out of sleep. He knew he shouldn’t be in here, but she’d reached the end of her strength. He didn’t want her to wake alone.

  He looked at the bedside clock radio. Nine. He gently released the hand he had held these past few hours. Tenderness welled up inside as he watched her sleep.

  He heard noises at the other end of the house. He looked down at her again. That glorious hair had fallen over one side of her face. Long dark lashes shuttered eyes he could still see in his mind’s eye.

  One of his fingers touched a strand of her hair, and it felt like silk. She was a sleeping princess, just waiting to be kissed by a prince. But he was far from a prince, and he couldn’t see a happy-ever-after ending with her. He could only give her the gift of safety.

  After a moment, he rose. In the mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself. He was still wearing his shirt and slacks, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up. His tie dangled from the collar, which was unbuttoned.

  He needed to go to the other room. He needed to talk to the captain about their next move. There was only one he could think of. The captain would say no, but Cassidy didn’t see an alternative. If he had to resign, he would.

  He didn’t want to leave her alone. You will just be a room away.

  Too far.

  Think about a country apart.

  He took one last look at her and trod carefully across the floor to the door.

  Chapter 18

  The way was familiar now. The restaurant where they’d had breakfast two days earlier, a country store, several old buildings with antique signs out front amidst a yard full of odds and ends, including a broken-down wagon and rusty plow.

  So often when she visited a city, she saw little but the airport and route to the hotel and ice facility.

  Today, she was absorbed with the ride to the lake, with the mixture of modern ten-story office buildings and luxury residential areas, and then the touch of what once had been the rural south.

  She concentrated on that. Not on the man next to her or the danger that lay ahead.

  They were going beyond the Atlanta Police Department jurisdiction. Back to the cabin that held such memories for her. She looked at Cassidy, at the hard set of his face, the tenseness of his body.

  He was risking everything for her, including his job. She now knew how important that job was to him.

  No one saw any other solution.

  The D.A. had refused to seek a search warrant on the new suspect’s house. No judge would issue one on what they had, he’d said. Philip Sanders had not shown up at either his house or at the hospital—but then, he’d applied and had been granted leave to take care of a sick relative.

  She knew that Cassidy had had a long conversation with his captain, then with the sheriff for the county in which the cabin was located. The sheriff was an old friend of Cassidy’s, a man he’d worked with on a case that involved both jurisdictions and who shared Cassidy’s interest in sailboats.

  Haynes had reluctantly agreed to loan several of his men to the sheriff’s department. He’d wanted to use a decoy for Marise, but she refused. She had no doubt that the killer knew exactly what she looked like. She had to get close. She had to get him to talk.

  Otherwise, he would continue killing. None of them had any doubt of that now.

  The idea, though, was to have so much protection that talking would be all the killer would do.

  Every room in the cabin—and the boathouse—had been wired for sound. Deputies and officers had set up shop in the two homes on either side of the property. There were two of the sheriff’s best men—both members of the TACT squad—already installed in a small room off the kitchen. Others would be in the woods.

  Manny was not with them. Manny was part of the bait. He would make a call over the police radio to Cassidy—one they hoped would be intercepted.

  It had to be intercepted.

  Marise felt a combination of expectation and raw terror. She experienced the same adrenaline she felt when going on ice in front of a supportive audience when everything was at stake, at least when she thought everything was at stake. Now she knew differently. Then, a career had been at stake. Years of training had been at stake. What was that compared to a life? Her own? Cassidy’s? Her mother’s?

  As planned now, she would never be more than twelve feet away from a police officer. She would have a tiny microphone on her.

  A confrontation. That’s what she wanted now. The thought terrified her but certainly no more than did the thought of never being able to sleep peacefully again.

  “Having second thoughts?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I can turn around.”

  “And go where?” she asked. She thought about her phone call to Paul, then to her mother. They didn’t understand why she wouldn’t be on a plane today. She tried to explain that the killer might well follow, that they would all be in danger.

  “We’ll hire bodyguards,” her mother had said.

  “For how long?” she’d replied. And that was the crux of the matter.

  “You promised,” her mother reminded. “Paul is expecting you. He’s already reserved time for you two to practice at the arena.”

  “Ask hi
m to schedule extra sessions next week.”

  “I’m flying down there,” her mother said.

  “We would probably pass each other,” Marise said patiently. She was used to being patient. “And I won’t be where you can find me.”

  Silence.

  Her shot at independence. She was twenty-four and she felt like a child asking for approval.

  Approval to go and meet a killer?

  Cassidy interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t want you to take any more chances. I don’t care if you get a phone call saying the world has ended. You go nowhere without me. Not even outside to check the weather. If you don’t promise, I’m going to turn around and drive you to the airport.”

  “I promise,” she agreed.

  “If someone calls and says I was shot, what will you do?”

  “I won’t move from the house.”

  “You remember everything I told you about firing a pistol?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t say anything else. She saw a muscle jerk in his cheek, and his lips had thinned.

  Moments later they drove up to the cabin. She knew there were people inside. But it looked as vacant as any up and down the road. None showed any sign of life.

  She saw the sailboat through the trees, still perched on the frame. The other boat would be inside the boathouse. That thought must have brought color to her face. She felt her cheeks warm.

  She was out the door without his help. She knew that just touching him would completely undo her.

  She kept several feet between them as they walked inside. Once the door was closed, Cassidy checked to make sure all the curtains had been drawn. Then, he called, “Matt?”

  The door to a pantry and washer room opened. A man who looked too large to be contained in it stepped out.

  “Matt,” Cassidy acknowledged. “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to make it more comfortable. I’d forgotten how small that place is.”

  “Got everything set up?”

  “Yep. Bugs in every room. They can be monitored from the pantry and in the two neighboring houses.” He turned to Marise.

  “You’re every bit as pretty as the Irishman told me you were,” he said.

  She found herself blushing. He was about four times her size. Maybe more. Probably six times. He must be four inches taller than Cassidy, who was at least six feet. He was well over two hundred pounds, with a thick tree-trunk build, although she doubted there was much fat. His hair was thick, a chestnut brown that was a little too long. He was chewing gum.

  He was every good ole boy she’d ever watched on television.

  “Matt Cramer,” Cassidy said. “Our local sheriff. This is Marise Merrick.”

  “Now I know why he talked me into such a damn fool stunt,” Matt said.

  “Matt’s an electronic genius,” Cassidy said.

  She looked again and saw the shrewdness in his eyes, the intelligence that the rough, ruddy face masked.

  “How many men do you have here?” she asked.

  “Including both Matt’s and my teams, twelve. Our best.”

  “I’ll make the call,” Cassidy said. He looked at her again. “Are you sure? Last chance to back out.”

  “Yes and no,” she said.

  “Gutsy, too,” the sheriff said, looking over her admiringly. “And I didn’t think anyone could take Cass’s mind off that boat.”

  “Keep your eyes to yourself,” Cassidy said good-naturedly.

  “You said she can shoot.”

  “I said I showed her how.”

  “Let’s see,” Matt said.

  Cassidy took a small pistol out of his pocket and handed it to her. She checked it as he had taught her before they left his house. It was loaded.

  “I would prefer she had something larger,” Matt said.

  “This is easier to hide.”

  Cassidy took off the radio hooked to his belt. Then he spoke into it. “Patch me through to Manny Sharman. My cell phone isn’t working.”

  “Sure, Sergeant.”

  Marise heard the static. It had all been planned. They only hoped that her stalker had not caught on to the fact that they realized he probably had a police receiver. There was no reason he would.

  Manny came on.

  “Got here okay,” Cassidy said.

  “Gonna work on that sailboat of yours?”

  “Yep.”

  “Miss Merrick okay?”

  “Yeah. She needed this before going back.” He hesitated, then added, “How’s your daughter?”

  “Staying with friends.” An extra precaution.

  “Good. See you later.”

  He clicked off the radio. It was enough. Not too much. At least, he hoped not. No location. Just enough clues to help the killer find him. All the guy would have to do was look up Cassidy’s relatives, then do a property search. Or call headquarters and act the long-lost brother who needed to get Cassidy. If nothing happened, there would be another call tomorrow, with a few more hints.

  Their guy knew computers, knew electronics, knew drugs.

  She shivered. It had to work. She didn’t know how much longer she could bear the two agonies of fear and the way she felt about Cassidy. Her heart pounded harder every time she looked at him.

  “How did you ever get Haynes to okay this?” Matt asked, as another person, this time a woman, came into the room from the back.

  “I’ve been testing the equipment,” she said. “You all come across loud and clear.”

  “This is Quinn,” Matt said. “One of my deputies.”

  She was almost as tall as Cassidy. Marise felt inconsequential next to her. Her hair was nearly waist long and pulled back by a ribbon. She wore a flannel shirt, jeans, boots and no makeup.

  “Hi,” Quinn said, nodding her head. But her gaze was curious.

  “Quinn’s as good as I am with the electronics,” Matt said. He handed Marise a watch. “A voice-activated microphone,” he said. He looked back at Cassidy. “How did you get Haynes to agree to this?”

  “I threatened to quit,” he said.

  Marise guessed from his wry expression that there was a lot more to it than that.

  “What about a game of poker?” Cassidy asked, obviously wanting to change the subject. “Marise is quite…adept at it.”

  Quinn’s eyes lit. Marise’s first impression had been that she was plain, perhaps because of the lack of lipstick, of any color other than the suntan. But when Quinn smiled, she was really quite pretty. Marise wondered whether Matt noticed that, or the quick glances Quinn darted in his direction.

  “It will be hours before he’ll find us,” Cassidy said.

  “If he does,” she added.

  “Oh, he will. He’s already risked his job by disappearing. I doubt that he’ll go back. You’ve obviously become his obsession—so much so that he’s willing to risk everything to reach you.”

  Dusk fell. Quinn had beat them all, winning about thirty-thousand dollars and telling Matt she expected every penny of it. They were within hearing range, through an open door, of their equipment. Every hour, Quinn checked each of the stations.

  Someone was stationed at the turn-off from the main road. If anyone entered the area, they would know about it.

  “Let’s go out on the porch,” she said.

  He nodded. Even if the killer was nearby, they needed to show some normalcy. They wanted, after all, to lure him inside.

  A luminous moon was rising over the water. It looked fragile in the not-yet-dark sky. They could hear the lapping of water against the boathouse and the shore, and a glimmer on the water itself from the last remnants of day and the first of the stars. Pines moved slightly in the light breeze.

  It looked incredibly peaceful.

  Even though she carried a pistol in her slacks and she knew Cassidy had one in a holster toward the back of his belt.

  The contrast struck her. Peace and violence.

  She heard the sound of a motorboat, and they both strained to
see it. The sound died away after several seconds. Her hand reached for his. She needed human contact.

  She wanted to lean into him again. Burrow into him.

  Every rustle made her start. What does a bullet sound like before it hits?

  She felt herself tremble. His hand tightened around hers.

  Then he let go. “Cell phone,” he said softly, reaching for hers. He put it to his ear. “Okay,” he said, then replaced it in her pocket. “A car is driving in. It may be nothing. There are ten homes farther down the road. The sheriff reached eight of the owners and asked them not to come out this weekend, but he couldn’t find two of them.”

  They stayed outside on the swing, listening. Then they saw a light down on the road below, a car traveling slowly.

  Marise told herself that law enforcement officers were crawling all over the place, but still her heart pounded as the vehicle moved slowly past them, then down the road until the red tail-lights disappeared from view.

  Cassidy released a long breath as the sound of gravel being crunched by the car faded.

  “Someone will check on it,” he said.

  Dusk had disappeared into night. The half moon was bright, the stars numbering in the millions. For a moment, the serenity had been interrupted.

  “After the Olympics, what will you do?” Cassidy asked, surprising her. He’d never before asked about the future.

  “That’s supposing we make the Olympics,” she said. “We have to medal in the Sectional first. If I get there.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “You should have left here right after the attack.”

  “It was my choice,” she said. “Not yours. Do you really think I could continue with my life knowing that I might have stopped some other woman from being killed and did nothing.”

  “Most people would,” he said cynically.

  “Then, why are you still a detective?”

  “The chase,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “You really do care about people.”

  He was silent, then returned to his previous question. “After the Olympics…?”

  “Then I try to make money. Challenges. Invitationals. Ice spectaculars. There’s a growing number of television events.” She shrugged. “There are so many expenses. Our coach. Business manager. Costumes. Travel expenses. Choreographers. Music. Mother and I have a condominium in California where Paul and I train when we’re not on the road, but that’s nearly all the time.”