by CJ Lyons
He couldn't resist calling her. Her cell went to voice mail, so he tried her house, then his. To his surprise a man answered.
Spanos.
"Where's Hart?"
"Still in bed," Spanos replied. "You know how horny she gets in the morning. The way she came, over and over—"
"Fuck off, Spanos. What the hell are you doing there?"
"Cassie asked me to spend the night. Showed me all those fruity paintings you do—no wonder she needed a real man. Oh, she's calling me back to bed, gotta go."
The buzz of a broken connection filled the car. Drake swore, his chest constricting with anger. No way Hart let a Neanderthal like Spanos touch her.
But the testosterone fueled fool who lived inside Drake's mind whispered in opposition, remembering the way she'd smiled at Spanos yesterday morning, the way his own body had responded to Monica Burns' blatant advances.
No. Hart wasn't like that. Wasn't like him.
Or was she?
Why the hell was Spanos in Drake's apartment?
He tried Hart's cell again. No answer. Just as he was getting ready to try her home, a call came into his phone. Not Hart. Jimmy.
"What the hell's going on?" Drake snarled at his partner. "I just called my place and Spanos answered. Is Hart okay?"
"Is she with him?"
Drake's fury checked itself at Jimmy's worried tone. "He said she was. I didn't talk to her. Why?"
"Just got off the phone from a guy I know on the Gang Unit. Both the Rippers and Gangstas are gunning for Hart and some girl she saved yesterday. She needs to stay off the streets."
"Why the hell—" Without waiting for an answer, Drake pushed the accelerator, glad the back roads he'd taken were empty. "I'm two hours out. Can you get to her?"
"Spanos will keep her safe. I'm more concerned about the girl she helped, Athena Jackson."
"Why?"
"Turns out she's the chief suspect in a homicide. Head of the Gangstas, Rodney Hunsacker, gunned down two weeks ago. If we don't find her fast, there's going be war breaking out between the Rippers and the Gangstas."
"Why are the Rippers after her? Seems like they'd be pretty happy she did their work for them."
"Apparently she and Rodney were going to run away together. He convinced her to steal the Rippers' bankroll but then dumped her."
"So she killed him and kept the money." Stupid girl. Did she really think she could outfox two of the most vicious gangs in Pittsburgh ? "Call Spanos. Tell him to keep Hart at my place. I'm on my way."
He hung up and concentrated on the twisting mountain road. He'd left her. She was in danger and he'd abandoned her. Maybe that was why she'd asked Spanos for help.
The thought of the ex-cop alone all night with Hart twisted in his gut. He shifted his weight, the ring box in his pocket digging into his thigh, and forced the Mustang to go faster.
CHAPTER 17
Juliet Nguyen, the Liberty Center lawyer who represented Cassie in her malpractice case, was waiting in the King, King, and Ulrich law offices. Despite being a weekend, secretaries bustled about pushing carts laden with documents, associates huddled over computers or talked on phones, the hum of a copy machine filled the air.
"Thanks for coming, Juliet." Cassie shook the attorney's hand. She felt a little naked. The other woman wore a formal suit and carried both a large purse as well as an official appearing attaché case.
Cassie had nothing but her car keys. She'd left her cell in the car, as usual. Bad enough carrying a trauma radio inside the ER. She hated being tethered to a device when she was outside the hospital.
Of course, if Richard's malpractice suit went the wrong way, she might never see the inside of an ER again. At least not as a physician.
Before Juliet could answer, the large oak doors to the conference room opened. Alan King stood there, smiling in greeting as if they were overdue guests at a cocktail party. "Ladies, come inside, come inside."
The conference table was an immense slab of mahogany surrounded by elegant leather chairs. No glass or chrome. The entire room had an old world sense of grandeur with framed original oils and sculptures standing guard in the corners. At one end of the room a videographer set up his camera and recording equipment beside a court stenographer who already held her dictation cup to her face.
Alan guided Cassie to a seat at the end of the table. Juliet took the chair beside her. Before Alan sat down, six associates filed in and piled documents on the table top, then each took their seats. Alan remained standing, smiling over the proceedings in his elegant suit with its crisp linen shirt and red silk tie.
Cassie was a little surprised Richard wasn't here to watch her suffer through Alan's interrogation. Lately he acted as if he thought they might reconcile. Strange coming from the man who was simultaneously working to destroy her, accusing her of trying to kill him. But Cassie had long ago given up trying to understand either of the King brothers or their narcissistic actions.
Alan remained silent as his associates walked Cassie through the name, rank, and serial number of her CV, outlining her education and training. The junior lawyers fired their questions in random order. Cassie's gaze ping-ponged back and forth across the table as she braced herself against the next barrage.
"Tell us about the night you poisoned Dr. Richard King," one of the associates sang out, so fast Cassie wasn't sure which one. Although they all looked different: two women, four men of varying ethnicities, their voices were eerily similar, same tone, same volume, same quick-fire cadence.
"I didn't—"
Juliet silenced Cassie with a quick shake of her head. Objection." Juliet made a note.
Another attorney picked up the line of questioning. "You gave him a cup of coffee laced with fentephex, a deadly drug, didn't you?"
"It was meant for me." She'd come close to exposing the man behind several deaths at Three Rivers and he'd poisoned her coffee in an attempt to silence her forever.
"He took the cup from your hand. Your fingerprints as well as Dr. King's were found on it."
"It was my cup. Of course my prints were on it. But I'm not the one who put the fentephex in the cup." As they well knew. The police had their man; the case was closed.
"What are the effects of an overdose of fentephex, Dr. Hart?"
Finally something she didn't have to think twice about answering. "High fever, malignant hypertension, seizures, coma, larynospasm, muscle rigidity, rhabdomyolysis, cardiac failure, and cerebral edema."
"And you've seen people die from fentephex overdoses?"
"Yes, unfortunately."
"It's an agonizing death, isn't it, Doctor?"
"Yes. It's very difficult to treat. We had little to offer patients until I tried an experimental protocol using a pentobarbital coma."
"Patients suffer massive seizures, often resulting in a lack of oxygen, correct?"
"Yes."
"How long can a person go without oxygen before they suffer permanent damage?"
Cassie hesitated. "It depends. There are so many variables."
"Give us an average. Common medical thinking."
"Again, it's difficult to pinpoint." She opened her mouth to start to hazard a guess but Juliet kicked her below the table and Cassie shut up.
"Very well. Let's look at a specific patient. Dr. King. How long after he drank from your coffee cup, ingesting a massive overdose of fentephex, was he deprived of oxygen?"
"We were alone in my office and I had no resuscitation equipment," Cassie stammered. It wasn't the answer she'd rehearsed with Juliet, but right now all she could do was re-live the scene as it played out in her mind. As soon as Richard collapsed, she'd realized it was from fentephex. Although at the time she thought he'd taken it himself. He'd just gotten back from rehab and she'd been suspicious he was abusing drugs. Again.
"How long before you called for help?" This time the question came from Alan King. His voice filled the room even though he didn't raise it. Everyone else went quiet. "How long did you le
t him lie there, dying, convulsing, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog before you did something to save the man who loved you?"
"Objection," Juliet snapped, her voice cracking like a whip.
Cassie ground her fingers against the tabletop, trying to keep a hold on her emotions. Guilt flooded through her. She remembered Richard's face, gasping for air but finding none. Remembered standing over him.
Remembered thinking he deserved it. That she would be safe with him dead.
It was only a second—no longer than a heartbeat. But for that single moment, she wanted him dead. She'd forgotten she was a doctor and remembered only the pain he caused her. And she hesitated. A second. One second.
Cassie blinked slowly, the faces of the associates blurring.
"What do you want from me?" her voice echoed from the elegant walls of the conference room. The stenographer looked up with a start. Juliet reached over to grab Cassie's wrist with a warning squeeze.
"We're all tired," Juliet said in her calm, lawyer's voice. "I suggest we finish this later."
King shrugged. "I'm finished."
He nodded to the stenographer and camera operator and they quietly left, followed by the associates who were all smiling as if they'd achieved some huge victory on a battlefield.
Cassie sat frozen, hands fisted on the sleek mahogany tabletop. Juliet packed her case, occasionally sliding her gaze over to where King stood at the other end of the table, waiting for a sneak attack. King moved to the doors as if to usher them out.
"Could we have the room for a moment?" he asked graciously as Juliet went through the door.
Juliet stopped and turned to Cassie who still sat at the table. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Cassie welcomed the opportunity to give King a piece of her mind. "It's all right," she told Juliet. "I'll see you Monday."
King shut the door before Juliet could protest.
Now it was just him and Cassie in the enormous room–but it felt very crowded. As if an unseen audience had joined them.
Cassie stood. She refused to allow King to see how wobbly she was. Black spots raced across her vision until she took a few breaths to banish them. King escorted her through an interior door to another large room, this one furnished with leather couches, an elegantly appointed bar, fireplace and club chairs.
"It's almost one." King reached for a baccarat decanter. Part of the churning in Cassie's gut was hunger. A small part. "I seem to recall you prefer Irish. Black Bush neat, correct?"
A genial host, King poured several fingers of liquid gold into a glass and placed it on the table between the two leather club chairs. "Sit down," he directed as he poured himself a generous helping of Johnny Walker Blue.
Cassie would rather stand. He came out from behind the bar, placing him all too close for comfort, so she slid into the seat behind her and ignored the drink at her side.
Instead of moving to the other chair, King set his glass on the mantle. He leaned against the marble, directly in front of Cassie, staring down at her with a leer.
As she realized the disadvantage her position placed her in, she wished she'd kept to her feet.
"You were the only thing Richard ever had that I was jealous of." King surprised her with his nostalgic tone. He shrugged. "You grow up in a house like ours, you learn to be competitive in everything. As the eldest, I made certain one way or the other I always won. Poor Richard," he gave a mock sigh, "always with big brother's castoffs. I don't think there was a woman he slept with that I didn't," he paused, searching for a word, "conquer first. Until you came along. And you were the ruin of him." He shook his head as if disappointed in her. And Richard.
Cassie finally understood how Richard came to be the way he was. It was more than just being spoiled by the power and money he had his entire life. Growing up in the shadow of his brother had also warped him.
"So," King continued with a smile, "what'll you give me to save your precious Liberty Center?"
Cassie stared up at him, confused. She bit her lip, certain he was setting her up for something. What was with all this quiet talk? She wanted to vent and rage at him, not discuss things calmly.
"C'mon now, Cassandra, I'm negotiating in good faith here. I'll make sure the Center gets all the funding it needs. Or I can save your medical license, let you be a doctor again. Which will it be?" His gaze raked her body, a master surveying his possession.
This discussion had nothing to do with being civilized.
She fought to still the surge of panic that came when she looked into those predator eyes, so similar to Richard's.
"Of course, you'll need to go back to Richard. After all, that's the point of all this, isn't it? We have to give my little brother something in exchange for his pain and suffering." He waved his hand at the sumptuously appointed room. "The only question is how much you lose beforehand. If you agree to my terms, here and now, you can save the Liberty Center or your medical license. Your choice."
Cassie took a deep breath and met his eyes. In her mind she was far away, on Drake's roof, roses perfuming the air, Drake's arm curled around her. King noted her attention wavering and sweetened the pot.
"What about your boyfriend, Drake? Our firm has been in contact with Pamela Reynolds' family. What if I took care of that problem as well? Saved the Liberty Center and Drake? What would that be worth?"
Cassie yanked her attention back to the here and now. King was behind Pamela's sister stalking Drake? It made sense. His firm had the resources to do surveillance, to give her everything she needed to make Drake's life a living hell.
King's gaze narrowed. He had her now.
"What would you do to save everything important to you, Cassandra?" His voice was a seductive croon. "Would you leave Drake in order to protect him, to guarantee his future? Does he mean that much to you?"
Cassie sucked her breath in and bit her lip against her answer. But she saw from the gleam in his eyes he knew. If that was all it took to keep Drake safe, then yes, she'd walk away.
But she knew better. Knew the lawyer wanted more.
"So that's the deal then. Drake in exchange for your future." He took a sip of his drink, his gaze glowing with avarice. "Of course, before you return to Richard, you'll need to seal the deal. Give me a chance to see why my little brother is so very fascinated with you." His voice trailed off and the room filled with a heavy silence. "Do we have an agreement?"
Cassie took a deep breath. She couldn't–-wouldn't—hurt Drake that way. And she couldn't trust the lawyer to keep his word even if she did. Alan loved toying with people. Shocking them into a reaction he could hold against them. She shook her head. "No deal."
His eyes flared with fury. Crossing the two steps needed to reach her, he leaned over her, his hands circling her wrists, trapping them against the wooden arms of the chair. His grip was bruising. The delicate bones of her wrists ground together bringing tears to her eyes. She choked them back. Any revelation of pain or fear and he'd pounce like a hungry wolf. Just like his brother.
It took all her strength to meet his gaze. But she lasted almost three years with Richard and he couldn't break her. No way in hell Alan could do it in three minutes.
Abruptly he released her. He stalked back to the mantle where his drink waited. "Fine. Just remember this is a one-time offer. You walk out that door and everything is gone. Your career, your house, Drake's building, the clinic, his career, both your lives over."
Anger sped her to her feet but she held it in check. Turning her back on him, showing no fear, she stalked to the door. His voice caught her just as she placed her hand on the doorknob.
"What about Ronald Brickner?" he asked, his voice low and ominous. "What would you give to make certain he goes to jail before he rapes and kills another three-year-old?"
She paused. He was bluffing. There was no way he could influence a homicide trial. Was there? She dared a glance and saw his face held the same smug expression it had during her deposition.
"Could y
ou bear that, Cassandra? To be responsible for letting a murderer, the man who raped and killed poor Mary Eamon, go free? That's what will happen if you don't agree to my deal. What will you do when he kills again? How many little girls will go through that hell because of you?"
A shudder ran through her body, fierce enough to rattle the doorknob in her hand.
"You can't be serious," she told him. His bland mask of indifference never wavered. He moved to the bar to freshen his drink, waving her out as if she were an inconsequential.
"See you Monday, Cassandra," he said as she fled from the room.
CHAPTER 18
Blinded by tears of anger and frustration, Cassie fled the law office. She swiped at her face with fisted hands. Rosa always said she cried too easily, felt too much. Nothing wrong with feeling, Rosa would say, as long as it doesn't get in the way of your doing.
What was she going to do? Cassie asked herself as she approached the law firm's lobby. What the hell was she going to do?
The elevator's doors stood open, waiting for her. She had the sudden fantasy that Drake would be waiting inside, ready to wrap his arms around her, give her the comfort and strength she so desperately needed. The thought frightened her…It came too easily, without any hint of anger that she'd grown to depend on him to that extent.
As if part of her had accepted he was a permanent part of her life, had surrendered to the fact that she wasn't strong enough to do this on her own.
She struggled with the realization, shoving it down, drowning it with a surge of fury. She could handle this. She wasn't going crying to Drake. This was her fight and by God she'd finish it herself!
This time it was the words of her grandfather, Padraic, that echoed through her mind. Never start a fight, gal, but always, always finish it.
She stepped into the elevator, head high, shoulders straight. She had no idea what she would do, but felt confident she could save the Liberty Center. And Drake. If Richard and his brother were behind Drake's stalker, maybe Jimmy and Drake could use that information. The doors slid shut, finally allowing her to drop her guard.
