Charade

by Sandra Brown

So scaring her had become his favorite pastime.

  He stood now and wiped his hands on a faded red rag. “Get in the house.”

  His brusque order startled her. That was another thing that bugged him—her daydreaming. She had a private world that was closed to him.

  “It’s hot inside, Cyc,” she said. “I’d rather stay out here where there’s a breeze.”

  “I said, get in the house.”

  “What for?”

  “What do you think?” he asked in a soft, taunting singsong. Reaching down, he grabbed her arm, nearly jerking it from its socket as he hauled her up. She cried out.

  Just then a car pulled alongside the Harley and stopped. A man got out and looked at them over the roof of the car.

  Cyc dropped her arm. “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The tall, lean dude came toward them. He had calculating eyes and a mean slant to his mouth. Cop. Cyclops could sight heat a mile away. The guy probably had a piece in the small of his back beneath his windbreaker.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” Cyc asked, facing his visitor aggressively.

  “I’m looking for a guy who goes by Cyclops? Is that you?”

  Cyc folded his tattooed arms across his chest. Smirking, he tilted his head to one side, jiggling the silver cross that dangled from the hole in his earlobe. “What if I am?”

  Ignoring the question, the man looked beyond him. “Are you Kismet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shut up,” Cyc barked. “You don’t have to talk to him.” He glowered at the man, intuitively knowing that he meant trouble. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Alex Pierce.”

  “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “No reason it should. But I’ve brought someone with me who wants to meet you.”

  He returned to the car and opened the passenger door, where he carried on a brief conversation with someone before stepping aside and helping her out. The late afternoon sun spotlighted her hair, identifying her instantly.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Cyc exclaimed, his belligerent stance slipping.

  The cop/dude never let more than an inch of space come between him and the redhead as they approached. She showed no such caution. Gutsy broad, Cyc thought. Tiny, but gutsy. You could tell right off.

  “My name’s Cat Delaney.”

  “I know who you are,” he said. “Did you come for the kid?”

  Kismet surged to her feet, dumping the tray of beads she’d held in her lap. They fell into the dirt, sparkling in the sunlight. “No! I won’t let you take him again!” she cried.

  “Mommy?”

  Cyc jerked his head around. The kid was standing behind the screened front door, his finger hooked in his lower lip. He was staring at them with those wide, spooky eyes of his. When he stared like that, the little shit gave Cyc the creeps.

  He was just about to order him back into the house when the redhead uttered a startled cry.

  “Michael!”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Cat stared at the boy as if transfixed. He bolted through the screen door and ran to his mother, burying his face in her skirt. “You’re Michael’s mother?” Cat asked weakly. The woman nodded warily. Cat turned to the biker. “Then you must be George Murphy.”

  “Ain’t that why you’re here? To get our kid, so’s you can put him on TV and get him adopted?”

  Kismet began to whimper. Cat extended her hand to her. “No, I’m not here because of Michael.”

  Cyclops frowned. “If you didn’t come after him, what are you doing here?”

  Just as Sherry had said, Michael and his mother seemed to love each other. The boy was looking at Cat and smiling shyly in recognition, but his arms were still wrapped around his mother’s legs.

  Cat turned to the biker and gave him a contemptuous once-over. “Have you been sending me threatening mail? If you have, I’m here to warn you that I’ve made it a police matter. If I receive any more—”

  “Look, bitch—”

  “Watch it, pal.” Alex didn’t raise his voice, but it was menacing enough to silence Cyclops. He had let the startling events unfold without making a single sound, but Cat knew that nothing had escaped his notice.

  “This doesn’t have to get ugly,” he said. “Just answer the lady’s question. Have you been sending her newspaper clippings through the mail?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Cyc growled. “I don’t know nothin’ about no clippings. And if you don’t get your ass off my—”

  Cat broke in, “You were friends with a guy called Sparky.”

  Kismet made an injured sound. “Sparky?” she repeated breathlessly. “What about Sparky?”

  “Shut the fuck up, will ya?” Cyc shouted. He then turned his hostile, one-eyed glare onto Cat. “If you’re looking for that little stump, you’re shit out of luck, lady. He’s been dead for years.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  “Then why come pestering me?”

  “You gave permission for his heart to be harvested for transplantation. I had a transplant within a few hours of his death. It’s possible that I received his heart.”

  Kismet gasped before covering her mouth with her hand. Tears filled her eyes.

  “I understand that you were very close to him,” Cat said softly.

  Kismet bobbed her head.

  “That’s ancient history,” Cyc said. “What do you want from me?”

  Alex answered. “Three people who received hearts on the same day as Ms. Delaney have died. We believe they were murdered by a donor family member who’s having second thoughts.”

  “Whoever is doing the killing has made it clear that I’m next on his list,” Cat added.

  “Gee, that’s too bad,” Cyc said sarcastically.

  Alex took a threatening step forward, but Cat grabbed his sleeve and held him back. “I don’t think they know anything about it, Alex.”

  “He recognized you immediately. I saw it on his face.”

  “She’s on TV, for crissake!” Cyclops shouted. “What d’ya think, I’m blind and stupid?”

  “I think you’re an asshole,” Alex fired back.

  “Be quiet. Both of you. You’re frightening Michael.” Cat looked at Kismet. “Did you ever try to contact the recipient of Sparky’s heart?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Cyc turned around and glared at Kismet. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  As though she hadn’t heard him, she spoke directly to Cat. “About a year after Sparky was killed, I went to the hospital where he’d died. They told me to call the organ, hmm…”

  “The organ bank?”

  “I guess so. They wrote down the phone number for me.”

  Cyc took a hulking step toward her. “Will you shut your ugly face? You don’t have to tell them nothin’. And where was I while you were sneaking off to the hospital?”

  She continued to ignore him. “I called the number they gave me. The lady I talked to was nice, but because I wasn’t related to Sparky, she wouldn’t tell me anything. I pleaded with her. I wanted to know if—”

  “I said shut up!” Cyc struck suddenly, cuffing her on the side of her head.

  Cat couldn’t have stopped Alex if she’d wanted to. He lunged for Cyc, put his hands around the man’s throat, and slammed him into the exterior wall of the house.

  “You touch her again, you go to jail, dickhead.” His voice was quiet but steely. “But before that, I’d give you the fight you’re looking for. I’d tear out your good eye and piss in the hole. By the time I got finished with you, you really would be blind and stupid. You’d be begging them to lock you up for a long, long time so I couldn’t get to you again.”

  “Get outta my face, asshole.” Cyc grunted. He was in obvious pain. Alex’s knee was grinding his crotch. “I ain’t gonna hurt her.”

  Cat noticed Michael. He was clutching handfuls of his mother’s skirt in his tiny fists. His face was
buried in the folds of fabric again. “Alex, the child.”

  The words worked like a magic wand. Alex relaxed his stance and released the biker. He backed away until he was standing beside Cat again, but he remained tense, poised for attack.

  During their altercation, Kismet had remained docile, seeming impervious to it. Cat supposed that she was inured to violent outbursts, having been the victim of them so often. “Kismet,” she said, “do you know anything about the recipient of Sparky’s heart? Where it was sent? Anything?”

  She shook her head, glanced at Cyc, then looked down at the ground.

  Cat wanted to probe her for more information, but she didn’t want to incur Cyc’s wrath, which he would no doubt vent on Kismet and the child. Turning to the biker and making no attempt to conceal her scorn, she asked, “Will they be all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “Because several times you’ve put them in the hospital,” she said contemptuously. “You’re pathetic, you know that? You’re nothing but a foul-smelling bully who beats up a woman and child in order to prove your manhood.”

  “Cat.” This time Alex was warning her, speaking her name under his breath, out the side of his mouth.

  Cyc flexed his fists at his sides. “We don’t know nothing about your heart, or Sparky’s heart, or any goddamn mail,” he said with a snarl. “We particularly don’t know nothin’ about no murders. So get the fuck outta here before I get really pissed.”

  Alex grasped her arm. “Come on.”

  She let herself be led back to the car. Alex pulled out and drove away fast, putting distance between them and George Murphy.

  “I can’t believe it. All this time they’ve been in my files,” she said in wonderment. “Cyclops and Kismet. How’d you find them?”

  “Uncle Dixie keeps good records. Murphy has a score of misdemeanors to his credit. Several police departments in the state had kept track of him. SAPD had a dossier with his current address.”

  “When Michael appeared in that doorway…” She was still reeling from the shock. “He’s so sweet and defenseless. I can’t bear to think of him living with that brute.”

  “And the woman?”

  “I think she loves her son very much. But she lives in fear of Cyclops.”

  “When he smacked her—”

  “I wish you’d pulverized him.”

  He took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a surprised glance. “This coming from you, who accused me of shooting first and asking questions later. Which way do you prefer it? Make up your mind.”

  “Don’t start, Alex. I’ve had my share of unpleasant encounters this afternoon. I need some time in my corner before going another round with you.”

  “You must be tired. I’ve never known you to give in so easily.”

  Kismet and Cyclops lived in a community southeast of San Antonio. It was a half-hour drive, most of which Cat spent staring sightlessly through the windshield. By the time they reached the city, dusk had fallen. Lights were coming on in homes and commercial buildings. Neon signs beckoned customers into restaurants and movie theaters.

  “I wish I had no bigger problem than deciding which movie I wanted to see tonight,” she said.

  “You’re in a funk.”

  “I have a right to be, don’t I? We tracked down Cyclops but aren’t any closer to finding my stalker.”

  “You don’t think it’s George Baby?”

  “Do you?”

  “I want it to be, but I don’t think it is.”

  “Why do you want it to be, and why don’t you think it is?”

  “I want it to be because I’d love to nail that bastard’s ass. He’s a felony waiting to happen. Sooner or later he’s going to wind up in Huntsville prison for a long stay. I’d rather it be before he hurts someone, particularly Michael.

  “Second, I want this to be over for your sake. I want you to be able to sleep nights without worrying about whether you’ll live to see tomorrow.”

  “Gee, thanks for cheering me up and boosting my morale.” After a moment she asked again, “Why don’t you think it’s Cyclops?”

  “He’s too stupid, for one thing. This is a complex scheme, well plotted and well executed by someone with brains and patience. Cyclops has neither.”

  “You’re probably right, but let’s play devil’s advocate and pretend that it’s a distinct possibility. Cyclops lives hand-to-mouth, so taking to the road for unspecified periods of time wouldn’t pose any problems for him.”

  “With Kismet and Michael in tow?” he asked.

  “I suppose not. Besides, we’ve determined that my stalker gets close to his victims. No one in his right mind would let Cyclops get close.”

  “What about the woman? Maybe she acts as a lure to draw the victims in. Wins their confidence, perhaps their pity. Cyclops ices them.”

  Cat shot down that hypothesis with a firm shake of her head. “I don’t think her self-effacement is a pose. She didn’t strike me as conniving. Besides, Petey told us she was in love with Sparky. What reason would she have to want to stop his heart? I got the impression she’s still in love with him, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. And Cyc doesn’t like it.”

  “So if he was jealous of Sparky when he was alive—”

  “He could still be jealous. Kismet is carrying a torch even this long after Sparky’s death,” Alex said, completing her thought.

  “He’s not yet rid of his competitor.”

  “His old lady’s still hung up on the short little guy who bested him not only in bed but in a knife fight. So he’s out for revenge, bumping off anybody who might have gotten Sparky’s heart.”

  She looked at him expectantly, as if they’d just discovered the cure for cancer. But her bubble of excitement burst quickly. “That brings us back to how he weaseled his way into the lives of those three victims. Cyclops isn’t exactly the type to blend in. If someone close to him dies mysteriously, he’s going to come under suspicion.”

  She gave a defeated sigh. “God, who could have dreamed that because I received a donor heart, I’d have a psychopath on my tail? And you want to know something really funny? Funny in the ironic sense, that is.” She flattened her hand over her chest. “I never wanted to be treated in any special way because I was a heart transplantee.”

  “It does make you somewhat unique,” he reminded her gently.

  “But I don’t ask for preferential treatment because of it. I want people to forget that I don’t have the heart I was born with. Instead, that seems to be the only thing anyone thinks about when they’re with me.”

  The guard at the WWSA employee parking lot recognized Alex’s car this time and waved at them as they drove through the gate. He was smiling cagily, as if he were a key player in a romantic intrigue.

  Alex cut the engine and turned to her. “That’s not all I think about when I’m with you, Cat. Not by a long shot.”

  She resisted the allure of his closeness by cracking a joke. “You aren’t going to rhapsodize on my hair and eyes and lips, are you?”

  “If you like. Or I could get more carnal and wax poetic about the erogenous zones of your body, which on you include everything covered by skin. I know from experience.”

  It was an arrogant boast, yet it coaxed a purling response deep inside her. She strove to ignore it. “Save the lurid lingo for your novels. I’d hate you to waste all that soft-core dialogue on me.”

  He grinned. “I think you like it.”

  “What?”

  “The soft-core dialogue.”

  She had vivid recollections of his whispers in her ear a few nights ago. Before she could be seduced by it again, she opened the car door. “Thank you for finding Cyclops.”

  “I plan to do some more investigating before we write him off.”

  “Let me know if anything turns up. Good night, Alex.”

  “Cat?”

  She looked at him over her shoulder. He seemed to be at odds with himself over whether to v
oice his thoughts. Finally he said simply, “Good night.”

  They went their separate ways. She drove home, her emotions conflicted. He could have tried a little harder to wear down her defenses. She still would have said no, but he could have put forth more effort to persuade her to spend the night with him.

  Her mind continued to grumble about it as she prepared for bed. She had just stepped out of the shower when her doorbell rang.

  He had followed her home after all!

  Belting her terrycloth robe, she quickly made her way through the house to the front door. Anticipation coursed through her like a fizzy wine. Her nerve ends were tingling.

  But when she peered through the blinds, expecting to see Alex, she had a nasty shock.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “What do you want, Mr. Murphy?”

  “I want to talk to you,” Cyclops said. “Open the door.”

  She forced a laugh. “I’m not opening my door to you.”

  “If I want to come inside, there’s not a fucking thing you can do to stop me. So why don’t you save your door from getting trashed?”

  “If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call the police.”

  “You do, and the kid’ll suffer for it.”

  She pressed her forehead against the door. It would be lunacy to open her door to him in the middle of the night, but as he’d pointed out, if he wanted to come in, a locked door wouldn’t stop him.

  Obviously he had followed her home from the TV station. How else would he know where she lived? Unless he’d been sending mail to her address for the past two months.

  Either way, why was she debating with herself over whether to let him in? Why didn’t she race for the phone and dial 911 in the hope that help would arrive before he could inflict much damage?

  Michael, that’s why. She didn’t doubt for a second that Cyclops would make good his threat. Kismet might not be entirely innocent, but the child certainly was. It might be too late to save her, but Michael was worth putting up a fight for.

  She unlocked the door and opened it.

  He was physically imposing. Alex had been either awfully brave or awfully stupid to fight him. She tried not to quail from his size and his body odor as he pushed her aside and stamped into the entry. He turned his head this way and that, taking in his surroundings. There was a crystal bowl filled with potpourri on the hall table. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed.