Charade

by Sandra Brown

  He’d meant to offend her and he had. Tears sprang to her eyes, but, being Cat, she didn’t crumble. “I’ll see you to the door.”

  Dame Judith Anderson in her prime couldn’t have looked or sounded more regally indignant as she rose from her chair and left the kitchen.

  He followed, but only as far as the entryway, where he slammed shut the front door, which she was holding open for him.

  “I’m not leaving you alone tonight, Cat.” He held up his hands for silence before she could protest. “I’ll sleep in the living room.” He glanced at the dirty sofa and added, “I’ve slept on worse, believe me.

  “Now, you can stamp your foot, rant and rave, whatever, but it’ll be a waste of energy. Energy that I can tell you don’t have. You can pout, pack for your trip, paint your toenails, anything you want, but until we have an indication of what Cyclops’s next move is going to be, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Cyc could hardly believe his eyes when he shuffled into the kitchen for his morning coffee. Kismet was already sitting at the table. Her appearance nearly bowled him over.

  She was wearing makeup like she had when he’d first met her. Applied with a heavy hand, it outlined and shadowed her dark eyes. The nun’s bun he despised was gone. Her hair had been left free to fall around her shoulders in a wild tangle.

  Missing, too, were the long skirts and shapeless blouses she’d worn the past four years. She was back in the threadbare jeans that fit her ass like a surgical glove. Her tattooed bosom had been squeezed into a low-cut tight black tank top.

  It was like she’d been sleepwalking since Sparky’s death but now had suddenly awakened. The startling transformation had taken place overnight.

  And it wasn’t only skin deep. Her surly expression was reminiscent of the old Kismet. The moment he entered the room, she got up and poured him a cup of coffee, her movements quick and abrupt, the restlessness of years ago having returned. He would have suspected her of being wired if she hadn’t sworn off drugs after the kid came along.

  “Want some breakfast?” she asked.

  Mistrustful of her sudden reversal, he said, “If I wanted breakfast I’d tell you, wouldn’t I?”

  “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

  She refilled her coffee cup and returned to the table. Picking up her lit cigarette from the ashtray, she took a drag and aimed a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. She’d given up cigarettes while she was pregnant and hadn’t smoked again.

  Now, as he watched her full, red lips close around the filter of the cigarette, his loins filled with desire. He’d seen her like this a thousand times—angry and kinetic—but it had been a damned long time. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed her sassiness.

  But Cyc was suspicious by nature and rarely took things at face value. “What got into you?” he asked.

  She ground out the cigarette by impatiently jabbing it against the amber glass. “Maybe you knocked some sense into me last night.”

  “You had it coming.” He’d worked her over good for making him look like a goddamn fool in front of the Delaney bitch and her cop boyfriend. The bruises hardly showed beneath her heavy makeup.

  “I can’t believe she refused to give you any money.”

  Over a bottle of booze and a few lines of coke, he’d told her about his unproductive visit with Cat Delaney. “Don’t worry. She’ll come around.”

  “But when?”

  “Soon as I think of something.” He slurped his coffee.

  “Who does she think she is? If not for Sparky, she’d be dead.”

  “She says she might have got somebody else’s heart. It might not’ve been Sparky’s.”

  “Even if it wasn’t, she owes me,” Kismet said, tossing her head defiantly. “We’ve had to struggle these last four years, while she’s been living high on the hog. It’s not fair.”

  “We’ll get some money from her. I just gotta think up a plan.”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking of my own.”

  His good eye narrowed to a sinister slit. “Oh yeah? What about?”

  “We’ve gotta make a move before that cop friend of hers starts filling her head with bullshit. He could ruin this for us.”

  She came out of her chair as though the seat of it had bitten her on the butt. Charged by caffeine and nicotine, she began to pace.

  Cyc agreed with what she was saying, but it would look like weakness if he complied too soon. “You stay out of it,” he said crossly. “I got the situation under control.”

  She whirled around and angrily confronted him. “The hell you do! You let her buffalo you with her pretty face and big blue eyes. For all your threats, you came up empty.”

  He came out of his chair like a shot and slapped her hard across the cheek. To his astonishment, she hit him back. Her palm landed against his ear with a loud smack that hurt his eardrum. Nevertheless, he heard every word of what she hissed at him.

  “I’m not going to take that shit from you anymore, you son of a bitch. You’ve hit me for the last time.”

  Her turnabout was exciting, but there was a limit to what he’d allow. He wanted her somewhere between the spitfire she’d been and the calf-eyed dishrag she’d become.

  “I’ve got something you’ll take.”

  Grasping her by her plump upper arms, he shoved her against the countertop and pinned her there with his body. She struggled to be released, which he had to do in order to unfasten her jeans. While his head was being pummeled by her flailing fists, he managed to work the tight jeans down her legs and off her bare feet.

  She tried to run from the room, but he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her back. He lifted her onto the table and pushed apart her thighs. Flattening his hand on the center of her chest, he held her down while he undid the buttons of his jeans. His cock sprang free.

  Cyc grunted with pleasure and surprise when her hand formed a tight fist around it. She pumped him greedily, eagerly, like she’d done years ago when she couldn’t get enough, when she’d made sex a contest of wills and stamina that she won as often as not.

  He pushed up her top and clutched her breasts, pinching her large nipples. Then, turning her head, she bit his arm. He slapped her again, leaned over her, and bit her nipple hard before sucking it like his life depended on it. She squirmed beneath him, she clawed his bare back, she cursed him viciously.

  He drove himself into her with such force that the table legs scraped across the floor and he almost lost his balance. She clamped his hips with her strong thighs, crossed her ankles at the small of his back, and sank her fingernails into the cheeks of his ass.

  He came almost instantly, but so did she. She flung her arms back over her head, knocking coffee cups and the ashtray to the floor. She thrashed her head from side to side, whipping her hair around. Her teeth clamped down so hard on her lower lip that they broke the skin. Even long after it was over, her breasts continued to rise and fall.

  Cyc rubbed them roughly with his callused palms. “Great tits.”

  She purred deep in her throat and began moving restlessly, arching her back, shifting the position of her legs. Her face was flushed, her lips bruised and swollen. A bead of blood appeared on her lower lip. A damp strand of hair lay across her throat. She looked at him through drowsy, half-closed eyes, smiling the wicked smile he remembered well.

  “Your pussy has pythons in it. I always said so.”

  She laughed lustily. “We’re gonna be rich, Cyc. Rich.”

  “Damn right.” He tried to withdraw, but she locked him within her thighs.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  His heart rate accelerated. Once had never been enough for the old Kismet. She was back.

  “You made quite a mess down there,” she whispered, her smile lewd. “Clean it up.”

  She clasped his head between her hands and pushed it down between her thighs.

  Chapter Forty-
Five

  He tapped on her bedroom door. “Cat?”

  “I’m almost ready. Has the taxi arrived?”

  “No, but Cyclops has.”

  She opened the door with a swift yank. Alex was checking the cylinder of his revolver. Seeing the loaded weapon made her shiver.

  “They drove past once and must have circled the block,” he told her. “I just saw them turn the corner at the end of the street. They’re headed this way.”

  “ ‘They’?”

  “He’s got Kismet and Michael on the bike with him.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “Right,” Alex said grimly. “My guess is he’ll use them like hostages to soften you up.”

  Following their quarrel the night before, Cat had retired to her bedroom and packed for her trip to California. Once that was done, she’d turned out the lights and gone to bed, but not to sleep.

  She could hear him moving about the other rooms of the house, probably checking windows and doors to make certain they were locked. In spite of her anger at him, she was glad he’d stayed. She felt much safer having him there, keeping vigil.

  When they’d met in the kitchen this morning, they’d behaved like polite strangers. He’d offered to pour her a cup of coffee from the pot he’d brewed, and she’d thanked him for it. He’d asked the time of her flight and offered to drive her to the airport.

  “Thank you, but I’ve called for a taxi to pick me up here.”

  “Fine,” he’d replied.

  She had then returned to her bedroom to shower and dress. They hadn’t spoken again. Now she followed him down the short hallway into the living room. “Maybe they won’t stop when they see your car out front,” Cat said hopefully.

  “I parked it in the garage after you went to bed.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’ll work to our benefit if they think you’re alone. We’ve got the element of surprise on our side.”

  She parted the slats of the blinds in one of the front windows and watched as the motorcycle moved slowly down the street toward her house.

  From his position at the adjacent window, Alex said, “Go back to your room, Cat. Wait there until I’ve had a chance to feel out this situation.”

  “No way.”

  “This isn’t the time to—Whoa!” he exclaimed suddenly. “That is Kismet, isn’t it?”

  Cat had to look beyond the clothes and makeup to be certain. If Kismet hadn’t been carrying Michael in her arms, she wouldn’t have recognized her.

  As she brazenly sauntered up the walk, her hips swung provocatively from side to side. Yesterday, she could be cowed with a look. Today, she seemed ready, even eager, to take on any opponent brave enough to cross her.

  She gave the doorbell three strident jabs. Cat glanced at Alex. He motioned for her to open the door, then stepped to the other side of it so that when it was opened, he would be concealed.

  Cautiously, Cat unlocked the door and pulled it halfway open.

  Instantly noticeable were the unshed tears welling in Kismet’s eyes. They were incongruent with the whorish makeup and the swaggering self-confidence with which she’d approached the house. Then Cat noticed that her lips were trembling.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please help me.”

  Despite the unflattering description Cat had given Alex of Lieutenant Hunsaker, he was willing to extend his fellow cop the benefit of the doubt. Unfortunately, Hunsaker lived up to expectations. The moment he strutted into Cat’s living room, Alex pegged him as a buffoon. His ego was as inflated as his beer gut.

  “Looks like destiny brought us together after all,” he said to Cat, smiling broadly. Specks of tobacco resided in the corners of his lips.

  “Looks like.”

  “The wife sure did appreciate the autograph.”

  “Thank you. Lieutenant Hunsaker, this is Patricia Holmes and her son, Michael.” He acknowledged the introduction to Kismet with a curt nod.

  While waiting for the police to arrive, Cat had remained in the bedroom with Michael and Kismet. When they emerged, there wasn’t a trace of the harsh makeup on Kismet’s face. Her hair had been neatly secured with a clip. She was wearing a pair of coveralls, probably the only item in Cat’s closet large enough for her.

  Cat turned Hunsaker toward him. “And this is Alex Pierce.”

  “Pierce.” The detective shook his hand.

  “Alex is a former policeman,” Cat informed him.

  “ ’S that right? Where ’bouts?”

  “Houston.”

  “Houston, huh?” He looked Alex up and down. “How come you left the force?”

  “None of your business.”

  Taken aback, Hunsaker said, “No need to get defensive.”

  “I’m not. Just stating a fact.”

  He noisily cleared his throat and gave his slipping belt a tug. “Okay, who’s gonna fill me in on what happened?”

  “Alex?” Cat prompted. “You saw more than we did.”

  He outlined what had happened the preceding day and earlier that morning, ending with Kismet’s tearful plea at Cat’s threshold.

  “Cat didn’t ask any questions. She pulled her and the boy inside and bolted the front door. Ms. Holmes was terrified. She said that if Cyclops got his hands on her, he’d kill her for betraying him. Michael was scared too. He didn’t understand what was going on, but he sensed his mother’s panic. I told Cat to take them into her bedroom.”

  “That’s when I called you, Lieutenant,” Cat chimed in. “But I was afraid of what Cyclops might do.”

  “I told her not to worry, that I’d stop the bastard cold before he made it into the house.” Hunsaker cut his eyes toward the revolver lying on the table. “It’s no longer loaded,” Alex said.

  “What about the biker?” Hunsaker asked. “This Cyclops character. What’d he do then?”

  “He hadn’t expected Cat to pull Kismet into her house and slam the door. Consequently, he sensed right away that something had gone awry. He shouted from the curb, asking what the hell was going on. When I didn’t answer, he started looking agitated.

  “I don’t know what the hell took you so long to get here, Hunsaker,” Alex continued. “If you hadn’t dragged your feet, Cyclops could be behind bars by now awaiting indictment for assault and extortion.”

  The detective ignored the criticism and turned to Cat. “He tried to get money from you last night?”

  “That’s right.” She recounted Cyclops’s visit.

  “He doesn’t sound like somebody you’d want to mess with,” he remarked when she was finished. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Because she called me,” Alex said. “I stayed here the rest of the night.”

  Hunsaker must have taken the implication for what it was. He harrumphed and said, “What about this morning? Why’d he come back?”

  “Ms. Holmes tricked Cyclops into bringing her and Michael along to strengthen his argument,” Alex said. “Once she disappeared into the house, his animal instincts must have warned him that he’d been double-crossed, and that he’d be screwed for sure if he didn’t get out of here.”

  “So he took off?”

  “Yeah. But not before yelling, ‘I’ll kill you, Kismet. You and your brat.’ I can’t quote him accurately within Michael’s hearing, but all I omitted were a few adjectives. Then he roared away. There’s a dangerous criminal now at large,” Alex added as a mild rebuke for the detective’s delay.

  Hunsaker turned to Cat. “Do you have anything to add?”

  “Only that Alex and I witnessed Mr. Murphy striking Ms. Holmes yesterday afternoon at their house.”

  This was getting too complicated for him. He scratched his head. “I’m unclear on why you went out there.”

  “We were following up a clue into that other matter I discussed with you in your office,” Cat said.

  “Those clippings, you mean?”

  “Yes. I thought Cyclops might be the one sending them.”

  “Was he?”

&
nbsp; She looked at Kismet, who vigorously shook her head. “I don’t believe so,” Cat said. “But he still belongs behind bars. You can check with Child Protection Services. There’ve already been several complaints against him for abusive treatment of a child. He was released due to a lack of initiative by the prosecutor.”

  “What about her?” He hitched his thumb toward Kismet.

  “She was also implicated, but only because she couldn’t stand up to Cyclops for fear of reprisal.”

  Hunsaker indicated the soiled sofa. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Not at all,” Cat said.

  He lowered himself to the edge of the cushion and addressed Kismet, who was seated in a chair, holding Michael on her lap. Acting as a buffer, Cat sat on the arm of the chair.

  “What’ve you got to say for yourself?” Hunsaker asked.

  Kismet glanced apprehensively at Cat, who took her hand and squeezed it encouragingly. “Tell him what you told me.”

  She blotted her tears and nervously wet her bruised, swollen lips. “Yesterday, after they left,” she nodded toward Cat and Alex, “he came up with this plan on how to get money from her for Sparky’s heart.”

  “Who’s Sparky?”

  Alex filled in the gaps. Hunsaker hung on every word. “Jesus, this is complicated,” he grumbled, turning back to Kismet. “Cyclops wanted money in exchange for this Sparky’s heart. And Sparky was your boy’s natural daddy, right?”

  Kismet nodded and ran her hand over Michael’s head. The boy hadn’t been out of her reach since Cat had pulled them inside. No one could doubt her devotion to him.

  “Cyc came home real late last night. He was angry because Ms. Delaney had refused to give him any money,” Kismet told the detective. “He said she laughed at him.”

  Alex was aghast. “You laughed at him? You didn’t tell me that. Are you crazy?”

  “No, I’m not crazy.”

  “Quiet!” Hunsaker ordered. He looked balefully at Alex. “Pardon the interruption, Ms. uh, Holmes, is it? Go on.”

  “Cyc did some lines and got real mean. I tried to stay out of his way, but he still worked me over pretty good. After he passed out, I laid awake trying to figure out what to do.”