Charade

by Sandra Brown

  “Fuse box in the kitchen pantry,” Alex shouted from the bathroom. “Hit the main breaker switch.”

  “I need help in the bedroom,” Cat called out. “A man’s been shot in the chest.”

  Within seconds the lights came back on. Cat squinted against the sudden brightness. When she reopened her eyes, two paramedics and Hunsaker were squeezing through the bedroom door.

  Hunsaker had drawn his pistol. “Okay, Pierce. You’re surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Alex shouted.

  “Not Alex. He’s apprehended…” Unable to say more, Cat gestured toward the open bathroom door.

  One of the paramedics nudged her shoulder. “Your friend’s in bad shape, ma’am. Move aside and let us help him.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “We’ll do what we can.”

  In a cautious, crouching position, Hunsaker approached the bathroom door. He held his pistol out in front of him with both hands. “Throw down your gun, Pierce.”

  “Gladly, you dumb bastard. If you’ll cover him.”

  “Who’s that on the floor?”

  “Jeff Doyle.”

  “Is that the sumbitch who called time and temperature and pretended he was talking to me?”

  “The surveillance on her phone wasn’t canceled yet, right?” Alex asked.

  “That’s right. Damn good thing, too. Who is this little shit, anyway?”

  “It’s a long story. Cuff him and read him his rights.”

  “Just a goddamn minute, Pierce. Don’t be telling me who to arrest. I was coming after you.”

  “Do it,” Alex said tightly, pushing Hunsaker out of his way.

  He stepped around the paramedics who were bent over Webster, working feverishly to save his life. Cat stood rigid, watching. Alex snatched her robe off the chair and wrapped her in it.

  He held her tightly, one strong hand palming her head and holding it against his chest. “Are you all right?” She nodded. “Sure?”

  “Yes. Scared. Is Bill—”

  “Still alive, I think.”

  Placing his hand beneath her chin, he turned her face up to his. “That was a damned brave thing you did. He could have shot me, too. Thanks.”

  Now that it was over, her knees were weak and she was trembling all over. “I’m not brave.”

  “The hell you’re not.” He pulled her close again, almost squeezing the breath out of her. “If anything had happened to you…” He placed a fervent kiss at her hair line. “I love you, Cat.”

  “Do you, Alex?” she murmured against his chest. “Is it really me you love?”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “What did he say?” Dean asked. He nodded thanks to the flight attendant who’d brought him a second scotch and water.

  “Nothing,” Cat replied. “That’s when you arrived. It was chaos. Alex and I didn’t have another opportunity to speak alone.”

  “I was planning to surprise you with a bottle of champagne to toast the fourth year of your second life,” he said. “Instead, when I reached your house, it was surrounded by police cars, and a body was being loaded into an ambulance. Scared the hell out of me.”

  She patted his hand, then rested her head against the first-class seat. “I’m so tired. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. But I have to. I need to talk it out and then let it go.”

  After a moment of introspection, she added, “I’ve learned that it’s not good to keep bad memories bottled up. It’s better to let them out, air them, analyze them, deal with them, and then bury them for good.”

  “Who dispensed those pearls of wisdom?” he asked in a snide tone. “Or need I ask?”

  “You promised, Dean,” she said, wearily closing her eyes. “No Pierce-bashing.”

  “Right. But I conceded grudgingly.” He sipped his drink. “We’ve pieced together most of it. But there are several points I’m still unclear on. You said that Bill returned to your house on foot after moving his car. He got there the same time Alex did.”

  “Yes. Bill saw him racing up the walk and threw a body tackle. He warned Alex that we were on to him and that he and Jeff were there to protect me. Alex told Bill that he was protecting me from the wrong guy and explained that Jeff had been Judy Reyes’s lover.”

  “He must have been convincing.”

  “He’s talented that way,” she said softly. “Anyhow, Alex called Bill’s attention to the absence of Jeff’s car. Obviously he’d hidden it so no one would know that he was at my house. Even I wouldn’t know until he was inside and it was too late.

  “That convinced Bill. He asked what he could do to help. They sneaked around the house, peeping in the windows, trying to see what was going on inside. They wanted it to be a surprise attack.”

  The cardiologist joined in the telling. “And when Alex saw Jeff holding the hair dryer over your bathtub, he ran to the back of the house, entered through the kitchen window, located the fuse box, and hit the breaker switch. Quick thinking on his part.”

  “Luckily, he’d noticed the breaker box before that night, so he knew where to find it.” She didn’t tell him under what circumstances Alex had sneaked into her house twice before.

  “Thank God. Another second or two and—”

  “Don’t remind me,” she said, shuddering. “Poor Bill. They finally allowed me to see him this morning before we left. He’s still in ICU and very weak, but he’ll be fine. Nancy hasn’t left his side.”

  “What brought him to your house at that time of morning?”

  “A brainstorm for Cat’s Kids.” She told the white lie to protect the privacy of the Websters.

  Miraculously, the stray bullet had gone straight through Bill without hitting any vital organs. He’d suffered shock, loss of blood, entry and exit wounds, but he would recover completely.

  That morning, he had asked the ICU nurse for a moment alone with Cat. He thanked her for shaming him into ending his affair with Melia.

  “I love Nancy. Without her love and support…” He paused, as if speaking drained his energy.

  “Until Carla’s death, we’d led charmed lives. It was as though we were exempt from the suffering other people experienced. When she was killed, we learned differently.

  “I was distraught. I couldn’t get over it. I went looking for something that would alleviate the pain. Stupidly, I ended up in a sordid affair with a woman who is the antithesis of my beautiful, gracious wife. I figured I deserved no better. I was punishing myself for not being able to protect Carla from death.

  “Melia pestered me until I hired her. Then she insisted on working on Cat’s Kids. You know the rest. That night you caught us together, you said some things that brought me to my senses. Last night, I realized it had to end. Once I’d made up my mind, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

  He reached for her hand. “I immediately drove to your house to tell you that you’d saved the most important thing in the world to me—my family. Thank you.”

  “Thank me by getting well. You and I still have a lot of work to do.” She kissed his forehead.

  Out in the corridor, she met Nancy, who hugged her. “Thank you, Cat.”

  “For what? If it weren’t for me, Bill wouldn’t have been shot.”

  Nancy looked at her, communicating a deeper understanding. “He told me everything. I’ve forgiven him, but can you forgive me? I…I did you a grave disservice for suspecting—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cat interrupted. “I value your friendship. And I admire your talent for fund-raising. Can I depend on you to continue working on Cat’s Kids?”

  “As soon as I get Bill up and around.”

  Dean pulled Cat away from her recollections and back to the present. “Webster and Pierce seem to have formed a mutual admiration society.”

  She laughed. “Which is odd since they didn’t like each other when they first met. Alex felt terrible about letting Jeff get hold of his gun during their struggle. Bill
dismissed his apologies. If he’d remained in the kitchen, as Alex had instructed him to do, he wouldn’t have been in the line of fire.”

  “What’s to become of this Doyle character?”

  She’d watched as Jeff was dragged away in handcuffs and stuffed into the backseat of a squad car. She still had difficulty connecting the sensitive young man who’d worked so diligently on Cat’s Kids, with a cold-blooded killer.

  “When police searched his apartment, they found scrapbooks and old newspapers that made Alex’s research look paltry. Obviously he has been obsessed since Judy Reyes’s death. Alex says he’ll eventually face three counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder. But four states are involved. Extradition. Postponements. It’s a legal spaghetti bowl. No matter how it’s eventually resolved, he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars.” She thought for a minute. “That’s three.”

  “Three what?”

  “Three people who’re behind bars. Jeff, Paul Reyes, and George Murphy.”

  “Cyclops. I can’t believe he was apprehended just a few blocks from your house. Wonder what his intentions were?”

  “They couldn’t have been good,” she said. “He violently resisted arrest and injured a policeman in the process. The future doesn’t look good for George Baby.”

  She smiled happily. “Thank God Patricia and Michael won’t have him haunting their lives anymore. You know, Patricia is already working as an apprentice in a jewelry-making firm. She’ll be able to earn a living and hone her skills at the same time. A child psychologist is working with Michael. Now that he no longer lives in fear of Cyclops, he’s coming out of his shell like a baby chick.”

  “And what about Reyes?”

  Her smile dimmed. “I feel sorry for him and his family. His sister was pathetically grateful when I called to tell her that he hadn’t killed the other transplantees.

  “When we were at the psychiatric hospital, he wasn’t threatening me. He was warning me. According to Jeff’s statement to the police, he’d sent Reyes the clippings about the transplantees’ deaths. He wanted to let Reyes know that he’d found an ingenious way around his diabolical punishment scheme. Jeff never imagined that those clippings would wind up in my mailbox as a warning.

  “In spite of his mental instability, Reyes caught on to their meaning. Somewhere along the way, he’d reached the conclusion that the soap opera actress Cat Delaney had received his wife’s heart. Once he recognized the pattern of the killings, he figured that I was next in line, just as Alex did.

  “Alex was stalking me, too—in the hope of saving my life. Reyes was more or less of the same mind. He came to San Antonio to keep an eye on me. I guess he learned my home address by following me home from the TV station.”

  “Why didn’t he just call you up, introduce himself, and tell you what he suspected?”

  “Even though he was acquitted on a technicality, he brutally killed his wife in a fit of jealous rage. He has a history of mental illness. Would I, or anyone else, have believed him?”

  “Valid point.”

  “As the anniversary date drew near, he grew so stressed out that he returned to the scene of the crime, so to speak. At least that’s what his sister hypothesized. Yesterday, I wrote him a letter explaining all that had happened. I thanked him for trying to warn me. I’m not sure he’ll understand all of it, but writing to him made me feel better.”

  She bobbed the ice cubes in her soda, which had remained untouched. “So much tragedy resulted from that single day four years ago.”

  “And so much good,” he said gently, taking her hand.

  “Those people died for no reason, Dean.”

  “But they also lived with their new hearts. Their transplants were worthwhile. If they had it to do over, they’d make the same choice. Their lives were extended. That’s all we try to do—give the patient more time. Then destiny takes control. None of us can foresee it or alter it.”

  “All that’s true. I know it up here,” she said, pointing to her temple. “I’ve got to assimilate it here.” She touched her breast.

  “And where better to do that than on your private beach.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’m so glad you’ll be close again. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’m going back, Dean. Cat’s Kids has been put on hiatus until I can regroup and hire a new staff, but it’s not a closed issue. Not by a long shot. We’re discussing the possibility of syndicating to other cities. It would be an enormous undertaking. But think of the number of kids we could help,” she said excitedly. “I’m only going to rest in Malibu for a few weeks, then I’m going back.”

  “What about him? Where does he figure in?”

  “Alex.” His name slipped from her lips without her even being aware of it. A pang of yearning shot through her. He’d risked his life to save hers, and she would never forget that.

  But she would also never forget his deception.

  Their entire relationship was founded on a lie of omission. When he told her he loved her, had that been a lie, too? There was only one way to banish all doubt.

  “There’s something you must do for me, Dean.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said, salaaming.

  “Don’t joke. You’re not going to like it.”

  She drew a shaky breath, wondering if, in spite of her resolve, she had the nerve to follow through on this request.

  “I want to know if I have Amanda’s heart.”

  He was stunned.

  “I know I’ve always said I didn’t want to know anything about my donor. And I don’t. Unless it was Amanda. Then I must know.”

  “Cat—”

  She held up both hands, staving off his arguments. “I don’t care how you go about finding out. Call in favors, play dirty politics, breach every medical ethic, lie, beg, bribe, steal. You’ve got the contacts and the know-how to root out the answer.”

  His eyes bored into hers. “You do realize that it would be in my best interest to refuse?”

  “But you won’t.”

  “I could also lie about my findings to protect you from further heartache. That would also be self-serving.”

  “But you won’t do that either. You’ll tell me the truth.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because four years ago, you had the guts to look me straight in the eye and tell me I might not last very long.” His image was blurred by her tears. She laid her hand against his cheek. “You never hedged on the truth, no matter how unpleasant or painful it was. I need you to be that kind of friend again, Dean. I need you to be as brutally honest with me now as you were when you told me I was dying.”

  “And you compare living without him to dying?”

  “The only thing worse would be living with him and always wondering if he loved me for being me, or for being someone else.”

  She reached for his hand and squeezed it hard. “Find out if I’ve got Amanda’s heart. Please.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Something compelled Cat to glance up at the house at the precise moment that Dean stepped to the balcony railing and waved down at her. She waved back and was about to return her gaze to the low tide when another figure appeared beside him.

  The wind was flapping the wide brim of her hat. She anchored it more securely to her head with one hand and held the brim with the other so it wouldn’t obstruct her view.

  Even though he was silhouetted against the sky, she recognized his lean, rangy body, the shape of his head, his stance. He turned and said something to Dean; the two of them shook hands.

  Dean looked down at her and waved once again, then disappeared into the house.

  She had an impulse to run to him, but she stood her ground, following his progress down the steep incline. When he stepped off the last step into the sand, his cowboy boots sank to the ankles, but he appeared not to notice. His attention was fixed on her, just as she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  “Hi.”

  “H
i.”

  “I like the hat.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hungrily they gazed at each other for what seemed an endless span of time. She finally worked up the wherewithal to say, “This neighborhood is restricted to residents. How’d you get in?”

  “I used my powers of persuasion.”

  “They worked.”

  “Like a charm.”

  “And here you are.”

  “Here I am. And sorely pissed because Spicer answered your door.”

  “He’s been staying here with me. Only as a friend.”

  “So he said.” He rolled his shoulders and said with an air of arrogance, “He’s a good sport.”

  “Did he lose something?”

  “Yeah. His sleep-over privileges. He’s spent his last night with you—even as a friend. Tonight, I start sleeping over. It’ll be the first night of thousands.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Really. I won’t take no for an answer, Cat. I gave you time to sort things out. I’ve held out for three long weeks, and each of those twenty-one days has been pure hell.”

  “Were you able to write?”

  “I wrote like a son of a bitch. ’Round the clock. Nonstop. Until I finished.”

  “You finished the whole book?”

  “All six hundred thirty-two pages. I sent the manuscript to Arnie overnight. He called yesterday and said it was brilliant, the best work I’ve done. Has ‘bestseller’ stamped all over it.”

  He reached out and caught a blowing strand of hair that had escaped her hat. He studied it intently as he rubbed it between his fingers. “Arnie was curious to know why I changed the outline to incorporate a love story.”

  “To which you said…?”

  “That I’d had inspiration.” His eyes moved to hers. “I couldn’t have written a love story before meeting you, Cat. I thought that part of me had died with Amanda. I was wrong.”

  He slid his hands around her neck, linking his fingers together at her nape. “I’ll hound you until you give in from sheer exhaustion, if that’s what it comes to.

  “I want to be with Cat Delaney today, tomorrow, forty years from now. I don’t care if you’ve got the heart of a goddamn chimpanzee. I want to see your red hair on the pillow next to mine every morning of my life. I love you.