Becoming a Cavanaugh

by Marie Ferrarella

  Kathy Hubert, the housekeeper who opened the door, instantly recognized her from the previous two visits to the estate. It was obvious that the woman wasn’t happy to see her. According to what she had read, Kathy was a long-time employee of the Massey family.

  This time, the housekeeper didn’t even stand on ceremony or pretend to be polite. “Why can’t you leave the boy alone?” she asked. She remained standing in the doorway and blocking any access into the mansion like a short, squat avenging angel.

  “The boy,” Jaren reminded her politely, “is over thirty. And I’ve got more questions for him. There’s been another murder,” she added, certain that the woman already knew that. There was no way to avoid the broadcasts unless you didn’t watch TV. The all-news stations talked about nothing else.

  “There’ve been lots of murders in this city,” the housekeeper retorted stubbornly. She crossed her arms before her ample bosom. “And none of them have anything to do with Mr. Finley.” Her complexion reddened with anger. “If Mr. Jackson was still alive—

  “None of this might be happening,” Jaren speculated, but for a far different reason. “Now can I see Mr. Massey please, or do I have to arrest you for obstructing justice?”

  The housekeeper’s brown eyes narrowed and she snorted in disgust. “This way, please.”

  Kathy Hubert turned on her short, sensible squat heel and led the way to the entertainment room. The double doors were closed. She glared at Jaren, then knocked lightly. There was no response. Since the woman seemed reluctant, Jaren reached over and knocked on the door herself, harder this time.

  The housekeeper gave her a dirty look. A second later, someone inside the room mumbled, “Come in.”

  The housekeeper turned the knob and opened only one of the doors. It was a mini movie theater, Jaren thought. There were several rows of seats—seven, she counted, with six seats across each row. They sloped down to the movie screen which appeared to be some sixty or so inches wide. The ultimate entertainment center. Also good for viewing movies without risking going out.

  She had a feeling that Finley had been encouraged to remain on the estate whenever possible.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Finley,” the housekeeper apologized, “but Officer Rosetti insisted on seeing you.”

  “Detective Rosetti,” Jaren corrected. The woman merely gave her a condescending look but didn’t bother to apologize.

  “That’s all right, Kathy.” Finley, sitting in the first row, rose from his seat. He waved toward the screen. “I was just reminiscing.”

  Jaren saw what had to be a very old video playing on the screen. Two little boys, carbon copies of one another, were playing in their own private carnival. A handsome man was with them, laughing as he chased after one, then the other. The man bore a strong resemblance to Finley, except that he appeared to be buff and vital, while Finley was fragile and delicate.

  Finley aimed his remote control at the screen and it went to black. The lights within the room remained on low as he crossed to her. The housekeeper left, closing the door behind her.

  The smile Finley flashed at her might as well have been drawn on for all the feeling behind it. “So, what brings you back, Detective?”

  Was it her imagination, or was his voice deeper, more confident than it had been the last time they talked? Jaren cautioned herself not to read into his actions yet.

  “There’s been another murder, Mr. Massey,” she told him. “Same as the others. A stake driven through the heart.”

  Their gazes locked for a long moment. His eyes looked dead, as if there was nothing beyond the pupils. Eyes were supposed to be the windows to the soul, weren’t they? She stifled a shiver that suddenly materialized.

  “Why come to me?” he asked her.

  Very deliberately, Jaren placed her purse down on the seat closest to her. “I thought that since you were up on vampires, you might have a theory about why these killings were happening.”

  “Up on vampires?” he echoed. He watched her very carefully now. She was right, she could feel it in her bones. Something about being in the same space as a cold-blooded killer, a stillness in the air, that got to her. Maybe she should have waited for someone to come with her. “What makes you say that?”

  “I read an article about you,” she told him, keeping her tone neutral, as if they were just having a conversation. “You and your twin brother were kidnapped as children.”

  She saw his eyes darken, as if she’d just made a misstep. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She pressed on. “In the article I read, you said that vampires kidnapped you. That a vampire was responsible for killing your brother.”

  Moving away from her, he walked to the front of the theater. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” he insisted, his voice getting higher.

  Jaren followed him.

  He was unraveling, she thought, nervous excitement telegraphing through her. Just like that. The strain of being on his guard, of being without his father—alone against his enemies—was getting to him, she could almost feel it.

  “What are they like?” she asked.

  His expression grew almost wild as he cried, “Who?”

  “Vampires,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Do they look like you and me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He covered his ears not to hear any more questions, desperate to get away from her. “I—” Finley stopped, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the book that she was taking out of her purse.

  “They don’t really look like this, do they?” Jaren pointed to the drawing on the back of the dust jacket. The publisher had a cover artist draw several bloodthirsty-looking creatures, all gathered around a victim, about to feast on him.

  Seeing the cover, Finley breathed harder. A look that was close to demonic entered his eyes. It was as if Massey wasn’t himself anymore.

  For the first time, fear wove through her.

  “They won’t stop, Derek,” Finley wailed, turning to address someone who wasn’t in the room. He hardly seemed aware of her at all. “When are they going to stop?” he sobbed.

  “Derek,” she repeated. He turned full of fury in her direction. She almost had him, she thought. She just needed to have him confess to killing one of the victims, and everything else would fall into place from there. “That was your brother’s name, wasn’t it? What happened to Derek? Did they kill him, Finley? Did the vampire kill your brother?”

  “No,” he cried. “No, they didn’t kill him. Derek’s right here. He fooled them. He came back to me. To protect me now that Dad’s gone. Derek protects me,” he cried. “Derek protects me. Derek—”

  And then, right before her eyes, Finley squared his shoulders and raised his chin. His expression changed, becoming more confident. More in control. When he spoke, his voice was deep.

  “Right here, kid. I’m right here. You don’t have to be afraid.” His eyes shifted to her face. “I’ll take care of this one, too, just like I did the others,” he promised. “She’s not going to hurt you!” he shouted, lunging at her.

  Stunned at the transformation she’d just witnessed, Jaren barely managed to jump back, out of Finley’s reach. There was no room for her to turn and draw her weapon. Needing to put some distance between them so she could take charge of the situation, Jaren tried to dart up the small aisle, but Finley, assuming his dead brother’s persona, was too fast for her.

  Too fast and surprisingly, too strong.

  Grabbing her by the legs, he brought her down. Caught off guard, Jaren hit her head against one of the armrests. Hard.

  For a moment, a darkness encroached on her, sucking away the light. Threatening to swallow her up. Jaren struggled to keep it at bay, knowing that if she passed out, that would be the end of it. Finley, acting as Derek, would kill her.

  “I’m not a vampire, Derek,” she cried, struggling to stay conscious. “I’m human. It’s all just your imagination.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. As she strug
gled to get up, he pinned her down with his weight, straddling her waist. Massey looked around for something to hit her with so that he could finish his work.

  “That’s what they all said,” he jeered. “They said that Finley was crazy because he told them I wasn’t dead. Well, he’s not crazy and neither am I. And I know what they are. They killed my father and now they want to kill me,” he shouted into her face. His eyes glowed as he accused, “You want to kill me.”

  He was too strong for her. She couldn’t knock him off. The more she struggled, the harder he pressed down on her, his knees crushing her ribs.

  “No, I don’t. I just want to get you help. Your father would want to get you help.”

  “Don’t you talk about him!” he shouted, furious. “Don’t you dare talk about him, you vampire whore.”

  “I’m not a vampire,” she shouted back. And then she remembered the keepsake she always wore around her neck. “Look, vampires are afraid of crosses. Would I have a cross around my neck if I were a vampire?”

  He jerked her closer, holding on to her hair to keep her captive. She could all but feel it ripping out of her head. Disgust filled his voice as he dropped her head with a push. She hit the back of it against the floor. Jaren felt her teeth jar. “You don’t have a cross,” he shouted back.

  “It must have come off in the struggle. But think back,” she pleaded. “When I came in, I was wearing one. My dad gave it to me to keep me safe. He was like your dad. Your dad just wanted you to be safe.”

  Moving his weight farther up so that it centered on her rib cage, Massey doubled up his fists and began pummeling her. The blows made her dizzy.

  “Shut up,” he screamed, incensed. “Shut up about my father!”

  Desperate, her head starting to spin again, Jaren screamed, hoping that the housekeeper was still somewhere close by and would come running in. The woman was protective of him but she couldn’t be a party to anything like murder—could she?

  No one came. She felt her lip swelling, felt blood entering her mouth.

  “The room’s soundproof,” she heard Massey laugh just before he landed another blow. Pain went shooting through her jaw. “Scream all you want. It won’t do you any good.”

  The next jarring blow made her ears ring. There was pain everywhere, seductive pain that urged her to slip into the shelter of unconsciousness. She fought against it, but she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on.

  In the distance, above the ringing in her head, she thought she heard a noise.

  An explosion.

  The next moment, she felt a heavy weight fall on her, almost smothering her. Her lungs felt as if they were going to burst as she struggled to suck in air. For a second, desperation filled her as it felt like a losing battle.

  And then the weight was gone.

  Someone called her name. The next moment, strong arms lifted her from the floor. The darkness that threatened to absorb her faded, giving way to light that came streaming into the room.

  Pain seared along her ribs, preventing her from taking in a full breath.

  When she opened her eyes—not realizing that they had been closed—she saw Kyle bending over her.

  Was she dead?

  Hallucinating?

  Was this what it felt like to drift out of your body for the last time?

  With almost superhuman effort, she forced out his name. “Kyle?”

  “Idiot!” he cried with relief.

  It was Kyle all right. “I’m not dead,” she concluded, barely speaking above a whisper.

  There were more people in the room. She could hear different voices threading into one another, but she couldn’t make sense of any of it. The only one she was really aware of was Kyle.

  Kyle, holding her in his arms.

  She was safe. Relief wove through her.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Kyle demanded, his voice breaking. “Do you realize what could have happened to you if I hadn’t listened to my voice mail?”

  She struggled to draw enough air into her lungs to be able to say, “You’ve got the same rotten bedside manner as Barrett did.”

  He didn’t know whether to shake her or hug her. “And you have the sense of a flea.”

  She looked at him, a trace of a smile curving her lips. Or at least, she tried to smile. Whether or not she succeeded, she couldn’t tell.

  “I have enough sense to leave you a voice message,” she reminded him. “Finley Massey is insane. He thought he was his dead brother, Derek, and that vampires were after him. He was trying to kill them all in order to protect Finley.”

  Kyle glanced toward the inert body on the floor. Riley was slipping handcuffs on the unconscious man.

  “He won’t be killing vampires anytime soon,” he promised her.

  For a moment, all he wanted to do was hold Jaren close to him, to feel her chest rising and falling against his own. Silently, he offered up a prayer of thanksgiving that he had managed to get here when he had, and not ten minutes later.

  It was the first time Kyle remembered praying in a very long time.

  Chapter 15

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

  Jaren used what felt like the last of her available energy to voice her adamant protest. It fell on deaf ears.

  Instead of halting the transport, Kyle merely stood to the side as the paramedics loaded the gurney she was on into the back of one of the two ambulances.

  The other took a wounded, unconscious Finley Massey to another hospital.

  Kyle gave no indication that he even heard her. It was only once she was inside the ambulance and he had climbed in beside her, that he could examine her.

  His eyes, she thought vaguely, looked angry.

  “No arguments,” he ordered. “Massey used your face for a punching bag.”

  He had no doubts that the deranged man had done it in order to knock her unconscious so that she could offer no resistance when he drove the stake into her chest.

  The very thought made his blood run cold.

  “We need to find out if he caused any brain damage—more than you already have,” he amended, barely controlling the fear-fueled anger that boiled within him.

  Her chest was killing her, but she managed to insist, “I’m fine.”

  The last thing she remembered before the world suddenly faded to black was Kyle looking at her and saying, “The hell you are, Rosetti. Rosetti? Jaren?”

  In the distance, Jaren thought that she heard him urgently calling her name over and over again, but she was too far away to answer.

  Kyle hated waiting. For that reason, he avoided surveillance work whenever he could.

  But he found himself waiting now.

  Waiting while the hospital technicians ran MRIs and lab tests on Jaren. Waiting and restlessly leaning against pastel-colored walls, moving from one to another like a man who didn’t belong anywhere.

  Waiting to be informed that Jaren was going to be all right despite her stupid stunt. Waiting as he became acutely aware of a feeling gripping him that he had never experienced before.

  Concern wasn’t anything new for him. He’d been concerned as he became aware of his mother’s situation: a single mother in failing health with three children to raise and care for. He’d always been protective of her and of his brother and sister even though he wasn’t the oldest except for a technicality.

  It was just the way things were, just the way he was built.

  But this time around, something went beyond the concern. There had been a real, bottomless fear that Jaren was in real danger. That she could die before he reached her.

  And that if she did, he would never be the same again.

  The minute he’d gotten out of court, something—intuition maybe—had made him check his voice mail. As soon as he heard Jaren’s voice, he could feel his gut tightening into a knot. He knew before he even listened to the whole message that she was going to go off on her own and do something stupid.

  Something dan
gerous.

  Like a man possessed, he’d lost no time tearing out of the courthouse parking lot, steering the vehicle with one hand while hitting numbers on his cell phone’s keypad with the other. He pulled a team together for backup before he actually had a reason to believe it was necessary.

  Because he knew.

  Deep down in his gut, he knew Jaren was in trouble. Knew she was right about her hunch that Massey was the killer. And as sure as night followed day, he knew that she was going to be the man’s next victim unless he got to her in time.

  Driving like a madman, he’d broken out in a cold sweat as he shakily searched his mind for the prayers his mother had taught him as a little boy.

  And even now, standing in this antiseptic hospital, the silence of the night echoing back at him, he was far from convinced that the worst was over. Jaren had been pretty badly beaten.

  What if—?

  His breathing grew short. He couldn’t let himself go there. Not yet.

  “Knew I’d find you here.”

  Lost in thought, he shook himself free as he looked up. Kyle saw Riley approaching him. She wasn’t alone. Less than a step behind her were Greer and Ethan. Kyle struggled to pull himself together.

  And then, as if someone had thrown open the main hospital doors, Brian and Andrew came in just several steps in front of what looked like an avalanche of Cavanaughs. Every last one of them and their spouses had come to lend their moral support.

  Andrew reached him first. “How is she, son?” he asked.

  Kyle shook his head. It took a second before he said, “They haven’t told me yet.” Even as the words came out, his throat felt as if it was closing.

  “She’s a tough girl,” Brian told him with an unshakable certainty. “She’ll pull through.” He smiled at the younger man. “Nice work, by the way, catching Massey.”

  The praise meant nothing to him. There was a hollowness inside that he didn’t know how to get around or what to do with. “Rosetti was the one who solved the case.”