by Sharon Sala
“I need to call the detectives on your case. They have to know about this latest turn of events.”
“But—”
“No buts, lady. Maybe now they’ll give you some protection.”
“I don’t need protection. I have you,” Caitlin said.
Mac’s heart soared and then took a dive south.
Lord. This was getting scarier. Not only had he gone and fallen in love with the maddening woman he’d promised to guard, but now her life was, quite literally, in his hands. He wanted backup. Big backup with big guns. With a sigh, he gave her a swift hug and kissed the top of her head.
“I’m still calling Detective Neil.”
Caitlin dropped into a nearby chair. Everything was happening as she’d planned, only she hadn’t expected to feel guilty. She sat back, her hands in her lap, and watched as Mac picked up the phone.
He turned and looked at her, stifling a grin as the phone on the other end began to ring. It was difficult to imagine how truly rich she was, because at the moment, she looked like a tag sale reject. Only a man in love could think she was sexy.
“Where in hell did you get those slippers?” he asked as he waited for his call to be answered.
“Last year’s Christmas present from Aaron.”
Mac rolled his eyes and then turned abruptly as his call was finally answered.
“I need to speak to Detective Neil,” he said.
“He’s out on assignment,” a woman said. “Can anyone else help you?”
Mac frowned. “How about his partner, Detective Kowalski?”
“She’s out on assignment, too.”
“Look,” Mac said, “this is important. Isn’t there any way you can get a message to them?”
“Yes, but I can’t guarantee when they can—”
“Never mind,” Mac said. “We’ll come to the precinct.”
“But, sir, I—”
Mac hung up the phone and then pointed at Caitlin. “Change your clothes. We’re going downtown.”
Caitlin’s eyes widened. “But—”
“I’ve got to go, and you’re not staying here by yourself, so please get dressed. And hurry. I don’t want to get caught in rush hour traffic.”
“It’s always rush hour in New York City,” Caitlin said as she got up from the sofa.
“Caitlin…”
The tone of his voice was warning enough.
“I’m going, I’m going,” she muttered, and then realized this might work to her benefit after all.
Maybe there would be a couple of reporters hanging around the building, waiting for her to come out. If so, it would be the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Anxious to get this over with, she dressed quickly, choosing a bulky blue sweater and black woolen pants, then added knee-high Cossack boots as further protection against the snow-packed streets.
She left her hair down, liking the weight and warmth of it brushing against her shoulders. With a little moisturizer on her face as protection against the cold and a bright slash of color on her lips, she was good to go.
“I’m ready,” she announced as she walked into the living room.
Mac turned and then exhaled softly.
“You are so beautiful.”
“Why, thank you,” Caitlin said. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He frowned. “Here’s your coat,” he said gruffly. “There’s a cab waiting downstairs.”
“Good call,” she said, putting on the coat as they walked across the hall to the elevator. The frown on Mac’s face kept growing deeper. “What’s wrong?” Caitlin said.
“Nothing,” he said, but he was lying.
It had just occurred to him how outlandish it was to expect someone of Caitlin Bennett’s caliber to fall for a man like him. Granted they’d had sex, but that did not make for a commitment—not in this day and age. And he was so far below her financial status that it didn’t bear consideration. He needed to face the fact that he was out of her league, yet the idea of parting from her was not only saddening, but painful.
They exited the elevator in silence, but the calm didn’t last. They were met on the street by three people simultaneously calling her name.
Startled, Mac stepped between her and them as he tried to push Caitlin back into the lobby, out of danger.
“Wait!” one woman cried. “Please, Miss Bennett. May we get a statement from you regarding your stalker?”
“Mac, they’re reporters. I need to talk to them,” Caitlin said. “The sooner they get their stories, the sooner they’ll leave me alone.”
“Stay!” he yelled, pointing toward the trio, then turned her around, pinning her between his body and the building.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
“And I don’t like being the target for some nut case. You don’t know what it’s like, to be afraid every time the doorbell rings. I’m not even comfortable opening my mail, for God’s sake. This has got to end, and if talking to them will help, I’m willing to give it a try.”
His voice was low, his expression grim. “You leaked the story yourself, didn’t you?”
She wouldn’t answer. Instead she ducked under his arm to face the trio. “Before I say anything, may I see some credentials?”
All three produced proof that they worked for the three major papers in the city. She nodded.
“You may ask your questions,” she said.
The woman was first.
“Miss Bennett, is it true that you’ve been receiving threatening letters?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any information regarding the person sending them?”
“No. Only that his behavior is juvenile and cowardly.”
“How so?”
“The letters are theatrically threatening and written in red pen, complete with little droplets of blood, like something from a Hollywood horror film. Recently he’s progressed to dismembering rodents and mailing them to me. In my opinion, he’s acting like some disturbed teenager who needs his head examined. It isn’t frightening, just disgusting.”
She heard Mac’s swift intake of breath and clenched her jaw.
One of the men chimed in.
“We understand that you were recently hospitalized after an attack from this fan. Is that true? Is that scar above your eyebrow from the attack?”
“Yes, and yes.”
“But weren’t you scared then?”
“Of the truck, yes. Of him, certainly not. Again, he was too cowardly to face me and resorted to a childish push in the middle of my back.”
The last reporter threw a question at her, anxious to get his own spin on the story.
“Did you get a good look at him? Have the police made an ID?”
“No, I didn’t see him. It happened at a very crowded intersection. I was deliberately pushed from behind into the path of an oncoming truck. Only the driver’s quick thinking saved me. As for the police, they are working on the case. That’s all I can tell you. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have an appointment.”
“Thank you, Miss Bennett.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, and strode toward the waiting cab, leaving Mac to follow behind, which he did.
As they got in the cab, his silence was not encouraging, nor was the glare he gave her before barking out their destination to the driver.
“Mac?”
He wouldn’t even look at her.
She sighed. “I had to do it.”
Again, silence.
“Damn it, Connor, it’s my life. Shouldn’t I be allowed to make the decisions as to how I live it?”
“Why ask me?” he muttered. “You’re the one in charge, remember?”
“But I—”
“It’s done, Caitlin. Now we’re just going to have to deal with it. All I’m saying is, you’d better pray to God that the lunatic who’s stalking you doesn’t have a hair-trigger temper, or you’ll be getting a lot more than dead rats in the mail.”
His warning sent goose bumps up the
back of her neck, and then she dismissed her nervousness. Devlin Bennett would have faced this trouble head-on. As his daughter, she could do no less.
A short while later, they arrived at police headquarters. Mac paid the cabdriver and then helped her out, steadying her steps as they made their way across the icy patches on the sidewalk. Although the sky was gray and bleak, there were no more predictions for snow—at least for a while.
Entering the police station, they were met by a mixture of warmth and confusion. A homeless woman had claimed a corner just inside the door, and the desk sergeant was compassionately ignoring her presence. Caitlin saw Mac glance at her, then stop and look at her again as they paused to gain their bearings. Central Booking was trying to process a purse snatcher, while the victim, an elderly woman, was screeching at the officer as well as the perp, demanding the return of her purse and money.
“Where do we go?” Caitlin asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Mac said, then took her by the hand and started toward the desk.
The harried desk sergeant barely looked up. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“We need to talk to Detective Neil or Kowalksi.”
“They’re not here,” he said. “Leave your name and number, and I’ll have them call you.”
“No.”
It was the abruptness of the answer that finally got the sergeant’s attention.
“No? No, you don’t want to leave your name and number, or no you don’t want them to call you?”
“No to both,” Mac said. “Look, Sergeant. I was with the Atlanta PD for more than fifteen years, so I know the routine. But Neil and Kowalksi have been investigating some incidents regarding this lady, Caitlin Bennett, and it’s imperative that they get some new info regarding her case.”
Now the sergeant was interested. “C. D. Bennett the mystery writer?”
Caitlin slipped in front of Mac and smiled.
“I read all your stuff,” the sergeant said. “In fact, I’ve got your latest book right here, see?”
Caitlin smiled as he reached beneath the desk and pulled up a copy of Dead Lines.
“Would you sign it for me?” he asked, and handed it to her without waiting for an answer.
“I’d be delighted, Sergeant. What’s your first name?”
He almost blushed. “Walter,” he said, watching with intent interest as she autographed his book. As soon as she handed it back, he opened it up and read it aloud. “To Sergeant Walter Blum. Thanks for all your help.”
Caitlin leaned across the desk, her expression nothing but innocent.
“Is there anyone…anyone at all, who could help us in Detective Neil’s absence? It’s very important.”
“Yes, ma’am. I imagine there is. If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll find out who’s in.”
Caitlin flashed him a smile, then turned around and patted the front of Mac’s coat.
“He’s checking to see who’s in,” she said sweetly.
“I heard,” Mac muttered, accepting the fact that another man had just fallen victim to her charms, then consoling himself with the fact that at least this one was old enough to be her father. As he waited, he turned again, staring intently at the old woman by the door. There was something about her that—
“Miss Bennett?” the sergeant said.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Go upstairs, second door on your left. See Detective Amato.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Blum, you’ve been a big help.”
“My pleasure, Miss Bennett. You keep writing those stories.”
“Yes, I certainly will.”
She turned away from the desk and started toward the stairs then stopped, aware that Mac was not behind her.
“Mac, are you—”
At first she couldn’t find him, and then she saw him by the door, speaking to the old woman they’d seen upon entering. His head was bent, his hand on her shoulder. The urgency with which Mac was speaking was as obvious as the distrust on the old woman’s face. And then Caitlin saw Mac reach into his pocket and take out what appeared to be a wad of money. When he placed it in the woman’s hands, she started to cry.
In that moment, Caitlin saw Mac anew, and she wasn’t prepared for the surge of tenderness she felt on his behalf. Ashamed that she had so much and yet had walked right past the woman without a single thought of sharing, she looked away. When she looked again, the woman was gone and Mac was coming toward her.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs. His eyes were a little too bright, and there was a slight flush on his cheeks.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Caitlin didn’t speak; she just took his face in her hands and kissed him square on the mouth.
“Hey, lady, can I be next?”
Reluctantly Caitlin broke the kiss, glancing toward the brash young cop who’d asked.
“No,” she said, and then started up the steps. This time Mac was right beside her.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he asked as they reached the first landing. “But what was that for?”
Caitlin looked up at him.
“For being a hero.”
“I’m no hero.”
“I think that old woman would disagree with you,” she said quietly.
Mac looked away. “She used to be a teacher.”
“I’m amazed that she told you that in the short time you were talking. Usually the homeless are quite protective of their privacy.”
“She didn’t have to tell me,” Mac said. “The first year I came to live with Aaron…she was my teacher.”
“Oh, Mac…oh my.” Caitlin sighed. “Isn’t life sad? I wonder how she came to be on the streets? Maybe we should try to find her. I could—”
“No,” Mac said. “I tried. Pride is all she has left, Caitie. I didn’t want to take that away from her, too. She said she had a sister in Erie, Pennsylvania. Maybe she’ll use the money for a bus ticket home.”
“How much did you give her?” she asked.
He shrugged. “All I had on me. Probably close to four hundred dollars, so the cab ride home is going to be on you.”
“It will be an honor,” she said softly. “And I think you deserve more than a kiss.”
He looked at her then, wishing for things he had no right to want.
“Hold that thought,” he said. “When we get back to your apartment, maybe we could figure out how to—”
She thumped him on the arm.
“Don’t ruin the moment, McKee. Let’s go find this Amato guy and then get home. I have a book to finish.”
Sal liked to call this room the “war room.” It was where they assembled facts and leads in pertinent cases, and planned strategies against the criminals they had sworn to fight. It had been set aside for task force use and was, at the moment, the gathering place for information regarding the three dead women who were victims of the serial slasher. As he was in the act of pinning the last victim’s photo on the wall next to the others, there was a knock on the door.
He turned.
“Hey, Amato. Blum sent some people up here to see you.”
“What about?” Sal asked.
The detective shrugged. “Ask them,” he said, and left the door ajar as he went back to his desk, leaving Mac and Caitlin in the doorway on their own.
Frowning at the interruption, Sal tossed a handful of pushpins back on the table and pasted on a smile.
Caitlin’s first attention had been directed at the balding, middle-aged man sauntering toward them, but then her gaze slid from his face to the wall and the pictures behind him. The gore depicted in the photos was horrifying, but she’d done worse to some of her victims in the books that she’d written. What startled her was the familiarity. It was almost as if she knew those women. But how? Her gaze slid from the crime scene photos to the pictures of what they had looked like before. What was it about them…?
Realization came slowly, like an emerging photo in a tray of developing solution
. The shapes of their faces. The length and color of their hair. Even some of their features.
It was like looking at a blurry image of her own face. Then she focused on the photos from the crime scene, particularly on the close-ups of their faces, and saw another similarity that nearly sent her to her knees.
It can’t be. Please, God, don’t let it be true.
But the truth was impossible to ignore. Her stomach rolled as the room began to spin. In panic, she grabbed for the stability of Mac’s arm, but something was wrong with her legs. The last thing she saw was the shock on Mac’s face as she slipped to the floor.
“She’s coming around,” Amato said.
Caitlin moaned. Something cold was being wiped across her forehead, and she could hear muted conversation in the background as she struggled to come to.
“Caitie…sweetheart…can you hear me?”
Her tongue felt thick, and her ears were ringing. When she spoke, her words sounded as if they were coming from the bottom of a barrel. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened.
“Mac? What—”
“Thank God,” he said, and tossed aside the wet handkerchief someone had handed him. “You fainted.”
“I don’t faint.”
Mac looked up at the detective and grinned. “She’s going to be fine.”
“How can you tell?” Amato said.
“She’s arguing with me.”
Now fully aware of what had happened and mortified by the fact that she was flat on her back on the floor and being stared at by at least a dozen people, Caitlin grabbed Mac’s arm.
“Help me up,” she muttered.
He did, then led her to a nearby chair.
“What happened, honey? One minute you were fine, and the next thing I knew, you were going down.”
“I don’t—” Her face paled as memory returned. She stood abruptly, pushing past the men and hurrying toward the wall where she’d seen the photos.
Mac followed, as Amato called out, “Lady, wait! You don’t—”
No one was listening. Cursing loudly, Amato went after them.
“Lady, this is off limits. You need to—”
But Caitlin wasn’t listening. She was looking at the pictures, and the longer she looked, the more certain she was that her first impression had been correct. She spun, her gaze fixed on Mac, her voice trembling in disbelief.