She settled against him, her fingers tracing the tribal eagle tattoo on his chest. What was once a symbol of freedom when Emily had designed it was now a permanent reminder of her. It had been covered with gauze until very recently and he waited for her to ask him about it. After long moments of exploration, she said simply, “This is beautiful.”
“Emmie's design,” he replied softly, the loss of his sister hitting him in the gut. “I'm not losin' you, Cassie.”
She placed a kiss on his tattoo. “Don't let me lose you either.”
“Not a chance.” He shifted her in his arms to kiss her fiercely, an unspoken promise he intended to keep forever. “Now, get ready to head out.”
“Yessir.”
~*~
Brandon stood with Steve and Tiffany on the circular drive of the Everett estate, watching the magnificent house burn. The firefighters were putting up a valiant effort, but arson was hard to combat.
“That's one way to terrorize Ms. Everett,” Tiffany observed from his right. “Blow up her car, break into her home, paint her boyfriend as unable to protect her, burn down her parent's house...” She paused for a moment before asking, “How does the judge's murder fit in?”
“Doesn't that terrorize her, too?” Steve put in. “Doesn't it say, 'You're not safe, not even in your own home'?”
“True,” Brandon agreed, but he didn't discredit Tiffany's question. “Everything else is personal to her. Her car, her house, her bodyguard, her parents. The judge was a colleague, maybe a friend, but unless there was an affair she's not admitted to, he wasn't nearly as close as her family or the man she's sleeping with.”
“He killed the judge, but hasn't even tried to kill her,” Steve started.
“Maybe he wants her to watch as things fall apart, are taken from her,” Tiffany offered. “Maybe that's his brand of torture.” She stared a moment at the flickering flames before turning to face the two of them fully, her face bright with excitement. “We need to find someone who had everyone, everything taken from him. His motivation for all this,” she gestured toward the burning mansion, “is losing everything because of her. He wants to take her life from her piece by piece.”
“I'll buy that,” Brandon agreed, adding, “after he takes it all, then he'll kill her.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Steve said. “We need a detail on her parents, her brother.”
In a perfect world, they could do that and about forty other things. “There are nine of us. Even if we asked Aylesford PD for help, there's no way we could swing protection details.” He glared at his partner. The other man knew exactly how many officers were on staff, yet threw out stupid ideas like offering bodyguard services.
“Fine, advise them to hire someone, but they are targets,” Steve tossed back.
“The Everetts ought to leave town,” he muttered. He was getting annoyed with people obsessing over the family. What was next, a stalker looking for a doctor husband? A director infatuated with his next starlet? So they were attractive, rich, and arguably talented. They were driving him insane, and he didn't have time to be any crazier than he already was.
“Yes!” Tiffany exclaimed. “Send them out of town and maybe we can flush this guy out.”
“Caleb Everett won't leave and you know it,” Steve interjected. “The good doctor won't leave the hospital, even if it were burning down around him.”
While Caleb was a fixture at Aylesford Memorial, he doubted the doctor would perform surgery in a blazing inferno. “Charles and Carolyn might.”
“They have a daughter in New York, right?” Tiffany asked.
“On Broadway,” Steve affirmed.
She tapped a finger against her pink lips. “Maybe they can visit her for a while.”
“It won't hurt to suggest it,” Brandon agreed, although he wasn't at all sure what the pair would say. They didn't strike him as the running away sort, not if they were anything like their children. “I hope for their sake they agree.”
“If they leave and it looks like they're mad at Cassidy, it will appear his plan worked,” Tiffany mused.
Despite their nights together, he really hadn't given her enough credit—the woman had a brain to go with the killer body. Still, he wasn't at all sure that Cassidy's family essentially storming away in a huff would send the impression that this arsonist stalker's plan was working. “If your theory is sound.”
“It's the best theory we've got, Brandon,” Steve cut in at the same time Tiffany said, “Even if it's not, what could it hurt?”
He was outvoted, and he couldn't really disagree. “Very true.”
~*~
“Mom, are you sure you and Daddy are okay?” Cassidy asked. She was standing in her parent's yard, watching the firefighters literally fight a fire. Her mother looked fine in her striped pajamas and bare feet, but she wasn't convinced.
“Honey, we're fine. It's just a house,” Carolyn Everett assured. “What I'm worried about is you. What's this about a stalker?”
Yeah, she hadn't really explained much to her parents, had she? “Looks like someone's got it out for me. The police are on it, and I'm staying with Dylan.”
Her mother's eyes focused on the man in question for a moment, and Cassidy wondered what she thought. She knew what she saw was six and a half feet of muscle wrapped in a black t-shirt and faded jeans, his hair a little longer and his beard trimmed a little closer than he'd worn it at the wedding. She liked it when it was more scruff than beard, and he was happy to oblige her. She smiled. The man was gorgeous, his golden eyes seeing everything. She wondered how long he would believe himself in love with her.
“He's a good boy, that Dylan,” her mother said. “I wish he hadn't been hurt saving your brother, but I'm glad you brought him home.”
She almost laughed. She brought him home, and she'd like to keep him, even if she knew she shouldn't. “Me too.”
“Does he always look at you like that?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, not seeing anything strange in his rugged face. “Like what?”
Carolyn's lips turned up into a smile. “Like you belong to him?”
Oh, that. “Yes, I guess he does.”
“And do you?”
A question for the ages. She wasn't ready to answer the way her mother wanted her to, so she gave her the truth. “For now.”
“I think he might disagree,” Carolyn said with a laugh, and Cassidy both agreed with her and wondered how her mother could find humor in anything at a time like this. “Mom, how are you laughing when your house is burning?”
“Easy,” her mother replied. “No one was hurt. Things are just things, houses are just houses. People are what's important, and we're all still here.”
God, she wished she could think like her mother. “You're not angry with me?”
“Why would I be angry with you, dear?”
Had she really just asked her why? “Because this is my fault. I brought this to your doorstep, Mom. I'm sorry.”
“This is no more your fault than that woman's obsession with your brother,” her mother said and Cassidy bit back a smile at the deliberate understatement and avoidance of Priscilla's name. “You have Dylan there, the police are investigating, and it looks like the fire is under control.”
Under control maybe, but how much of the house had they lost? Her parents had painstakingly chosen every brick, every stick of furniture, everything in that house, and now someone had taken it all away because of her. Her stomach turned at the thought of losing pictures, books, memories, and she brushed tears aside she hadn't known were flowing. “The police haven't turned up much,” she admitted.
“They will,” Dylan assured as he wrapped her in his arms from behind.
She leaned against his hard chest, loving the feel of both his arms around her even in front of her mother. “I hope they do. I'm tired of this. I don't want to be scared anymore.”
“I'll protect you,” he promised quietly.
“I know, and that scares me more t
han anything else. I don't want you to die saving me, Dylan. I don't want you to sacrifice yourself for me.”
He held her tighter, his voice dropping even more as he whispered in her ear, “My life wouldn't mean anythin' without you in it, darlin'.”
She melted against him, catching her mother's raised eyebrow at their public display and ignoring it for a moment. It was four in the morning in front of a burning building and the only place she felt safe was right where she was in Dylan's arms. She would think about her feelings later, justify them, probably deny them, but right now she just accepted them.
“You gonna make an honest woman out of her?” her father's voice came from behind her mother and she let out a startled laugh. Charles Everett never minced words, and this was a shining example.
“In a heartbeat, if she'd just say yes,” Dylan answered, his deep voice vibrating through her. It wasn't a lie, he had asked her to marry him twice since she forgot her pills. She'd bought a pregnancy test but hadn't yet had the heart to pee on the stick. She kept telling herself she was stressed and that's why her period was late, but she was smart enough to know that might not be the case. She was also smart enough to know a baby was no reason to be married, and the situation was tainting her feelings. She snuggled deeper into Dylan's arms and told herself she could separate the hero from the man, the danger from reality. She loved his strength, his honesty, his integrity, and she adored his body, the way he made her feel, the feel of him inside her, but did she love him? She didn't know. Once she no longer needed his protection, would she still need him?
“We haven't been together long enough for me to say yes,” she said by way of explanation, hoping her father wouldn't push any harder.
“You're looking pretty cozy right now,” he observed.
“Daddy, I'm a big girl,” she said through a sigh. “Dylan is wonderful, and just because he's holding me doesn't mean he has to marry me.”
“He wants to, though,” Charles rebutted.
He thinks he does. “It's been just over a month, Daddy.”
“A man knows.”
“I love your daughter, Mr. Everett,” Dylan said. “Cassidy doesn't quite know what to do about that yet, and that's okay.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “She'll catch up soon enough.”
Both her parents laughed as Dylan held her tighter against him, and she prayed he was right.
~*~
Cassidy's parents looked none the worse for wear after losing their home, and Dylan counted his blessings for that fact. He'd let her down by not taking care of her family, and he knew she'd never forgive him if they died as a result of his oversight. He cast his gaze around the room, taking note of who was assembled to ask questions he was sure no one could answer. Brandon Davis, his partner Steve Archer, and a tiny blonde officer, Tiffany Morgan were against one wall, Chris and Jason along another. It made him think of a middle school dance, boys on one side, girls on the other, neither one willing to make the first move across the gym. In other circumstances it might have been amusing, but this morning it just pissed him off.
“I know y'all hate each other, and I don't give a shit,” he addressed the group as a whole, his irritation coming through in both his word choice and his tone, and he didn't much care. “I don't give a shit if you people want to kill each other after this is over, but you have to work together to find this bastard.” He might be abusing his privileges and his association with both departments, he might be overstepping his boundaries, hell, he might be jeopardizing the career he'd spent the last five years building, but none of that mattered. He could do something else, he could start another business, he could work for anyone doing anything, but he couldn't lose Cassie.
Chris's dark eyes hardened. “Don't push, amico,” he warned.
He shoved away from the table, sending his chair clattering to the floor when he stood. “Cassidy's life, the life of her friends and family, hangs in the balance here, and you tell me not to push?”
“Enough!” bellowed another voice from the doorway of the conference room and all heads turned to the newcomer. “Why do we keep meeting in a fucking conference room?” Gabe McNamara muttered, his heavily muscled frame propped against the door. “This guy is good, there was nothing of note in the car bomb, yet here you sit bitching about who's gonna do what when a two million dollar home is a pile of ashes? Find this fucker before I have another arson on my desk.”
At that moment, Dylan liked the Ayles County Arson Investigator more than the dysfunctional set of cops around the room, and opened his mouth to say as much, closing it when Brandon Davis spoke first. “We have jurisdiction,” the Tyler detective sputtered, eliciting a laugh from McNamara.
“No, you don't. I do. There is a bomb and an arson, no doubt connected. So, how about you all,” he glared at the room at large, his whiskey-colored eyes boring holes in each of them, “get your act together and track him down?”
McNamara's words lit a fire under the cops, causing what had been a quiet room to buzz with conversation. He let himself smile at his pun for a half second before he turned to Chris. “If you could find my laptop, I'd appreciate it.”
“You want me to save your girl and find your computer? You want me to do everything?”
He knew Chris was trying to be sarcastic, but at this moment he did want him to do everything, anything to stop this. “Yes.”
“I will do my best,” Chris promised, his dark eyes earnest, and despite his earlier outburst, he knew his friend would do all he could.
He had settled into the discussions with the six badges in the room and was finally starting to feel confident in both departments working together when Cassidy burst through the door. “My house,” she started, her face pale, her breathing erratic, her chocolate eyes wide. He rushed to her, tucking two fingers beneath her chin to look into her tear-stained face. “What's wrong?”
“It blew up,” she managed to say between sobs. “The Johnson's house, too. They're not sure if they'll make it.”
McNamara leaped from his chair, violently stabbing the screen of his cell phone, yelling, “Why didn't anyone call me!” when his call connected. The five cops rushed from the room, leaving Dylan with a glassy eyed woman he knew how to make scream in ecstasy, but not how to comfort when her house had been bombed, her neighbors in the hospital. Words failing him, he gathered her in his arms, murmuring nonsense about catching the asshole, loving her, and Lord knew what else until her body stopped shaking against him.
Chapter Nine
Cassidy was really beginning to hate the hospital. She sat in Dylan's lap because she needed to feel warm and safe—she'd analyze that later—waiting for the word on Maria and Dorsey Johnson. The older couple's townhouse shared one wall with hers, and when her house had blown, so had theirs. She hadn't been home in weeks, but they had been sound asleep, blown out of their beds, their conditions critical. Why didn't she think to warn them? After the break-in, she hadn't thought about her house being destroyed. Who would? She shivered in Dylan's arms and he pulled her closer to him as she prayed for the Johnsons. “Please let them pull through,” she whispered.
Dylan's warm breath ruffled her hair as he held her close. “No matter what, it's not your fault.”
But it was. Someone held her accountable and was punishing her by hurting others. She needed to help identify him, needed to bring him to justice. “He's punishing others for whatever it is I've done to him. We have to stop him.”
“Good thing you said that, I won't have to convince you now,” Officer Morgan said as she approached them. “I was hoping you could sit down with me for a while, help me narrow this list further.”
She would do anything if it would help. “Anything.”
“Um, do you want to come with me?” the other woman asked, eying her and Dylan's intimate embrace uncomfortably.
“Anything you want to ask, anything I have to say is safe.” The blonde officer's blue eyes widened a bit at Cassidy's declaration, but she didn't say anything el
se. “Please tell me you have a theory.”
She nodded. “I do.” She perched on the waiting room chair across from them. “This guy is someone who blames you for the loss of his home, his family, his friends. If we look at the things he's done, he's trying to take the same things from you, violating your space, taking your computer, your car, your home from you.”
“With every case I've won, I've taken a home and family from a perp. Every single one of them hates me, Officer.”
“I know, but it has to be someone who carries a strong hate for you, not just your position. Someone who names you the center of all the loss in his life. Doesn't someone come to mind when I say that?”
“The only name that comes to mind is that of a dead man,” she said, her thoughts going to the only time she'd been truly shaken during a trial.
Officer Morgan nodded. “Nicholas Rossi?”
“No, although he's dead, too.” She took in and let out a deep breath. “The name that comes to mind is Philip Stanza. His case was years ago, and even though I was second chair to J.D., Stanza vowed from the stand he would make my life a living hell before he murdered me.” She shuddered. She'd been terrified for weeks, afraid Stanza would get to her even though he'd been locked up during trial. She swallowed. “My research clinched the case, and he knew it. He's dead, though. Has been for four years.”
Officer Morgan tilted her head as she tapped a finger against her lips, and Cassidy wondered what wheels were turning in the other woman's head. “He was put to death?”
She put her ear on Dylan's chest, taking comfort in the beating of his heart, willing herself to calm down after thinking about how scared she'd been of the cold-blooded arsonist. “Unfortunately the death penalty was off the table, no matter how much he deserved it. He was sentenced to life, but died of pneumonia.”
“You're sure he's dead?”
How could he not be dead? She scrambled to sit up straighter. “What are you saying?”
Officer Morgan was preoccupied with her laptop for a few minutes, the keystrokes ringing in Cassidy's ears. What did she mean, was she sure Stanza was dead? He'd died in prison. It would take an elaborate cover-up to fake a death there. “I've got you, Cassie,” Dylan murmured in her ear. “I will protect you, even from a ghost.”
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