“A ghost?” She willed the small woman to find whatever it was she was looking for quickly. “Are you telling me I'm being stalked by a ghost?”
“He was an arsonist, an explosives expert,” Tiffany Morgan began.
“And he's dead,” Cassidy protested. The man had been evil personified, but he was dead, burning in hell no doubt.
“I'm not so sure about that.”
She stood then, Dylan letting her go easily. “How the fuck do you fake a death in prison?” She could feel the hair on her arms standing up, knew her voice was screeching through the hospital, but couldn't force herself to calm down. Stanza wasn't a member of a gang or a cartel, all the evidence showing he had acted alone. Gabe McNamara's wife had been murdered in one of the blazes, and she had worked with the arson investigator to nail Stanza with an airtight case. Now, four years later this woman was suggesting he hadn't died, had come back to haunt her like the ghost he was supposed to be? No, there had to be another answer. “It could be a copycat, an apprentice we didn't know he had...” she lost steam in the middle of the sentence, unsure what else she had planned to say.
“I'm pulling up his records, looking for someone who was inside with him, recently paroled. I don't know how he could have faked his death, but the crimes against you are deeply personal, Ms. Everett.” She looked at the clock on the wall briefly before continuing. “Was the case tried under Judge Simmons?”
“No, but Simmons was the CA then.” Why hadn't she thought of someone copying Stanza weeks ago? Why hadn't the police? “Why are we just now coming to the realization this might be related to Stanza? Why not take the copycat, the apprentice angle after the car bomb?”
“Same reason you didn't think about him, I'd guess.”
“He's dead.” She prayed he really was dead. She had been scared before, but if Stanza had faked his death to torture her, she didn't know if she was strong enough to fight him.
“If he's not, he will be,” Dylan promised from behind her, taking her into his arms and returning to the chair, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill that had overcome her. “He's not gonna get you, Cassie. I won't let him.”
“He's dead,” she repeated weakly.
“If it's an apprentice, it could be anyone,” Tiffany offered, giving voice to what was swirling in Cassidy's head. If Stanza had groomed someone to hate her, to torture her, to take everything away from her, someone with no ties to her who couldn't easily be tracked, she wouldn't stop looking over her shoulder until he was caught. Her thoughts went to the man behind her, and she prayed nothing would happen to him. She knew she should send him away with her family, shield him from the danger surrounding her, but he wouldn't go. Like a coward, she shoved the thought away and snuggled into his arms instead, loving the feel of him around her, the safety she felt with him.
He held her tighter against him, his voice coming out as a growl when he vowed, “Doesn't matter. No one's gettin' to her.”
“I believe you,” the officer said as she stood and headed toward the hall, “I'll keep you posted,” promised over her shoulder.
“You do that.”
~*~
“It has to be an apprentice,” Chris said to Tiffany. She was furiously typing away at her laptop, sitting at his desk while he leaned against Jason's. “There's no way the man came back from the dead to terrorize Ms. Everett.”
She shook her head, her blonde hair coming free of its ponytail. “I can't find anyone who makes sense. I mean, it'd have to be someone who was inside with him, someone he'd have interacted with, spoken to, incited into violence, but I'm not finding anyone.”
“Broaden the search. Make it anyone who's been paroled in the last four years, who worked at Lee, who was frequently in and out. Anyone who might have had contact with Stanza. Someone who has the technical expertise to knock out our radios.”
She made a face. “I'll do that too. Right now I'm checking Stanza against Rossi. Rossi's cartel has reach Stanza couldn't realize alone.”
God, she was checking one dead man against another, and he had to admit it was a good idea. He rubbed the back of his neck, the tension there nearly popping his head off his shoulders. This was turning out to be a wild goose chase, and unless the Johnsons pulled through, the body count would be up to three. He stared at the attractive blonde woman dressed in a tank top and jeans, her face devoid of make-up, her hair pulled into a messy tail at the back of her head. This was the officer who was supposed to have mad research skills, who could break this case open. “Why did none of this occur to you, to us, until now? It took her house blowing up to look this direction?”
She looked up briefly from her computer to meet his eyes with her tired blue ones. “I'm looking into possible interaction between two dead inmates and who they may have spoken to in the two years they served time together. I hardly think that's the first thing that should've come to mind.”
Maybe so. “As true as that may be, we have to find something. We have no real leads, and I for one don't want to deal with any more fucking explosions.”
She glanced at him, her pretty face clearly saying, “No shit,” without words. “I am doing what I can, Delmonico. Give me some credit here, I just came up this theory three hours ago, watching a mansion burn down. I'm only so good.”
He hoped she was better than good, and almost said as much when Davis and Jason came through the door. They had chosen to home-base in Aylesford considering the proximity to the hospital, and although he liked being in his own station, he wasn't sold on a joint investigation. Tiffany Morgan might be a research ninja, but she'd yet to come up with anything actionable. He gave himself a swift mental kick. He needed to engage, not question the worth of the others working the case or let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. It would be difficult, but he was resigned to dealing with Davis provided the man didn't act like the prick he was. Lucky for him Jason had drawn the short straw, pairing up with Davis so he didn't have to deal with the pompous ass of a detective, and Steve Archer hadn't come with them to Aylesford, begging off with another case breaking open he needed to attend.
He didn't know how things worked in Tyler, but unless Archer was collaring a murderer, he couldn't see how another case would take precedence, but it wasn't his place to ask. Besides, as much as he despised Davis, he wasn't wholly unhelpful regarding investigation. Steve Archer didn't strike him as cut out for the force, not offering much in the conference room a couple hours before. When he'd said as much to Jason, he was shrugged off, citing the celebrity part of Archer's history as the reasoning. Tyler PD was full of people he couldn't believe were tasked to uphold the law, but it wasn't his town, and it wasn't his place to complain. For all he knew they were all perfectly capable, and since it was Aylesford with the sudden rash of dead bodies, he had no room to talk.
“Okay, Miss Cross-Reference, whaddaya got?” Davis asked as he sat at Caufield's desk. Chris grimaced as he imagined Reid Caufield's reaction to that fact, but didn't say anything, instead shooting a look at Jason, finding the other man with a similar expression.
“Chris and I figured it might be someone who had contact with both Stanza and Rossi while they were at Lee, so I began looking at anyone whose time in overlapped with the two years they were both there and alive. I didn't find anything promising—people aren't paroled from Lee very often—so we opened it up to those who worked there, ministered there, were in and out often,” she explained, giving him much more credit than he deserved.
“And?” Davis asked, his right hand spinning in a “go-on” gesture.
She shook her head at him as she rolled her eyes. “I was getting to that, Brandon.” She took a deep breath before she hit a few keys on her laptop. “Here's the list of people I've found. A minister helping the inmates find Jesus, four prison guards who have since either retired or transferred, and,” she tapped her finger against the screen, “the prison doctor, who left directly after Rossi's death.”
“The doctor left after Rossi was s
hanked?” Chris asked. What if both men had managed to fake their deaths and had teamed up to give Cassidy her comeuppance? He started to say as much when Jason slammed a hand on his desk. “You mean to tell me it's entirely possible they both fucking faked their deaths?”
“I didn't say that,” she snapped at Jason. “But he did sign off on both death certificates, and the official reports state they were cremated.”
“Cremated!” Davis nearly shouted. “Shit.”
Her eyes widened at Davis's outburst. “I have his address.”
“Let's go then,” Davis directed.
“Who?” she asked, clearly confused. It was obvious she hadn't expected Davis to choose her to go with him, and while he didn't mind her coming along, he wasn't about to let Tyler PD go alone. This was a joint investigation, and it would remain that way.
“Us and them,” Davis answered, his face twisted in exasperation. “This guy is the one who can tell us if we're chasing dead men or not.” He stood from the desk, crossing the room to grab her arm. “C'mon.”
Tiffany shook free of his grasp to save her work and close her computer. “Dead men tell no tales,” she murmured. “I hope this old man can tell us something.”
He agreed with her on both counts. As they filed out of the building, his brain ran through all scenarios, none of them good. He hoped Dylan was back in fighting shape, and prayed wherever they were would not blow up. Dylan could fight with the best of them, shoot better than most, and was a brilliant strategist, but even he couldn't protect himself and his lady from a bomb.
~*~
Dylan watched Cassie pace the hallway, wishing there was something he could do for her. She was tough, but she worried about her neighbors, was scared for her family, and was in a crazy man's cross-hairs, afraid someone who vowed to murder her wasn't dead. It was too much for even the strongest of people, and while he had held his arms open for her, she refused to come hide in their shelter again, choosing to walk, to stand, on her own.
“Holy shit,” she exclaimed as she came to dead stop in the middle of the hall. “What day is today?”
He narrowed his eyes and checked his watch out of habit. “Friday. Why?”
“Mason and Kat are flying home today.” She crumpled into the nearest chair. “I need to stop them.”
He was already dialing before she'd finished her sentence, but Mason didn't pick up. He left a terse message, then sent a follow-up text to be sure. The last thing he needed were more people for Cassie to worry about. He closed the distance between them, crouching in front of her and taking her hands in his. “He'll get it. They won't be in harm's way.”
She slumped forward in her seat, as if her backbone had just given way. “What about my parents, my brother?”
Text messages were beautiful things. He'd called in a few favors earlier while she was dozing in his lap, securing a couple not-so-old friends to watch over Caleb. Carolyn and Charles were in a hotel for the night, but were headed to New York in the morning, ostensibly to visit Camryn. He had everyone secure, yet he couldn't shake the feeling he hadn't done enough. “Everyone's covered.” He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Everyone is safe, except you. Leave town with me. Let the cops do their job. We'll come back when it's all over.”
Her features hardened at the suggestion. “I am not a coward.”
“I didn't say that. I just want to keep you alive.” He softened the thought with a smile before kissing her compressed lips. “I rather like you this way.”
“Scared out of my mind and worried about dead men?”
“Alive,” he answered simply, ignoring her sarcasm.
“Believe me, I'd prefer to stay alive too, but I am not leaving.”
Stubborn woman. “Fine, but I'd wish you'd listen.”
Her lips curved into a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Have you learned nothing about me? I never listen.”
Oh, he knew. “And yet, I love you anyway.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth parted for a second, almost as if she had heard him say it for the first time. “You do, don't you?”
If he said it enough, one day she'd believe it. “You know I do.”
~*~
Did he love her? She thought so, and that made her life more difficult. He said he had her family secured, that he wouldn't leave her side, and she believed him. He had almost died saving her brother, and whomever was after her would have no problem blowing him up to get him out of the way. She blinked back tears. She'd said she wasn't a coward, but she was. She wasn't about to put Dylan in the the line of fire, not when he'd just recovered, not when she knew full well he'd step between her and a bullet, or a flamethrower, or whatever else was thrown at her.
She swiped the tears that leaked from her closed eyes. Why this, why now, why her? Dylan was right, she needed to go into hiding, but she needed to go alone. She swallowed the sharp pang of worry that shot through her. She'd never taken the test. What if it wasn't just herself she needed to protect? She dropped her head into her hands. She couldn't think about that now. She couldn't leave Dylan before, but now she had neighbors and friends fighting for their lives because of her. If this bastard wanted to punish her, wanted to take away the one thing that would cripple her, would kill her from the inside out, it would be Dylan, and she couldn't let that happen. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she finally said, pushing away the guilt as she told the lie.
He glanced up and down the hallway before giving her a nod. “Be aware, be careful, and be quick.”
She stood stiffly and made her way to the bathroom, willing herself not to shake. Purse in hand, she pushed through the door, leaning against it when it closed behind her. As much as she wanted to protect Dylan, would leaving him do that, or would that put him in more danger? Would it make him her Mary Jane, used to draw Spiderman into danger? Leaving him would make him crazy, and he'd run all over creation looking for her, wanting to insure she was safe. She pushed off the door to stare into the mirror. Good Lord, she looked like she'd been up since three in the morning; her hair halfheartedly in a ponytail, her eyes accented not with makeup but dark circles. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Running away would put him in more danger. He'd allow himself to be vulnerable, too worried about her to bother protecting himself. If something happened to him because she couldn't stand and fight, she didn't know what she would do. She stared into her own brown eyes, willing herself to be strong. She couldn't leave him. She wouldn't leave him. Decision made, she turned to walk back out the door and ran into a hard body.
“Excuse me,” she immediately spat without looking up. She needed to get back to Dylan. Even if he didn't know she was about to run out on him, the guilt was making her crazy.
“You're coming with me,” a rough voice responded and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
The man in her way was taller than Dylan, his face covered by a mask, his hands encased in gloves. Scream, Everett. Scream bloody murder. She opened her mouth only to be knocked to the ground with a solid fist. Her head hit the counter, blurring her vision. “Help!” she yelled before a booted foot connected with her stomach, forcing the breath from her lungs.
“Your boyfriend isn't coming to your rescue this time.”
She struggled to breathe, to stay conscious. She had to make it to the door, had to make noise, draw attention to herself. She latched a hand around her attacker's ankle, jerking it toward her with everything she had. He didn't budge, the other foot landing another kick to her midsection, causing an audible crack of ribs. The pain shot through her, nauseating her as she scrabbled along the tile floor, willing herself to stand. She'd made it to her knees before another blow knocked her flat, her head bouncing against the floor. She tried to scream, but couldn't force her mouth to open, she tried to fight, but her body wouldn't move. Her head filled with the raspy chuckle of her attacker as she lost the battle against unconsciousness, her last thoughts on Dylan.
Chapter Ten
Dylan checked his w
atch for the third time. Cassie had only been gone thirteen minutes, but he didn't like it. The bathroom was around a corner, out of his line of sight, and while he'd wanted to follow her, she'd given off “I need to be alone” vibes and he had given her the little bit of space they could afford. Now he was questioning that decision.
He bolted from his chair, making it to the bathroom in seconds. “Cassie, are you okay?” he asked through the door. When there was no answer, he pushed his way in and almost threw up with what he found. Blood. The counter was covered in it, the floor slick with more. He'd let her walk into a trap. He shook off the panic that infused him, forced himself to think. If she were dead, the bastard would have left her on the floor, but he had taken her with him. He had to find solace in that, in the knowledge that she was still alive. Now he just had to find her, and kill the fucker who had spilled her blood.
He cast a look around the room. Cassie's brown leather purse lay open under the bank of sinks, her cell phone visible inside. His heart lurched. Tracking via cell phone would be impossible now, and he was no closer to figuring out who would beat her, who would take her, than he was when he ran in the bathroom. Automatically, he dialed Chris. Before the detective could even said hello, he gritted, “He has her.”
“What? How?”
“I don't know. She was gone, in the bathroom for thirteen minutes. Thirteen fuckin' minutes.” He clenched his fingers around his phone to the point of pain. “I shouldn't have let her go.”
“There's no way you could have known,” Chris tried to reason, and he knew his friend was right. Still, he'd failed her. He'd promised to protect her, and instead let her unwittingly be beaten and kidnapped.
“I love her and I didn't protect her.” He scraped a hand down his face. Pitying himself wouldn't track her down, wouldn't save her. “You need a team down here, it's a crime scene.”
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