by Koontz, Rena
“Where are we going?”
He grinned. “You know, if I thought you had a sense of humor I’d say my place. But I don’t think you’d appreciate the joke.”
She sat up straight. “I have a sense of humor.” The retort sounded childish, even to her.
“Really? We’re going to my place.”
“That’s not funny.”
He threw his head back and laughed. The sound sent tingles through her. “That’s what I thought.”
• • •
Even as he teased Cassidy about taking her home a pulse in his chest quickened, embracing the idea. What the hell? One restraining order was enough. No need to set himself up for another emotional disaster. When it came to women, he overextended himself, giving and expecting too much. And then he got screwed. He wasn’t going to lose everything again because of an irrational woman. Cassidy certainly fit that description. And he had more to lose this time.
He needed to re-establish his distance, resurrect his impartiality. With most everybody, he’d mastered the technique.
He barely knew this woman, yet she had a baffling effect on him. He’d been unable to stop thinking about her and now, with her next to him on the seat and their destination The Chalets, he wished they were going back to his apartment. It had been quite some time since he’d wanted to bring a woman home. And this one wasn’t the least bit interested in him. Yet he couldn’t keep himself from stepping into her life.
She threw off vibes that said “don’t touch,” and even stronger signals that hinted she’d take off at the drop of a hat. She’d packed her duffel bag and it had practically emptied the apartment. Yet, she had nowhere to go. And he had no idea where she’d come from. Perhaps it was the mystery that intrigued him. Cop curiosity.
It didn’t explain the jolt he felt when she grabbed his arm. That was more chemistry than curiosity, and it charged every part of his body, including the manly one. Been a while since a woman had affected him like that, too.
“How long have you lived there?”
She clutched the clock protectively in her lap, keeping her focus on the windshield. “A little over a month.”
“Where were you before this?”
Her head jerked up and she stared at him. “I’m originally from O’Hara Township. It’s a suburb of Pittsburgh.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. A clever answer. Amber was right, she was evasive.
“Ah, I thought I detected a tinge of an accent. Are you a Steelers fan?”
She nodded.
“What brought you to Browns’ territory?”
“I, ah, I needed a change. Where are you taking me?”
Hmm, change of subject. She was good at this.
“My sister and I own some apartment units, called The Chalets. You can stay in one of the vacant ones tonight. Do you have to work tomorrow?”
“Yes. It’s my short day, ten to two. Where’s the closest bus stop?”
“I should be home by nine at the latest. I’ll run you in.”
“Please, Mr. Cestra. I can’t repay you for all of this. I still owe you fifty dollars for the furniture fiasco. I don’t need any favors and I don’t need your help.”
“Clay.”
“What?”
“Call me Clay. Mr. Cestra is my dad. He’s in Florida.”
• • •
They cruised into a parking lot and stopped in front of a ten-story brown brick building decorated with flowering balconies. In the rear, off to the right, an identical building flanked the first one, connected by what appeared to be a lighted park area and a pavilion, from what she could see.
Clay looked at his Kobold watch. “I’m running late. I’ll put you in one of the semi-furnished apartments for tonight.” He wrinkled his forehead. “I’m pretty sure the sofa is a pull-out. Tomorrow, we’ll talk to my sister and see about better accommodations.”
“I can’t stay here.”
He raised his voice. “Well, Miss Hoake, where would you like to go? You can’t stay at your apartment and you said yourself you have nowhere to go. Amber might take you in if you call her. Or you can sleep in my truck tonight. It will be parked outside a police station, so you’ll be safe. You decide. But make it fast. I’m trying to be a nice guy here and it’s going to make me late for work. Where would you like to go?”
Without waiting for an answer, he shoved open the driver’s door and exited the truck. He walked around the front, yanked open the passenger door, and extended his hand.
She hadn’t said a word.
“I thought so. C’mon. If it makes you happy, I’ll charge you rent.”
Avoiding his hand, she swung her legs from the cab and stepped down to the asphalt. This was a bad idea on so many levels, she told herself as she turned and reached for her clock. Her heart raced. Clay snatched her duffel bag from the truck and placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to a darkened sign that said Office.
“Wait here.” He fished a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Thirty seconds later he was at her side, a ring of keys jingling in his hand. “This way.”
Again, he directed her with his hand, moving her toward the rear building. His touch sent a thunderbolt through her body. Despite the cool evening temperature, she dabbed at tiny beads of sweat above her lip and yanked at the collar of her pullover, hoping for a quick shot of cool air. Maybe she had a fever.
They walked beside an in-ground swimming pool and passed several picnic tables. She saw a second pavilion and some freestanding charcoal grills. Giant urns of flowers bloomed everywhere, having survived the summer heat, and now thriving in September’s temperatures.
A couple sitting beside a fire pit that burned bright waved to Clay and he acknowledged them with a return gesture. “This is the common area for residents,” he said.
They arrived at the front door of the second building and he unlocked it, motioning for her to enter. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, he guided her to a door at the end of the hall. Unlocking it, he signaled with his hand for her to precede him inside.
She blinked when he switched on the ceiling light.
“It’s been closed up for a couple weeks,” Clay said, walking toward the sliding glass door. “Some fresh air will help. Remember, it’s just for tonight.”
She looked around as he slid the balcony door open. The apartment was sparsely furnished but nicer than the one she rented. A small oval table sat in front of a long floral sofa and an overstuffed chair. To her left, a three-person kitchenette set snuggled against the wall of a long rectangular kitchen.
Clay walked into the back room then returned. “I didn’t think there was a bed here. Sorry. The bedroom is unfurnished. I can pull out the sofa bed for you.”
She lifted her hand to stop him. “No. That’s all right. Thank you. Whose apartment is this?”
“It was the McElroys’, but they moved out. I want to repaint it before we lease it again.” He walked into the kitchen and she heard cabinet doors opening and closing.
“There are a few dishes and some utensils. But no food in the pantry. I’ll bring you coffee in the morning. I’m afraid this is the best I can do for now.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need a glass of water. Like you said, it’s just one night.”
He cocked his head to look at her. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you took off the minute I left.”
She gasped. She’d been thinking she should.
Clay cleared his throat. “I can’t make you stay. But I think you should. You can’t live out of that duffel bag forever.” He turned and walked to the door. “If you do take off, make sure you close the balcony door, and please lock this door behind you. I’m gonna be late. See ya.”
He closed the door behind him and she stood in the middle o
f the room, where she had stopped upon entering. A cool breeze wafted in from the balcony and somewhere, a horn honked. She wrapped herself in her arms and slowly made a three hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. This place wasn’t nearly as frightening as the dump she lived in now. In fact, it almost felt safe.
If she left now, she could jump on the bus and go … where? She had no idea. She couldn’t go home to Pittsburgh. Tony DelMorrie would surely have her brother’s neighborhood staked out by now. She was estranged from her brother anyhow. He’d disapproved of her relocating to Arizona, calling it a foolish whim, and they hadn’t spoken since. Likewise, her best friend had not heard from her since before the shooting and Cassidy didn’t dare call for fear Tony DelMorrie would somehow find out.
She couldn’t go back in the direction she’d come and risk running into him. North? South? Another bus ride to the unknown? Another disguise? Another job?
She sank to the floor and caught her head in her hands. Clay was right. She couldn’t run forever. At least here, she could save some money and take a break from running. Temporarily. As long as no one found out who she was and what she knew.
She crawled to the duffel bag beside the entrance and reached inside for her laptop. Her stomach sank as if she’d swallowed a stone when she couldn’t access the Internet. The Chalets must not have wireless capability. She snapped the computer lid closed. It was like hoping to win the lottery, wishing that the Arizona authorities would catch Tony DelMorrie. But those commercials always advertised that it only takes one ticket to win. Would it only take one slip-up to catch the man who was after her? Please God, let it be so.
Chapter Seven
He wondered how Cassidy had fared as he made his way to her unit the next morning carrying two cups of coffee. He knocked lightly.
“Cassidy?”
No answer.
Dammit. He knocked harder. “Cassidy? It’s Clay Cestra.”
He saw her distorted eyeball through the peephole then heard the chain lock slide and she opened the door, dressed in The Packing Place uniform.
With one eyebrow raised, he extended a cup toward her. He stepped forward, leaving her no choice but to step back and let him in. “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee. I have sugar and cream packets in my pocket.”
She looked at him wide eyed, like a frightened puppy.
Remembering his conversation with Maggie last night when he called to inform his sister of their new guest, he blurted out, “Did you have soap?”
“Excuse me?”
He walked to the coffee table and emptied his pockets to include two stirrers. “My sister read me the riot act for not making sure you had soap.”
“Oh. It’s okay. I used shampoo.”
She selected one sugar and one powdered creamer and dumped them in the steaming cup. “Thank you.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“So how come you didn’t run?”
She gasped and stared at him. Bingo. He’d hit a homerun with that one. The coffee cup jiggled in her hand.
“If you give me an answer, I promise not to ask any more questions, at least not this morning. What made you stay?”
She glanced down at the carpet, looked out toward the balcony, lowered her eyes to her feet then leveled her gaze on him. “I didn’t know where to go.”
He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly along with the tension that had knotted his neck muscles wondering most of the night if she would bolt. “Okay. That’s a start. C’mon, I’ll drive you to work.”
“What about my stuff?”
“You can leave it here.”
“But you can get in here while I’m gone.”
“So?”
She straightened her spine. “So, I don’t want you going through my things.”
He smiled. She really was smart.
“That’s pretty good. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of that.” He slid to attention, held up his hand like he did when he was a Boy Scout, and recited, slowly, “I promise not to come in here while you’re at work. Cross my heart,” he said, making the sign on his chest. “C’mon, we gotta go.”
Cassidy didn’t move. He opened the door, turned to her expectantly then shook his head. “You have to trust somebody, Cassidy. It might as well be me. If you don’t move your feet, you’re going to be late.”
Reluctantly, she walked out the door and he locked it behind them. They drove to The Packing Place in silence. “I’ll pick you up at two.”
She turned to him after jumping out of the truck. “I can take a bus.”
Clay swore under his breath, shifted into gear, and drove off.
• • •
Rosie stood at the front counter when she entered the store. “I thought you rode the bus.”
“Um, I do.”
Rosie’s eyebrows shot up. “Wasn’t that Amber’s boyfriend’s truck you just got out of?”
Cassidy’s heart jumped. “Who?”
“Amber’s boyfriend. That city policeman. He was in last week asking for her. He called her on his way out of the store. I’ve heard Amber talk about him, and some of the girls told me she brags about being in his backseat. He’s not even man enough to take her to a motel. If I were you, I wouldn’t get mixed up with him.”
She avoided looking at Rosie. “I’m not mixed up with him. I met him at the Greenbrier store. He’s in most mornings. He was riding by the bus stop when I got off and he picked me up.” Did that sound convincing? Rosie wasn’t listening anyway.
“Well, you might just want to walk next time. You don’t know what kind of man he is.”
Those words replayed in her mind the rest of the day. Rosie was right. She didn’t know what kind of man Clay Cestra was. What kind of man took in a total stranger? Offered to haul furniture for her? Chanced his own career so she could collect her meager belongings from a crime scene to sleep some place safe?
Indeed, she had felt safe last night. For the first time in months she’d fallen asleep on the couch and not awakened in the middle of the night perspiring. What kind of a man was Clay Cestra?
“You have to trust somebody, Cassidy. It might as well be me,” he’d said. But she didn’t know him. And something her mother taught her once always stayed with her: “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”
She knew her demon. He was wealthy, politically connected, a suspected mob guy, a killer. She knew who she was running from. She didn’t know Clay Cestra. If she trusted him, who was she running to?
Could she afford to trust him? Did she dare let her guard down, let someone get close to her? Would he be willing to help her? Could she hope for more? Would she want more?
Another unanswered question plagued her — was he involved with Amber?
Two months of solitude were taking their toll. She’d relied solely on herself for so long, she was confused by Clay extending a helping hand. Should she reach out and take it? Would she be putting him and Amber in danger, too?
Whatever his relationship with Amber, it didn’t seem wise for him to pick her up in front of the store for Rosie’s spying eyes to see. As soon as she found the chance, Cassidy dialed the Greenbrier store.
“Amber, I have a favor to ask, but I don’t have time now to explain why.”
Amber laughed. “If you want me to kill Rosie, I already know why.”
“Do you know how to reach Clay Cestra?”
Her question was met with silence.
“I can’t tell you why, but he planned to pick me up when my shift is over. Except, I don’t want him to and I especially don’t want Rosie to see. I need to get a message to him. I’ll take the bus. I don’t want him to come here this afternoon.”
“Well, chickie. I can probably get a message to him, but it’s going
to cost you.”
“Please, Amber. It’s important.”
“If you didn’t sound so serious, I’d make you tell me now. You work at Greenbrier next week and you are going to spill the beans about this. Deal?”
“I’m at Greenbrier next week with you?” At last, a bit of good news.
“Yeah. Didn’t you see the new schedule? You’re here all month. I gotta hang up, we’ve got customers lined up to the door. I’ll try to get a message to C.C.”
Maybe Rosie was right. If Amber knew how to reach Clay, conceivably they could be involved. That didn’t matter right now. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. She’d be working the whole month with Amber and not Rosie. Perhaps that explained Rosie’s acerbic mood.
With Rosie watching, she clocked out at two o’clock and headed toward the bus stop. Just one block from the store a horn blew and she spotted Clay’s emerald green truck parked at the curb. He leaned across the seat and pushed open the door.
“What are you doing here?” She hesitated then climbed into the truck.
“Your message said not to pick you up in front of the store. Did the old biddy give you grief this morning?”
“I didn’t … yes, she made some sour remarks.”
“I’ll bet. What’d you tell her?”
“I said I rode the bus and you picked me up from the stop. I don’t think she likes you.”
“She’s not the first. Did you eat lunch?”
Cassidy turned to him. She had ignored her growling stomach for the last two hours. A stale pack of peanut butter crackers she’d discovered on the shelf by the mini-fridge had not taken the edge off her lack of real food since yesterday. That is if you considered peanut butter and jelly an entrée that counted as real food.
“Um, I had something, yes.”
“That’s what I thought.” He flipped the turn signal on, cruised about fifty feet, and turned into a fast food parking lot. “Are you going to tell me what you’d like for lunch or shall I order for you?”