by Koontz, Rena
She recognized the officer who entered the room as the policeman who had stopped them the night they drove to her apartment to get her clothes, the night another dead body lay outside the Fortieth Street apartments. He must specialize in shootings.
He extended his hand. “Miss Hoake, I’m Pat Tatman. Thank you for coming in.”
She could hardly speak when she shook his hand. “I didn’t have much choice.”
He shot a quick glance to Clay in the corner, cleared his throat, and smiled. “Well, thanks anyway. What can you tell me about Amber Malone?”
• • •
Tony DelMorrie was a creature of habit and when that routine was interrupted, it ruined his entire day. That’s what happened this morning, when he carried the newspaper into the bathroom for his morning constitutional, settled down with the sports section, and caught the front page headline out of the corner of his eye: “Murder Could Be Mistaken Identity.” What the fuck?
Amber’s smiling face stared back at him from the page. He didn’t know her, but that colored streak in her hair rattled him. Dropping the sports section he snatched the front page off the tile floor and read the article beneath the photo. The story hinted that the shooting was an orchestrated killing gone awry and that the dead woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The story did not identify who the actual apartment tenant and intended target might be, but he was no dummy. She would have had to show ID to rent the place, so the cops knew whose name was on that lease. Hell, they probably knew where Cassidy Hoake was this exact minute. Maybe they even had her in custody to keep her safe.
Zipping his pants, he cursed. He had hoped to get in and out of here under the radar of the Tanzini family. This was their turf and he was here without their knowledge or permission. That was mistake number one. Even in the underworld, there was a code to follow. You didn’t go trampin’ onto someone else’s turf without askin’.
Rule number two was no hits without consent. This would not sit well with the boss, Johnny Tanzini.
He cancelled the manicure and massage he scheduled today. Damn, that was his reward to himself for writing the final chapter on Jill Diamond’s accident. He’d been looking forward to some pampering before making his way back home. But the news article made it clear his business wasn’t finished. This was twice now he tried to do away with that bitch. He wasn’t screwing around anymore. The third time would be the charm.
Chapter Sixteen
Pat Tatman wrapped up his interview by asking Cassidy not to leave town and for her contact information, including an address where he could reach her. She stuttered, glanced at Clay, and then shrugged. “I, um, was staying with a friend, but I’m not sure that is where I will be now.”
“I’ll give her a place to stay at The Chalets, Pat. You can list my address and let me know when you need her again.”
“Thanks, Clay. Miss Hoake, it was a pleasure and again, I’m sorry about your friend,” he said, standing with his hand outstretched. Cassidy rose as well and reciprocated. Pat strolled out of the interview room, leaving the door open. Cassidy rubbed a spot on the table, refusing to look at Clay.
He wanted to throttle her. The old Clay, the one with anger issues, would have slammed the door shut and ripped her a new one for being so stupid. The safest place she could be was with him. She obviously didn’t see that as an option, so all her words, their lovemaking, their talk of a future together, meant nothing to her. He was a fool to trust her, to let her into his heart. Well, hurt me once, shame on you; hurt me twice, no way José. “Let’s go.”
He strode past her to the door and waited, turning when he didn’t hear her behind him. Seeing her with her head hung, trying to hide the wet rows on her cheeks jerked his heart. He couldn’t let her tears affect him, he wouldn’t be swayed by them. She was the devil in an angel’s body but evil none the less.
“C’mon, Miss Hoake.” Keep it formal, stay focused. She took off. She didn’t trust you.
Cassidy retrieved her duffel bag from beneath the table and came up to his side, sniffling. “What now?”
He placed his hand between her shoulder blades to direct her out of the room and down the hall toward the exit, ignoring the tingling in his fingers and the urge to pull her into his embrace and squeeze. Cassidy closed that door last night when she ran.
“I’ve been up all night. I’d like to get some sleep before I come back out on my next shift.” He flashed back to the last time he pulled an all-nighter and then rushed home to make love to Cassidy and fall asleep in her arms. Damn.
“What about The Packing Place? I have a job there,” she said, staring at the pavement as they walked toward his truck.
“You can’t go back there. When they found out about Amber this morning they assumed you were with her and that you ran. I didn’t tell them differently.”
She waited until he turned the key in the ignition to ask. “Where are we going?”
Time to lay it on the line one last time. “We’re going back to my place, Miss Hoake. I’m not going to chase you again. So, when I fall asleep, if you run, you’ll be running for your life. All I can say is good luck.”
“I won’t run again. We both know what happened to Amber, even if neither one of us is telling Officer Tatman the whole story. My plan was to get back to Arizona. You’ve convinced me that’s the right thing to do. I care about you and I don’t want you to get hurt. If Tony DelMorrie is that close, he’ll follow me and leave you and Maggie alone. I didn’t run out on you, Clay, I ran to protect you. I won’t leave again, I promise.”
Countless emotions clogged his throat, checking his angry retort. But that didn’t quash the hurt. “You make empty promises, Miss Hoake.”
Backing his truck out of the parking space, he headed home.
• • •
Curled in a ball on the sofa with the television volume barely audible so as not to disturb Clay, she berated herself. Running away from him was a dumb thing to do. Too bad she didn’t realize that before she ruined everything with Clay. He was a protector by nature, as well as professionally. For her to disregard his protection had been a slap in the face. And that didn’t even take into account the feelings he professed, a deeper connection she’d tossed aside like a wet sock. Well, it was broken now, probably beyond repair.
She drifted off, once again sensing that here, with that man in close proximity, she was safe. She roused when she heard Clay banging around in the kitchen.
“Did you eat something?” he grumbled without looking up.
At least he was talking to her. She shook her head as she watched him crack eggs into a pan, add seasonings, and slide four pieces of toast into their slots. “Can I help?”
Without a word he turned, yanked on a cabinet door to open it, and pulled open a drawer. She took the hint and removed plates and two silverware sets and arranged them on the dining room table. She added two cups with saucers, retrieved the salt and pepper from a spice rack in the corner, and tore two paper towels from the holder, folding them to serve as napkins. She sat at the table with her back to the kitchen and waited. Maybe it was better if they didn’t talk.
Clay dished up scrambled eggs and toast with jelly for them, sat to her right and picked up his fork.
“I’m sorry, Clay. I wish you would yell at me or something, anything except ignore me.”
He never looked up from his plate. “It’s better if we don’t talk, Miss Hoake.” He balled up the paper towel and dropped it onto his empty plate. “I have to go out. Please clean up the mess I made, I don’t have time.” He pointed his index finger at her face. “And don’t leave this apartment.”
Minutes later, he was gone. Dutifully, she cleaned the kitchen then showered. With nothing else to do, she curled into the corner of the couch again and watched mindless television until a knock on the door interrupted.
Magg
ie rushed in with Jack asleep on her shoulder and offered a one-armed hug, which Cassidy gratefully accepted. Maggie was the only person showing her any warmth, something she desperately needed at the moment. She felt as isolated as she had sitting alone in the bus station.
“Clay will kill me if he knows I’m here, but I had to see for myself that you are okay,” she whispered, ignoring the tears that rimmed Cassidy’s eyes. “I can’t stay. He is just running a couple of errands.” She closed the door but didn’t advance further into the apartment. “Where did you run to?”
Cassidy hung her head. “The bus station.”
“Oh, Cassidy, you poor thing. I understand you were probably scared beyond belief, but that was a dumb move. Honey, you have to let us help you. You have to trust us. I know it’s been a while since you put your faith in someone, but it’s time now. Clay is one of the best. You need to believe that and let him get you through this.”
She looked around cautiously, even though they were alone in the apartment.
“They are going to relocate you soon, so I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Please be careful and take care of yourself. Everything will work out, I know it.” Cassidy shook her head as if it would clear her brain to process Maggie’s words. She raised her hand.
“Wait, Maggie. What are you talking about? Who is going to move me?”
Maggie knitted her brows and stared at her as if she had two heads. “The police.”
“Move me where?”
“I don’t know where. That’s the point of police protection. Didn’t Clay explain all this?”
A quivering smile creased her lips. “Clay is barely speaking to me.”
Maggie nodded. “He gets like that when he’s mad, all brooding and introverted. He’ll sulk for a while, but don’t worry, he’ll come around. I just wanted to give you a quick hug and wish you luck. I gotta run.” She offered a second hug and was out the door.
So much for providing safe haven. Clay was pawning her off on some protection unit, leaving her safety to strangers. She had briefly entertained the idea that returning to his apartment together was an indication that he still cared. Now she knew. This was just a stop along the way.
She heaved a despondent sigh and curled into her spot on the couch. At least when they took her somewhere else, he would be out of harm’s way. It was probably a good plan.
• • •
“Yeah, it’s Mittens. I’m reportin’ in.” He’d called Lauren twice already, both times with no news. Her idea to stake out the apartment was wasting his time. “Nah, I haven’t seen her. She ain’t been nowhere near her place and she didn’t show up for work today. I was in there, talked to the manager myself. If they know where she is, they ain’t sayin’. Lot of cryin’ goin’ on in there. One of their coworkers croaked. I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”
Why the hell would Lauren care what happened to one of Cassidy’s co-workers? She needed to keep her eye on the ball if she wanted to play in the big leagues.
“I got eyes on the place anyway. But I think this is a dead end. I’m gonna relocate and find your ex.” She didn’t like that idea. “I think he is a key to finding her, that’s why. If he was tappin’ that, he’ll still be sniffin’ after her.” Her tirade on the other end of the phone made him smile. That remark hit a jealous chord.
“Take it easy, will ya? I’m the professional here, let me handle it. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Seventeen
Clay eyed the prior night’s drunken driving samples nestled in the front seat console. He hadn’t wanted to take it to The Packing Place with Cassidy in the truck and, knowing he had errands to do today, he waited until now to ship them.
An enlarged picture of Amber hung on the rear wall behind the counter with a sign that read: We’ll Miss You. It appeared the employees had signed it and written personal notes. Amber would have appreciated the irony, since most of them gossiped about her behind her back. Rosie stood at the counter clutching a ball of tissue in her right hand.
“How are you?” he asked, wondering if the tears were feigned. She probably doused the tissue with onion juice so it would look like she was upset. It was a trick Amber said she once used for a dead uncle she claimed abused her.
Rosie choked back a sob. “This is such a hard day for us. Amber was such an asset to this store.”
He dipped his head, suppressing a gag, and nodded, snatching a pen from the cup holder to complete his shipping form.
“I know you and Amber were quite close. I’m sorry for your loss,” Rosie added. He remembered Cassidy’s story and concealed his smile, instead asking, “Have you heard from Cassidy?”
What made him ask that, he wasn’t sure — that cop’s instinct, maybe, but her answer catapulted those instincts to high alert.
“No and you’re the third person to ask. I didn’t realize she was so popular. Some man was in here this morning as soon as we opened. He was a big man, said he was a relative and he was trying to locate her.”
“What did you tell him?”
It was apparent the question was an affront to her integrity. She straightened her spine and all sense of grief disappeared. “Sir, I am not at liberty to divulge personal information and I didn’t in this case either.” She pointed her nose to the ceiling and crossed her arms at her chest. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
“What exactly did he want to know? I’m asking as a cop investigating Amber’s murder and Cassidy’s involvement, Rosie.”
“He said he knew about the shooting at her apartment and that he thought Cassidy was in trouble and he was trying to find her to help. He asked where Cassidy was staying and when I said I didn’t have that information, he wanted to know what time she was scheduled to work again. I told him I wasn’t sure because we are reworking the schedules for the funeral.”
“Is that true?”
This might have been the first time he’d ever seen her smile. “No. We’re going to close the stores for the funeral. But I didn’t like the way he asked his questions. He made me,” she rubbed her arms, “squeamish.”
“Did you tell him anything else?”
Her glare answered the query.
“Did he say if he would be back or leave a number to call if she came in?”
“No. He just looked around, went to the end of the counter to peer into the backroom, as if I was lying, and then left.”
“You said I was the third. Who else made inquiry?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before. He was a little man with dark hair. He just asked if Cassidy was here and if I knew when she would be in. When I said no, he left. He had a bouncy step, like he was walking on the balls of his feet.”
Clay wrote on the back of his business card and handed it to her. “If either of them comes back, especially the big one, will you call me immediately? My cell number is on the back. Do it discreetly, but do it while he’s here if possible.”
Taking the card, she nodded. He slid the signed shipping receipt across the counter and turned to go.
“Tell Cassidy I hope she is okay.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled. “Thank you, Rosie. You’re not so bad after all.”
• • •
There was no use unpacking if she was going to be moving again. Cassidy emptied the coin bags back into the gallon jug and returned the remaining petty cash to the box. She wondered if she could get a refund for the unused bus ticket and restore the rest of Clay’s cache. A tiny voice hoped he hadn’t noticed she stole it, maybe hadn’t realized how low she’d stooped. But he was a cop and he was trained to notice those things, so it was doubtful.
Fighting desolation, she wandered to the sliding glass door, glancing longingly at Maggie’s windows. Now, more than ever, she needed a “girl” friend, someone who would simply listen without judging
to her reasons for disappearing, perhaps challenge her rationale without arguing, and, at the same time, understand her logic. If nothing else, offer a hug. As if in response to her wish, her mother’s clock chimed, bringing a sad smile to her face. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I hope you’re watching over me, Mom, because I sure need some help.”
As she opened her eyes and resolved to take whatever cards were dealt to her, a movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she glanced far to the right at the back entrance of the building. Casually leaning against the wall beside the door smoking a cigarette was the man from the bus station. She recognized the black leather jacket and the ever-present cell phone in his hand.
Jesus, he’d followed her. But how could that be? She’d been a couple hours at the police station before coming here with Clay. Surely, he hadn’t waited all that time. Was he one of DelMorrie’s men? That was doubtful because she remembered numerous derogatory quotes DelMorrie made in various news articles about people outside his family. He didn’t differentiate between sex, race, or religion. He despised everyone.
When Clay’s truck cruised into the parking lot, the black man walked casually to a car, tossing his cigarette in the hedges. He waited for Clay to cross in front of him then drove away.
Clay didn’t seem to notice him. She barely gave him time to get inside the apartment when she asked. “Clay, did you see that black man in the car?”
“What black man?” He didn’t even look at her. Apparently, the time away hadn’t made him more communicative.
“He was in the car you just walked in front of. Is he a tenant here?”
“I didn’t notice. We have people of all colors in The Chalets, Cassidy. What kind of official ID do you have?”