Cassidy and the Princess

by Patricia Potter

  But he was aware of her gaze on him. He didn’t even have to look. He could feel its warmth. Manny—darn him—was silent.

  “The pictures on your fireplace…” she started tentatively.

  He had to turn toward her. It was only…courteous. He was afraid his voice would be rough, uncertain, so he raised an eyebrow in question.

  “You don’t have any children?”

  “No,” he said, hoping the answer might stop any other questions.

  “You’ve never been married?”

  It was a polite way of asking him if he was married now. But then, she probably could guess from the state of his house that there had been no woman’s touch.

  He could ignore the question. It was none of her business.

  But it was. That energy force that radiated between them made it so.

  “I’m divorced,” he said shortly. “My wife didn’t want to be left a widow with fatherless children.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Marriage and being a cop don’t go together,” he added.

  He heard a cough from the front seat.

  “Except for Manny,” he amended. “Janie’s unique.”

  “And I’m not a workaholic like you are,” Manny said. “I know when to go home.”

  “It’s a lie,” Cassidy said. “He’s a bonehead just like I am.”

  As he and Manny swapped insults, he tried not to look at her, at the fine features, the sparkling eyes, the determined set of her chin. Particularly the small smile.

  He steeled himself against them, all of them.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  Marise didn’t wait for either detective to help her out of the car. She didn’t dare touch MacKay again. And he would be the one offering a hand.

  She shouldn’t have asked those questions. She knew better. But with the intensity of the attraction between them, she’d felt compelled. And she wondered whether there was a woman in his life now.

  It seemed natural enough for someone that appealing. In a sexy, rough-hewn, cynical way.

  He was different from everything she knew. Except for the dedication. The dedication was familiar.

  Maybe that’s why she was so attracted to him.

  When Marise entered the kitchen, the two detectives she’d met earlier, Sam Preston and Dan Kelley, were drinking coffee at the table. They both rose.

  “Please sit,” she said.

  But they waited until MacKay and Manny entered.

  “Anything happen?” MacKay asked.

  “Not so much as a phone call,” the taller detective replied.

  She smiled. “Mr. Kelley, I hope you didn’t get too bored.”

  He looked surprised that she had remembered his name. And pleased. She’d always been good at names and faces. She wished she had seen more of the man who’d attacked her, because she never would have forgotten it.

  Sergeant Preston went over to a drip coffeepot. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “How did you get coffee?” Cassidy asked.

  “Your cupboard is as bare as any I’ve seen,” Preston said. “I asked my wife to bring some stuff over.” He hesitated. “Don’t worry. Robert checked the street before she knocked at the door, and I was careful to keep behind the door.”

  MacKay nodded. “You saved me a trip. I’m not used to company.”

  Marise heard the exchange and realized the men had worked together before. An instinctive knowledge existed between them, just like the instinctive knowledge that bound Paul and herself when they were on the ice.

  Why, she wondered, was that bond not there off the ice?

  Paul. She had to give him an answer soon. If she hadn’t known absolutely before that she couldn’t marry him, she knew it now. How could she even consider his proposal when she had such intense reactions to a man she barely knew? That wouldn’t happen if she loved Paul. It couldn’t.

  But she knew how much declining his proposal would hurt Paul. She’d seen it in his eyes when she’d put it off, and then when she’d asked him to leave Atlanta. How long could their partnership continue if some of the trust seeped away?

  They had been together so long.

  She took the cup of coffee that was pressed into her hands. “It’s black, Miss Merrick. If you want some milk or sugar…”

  “No, I like it black,” she said. “Thank you.”

  She sat down at the table, and both men sat down with her. MacKay went straight to a cordless phone, picked it up and wandered into the sunroom.

  Manny had taken a cup of coffee, too, and he joined her at the table.

  “Cass is probably checking in with the captain,” he said. “I’ll be leaving. Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll call my mother later. Let her know I’m safe.”

  “And you’ll stay that way. Cass is the best.”

  She wanted to ask him a dozen questions about his partner, but she couldn’t do it while the other two detectives sat at the table. One of them had said his wife brought over groceries. So that was another police marriage that apparently worked. Manny’s did. Why hadn’t Detective MacKay’s?

  Manny left, and she found herself talking with the other detectives, asking about their lives. One was married, the other was divorced. A casualty of being a police officer?

  “What does your wife do when you have assignments…like this?” She knew they would be staying in the house for two, three, four days.

  “She understands. She’s a flight attendant so she’s away as often as I am. It works well. Neither of us can complain.”

  “No children?”

  “I have one by a previous marriage,” he said. “He lives with his mother.”

  So it was another casualty.

  “Because you were a police officer?”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered what I did,” he said. “We were too young when we married. We both had a lot of growing up to do.”

  “Tell me about your son,” she said.

  He started talking, and she didn’t have to do or say anything more.

  Moira MacKay was a force unto herself.

  Cassidy knew the impact of her personality; he’d grown up with it. She instantly became the focus of everyone’s attention when she entered a room. She was redheaded, tall and really quite beautiful, even in her late fifties.

  His father had never had a chance.

  “Mother,” he acknowledged as she used her own key to enter the house. He’d known she could not stay away once she heard he was protecting Marise Merrick.

  His mother knew the name of everyone even remotely connected with show business. She’d been an actress in a road show of Showboat when she met his father in Memphis. He’d been invited to an opening night party by the business manager of the theater and he’d fallen immediately in love.

  Opposites attract. At least, that’s what his mother had said. She’d been taken by the quiet Scotsman who’d brought her flowers every night. He was fascinated by the flamboyant Irish actress. They’d married in haste, then had Cassidy and his sister. For the children’s sake, they’d stayed together until he was twelve, and his sister, ten. But it had been a battle royal almost every one of those years.

  It was a miracle that Cassidy had married at all. But he’d wanted children and a family, and he’d thought he could do it right.

  So much for good thoughts. And so much for opposites attracting.

  Moira MacKay breezed in now. Her arms full of groceries, she greeted the detectives in the room. “Good thing I brought a lot of food,” she said on the way to the kitchen.

  When she reached the sink, she started taking covered dishes from the bag. “Vegetable lasagna,” she said, looking pleased with herself. “And salad.”

  MacKay winced. She was a terrible cook. She tried, but she never could follow a recipe. She liked to improvise, and never to the benefit of the dish. That was why he always took her out to supper.

 
“You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble,” he said.

  “No trouble,” she said cheerily. “I’m just so pleased you have someone here.”

  “I’m protecting her,” he said. “Not dating her.”

  “Still, it’s nice to have a woman in this house, isn’t it?”

  He could only sigh. Her marriage was bad, his had been bad, and she was still determined to see him marry again.

  “Where is she?” his mother asked. “Is she nice?”

  “Yes. You’ll like her.”

  Then Marise came in. She was still wearing the pants and shirt she’d been wearing all day, but her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wasn’t wearing lipstick.

  “Hi,” she said to his mother. “You must be Mrs. MacKay.”

  His mother looked surprised, then…darn it…she beamed. Just as the other detectives had. There was something infectious about Marise. Infectious and unpretentious.

  He went to the cabinet and took down mismatched plates, while his mother stuck a casserole dish into the oven.

  He heard the two chatting behind him as if they were old friends.

  He saw the twinkle in his mother’s eyes.

  He hoped the killer would make a mistake. Soon.

  Before he did.

  Marise woke to an early morning sun flooding her room. For a moment she was disoriented. She’d slept deeply. And well. It took a moment for her to realize where she was and why.

  She should have been disconcerted. Afraid. Instead, she felt safe and hungry.

  The lasagna had been terrible: a preponderance of rosemary, undercooked vegetables and burned on the top. Still, she’d felt enveloped in a warm circle throughout the meal.

  She looked at the clock. Seven. She wanted to run. It had been—what?—four days since she last skated? Since she’d had any exercise? She wondered whether she could tempt someone into running with her. She knew MacKay wouldn’t let her go alone. Hopeful, she dressed in a blue track suit, ran a brush through her hair and tied it back with a ribbon, and went into the living room.

  The couch was a mess of blankets. The aroma of coffee drifted through the room.

  MacKay was in the kitchen with Sam Preston. Both were standing at the sink, drinking coffee. She reached for a cup and poured one herself before either could do it for her.

  Then she looked at MacKay. He was unshaven, and his cheeks were shadowed with overnight beard. His hair had obviously been combed by his fingers, and he was wearing the same shirt he’d worn last night.

  He didn’t look as if he’d had any sleep.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly.

  “’Morning,” he replied.

  “Can I go for a run?”

  He and Sam glanced at each other. She saw that same instant communication she’d sensed yesterday. MacKay’s first instinct obviously was to say no. She saw it in his eyes.

  The other detective shrugged.

  “Wait until I shave,” MacKay said. “I’ll go with you.”

  She nodded.

  “I went out and got some groceries last night,” he said as he headed for the hallway. “There’s juice in the fridge. And some fruit as well as cereal and doughnuts. Help yourself.”

  She poured herself a glass of juice and sat down at the table. Sam Preston did the same.

  “What time did he go out?”

  “Around one. There’s an all-night grocery a couple of blocks away. Otherwise, we would have had that god-awful lasagna for breakfast.”

  She chuckled at that. She’d watched both Sam and Dan try to choke down the dinner, while complimenting Moira MacKay.

  “How long have you been a detective?” she asked.

  “Five years. I’ve been with the P.D. twelve years. Before that, I was in the Army Military Police, just like Cass. We both made detective at the same time.”

  “Has he known Dan that long, too?”

  “They were partners before either made detective.”

  So that was why they didn’t need much conversation. To protect her, MacKay had selected people he’d known and trusted for a long time.

  “Do you think the…man who attacked me will really try to get to me again?”

  He put his cup down and looked at her steadily. “Cass does, and he has an instinct for this kind of thing. He usually gets the hardest cases. Partly because he’s a bulldog, partly because he listens better than anyone else. He seldom misses even the smallest detail. You’ll be safe with him.”

  “What if…the killer out-waits him?”

  It was the one thing that had been bothering her. MacKay had made it clear that there was a time limit on the intensive protection she had.

  “I don’t expect Cass to let that happen,” the detective said.

  She took another sip of coffee. “Are you really not leaving the house at all?”

  “That’s the plan. Cass will go to headquarters this morning, while we stay with you. If nothing happens in the next twenty-four hours, then you’ll go back to the hospital and look through more photos, dropping the hint that you are staying at his home. If anyone stakes out the house, they won’t know we’re with you.”

  She realized then why MacKay hadn’t protested the idea of running. He wanted her to be seen.

  Like that lamb tethered for the mountain lion.

  Well, she’d known that already. She’d agreed to it. Still, that sudden picture in her mind was disconcerting.

  You’re not a lamb. You’ve outfoxed this man twice already.

  Which meant he’d be doubly determined.

  She’d finished the coffee by the time MacKay returned. He was wearing sweatpants and a matching jacket that zipped up halfway. Under it he wore a blue T-shirt, and she saw part of a shoulder holster and the tip of a gun butt.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “I have to do a few stretching exercises first.”

  “Okay, then I want you to do exactly what I tell you. If I tell you to get down, get down, preferably behind something solid like a car. If I tell you to run, you run with everything you have back toward this house. Don’t worry about me.”

  “You don’t think…?”

  “I don’t think anything. Those are just the ground rules from now on.” His voice was curt. His eyes, while not hostile, had none of yesterday’s warmth, or heat or amusement.

  She was silent.

  “Understand?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you promise to follow them?”

  He wasn’t going to give her any slack. She wasn’t at all sure she could leave him if something happened to him, if he were shot or wounded. But she would face a broken promise then.

  “Yes,” she said.

  She started some stretching exercises, necessary to avoid injury to any of her muscles, especially after a few days without exercise. She was aware of him watching, and she kept them to a minimum. After five minutes, she headed for the door, MacKay behind her.

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “To the left. We’ll stay in the residential area. The street winds around and meets another. It’ll make a loop of about a mile, and we can do that as many times as you want.”

  She nodded.

  “You go slightly ahead of me.” He gave her the first smile of the morning. “You can set the pace.”

  There were no sidewalks, but neither was there much traffic. She started a slow jog down the right side of the street. Parts of her body still ached slightly from the falls, and she felt a little stiff. MacKay ran several feet behind.

  He had no trouble keeping up with her, and she knew he must run often. She picked up the pace.

  “Turn here.”

  She heard his voice behind her, and she turned onto another residential street. A car came down the street and she stepped on the curve, then she hopped down again, feeling his presence right behind.

  She increased her speed. She enjoyed feeling the muscles working again, the high that running, like skating, gave her. And it was a beaut
iful day. A soft breeze tossed red and golden leaves to the ground, and the smell of fall was in the air.

  She breathed it in, then turned again on command. The houses were a little larger than those two blocks away. A dog ran out, barking, but she didn’t stop, and the animal followed them for several seconds, then stopped and turned back.

  She heard MacKay tell her to turn left again and she increased her speed, throwing back her head in pure joy at the physical exertion. The familiar adrenaline filled her, as did the presence of MacKay so near.

  The noise of an engine suddenly filled the silence and a car came rushing at her. She felt her body being pushed with such force that she was thrown several feet away, over a curb onto the ground. Instinctively she rolled away, then felt a heavy body covering her, almost crushing her.

  The weight rolled off and she heard a loud noise. Close. So close she thought her eardrums would explode.

  She heard MacKay’s voice speaking rapidly into his radio. Then he knelt next to her, dropping the radio. His right hand held a revolver that had just been fired. “Missed,” he said bitterly. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said shakily. “What…?”

  “A car just tried to run us down. I got a shot off and I think I hit it, but…”

  She stared at him. Part of her hadn’t wanted to believe that her attacker could be stalking her. She knew it…but she hadn’t known it. Not really.

  Then she saw his arm was bleeding.

  He noticed her glance and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just scraped it on the pavement.” He stood and offered his hand to her, bringing her up. “We’d better get back to the house. I already phoned in a description of the car.”

  “They’ll catch him, then?”

  “He’s had time to get away, particularly if he takes these neighborhood roads. I didn’t even have a chance to get the license plate.” He muttered something under his breath.

  “No more runs?” she said.

  “No more runs,” he warned. “Let’s get back. Dale might have seen something.”

  “Dale?”

  “There’s a perch in a house overlooking mine. Dale’s one of two detectives keeping an eye on the house.”

  “The…whoever it was in the car—he was taking a chance, wasn’t he?” she said.