Cassidy and the Princess

by Patricia Potter

  His lips curled into a frown. “Yes. He must be panicking. I didn’t think he would act this quickly. Otherwise, I would never have agreed to the run.”

  “You succeeded beyond your wildest dreams,” she said wryly. “But how could he have found us so fast?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out. He might have been just casing the house, then saw you running. Now…he will be more cautious. I doubt he’ll believe I would leave you alone in the house. Not after this.”

  They were walking on the grass. She had to nearly run to keep up with him. They were nearing his house when a police car squealed to a stop beside them. It couldn’t have been more than four minutes since the attack.

  MacKay went over to the car. “See anything?’

  The officer shook his head. “Got the call just a few minutes ago. There’s a BOLO on a dark, late-model sedan.”

  “Damn,” MacKay said. “There are a dozen ways in and out of this area, and there’s darn little to go on.”

  “You all right, Detective?”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure a round hit the car. There should be a bullet hole someplace.”

  The patrolman nodded and drove off.

  “Let’s get inside,” he said.

  “Bolo?” she asked.

  “Be On the LookOut for,” he explained.

  He looked down at her hands and clearly saw that they were shaking. She willed them to remain steady. If he’d not been so quick in pushing her out of the way of the car, she might well be lying in the street.

  His hand clasped hers and he pulled her toward the house.

  The two detectives were just inside, waiting.

  “We heard on the radio,” Sam said anxiously. “I wasn’t sure whether we should come after you.”

  “You were right to stay here. There was nothing you could have done.” He paused, and when he looked back at her, his face was creased with remorse. “I didn’t think he would act this quickly,” MacKay said. “I miscalculated.”

  From the expression on his face, Marise didn’t think he did that often.

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Except you were almost killed. And now he knows we will be careful, and that will make him even more so.”

  “Maybe I should leave Atlanta,” she ventured.

  MacKay frowned. “I don’t think that’s wise now. He obviously thinks you know something. He could follow you. Your…schedule is well publicized.”

  She stared at one then the other. She saw it in each of their faces: she was damned if she did, and damned if she didn’t.

  Chapter 7

  Cassidy had never felt the kind of fear he experienced that morning. He’d heard the car, knew that it was going too fast and instinctively threw himself at Marise, pushing her out of the way. He’d barely made it in time.

  He’d half expected gunshots. But the driver seemed anxious to get away. As if he knew there might be other officers around. Cassidy didn’t get his license plate number, but he would bet his last dollar that it had been stolen.

  There were only two ways the perp could have found them. A leak inside the police department. Or someone at the hospital dropping his name.

  The possibilities were narrowing. He would have people checking the time cards at both places to see who was off duty when the attacks occurred.

  The thought that it might be a police officer made him sick.

  A police officer would know how to change plates, how to steal a car or even use one that had been impounded. He would know how to evade roadblocks. He would have a radio to monitor police calls.

  A police officer would have access to all the information needed to follow her to another city.

  Cassidy had made a holy mess of things.

  “Let me look at that.” Marise was standing next to him, worriedly examining the blood on his jacket.

  He glanced down. The cloth had ripped as he’d rolled over on her, his arm hitting the cement of a driveway.

  He took off the shirt. A large patch of skin had been scraped from his arm, but he knew instantly that it looked a lot worse than it actually was. Still, her fingers were gentle as they touched the wound.

  “There’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom across from my bedroom.”

  “I’ll get it,” Sam said. “You sit down.”

  He did. He would be answering a hundred questions in the next few hours. His captain would want to know why the hell he was out jogging with someone under his care. He didn’t know himself.

  Yes, he did. He’d looked into the blue eyes and couldn’t say no. He’d wanted a little time with her alone. He’d let his emotions outweigh his professional judgment. He needed to get off the case.

  Sam came back with the kit and handed it to her. She opened it and looked over the contents with something like an expert eye. She must be familiar with every item in that box; heck, she’d probably had more bruises and cuts and strained muscles than he’d ever experienced.

  She cleaned the wound, then painted it with an antiseptic and bandaged it. It was a great deal more pleasant than when he performed those chores.

  “Thank you,” she said as she finished. “If you hadn’t pushed me…”

  “If I hadn’t let you go in the first place, you never would have been in danger.”

  “You wanted to flush him out,” she said.

  “I meant to have more people around you when we made a move.”

  The doorbell rang. Sam answered it and returned with an older man in plainclothes and a uniformed officer. The older man’s expression changed when he saw the bandage. “They didn’t tell me you were hurt.”

  “It’s nothing,” Cassidy said. “Miss Merrick, this is Captain Haynes. Captain, Marise Merrick.”

  “Miss Merrick,” Haynes said. “I’m sorry about what happened. I thought you were well protected.”

  “I was,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for Detective MacKay, I would probably be dead.”

  “The idea was to draw him to the house,” Haynes said.

  “It was my fault,” Marise said. “I insisted.”

  Haynes turned back to Cassidy. “Tell me everything that happened.”

  MacKay related the events of the morning. That he had thought going out this morning was safe enough. He described the car, what little he’d seen. “I think we might have baited the trap too well,” he concluded.

  “Will you excuse us, Miss Merrick?” the captain asked.

  “No,” she replied. “This is about me, and I think I should be present.”

  He fixed her with a stare that usually shriveled men two or three times her size. She didn’t flinch.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he finally said.

  “I have confidence in Detective MacKay. He just saved my life.”

  “You shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. We set guidelines.”

  “You didn’t consult me about them,” she retorted.

  “MacKay should have explained them.”

  MacKay knew he was in trouble. The captain had never been that enthusiastic about the plan. Apparently the recent episode only deepened the man’s apprehension. He didn’t blame the captain this time. He’d messed it up because he’d lost objectivity.

  “Perhaps you should assign someone else to the job,” Cassidy said.

  Haynes’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Marise, then back to Cassidy.

  “You can’t leave her unprotected,” MacKay said. “We know he won’t stop now.”

  “If we said Miss Merrick never really saw anything, and she left town.”

  “He wouldn’t believe it,” Cassidy said. “Not now.”

  “Then, who would you suggest take over?”

  “Don’t I have anything to say about this?” Marise’s voice was sharp. All faces turned toward her. “I trust Detective MacKay and the other detectives.”

  Haynes looked pained. Cassidy knew exactly how he felt. If it went wrong, the captain’s neck would be on the block. He studi
ed her for a long time, then glanced at MacKay.

  “MacKay?” he asked.

  Cassidy knew he should withdraw. He was becoming emotionally involved. And yet Marise looked at him as if he was the only one that could make the nightmare go away.

  “I would like to stay on,” he said.

  Haynes hesitated, then obviously surrendered. “Do you need more people?”

  “No.”

  “You’ll let me know if you do?”

  Cassidy nodded.

  “No more chances?”

  “There will always be at least two of us with her.”

  “No jogging!” Haynes ordered.

  “No,” Cassidy replied.

  “All right. You have five days. You can have all the manpower you need.” He appeared to want to say something more, but didn’t. Cassidy, though, knew exactly what he wanted to say.

  If anything happened to Marise Merrick, Cassidy’s career was over.

  But a lot more than his career would be over, he knew. He would never be able to live with himself again.

  Marise called her mother. The last thing she wanted was for her mother or Paul to hear about her on the news.

  Captain Haynes said he would try to keep this morning’s attack out of the newspaper. It all depended on whether or not reporters had heard the radio call. If not, the report could be buried for a few days.

  The hotel operator answered, and she gave him her mother’s name. Marise uttered a small prayer that she would be there. She wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if Cara Merrick had flown back to Atlanta.

  But instead, she heard her mother’s businesslike tone. “Cara Merrick.”

  “Mother,” Marise said. “I just wanted to let you know I’m fine.”

  “When will you be here?” The voice was matter-of-fact.

  “Several more days.”

  “They haven’t caught that…killer?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “I want you with me.”

  “You can’t protect me, Mother.”

  Silence. Then, she said, “Paul misses you.”

  “I miss both of you,” Marise responded.

  “You need this practice.”

  “I know. I’ll be there as soon as it’s safe. I promise.”

  “Paul will want to talk to you.”

  “I’ll call again,” she promised, “or he can call me here.” She gave her mother MacKay’s number.

  “Is that…the detective’s house?”

  “Yes, but there are lot of chaperones,” Marise said, trying to keep the amusement from her voice. If only her mother knew how many. “I’m really very safe.” She hoped that her mother didn’t learn what had happened this morning—she would probably be on the plane back to Atlanta.

  After hanging up, Marise walked into the sunroom. The backyard was neat but bare of flowers. In her mind, she planted a garden. She’d always wanted a garden.

  Then she became aware of MacKay’s presence. It was the faint wisp of aftershave. At least, she told herself that. She didn’t want to think that she was so tuned to him that she simply knew when he was nearby.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, as she turned around. “That was too close this morning.”

  His hair was combed, and he wore jeans and a dark blue sweater that emphasized the ruggedness of his features.

  “That’s what we wanted, isn’t it?” she asked. “Now we know he probably won’t stop.”

  “It was a mistake,” he said. “This whole thing was a mistake. We should have announced in the beginning that you didn’t see anything. We should never have tied him to the Rose Killer.” He hesitated, then added, “I wanted him badly, but I should never have used you as bait.”

  “Could you have guaranteed he wouldn’t have come after me, anyway?” she said. “And do you think I could live with the knowledge that I might have helped prevent other women from being killed, and didn’t?”

  His gaze met hers, and the hard look in his eyes softened. “Nothing scares you, does it.”

  “A lot of things scare me,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Failure, I suppose,” she said. “That’s been drummed into me since I was six.”

  “By your mother?”

  She heard the shadow of disapproval in his voice. She realized he probably didn’t understand why her mother was her business manager, why Cara Merrick appeared to control her life.

  How could she explain the guilt she’d known all her life? The debt that she’d been trying to repay?

  How could someone like him understand?

  So she turned back to the yard. “You’ve never planted a garden?”

  “I have a black thumb,” he said. Wry amusement crept into his voice.

  “What do you do for fun? When you aren’t detecting or remodeling your house?”

  “I’m rebuilding a sailboat,” he said. “It’s at my brother-in-law’s lake cabin north of here.”

  “You’re a sailor?” she said with delight. Sailing was something she’d always wanted to do.

  “A weekend one,” he said. “At least, I will be, when I get The Lorelei finished. At my current speed, it will take about five more years.”

  “An architect, a shipbuilder, a detective. Any other talents?” She tried to keep her voice light.

  As he stepped near her, the now-familiar attraction kicked in. The problem was, it wasn’t just an attraction. It was a full-fledged hurricane. If she didn’t hear voices in the other room, she knew, she would be stepping closer to him.

  “Calling me any of those would be a vast exaggeration,” he said. “I tinker. Nothing more.”

  He was a great deal more. And she didn’t have to step closer. She already felt the force of the magnetism between them. Why could that not happen with Paul?

  Why was it happening now?

  Paul was familiar. They had the same interests. Their lives revolved around the same goals, at least until recently. She trusted him completely when they were on the ice.

  But he didn’t make her heart beat harder, or her blood grow warm and languorous, or cause every nerve to tingle whenever she saw him. Nor did she get a catch in her throat when she heard him speak. Not the way she did when she heard MacKay’s rumbling southern drawl.

  He was watching her with an intensity that seared her.

  How many minutes had gone by as they stood there? Or was it only seconds?

  He hadn’t answered her question. Instead, his brow had furrowed and his mouth had tightened in a grim line.

  She couldn’t help it. She reached up and put a finger at the edge of his mouth, trying to erase the frown. A groan escaped his lips, and he touched her face with his fingers. The air became even denser. She was faintly aware that the other detectives were in the next room, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except prolonging the physical and mental intimacy that was so strong between them.

  He leaned down. His lips touched hers. Lightly. But she knew—

  The phone rang. A voice came from the other room. “Cass?” It was enough to break the magic. MacKay straightened and strode to the door.

  Without looking back, he disappeared, and she leaned against the wall, her legs suddenly weak. What was she doing?

  Their lives didn’t go together. They never would.

  She wondered if the price for her physical safety was going to be far steeper than she’d ever thought.

  They had been lucky, the voice on the other end of the line told Cassidy.

  On his suggestion, the department had sent officers out to the nearby rapid transit station lot to look for a black or dark green sedan with a bullet hole. It was a long shot, but an officer had found one, and now several more officers had been dispatched to interview everyone who appeared to claim nearby vehicles.

  It would be like hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack. The killer wouldn’t have stolen a car in view of witnesses. But maybe someone had seen him drive in.

  They needed a witness
. Badly.

  MacKay had no intention of returning to the sunroom. Or of being alone with Marise Merrick again. He never should have stopped there minutes ago, but she had looked so wistful as she stared out into his yard.

  He’d not seen anything there to make her wistful. But then, he reminded himself that he still knew little about her.

  Except for the fact that she made his pulse race, and that every ounce of discipline and common sense left him when he was in her presence.

  She appeared at the door, and Sam joined them.

  “I think they found the car. They want me to go over and identify it.”

  Marise’s eyes widened. “Where was it?”

  “A MARTA parking lot.” He paused, then explained, “Our rapid transit.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “It made sense if he was stealing a car. The owner probably wouldn’t be back ’til late in the day. He could return it and no one would be the wiser.”

  “Then how…?”

  “The bullet hole.”

  “So we have a car thief as well as a killer,” Sam said.

  “Our guy is multitalented. That’s been clear from the beginning.”

  He saw Marise bite her lip. He wanted to touch her again, but he’d just learned he couldn’t touch—or comfort—“a little.” The…appeal between them was too strong.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “You stay here with Sam and Dan. I’ll check the car.”

  He saw the protest in her face but he shook his head. “We have lots of people on this,” he said. “We have teams at the hospital and at the police department. We’re running the names of every employee through our computer system. We’re eliminating those who were on duty this morning—that narrows the search a little bit.

  “But there must be so many.”

  “The first search is pretty general. We’re looking for any criminal record, or any missing time in résumés. Then we’ll start narrowing it down.”

  She looked doubtful, as well she should. They had thousands of names. Doing a detailed search would take weeks, not days. She must know that.

  It was possible that the killer wouldn’t attack again. Yet MacKay’s instincts said the guy would. He’d read enough serial killer profiles to know that they were usually loners who thought they were far smarter than any mere police officer. Murder was a chess game to them, a competition with lower beings.