“You called? When?”
Sarah put her hands on her hips and glared at me. “I’ve left three messages over the past two days. Haven’t you checked your voice mail?”
I walked over to the kitchen table where I’d tossed my cell phone and checked the display. The message icon was lit, which I hadn’t even noticed when I’d made my calls. After pressing the voice-mail button, I heard the robotic voice inform me I had three new messages. Sure enough, Sarah’s voice came through the speaker. Crap. I’d been too preoccupied with my travels and too reliant on my laptop to check. Until I’d contacted the realtors, I hadn’t expected any calls. Thankfully, from the standpoint of not having dropped the ball on my investigation, the only new ones were those Sarah had mentioned. Yet all of them sounded similar to what she’d just told me in person, and I felt like a heel. She really had been worried.
I set the phone down and faced Sarah, who stood in the adjacent living room with her arms crossed, exuding irritation. I didn’t have a good excuse and was upset with myself for potentially having delayed progress on the case due to my cell-phone snafu.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your messages until now. It was very thoughtful of you to stop by to check on me.” I continued my robotic responses and walked past her before stopping in the foyer. “As soon as things get settled for me, I’ll call you,” I said, not making eye contact. The only way I could have been more rude was if I’d tugged open the door and held it. She didn’t deserve any of it, but I was in a jam. I couldn’t tell her why I’d made my hasty exit from the Foundation because I couldn’t expose my investigation. And I couldn’t make many excuses because I didn’t want to lie to her. Being rude was somehow more forgivable than being dishonest, especially knowing how much it upset me when she told me she didn’t trust me. Not that I’d get a chance to ask for forgiveness after tossing her out on her ass.
“I’m going to ignore that big brush-off, thank you very much,” Sarah said. Through the corner of my eye, I saw her edge closer. Then her fingers lightly cupped my chin and tugged, gently forcing me to look at her. When I brought my eyes to hers, the full force of her light-blue eyes bore into me. “Tell me what’s going on,” she said in a soft tone that belied the command.
Though I had to face her because she was physically forcing me to, my eyes drifted down, away from her. I couldn’t speak. I shook my head as much as her grasp allowed.
“Look at me,” Sarah said.
I did.
“Tell me.”
“It…I…” I blinked. Sarah’s gaze penetrated me. I felt certain she could read my thoughts. It was ridiculous yet unsettling at the same time. I cleared my throat and flicked my eyes away again. “It doesn’t…” I couldn’t say it didn’t concern her. “I can’t…It’s something I have to handle on my own.” Time ticked by in silence. Finally, she released me and I slid my eyes back to hers. Her level gaze said she was expecting more. “Can you please leave it alone?” I said hoarsely.
The ringing of my cell phone interrupted my discomfort.
“Excuse me.” I headed to the kitchen counter and grabbed my phone. “Hello?” I listened to a woman’s voice wishing to confirm she’d reached Cassidy Warner. “Yes, this is Cassidy,” I said as Sarah walked to my laptop and glanced at the open browser page. After the caller identified herself as one of the realtors who’d acted on behalf of the Foundation, I asked whether she could describe the seller. She described Greg Morrison perfectly. Sarah could hear my end of the conversation, but I couldn’t do much about it. “Do you think you’d be able to recognize him if you saw a picture of him?”
The realtor thought it likely she could but, before doing so, requested further information from me as to the reasons for my inquiry and my role in it.
“I’m afraid I can’t go into it at the moment, but you’ll have all the information you’ll need by the time you see the photograph,” I said. I confirmed the realtor’s e-mail address and told her I’d be in touch shortly. I clicked off the phone and looked at Sarah, whose mood had further soured.
She crossed her arms and briefly pointed to my screen. “Mind telling me why you’re searching for information on Greg?”
“Do you have any good photos of him? The few I’ve found online are blurry at best.”
“I have some at home.” Sarah’s tone was cool, her stance unchanged.
“Do you have a scanner there? And high-speed Internet?”
“Yes and yes. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
I ignored her question. “I’ll follow you in my car.” I grabbed my laptop and slid it into my messenger bag along with my cell phone. “Let’s go.”
Sarah gave me the evil eye before acceding to my wishes and walking out my door in front of me. I could handle her ire. But I could never forgive myself if something happened to her. The homicide investigation and the pace at which it proceeded were outside of my control. My investigation, however, was very much within it, and I was rapidly closing in on my target. With a little more evidence, I could give Ashby enough to take Morrison into custody without us having to await the outcome of the Perkins case. Above all else, even if it meant Sarah might never forgive my deception in the form of my cover, I needed to nail Morrison and keep him away from her.
Chapter Nineteen
As soon as we arrived at Sarah’s house, we doffed our footwear and took the steps two at a time up to her office. While Sarah searched boxes of photographs for a quality picture of Morrison, I drafted an e-mail to the real-estate agent that included a copy of my credentials. I informed her I was working on an investigation whose details I wasn’t at liberty to disclose and asked her to confirm whether the man in the attachment was Paul Gunderson. When Sarah returned with a large photo, I scanned it to my laptop and attached it to the e-mail. I sent the information off to the realtor and turned to Sarah.
“What can you tell me about Mastick Consulting?”
“No, no, no. You’re going to tell me what the hell’s going on first.”
I ignored her. “What does Mastick do for the Foundation?”
She huffed in disgust and stalked away. I followed.
I caught her upper arm and stopped her from heading downstairs. “It’s important.”
She whirled around to face me, her eyes wide and angry. She pointed at my chest. “Listen to me very carefully.” Her voice was dangerously low and modulated, as if she were wrestling back a very powerful beast poised to rip me to shreds. “Asking me questions about some company I’ve never heard of does not qualify as important. What is important is that if you don’t start telling me the truth, we have nothing to say to each other.”
“I haven’t lied to you.” I felt guilty, knowing I hadn’t been forthcoming either. I was glad she’d confirmed my suspicion that Mastick was one hundred percent Morrison’s baby, since Sarah would have surely known about any viable services for which the Foundation paid hundreds of thousands of dollars annually. But I wasn’t happy with her insinuation that I’d been lying.
She glared at me, spun back around, and rapidly descended the stairs. Again I followed. She reached for two pint glasses from a kitchen cabinet and began dispensing ice and water from the refrigerator into one. She seemed to need something to do with her hands besides throttle me, and getting us water was a far preferable choice.
“You said you’re an accountant.” She filled the second glass.
“I am,” among other things.
“Fine.” She shoved a glass in my hand, managing somehow not to spill its contents. “I see how it’s going to be. I have to be very specific, don’t I?”
I met her eyes but didn’t answer.
“What else do you get paid for, professionally, besides being an accountant?”
“I can’t talk about it.” I focused on my glass.
“So you admit you’re not what you seem?”
The subject moved away from the professional arena and I met her gaze. “This isn’t personal.”
�
��It’s completely personal!” Her glass came down hard on the counter, splashing water but miraculously not shattering. “You’re asking for information about a man I’ve worked with for more years than I’ve known you. You’re taking advantage of your position at the Foundation to look into something you’re not telling me about, and I don’t have to remind you that anything concerning the Foundation is personal to me. And you’re making me feel like a fool for wanting to trust you. Not just wanting to, damn it.”
She surveyed the corner beyond me where the wall and ceiling met, focusing on nothing, appearing to gather her thoughts.
“What else has been a lie, Cazz? Was getting close to me all part of this plan? You thought you’d take advantage of having known me in the past in order to help you find whatever it is you’re searching for?”
Astonished, I glared at her with incredible indignation and took some steadying breaths, trying to contain my rising anger at her suggestion that I’d lied about my feelings for her. I walked to the sink, took a few gulps of water, and set my glass on the counter, wondering how to respond.
An unbelievable tightness was weaving throughout my abdomen. Was it even possible to break down Sarah’s walls—walls that reminded me of myself at an earlier age, walls that never seemed to be part of Sarah’s repertoire in our younger days? The irony of our having switched roles, or rather, that she found it so difficult to trust, saddened me. I wanted to show her how I felt, though she was far from giving out “kiss me” vibes and my anger wasn’t leaving me feeling particularly tender. I also wanted to opt for the simplicity of honesty since I didn’t feel I’d ever lied to her about my feelings.
Deciding on honesty, I slowly turned and pressed the heels of my hands onto the counter, physically bracing myself for her reaction to what I was readying myself to say. I took a deep breath to settle my nerves and calm the tide of frustration that had washed over me. I looked at Sarah, who was facing me with her arms crossed, and kept my voice controlled.
“Since you’re not going to believe me anyway, I have nothing to fear by telling the truth. Since the day you first hugged me on the tennis court, then listened to me tell you why I wasn’t good with compliments, to the day we kissed at your parents’ house ten years ago, there’s never been anyone else for me. Then to reconnect with you after all these years, and feel you against me, and know how right it feels to be with you, it’s all come back, stronger than ever. You’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with, Sarah. The only one. Don’t ever—ever—insinuate that any of it was a lie.”
In classic Murphy’s Law fashion, my cell phone rang. I groaned, annoyed by the interruption yet relieved for the reprieve. The surprise on her face told me she’d at least heard me, but I didn’t have time to study her for further reaction. I jogged past her and ran upstairs to my phone, hoping it was already the realtor.
“Hello?”
“I hate to interrupt a good argument, but it’s time for you to leave.” The male voice was unfamiliar.
“Who is this?”
“Your friendly neighborhood voyeur. Get your stuff and go back to your apartment. I’ve seen enough and I’m sick of waiting.”
“You must have the wrong number,” I said, concerned he didn’t.
“Don’t. Test. Me.” Something in his tone made it clear he had the right number.
“What do you want?”
“The great thing about some of these houses is I can see in as well as you can see out. Now get back downstairs, say good-bye to the lady in the scarf, and go back to your apartment. I don’t like to repeat myself.”
I was briefly immobilized with shock. I didn’t know whether he was using a telescope or binoculars or what, since I’d never seen the back of Sarah’s house during daylight, but the man on the phone was clearly watching us from somewhere outside. The idea frightened me. Who the hell was doing this? And why? Was this guy connected in any way to Luke Perkins’s demise? At the terrible prospect, getting him away from Sarah vaulted to the top of my priorities, which was enough to prompt me into action.
I threw my laptop in my messenger bag, tossed it over one shoulder across my back, and ran downstairs with the phone still pressed against my ear. Rushing to the massive windows, I moved the curtains away from the first set of blinds I could find, needing to end the show we were unwittingly giving this crazy bastard.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asked from behind me.
The moment I found and reached up for the cord to send the blinds zipping down to cover the window, I heard his voice. “Don’t even think about it, or I’ll shoot.” I pulled my hand away as quickly as if I’d burned it. Shoot? I stared out into the darkness but couldn’t see anything except the glare from the window. My thoughts turned to the indoor lights. I wondered whether one panel controlled all the lights in Sarah’s living and dining rooms, and where I might find it. If I could throw us into darkness, maybe we could call the police and find a place to hide until they arrived.
“Cazz, what’s going on?” Sarah asked with an anxious tone I hadn’t heard before, probably concerned by whatever strange or terrified expression I had on my face.
Before I could act on my idea to locate and kill the lights, the man laughed. “Stop looking for me and turn around, Cassidy.” His use of my name sent chills up my spine. This man knew my name, my phone number, my exact location. I turned slowly and focused on Sarah. “That’s better,” he said. My anxiety level was at a lifetime high, and I struggled to stay focused on what he was telling me.
“Who is that?” Sarah motioned to the phone, searching my eyes for an explanation.
“Tell the pretty woman you’re leaving and get out. You have three minutes if you want her to live.” He clicked off.
I stared at my phone, trying to concentrate. I had to get this guy as far away from Sarah as I could, and needed to tell her something to convince her to let me leave and not to follow. If she suspected I was in trouble, even if she was upset or angry with me, she wouldn’t let me leave and would want to call the police. Unfortunately, the police wouldn’t get to us until it was far too late, if the guy could be believed. And given that he knew my name and had been watching us, it didn’t seem much of a stretch that if someone was going through all this trouble, it was highly likely he was armed.
I didn’t have much time to mull over whatever speech I intended to give to Sarah. I continued staring at the phone in my hand, wasting precious seconds sifting through various scenarios. I could try to be the biggest ass possible. It meant lying, which I dreaded doing, but if I said something hurtful, Sarah would berate herself for believing in me and then take time to lick her wounds. That would keep her from following me, at least for a while. But as I tried to muster some serious attitude, I looked at Sarah and all my fright dissipated. I was suddenly awash in something else entirely.
Instead of feeling forced into a game of Russian roulette, I felt like my number came up on a roulette wheel and the jackpot was mine. Right in front of me. Those beautiful light-blue eyes—eyes filled with concern—made warmth radiate through me. They delivered me. Grounded me. I felt gratitude, or maybe wholeness. A sudden calm, a sudden peace enveloped me.
It was simple.
Sarah was the love of my life. She might not know it, but I did. If I was in danger—if something happened to me today—no one could take away this wondrous feeling of loving this extraordinary woman.
I had this chance—this final chance, possibly—to tell Sarah how I felt about her. And I could do it without compromising her safety. I looked into her worried face and smiled appreciatively. Brushing her cheek lightly with my knuckles before gently palming it, I leaned forward so our lips were mere millimeters apart. I closed my eyes, breathing her in, memorizing her scent and the feel of her warm breath near my mouth. I opened my eyes and saw confusion in hers. Without taking my eyes off hers, I closed the remaining distance and delivered the softest, most incredibly tender kiss to her lips I could manage, trying to convey without w
ords what she meant to me. Trailing my hand down under her chin, I lightly held it as I leaned back, smiling again at the sight of her and the sweet ache in my chest only she could stir in me. My heart was so full, I couldn’t speak.
Which was a good thing. I wanted to say so much but didn’t have time. Mindful the clock was ticking, I turned abruptly. I couldn’t let anything happen to her.
As I slipped into my all-terrain sandals and yanked open the door, Sarah rushed to me and called, “Ca-aazz!” Its two syllables pleaded for answers. “What the—” She tugged my messenger bag and spun me around to face her. “What’s happening? Where are you going?” Her tone bordered on frantic.
I needed to say something to try to calm her. Pulling away and continuing toward my car, I walked backward so I could face her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I tried to keep my voice light, telling myself the vagueness of my reply was appropriate under the circumstances. I tried not to think of my unlikely chances.
“Tonight?” Sarah asked with what seemed to be desperation.
I kept my eyes on hers for another moment before opening my car door. As I tossed the messenger bag into the passenger seat, I felt a tug on the back of my shirt and turned.
Sarah grabbed my shirt in both her hands, sternum level. “Look at me and tell me you’ll be back tonight.”
I didn’t have time to argue. Three minutes was three minutes. I needed to say something to end the conversation and keep her there. I did the only thing I could: I lied. I kept my eyes on her and nodded.
She released me immediately, her expression one of fright. I didn’t understand it and didn’t have time to try. I started the engine, backed out in a U-shape, and put the car in drive. I might never see her again and had to force myself not to dwell on that dreadful possibility.
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