by Nell DuVall
“You know, Cassie, he hid himself behind that ski mask, and he came to the office at a time when no one else would be there. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to keep his identity hidden.”
Cassie nodded. “I guess that means we have to figure out who the rabbit is. Once we know, we can do something.”
“Yeah, but I hope you’ll look over your shoulder and be extra careful. If anything happens to you because of me... Well, I would...” Ian stared at her suddenly aware that he would do everything he could to prevent that.
He looked down at the check the waitress had left. “Shall we go?”
Neither of them said anything on the drive back to Ian’s office. He parked next to Cassie’s car and got out to check her car before he let her open the door.
“Why isn’t it locked?” He stared at her, appalled.
“Why lock it? A car thief will get in anyway, and they would only break a window or such.”
“But this gunman may not know how to open a locked car.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”
Ian wanted to shake her. “Promise me you’ll lock your car from now on.”
“If it will make you happy, okay. But I don’t think it will make any difference.”
“Of course it will.”
She stared up at him, her chin jutting out. “I can take care of myself.”
“Maybe, but I’d like to help.” He ran a finger along her chin, savoring the softness of her skin. “I’d feel a lot better, knowing you were okay.”
“I don’t think Miss Arthur would like that.”
“Miss Arthur? Oh, you mean Sharon. No, I don’t suppose she would.” He gazed down into her eyes wanting to lose himself there. “Maybe your dreams were meant to bring us together.”
“Funny you should say that.” She looked away. “My best friend, Tula, tried to tell me you were the man of my dreams.”
He tilted her chin up forcing her to face him. “Would you like me to be?”
“I ... I don’t know.” She lowered her lashes.
Ian cupped Cassie’s chin. She shivered. She looked up at him, her eyes wistful. For a moment, he stared back and then he leaned forward and kissed her.
At first, his lips brushed hers. Then, he pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers. For a moment, she held herself stiff, but then she relaxed against him.
His thrusting tongue probed her warm, tea flavored mouth.
* * * *
Cassie gave in to the delight of his kiss. Her pulse raced. Her knees sagged, and if he hadn’t been holding her, she would have fallen.
“Cassie. Cassie, you’re so sweet.” He pulled her closer and kissed her again. “You know, this could be habit forming.”
She leaned against him savoring his warmth and his nearness. Safe and protected in his arms, nothing could touch her. Nothing could hurt her.
Then she remembered. He was engaged to another woman, to the elegant, poised Sharon Arthur. He had no right to kiss her. She didn’t belong in his arms. They belonged to another woman, not Cassie Blake.
“No.” She pushed him away. “You’re engaged. I don’t poach on someone else’s territory.”
She pulled open her car door and slid into the seat, slammed the door closed, and locked it before he could protest. The car started with a jerk, and she burned rubber as she sped away.
He had no right to take advantage of her. No right at all. Tears slid down her face as she drove. She swiped at her eyes, but didn’t stop. Damn Ian McLeod. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
Why did her dreams force her into the arms of a man who was practically married? Why did she feel she still had to protect him? Most of all, why did she have to want him? She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted Rod, but it didn’t matter what she wanted.
Chapter Seventeen
All weekend the feel of Ian’s arms holding her and his mouth on hers haunted Cassie. The memories clung to her at work on Monday. During the mid-afternoon lull, her thoughts returned to him and their last encounter. The faint scent of spruce from his aftershave and the taste of his coffee lingered in her mind. So solid, so real. Why did he have to belong to someone else? So much for Leah’s Tarot cards and their prediction of a happy romance.
“Miss Blake, I’ve got it.” Jimmy Wilson stood next to her desk and grinned from ear to ear.
Cassie blinked, pulled back to reality. “Got what, Jimmy?”
“I figured out the rabid rabbit. It’s a March Hare right? As in ‘mad as a March Hare.’”
She smiled. “Yes, you’re right.”
“You made it too easy, Miss Blake. The answer was right there in that ... that book .”
“I know, but if you hadn’t looked it up you wouldn’t have guessed now, would you?”
“Umm, I suppose not. Anyway, I’ve got one for you. It’s a hard one this time. What do you call the offspring of an Angora rabbit?”
“The offspring of an Angora rabbit? Jimmy, how do you think these up? Rabbit? Bunny, lapin, cottontail, hare, cony.” Cassie paused a moment. “Offspring? Son, child, heir. Angora? Fur, hair.”
Cassie groaned as she recognized the awful pun. “Oh no, Jimmy. An heir of a hairy hare? Boy that is bad.”
“I thought it was pretty good and so did the guys at school. You’re the only one who guessed.”
“That’s because I get so much practice from all of you.”
“Well, maybe next time. I almost had you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you almost did, but knowing how your mind works, once I knew you were using the same word sounds, it was easy. Better luck next time.” Cassie smiled at him, and he grinned back.
As he walked away, she turned back to her work. Leave it to Jimmy to come up with the worst puns. She had accomplished one goal though — at least now, he knew about Roget’s.
As she thought about Jimmy and the heir of a hairy rabbit, she drew small furry rabbits and then started to scribble over them. Her pencil, a soft No. 2, blurred the rabbits. They varied from a soft gray to black. Black? The black rabbit.
Cassie sat bolt upright. What had Jimmy said? The offspring of an Angora rabbit was the heir of a hairy hare. Cassie wrote the three words down. Hare? Could the black rabbit be a hare? But so what? What did that mean? Hare? Hair? Hairy?
Cassie looked at the third word. An heir? An heir could be a relative. A son, a daughter, or something else. Next to heir, she wrote son. Heir, son. She stared at it for a moment and then, somehow like a puzzle shifting into place, something clicked. She wrote the word son next to hare. Hare’s son. She stared at the words. A name? Could her dream be telling her the name of Ian McLeod’s attacker?
Hare’s son. She said the words aloud and then said them faster. Harrison. Harris? Harrington? All possible last names. Harrison Ford. Oops. Harrison could be a first name too.
She looked at the words again. Hairy? She said it aloud. Harry Harris? Harry Harrison? A rebus? Jimmy must have more effect on her subconscious then she realized
Okay, maybe, just maybe, she had a name, but that didn’t explain the nail she had seen in the rabbit’s paw. What did that represent? She drew a nail on the paper. Had the rabbit been injured? Nail, tack, fastener.
Cassie threw the pencil down, overwhelmed. Still, she had the possibility of a name. Maybe it would mean something to Ian. The rabbit had to have some tie to him. With growing excitement, Cassie picked up the phone and dialed Ian’s office.
She could hardly keep her voice businesslike until he came on the line. “Ian, do you know anyone named Harry Harris or Harrison?”
“Harrison?” He sounded surprised. “Where did you hear about him?”
“You know a Harrison?”
“No, I knew a Harrison. He embezzled money from me, and when I went to prosecute him, he died of a heart attack.”
Cassie frowned as she picked up her pencil. “Then it couldn’t be him.” But it had to be. The name fit. She tugged at Tula’s sun pendant.
“Did he h
ave any relatives?
“His wife committed suicide. I think there may have been a child, but I’m not sure. Jim never talked about his family.”
“Sounds like if there is one, that person might have a reason for hating you and wanting to kill you.”
“That’s reaching. Why would a child do that? The man we saw was no child. Anyway, how do we find out?”
Cassie wished Tula were here, but finding information was a librarian’s business, and Cassie considered herself a good one. Where would she look to find next of kin? Obituaries and birth records. Now the mysterious rabbit began to take on the identity of a flesh and blood person a sense of relief flooded Cassie. She could deal with reality because she could do something about it.
The dreams had left her confused. She suspected she only understood a small part of them. Tula had said the rabbit represented the key. Now she had a means to discover just who the rabbit was. Dealing with a named enemy reassured her.
“Cassie? Are you still there?”
“What? I’m sorry. I was thinking. We could check the obituary and maybe even the birth records, but it would help to know when to look. When did Harrison die?”
“Just about two years ago.”
“How about a month?”
“January.”
“Okay.” Cassie wrote that down. “Any idea about the age of the child? A lot children are born every year.”
“Let me think about it. Maybe someone else in the office may know or maybe we have something in the old personnel file. I’ll give you a call after I have a look.”
Cassie looked down at her paper. The nail. She still didn’t know what that meant. “While I’m at it, can you think of another word for nail?”
“There are all types of nails — horseshoe nails, roofing nails, brads, penny nails. Why?”
“Because the rabbit has a nail in one forepaw. It means something, probably something linked to the name, but I’m not sure how.”
“Well, let me check our records, and then we can work on the rest of the name. I’ll call you back.”
She had the impression Ian wanted to say something more.
“Cassie, I want to apologize for my earlier behavior.”
“Accepted. I’m sure you were just feeling a little lightheaded.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not apologizing for kissing you. I’m apologizing for throwing you out of my office and doubting your dreams.”
“Oh.” His admission caught her by surprise.
“Cassie, I enjoyed the kiss.”
Just thinking about his insistent mouth on hers made her long to have him hold her in his arms again, but it wasn’t possible. He had a fiancée.
“I told you.” She struggled to put steel in her words. “I don’t poach on someone else’s territory.”
“Cassie, Sharon broke our engagement a week ago. You didn’t give me time to tell you.”
“Oh.” The engagement broken? He was a free man. He hadn’t been toying with her.
“Cassie, are you still there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here.” She blushed at her own thoughts.
“I meant it about the kiss.”
“I ... uh, I enjoyed it too.” Her voice came out in a low hesitant whisper.
“Once we get Harrison out of the way, I’d like to spend some time with you.”
Um ... I’d like that.”
“Miss Blake?” Tracy Bolin tugged at Cassie’s sleeve. “Miss Blake, can you help me?”
“Ian, I have to go. Someone has a question. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” The warmth of his voice implied all sorts of promises.
As Cassie replaced the phone, her spirits soared. She and Ian still had a problem to solve, but now they had a direction in which to look.
“Look out, Harrison. I’m going to find you.”
“Harrison? Who’s that, Miss Blake?” Tracy stared up at Cassie.
“No one you know. What is it you need help with?”
“I want a bunny book. Can you find me a bunny book?”
Cassie laughed. “Of course, I can find you a bunny book. Come with me.” She led Tracy to the holiday section of the picture book collection. Later she would look for her own rabbit, Harrison whatever his name.
* * * *
Ian hung up the phone, his mind in turmoil. While part of his thoughts wanted to dwell on Cassie Blake and the sweetness of her mouth, the other part wanted to focus on Harrison. How had she learned of James Harrison? Nothing had ever appeared in the papers. Ian had worked hard to keep word of it away from the business community. Harrison’s child, if he had one, might hate him. Both parents had died, but he hadn’t killed them. However, a child might see their deaths in a different light.
He really remembered nothing about Harrison’s family. He picked up the phone and buzzed MaryLou.
“Would you check into the old personnel files and see if you can find a folder on James Harrison?”
“Harrison? Why do you want see those records now?”
“Something I want to check. Do it as quick as you can, and ask Jim Mears to come to my office.”
“Will do.”
About ten minutes later, MaryLou came in with Harrison’s folder. “Jim will be in about four. I’ve left a note on his desk.”
“Thanks.”
Picking up the folder, Ian then flipped quickly past the reports on top and several evaluation forms to the back. He stopped with the standard employee history form. He scanned down to next of kin and found Mrs. Emma Harrison listed. She had died shortly after Harrison. Not much in the file. He flipped back to the tax deduction forms and saw Harrison had listed two dependents, his wife and what? A son or daughter? His attacker had been a man. Harrison’s son?
He riffled the rest of file, but saw nothing about a son or daughter. As a boss, Ian had never pried into the personal lives of his employees. He knew MaryLou had children because she talked about them. He couldn’t remember James Harrison ever talking about his family. From the files at least, it looked as if there had been a child. According to Harrison’s original application form, he had been born in Columbus, gone to school and college there. He had listed all local employers.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
Jim Mears ducked his head in the office. “You wanted to see me?”
“Come on in and sit down.” Ian motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “You remember Jim Harrison?”
Mears frowned, a look of distaste on his face. “Yeah, he used to have my office.”
“That’s right. Do you know anything about his family? His wife died shortly after he did, and I never heard any more after that. He had a child, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he had a kid, a boy in some Ivy League school in the East, Yale or Princeton, one of those.”
A son. “Did you ever meet him?”
“No, he was away at school most of the time. Only came home for holidays.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Hmm, Bob, Burt, no that isn’t right. It began with a ‘B’ I’m sure. Brent? Brian? Hmm, Brad ... Bradford, that’s it.”
“Bradford Harrison?” Ian wrote the name down.
Mears nodded. “Yeah, Jim really took pride in the kid. He had pictures of this long-haired, bearded beanpole in the office and talked about him all the time. Said he was smart. I guess you have to be to get into those schools, but it costs a lot. Oh...”
Suddenly, Mears reddened and looked at Ian. “I guess that’s why he stole that money.”
Ian sighed and closed the folder. “It may be. We never found any trace of the money.”
“What brought all this up?”
The fewer people knew about the accidents, the better Ian liked it. He hated misleading Jim Mears, but until they found Bradford Harrison, Ian wanted nothing to alert his quarry.
“I’ve been cleaning out some files and came across a couple of things of Harrison’s. I thought his family might like them, but I wasn’t s
ure where to send them.”
“I can’t help you there.”
“With a name, I may be able to track the kid down. If you think of anything else about Bradford Harrison, let me know. Thanks for the help.”
“Sure, sure thing.” Mears stood up. “Guess I’d better get back to work. The way things are going, we may have some twelve hour days coming.”
“Tax season. Some people always wait until the last day. Once we file the majority and get those extension requests in, we can take it a little easier.”
“I can’t wait. See you later.” Mears hurried off.
Ian pondered what to do next to locate more on Bradford Harrison. Perhaps, he should let Cassie know. He thumbed through the book until he found the Arlington Library. He dialed the number and asked for Cassie Blake.
“Hello, Cassie Blake speaking.”
“Cassie, Ian. James Harrison had a son named Bradford Harrison. He went to some Ivy League school, like Yale or Princeton. Nobody has heard anything about him since.”
“Bradford Harrison.” She drew out the name. “Brad for short?”
“What? Brad?”
“Sure, it’s just like one of those rebus riddles the kids love so much.” She sounded excited, her words tumbling out one after the other. “Remember the nail? The rabbit had a nail in its paw. The rabbit, a hare. A son. So that’s Harrison. And the nail, a brad. Brad Harrison. It all fits.”
“I guess it does make a crazy kind of sense, and Harrison’s son is Bradford Harrison. Now we know who the gunman is, how do we find him?”
“We have the name, but it doesn’t lead us anywhere. At least with it, I don’t have to search the obits now.”
The discouragement in Cassie’s voice made Ian pause. How did they go about finding someone? Hire a detective?
“Yeah,” he muttered, “I see what you mean.”
If he wanted to know about potential employee or customer, he’d ask MaryLou to do a credit check. They could do one on Brad Harrison.
“Cassie, we could run a credit check. It will tell us where Harrison is or at least his last known address.”
“Can you do that?” She sounded skeptical.
“We have access to the TRW files and to Equifax. They’ve got records on everybody.”