Chapter Six
Mick saw the car and Cassie directly in its path. For a split second everything else around him fell away and he froze in disbelief.
Rather than brake, the car appeared to accelerate as it raced closer to where she stood in the center of the street. Adrenaline shooting through him, he raced to her and grabbed her by the arm. He yanked her back as the car whizzed by with the scent of hot oil and barely an inch to spare.
His heart pounded so loud in his ears that for a moment he could hear nothing but the frantic beat. He was vaguely aware of a crowd gathering around them and he held Cassie tight against him.
Her entire body trembled against his. As the sound of his heartbeat calmed, he became aware of her wildly racing heart. “Are you all right?” he finally managed to ask her.
She looked up at him, eyes wide and simmering with barely suppressed fear. She nodded. “I’m okay.” She stepped out of his embrace. “Whew, that was definitely a close call.”
“Probably some damn kid racing up the street,” a man from nearby said.
“Did anyone notice what kind of car it was?” Mick asked, cursing himself for not noticing. He’d been so focused on Cassie he hadn’t paid attention to anything else.
“It all happened so fast,” a young woman exclaimed. “I didn’t notice.”
Apparently nobody had noticed anything about the car except that it had sped toward Cassie and would have hit her had Mick not jumped to action.
Mick pulled Cassie back into his arms as the crowd began to disperse. “Let’s go back to the cottage.”
“No way,” she replied and once again stepped out of his embrace. “We’re going across the street and eat a nice meal.”
Her face was as pale as the moon and she wrapped her arms around herself as if to staunch the tremble that continued. “Are you sure you’re up to it?” he asked.
“I can handle two near misses in one day, but I’ve got to tell you, Mick, this honeymoon is quickly turning into the makings of a reality show about honeymoons from hell.” She offered him a small smile. “We stick to the schedule, and tonight we’re having dinner at the Wedded Bliss Buffet and Grill.”
“It’s all about the schedule, right?” he said teasingly.
“That, and catching a killer.” She grabbed hold of his arm. “And this time I’ll let you escort me across the street.”
Minutes later they were seated in the restaurant where both of them decided not to partake of the buffet but rather ordered off a menu. Once the waitress had departed with their orders, Cassie eyed him somberly.
“So, what do you think? Accident or on purpose? Was somebody trying to kill me or was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“My initial feeling is wrong place, wrong time, but we can’t rule out anything,” he replied. “I’d like to believe that it was probably just some dumb-ass teenager hot-rodding down the street without thought to pedestrian safety.”
“That’s what I want to believe,” she said as she moved the salt and pepper shakers precisely to the center of the table. “The only thing that bothers me about the whole thing is that I never heard the squeal of brakes to indicate that the driver tried to stop.”
“He or she didn’t try to stop,” Mick replied. His heart raced as he remembered that moment of seeing Cassie in those headlights, seconds from being splashed all over the street.
“Maybe whoever was driving was drunk or on drugs,” she said.
“Possible. I intend to talk to Lambert to see if he’s had trouble in the past with people roaring down the main drag. And now I suggest we take the next hour or two and just relax, enjoy our meal and talk about anything but speeding cars, hot saunas and murders.”
He was rewarded by a smile that shot heat through him and flashed the memory of the taste of her lips into his brain. “Sounds absolutely perfect to me,” she replied.
She leaned forward, unintentionally giving him a view of the creamy tops of her breasts. “So, tell me about these sisters of yours.”
He picked up his wineglass and tried to ignore the wave of desire that burned deep in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t thought it would be so difficult to maintain his professionalism. But the pretend game of newlyweds was getting to him. She was getting to him and there was a battle being waged between FBI agent and man, and the man wanted Cassie in a way that had nothing to do with a working relationship.
“Mick?”
He focused back on the conversation, tamping down the hunger that had momentarily raged through him. “Lynnette is the oldest. She’s forty-two and became a widow last year when her husband died in a car accident. Then there’s Patsy, she’s forty, married and has two children. Finally there’s Eileen, she’s thirty-eight, divorced and a single parent with one child.”
“And they all doted on and spoiled you when you were little,” she said.
Mick laughed. “They still do. I don’t think they’ll be satisfied until I’m married and have half a dozen kids of my own.”
“But you’ve said you have no intention of ever marrying. Coming from such a family-oriented background, why wouldn’t you?”
A small knot of tension formed in his check. “Let’s just say I got close once and the whole experience left a very bad taste in my mouth. What about you? Was it a bad romantic experience in your past that turned you off the idea of marriage?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing like that.” She twirled the stem of her wineglass and then picked it up and took a drink. “I knew a long time ago that I wasn’t the type to get married. I know my limitations, Mick,” she said as she set her glass back on the table. “I know I’m obsessive-compulsive. I have a need to control my surroundings and I don’t like the chaos and disorder that I know somebody else would bring into my life.”
Mick studied her thoughtfully. “Must get pretty lonely in that perfectly controlled world of yours.”
“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But it’s the world I choose, one I’m comfortable in.”
The waitress appeared at their table with their orders, and for the next hour Mick regaled her with humorous stories from his childhood. He loved the sound of her laughter and sensed that she didn’t allow much of it in her life.
What had happened to her that had made her design a world that allowed nobody in, that kept her cocooned by isolation? Was that why she had thrown such a fit when they’d made love, because he’d somehow threatened to invade the neat and tidy world she’d created for herself?
“Tell me about your childhood,” he said when they’d finished with their meal and lingered over dessert and coffee. “I’ve spent almost the whole time talking about mine, now it’s time for you to share.”
Her gaze as she looked at him was guarded, slightly wary. “I try not to think about it much. It was pretty awful.”
“You were abused?” he asked softly. He wanted to somehow take away that guarded look in her eyes, the flash of torment that lit them.
“Not in the traditional sense of the word.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee and then continued, “I mean, they didn’t beat me or anything like that. My parents liked to party. Drugs, alcohol and rock and roll were their entire world.” She gave him a bitter smile. “We lived like gypsies, always one step ahead of an angry landlord or a bill collector. I can’t tell you how many times I was roused out of bed in the middle of the night to escape from paying rent.”
“With only the clothes on your back,” he said, realizing this was why she never unpacked, so that if she had to leave the room quickly she’d be able to grab her bag and have her belongings.
“Exactly.” She picked up her fork and sliced through the piece of chocolate cake she’d ordered, but before taking a bite she placed her fork back on the table. “I never knew what to expect from one minute to the next. I rarely went to the same school more than a few weeks at a time. Making friends was impossible. All I had was my parents…two adults who made bad decisions and lived like impulsive teenagers.�
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“Are they still alive?” Mick asked. He realized he’d just gained enormous insight into what forces had gone into the creation of the adult Cassie Miller.
“I don’t know. The day I turned eighteen I left the motel where they were staying and I never looked back. I got my GED and once I turned twenty-one applied to the Kansas City Police Force. I worked myself up to detective and then applied to the FBI.”
“And here you are,” he said.
“That’s right.” She picked up her fork and took a bite of her cake, then chased it with a drink of coffee. “I’ve created my own world, a place where I feel safe, where I have all the control, and that’s the way I like it.”
Mick cut into his apple dumpling, remembering the night she had lost complete control. No wonder she’d hated him after that.
On that night he’d somehow managed to break through her shield, had battled through her defenses and what had come afterward had been a totally hot, totally spontaneous bout of lovemaking.
What made matters worse was that he wanted to breach her security again. He wanted to shatter her control and make love to her again.
This was all supposed to be pretend. He was playing a role with her, acting like her husband, her lover, and he knew it would be a big mistake to somehow blur the lines between reality and fantasy.
As they finished up their dessert he couldn’t help but think about that moment when she’d been frozen in those headlights. Had it simply been an accident or had it been on purpose?
If it was on purpose, then who might want to target Cassie? The only answer was the unsub, and that would mean their cover was blown and the rules of the game had changed.
Worst of all, the only way he’d know for sure was if and when another attack occurred.
* * *
DAMN, DAMN. He thought he’d had her. She’d been standing right in front of him, frozen in his headlights, and in his mind’s eyes he saw her splattered on the sidewalk, a dead honeymooner…a dead FBI agent with that shiny blond hair and those startled big, blue eyes.
It had been an opportunity that had been all gift-wrapped for him, one that he hadn’t planned but rather had just presented itself. The moment she’d stepped from the curb alone he’d stomped on the gas, nothing in his mind except his need to hit her.
Her lucky rabbit’s foot had been her coworker, who had managed to move quickly enough to pull her out of harm’s way. He’d driven straight home and parked in his garage, cursing his failure, his second failure in the same day.
Screwing around with the sauna had been easy, and holding the door closed so she couldn’t get out had been a piece of cake. He’d hoped to fry her nice and crispy, but in truth he’d realized the odds of her dying before somebody came looking for her was minimal. Still, it had fed his soul to hear her cries for help, to hear the utter helplessness in her voice.
He finally got out of his car and headed inside the house. Tomorrow was another day, and he was certain the right opportunity would present itself.
Still, his patience was growing thin. Each and every time he saw her she was an affront to his senses. Everybody loved a beautiful blonde with a bright smile and warm blue eyes, especially a woman they believed was on her honeymoon with her loving husband.
This was his town and he decided who lived and died. And newlywed Cassie Crawford, aka Special Agent Cassie Miller, was marked for death.
* * *
MICK AWAKENED LONG BEFORE DAWN, his heart pounding with the memory of the terror he’d felt when he’d seen Cassie in the headlights of that car.
If he hadn’t pulled her to safety would the car have swerved to miss her? Had it been a teenage version of the game of chicken? He remained in the bed, smelling the sweet scent of her, listening to the sound of her soft, even breaths.
She was stronger than she appeared, much stronger than he’d initially given her credit for. And as crazy as it sounded he found her prim pajamas sexy as hell. The cotton top had little buttons that just begged to be unfastened, allowing her breasts to spill into his hands.
He slid out of the bed before he did something stupid and padded in the darkness toward the love seat. Once seated, he turned on the small lamp and opened the files from the original crime scenes.
He reread the reports, the transcripts of the interviews that had been conducted and then spread the crime-scene photos out on the table in front of him. He worried that somehow they were missing something. The idea that a local was responsible for the murders in order to screw up the newfound identity of the town felt too simple, too obvious.
Mick had always been suspicious of the obvious, and he couldn’t halt the feeling that somehow they were all missing something important. Still, he reminded himself that sometimes it truly was the obvious, like the jealous husband killing the wife who’d left him.
It was just before dawn when he showered and dressed for the day, grateful that when he left the bathroom Cassie still slept soundly.
He scribbled a note on a sheet of paper from her notepad, left it next to her on the edge of her pillow and then walked out of the cabin.
Dawn was just beginning to streak across the morning sky as he headed toward a business he’d seen the day before. The air smelled fresh and clean and he enjoyed the solitude of the walk.
He had a feeling A Cup of Joe with Doughnuts opened early and he had a need to escape Cassie’s presence for a little while, a need to gather his thoughts alone, without her nearness, without her very scent messing with his mind. The agents in the room next door would hear if anything went amiss in the room while he was gone.
The sidewalks were deserted, lit only by the streetlights at each corner. He walked leisurely in the fresh morning air and enjoyed the silence of a town mostly still asleep.
Just as he suspected, lights shone from the coffee shop and the front door opened to the scents of sugar and yeast and strong hot brew.
Straight ahead was a baker’s glass display with a variety of doughnuts lined up to entice. There was a small countertop with stools and six wooden tables and chairs. As Mick approached the glass display a squat, older, dark-haired man appeared from a back room.
“Ah, an early bird,” he said with an easy smile. “Tourist?”
Mick nodded. “Newlywed with a wife still in bed.”
“I’ve got to warn you, I don’t sell any of that frappé crappy kind of stuff. You’ve got two choices for coffee, regular or decaf.”
Mick grinned. “Regular, and why don’t you give me one of those glazed. You must be team neutral,” Mick said as he watched the man pour a tall cup of coffee in a disposable cup.
“Team neutral?” He looked at Mick curiously.
“You know, Black Creek or Honeymoon Haven.”
He laughed, the sound deep and melodious as if he laughed often. “My name is Joe Cantelli. I’ve owned this business for twenty years and it’s always been A Cup of Joe with Doughnuts and nothing’s going to change that. I’ll let all the other fools in town fight that particular battle. I’ve done just fine here without getting involved in all that crazy madness.”
Mick paid for his coffee and doughnut and then slid onto one of the stools. “We’ve definitely heard the rumblings of the battle since we’ve arrived in town.” He decided to take a chance. “I’ve even heard whispers that a couple was murdered not too long ago. Of course I didn’t mention it to the wife. She’d freak out and I’d be in Hawaii or Niagara Falls.”
Joe frowned and leaned with his elbows on the top of the display counter. “I heard about the murders. The sheriff sometimes stops in here and a couple of his deputies come in here almost every morning, but I didn’t know that the information was making the rounds out on the streets. Everyone is trying to keep it hush-hush. You know, bad for business.”
“I suppose I listen to conversations I shouldn’t,” Mick replied easily. He took a sip of the hot, bold-flavored coffee. “So, you have any ideas who killed them?”
Joe’s eyes narrowed slightl
y. “Are you some kind of cop?”
Mick laughed. “Me? Nah, but I’m definitely an armchair kind of detective. I watch all those crime shows and try to figure out who’s guilty. I’ve already met a couple of people in town who look suspicious to me.”
Joe gave Mick an indulgent grin and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who do you think might be guilty?”
“Well, we had a little run-in with Jimbo at the spa yesterday. It was pretty obvious he hates all the honeymooning stuff as much as he hates having to work for his father.”
Joe laughed. “Jimbo Majors isn’t smart enough to work a fifty-piece jigsaw puzzle, let alone commit a couple of murders that has Sheriff Lambert stumped.”
Mick bit into the doughnut and smiled in appreciation at the light sweetness in his mouth. He chased it with a drink of coffee and then continued the conversation along the same topic. “What about the folks over at the Stop the Madness organization?”
“That’s not an organization,” Joe scoffed. “That’s Derrick Black and his brother Dan working with some hired help because they’re desperate that folks will forget that they’re very important people. Since he was old enough to wear a suit Derrick has paraded himself around town as the unofficial mayor, never letting people forget that we all wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his great-grandfather or whoever.”
“Any other suspects on your radar?” Mick asked, hoping to get a name of somebody that might not have hit their own very short list.
“I just sell coffee and doughnuts, that’s all.”
At that moment the door opened and deputies Alex Perry and Ralph Gaines walked in. “Mick, right?” Alex said in greeting.
“That’s right.”
“You’re an early one,” Ralph said as he sat at a table nearby. “Usually at this time of day Alex and I have the place to ourselves.”
“I woke up and couldn’t go back asleep. I didn’t want to disturb the wife, so I took a stroll and found this place,” Mick explained. He knew that both deputies knew he wasn’t a newlywed but rather an FBI agent. They were playing the game admirably.
Scene of the Crime: Black Creek Page 8