by Stacy Juba
Revulsion filled her. "Clever. Is Mitch Searles your real name?"
"Of course. I wouldn’t lie about something like that."
Bo captured her gaze, his eyes dilated in terror. A thick white handkerchief jammed his mouth. Cassidy flicked her alarmed glance off Bo, imploring his captor with a sweet smile.
"Mitch? Could you take the knife off my brother? I know you wouldn't hurt him, but it makes me nervous."
"I can't do that until you bring me your gun. Let me examine your purse, Cassidy. I know you. You didn't take my advice, did you?"
She hesitated. Bo gulped as the blade dragged a notch to the side. She couldn't risk a move with the knife at his jugular. Detective Pierce was right. The gun had hurt her chances of survival. Mitch would have another defense against them.
Wordlessly, Cassidy relinquished the purse. He dug out the pistol and cupped it between his stubby fingers. Mitch leveled it at her chest, shadows hollowing his plump features. Slowly, he moved closer.
Blood pounded in her skull. Her brother's eyes enlarged, dark pinpoints in his ashen face. She silently pleaded with him to forgive her for ruining their lives. If she died, he had to live. There had to be some justice. The room tilted, the music distorted and slurred.
"I hate to search you, darling, but I need to make sure you're not carrying other weapons." Mitch crouched, inspected her sneakers and worked his hands up the legs of her jeans.
She stood ironing board stiff. Maybe he didn't intend to kill her yet, but discovering her hidden arsenal might change his mind.
He paused at the bulge in her pocket. Clucking his tongue, he whipped out her canister of pepper spray. "Oh, Cassidy. I wish you weren't so confused. I'm trying not to take your betrayal personally, but it's difficult."
"I'm sorry. If I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have worried. I didn't realize we'd met and that we got along so well."
"You’re patronizing me," Mitch snapped. "I don’t like being patronized."
"I’m telling the truth. You were my favorite client. I always looked forward to seeing you." The knife felt mammoth on her sweaty stomach. He would find it soon.
Mitch groped her waist, the sides of her abdomen. His hands stilled on the switchblade. She winced as he lashed the strip of tape off her sensitive skin.
He hammered the sleek thick knife handle against his knuckle, stuttering in fits and starts. "I'll forgive you for these breaches ... as I've looked away from your flirtation with Josh and your dalliance with that photographer ... I know the police and your family have put false notions in your head, confusing you about me. They don't understand the depths of our love."
His face twitching, Mitch flourished the gun in the air to punctuate each sentence. Cassidy rocked forward as the barrel dipped toward her younger brother, helpless with the rope shackling his arms and legs.
"I'm wearing your locket," she whispered.
Mitch whirled, a smile alighting the dimples in his cheeks and clefted chin, the transformation too swift for a normal person. Why hadn't she noticed his oddities at the gym? Why hadn't she been more observant?
"You're right, the others don't understand," she went on. "I couldn’t help wondering about the man behind the letters ...how we'd be together. I was excited when you arranged this meeting. But Mitch, we should let my brother go. We don’t need him here. If I tell him to leave and keep his mouth shut, he’ll do what I say."
His dimples receded. "You’re patronizing me again. You weren’t excited. I’m not a fool, Cassidy. Be sincere. You owe me sincerity."
"I was terrified, but that was before. Things are different now. You wouldn’t hurt Bo. You were just trying to get my attention."
"I didn't want to kidnap your brother," Mitch said in earnest. "It was easier. I saw the police installing cameras outside your building and was worried they might have someone following you. I grabbed your brother while he was walking to school, and brought him here. Then I picked up your trail again and typed the letter in back of the van. The motel parking lot looked clear, so I left it for you there."
He crunched her hand between his, as Zach had done, only harder. Zach. An intense pang of regret tore at Cassidy's insides. She should have run back into the motel and explained what had happened. At least someone would know where she was. Now Cassidy might never see him again, her last words to Zach spoken in anger. She blocked him out of her mind and tuned into Mitch's rambling.
His lower lip jutted out like a petulant three-year-old's. "I had planned to bring you to me sooner. I tried once, the night you ran into the woods. Then you left, and I didn't know where to find you."
Keep him talking. Buy some time. Cassidy longed to know why he had targeted Reggie and Felicia, but didn't dare ask. "You had a different car then, didn't you? Not the van."
"Yes, a rental, the one I used at the health club. Less conspicuous. Now, my darling, would you do me the honor of a dance?"
She cocked her head. "Of course, I'd love to."
Beaming, Mitch adjusted his silk tie.
"First, could you take the gag out of my brother's mouth? He looks so uncomfortable."
Mitch’s expression screwed into a frown, then eased into thoughtfulness. He shoved the gun, switchblade and pepper spray into the inside pockets of his jacket, and spun on his heel. "I'll make that gesture as a display of my affection."
He ambled across the room and unwadded the handkerchief. Coughing, Bo gasped breaths of stale air. Saliva ribbons moistened the corners of his mouth and panic burned bright in his eyes. Cassidy put her finger to her lips, motioning for Bo to stay quiet. Mitch turned toward her and she touched her hair.
"Thank you," she said. "That means a lot."
"That's what love is, doing things for each other." Mitch escorted her to the middle of the studio and down a step onto a slightly lower floor. He pushed a button on the CD player, skipped past the buoyant In the Mood, and stopped at Stairway to the Stars.
He tipped the crook of her arm upwards and rested his other hand on her slim waist. Mitch drew her in against his chest and hummed along to the band. Swaying in unison, they waltzed cheek to cheek.
Cassidy shut down her brain, removing herself from the abhorrence of the moment. His musky cologne triggered a bout of lightheadedness. She concentrated on room details, bringing into focus the layers of dust coating each mirror, the lack of windows and the closed dressing room door.
Shadows enveloped a round table set with white porcelain china, gold-banded wine goblets and vegetable bowls covered in aluminum foil. Crystal candlesticks graced the linen tablecloth, tapered mauve stems unlit.
His respiration quickened from their physical closeness. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you. I've worked so hard to prove my love. I've slain your enemies as a knight would slay a dragon."
"My enemies?" Cassidy repeated.
"Reggie and Felicia. You knew that, of course. Reggie prevented you from winning all that money. Felicia made those awful remarks about you on television. They didn't deserve to inhabit the same earth as you, my darling." Mitch traced the shape of her locket.
He stepped back, holding her wrists, a fine mat of perspiration misting his forehead. "Do you see how far I’ll go for you?"
The contents of her bagel breakfast gushed up her throat. Cassidy swallowed back the bitter taste, face aflame, as her jellied legs shuffled to the slow tempo.
The orchestra music, musk and glimmer of dark mirrors assaulted her senses, inviting her to slip into dizziness. Cold sweat prickled under her shirt, scaling her goosebumps. Reggie and Felicia had died because of her. This man had murdered them out of sick infatuation for her. Never had she considered that her stalker was eliminating her perceived adversaries.
Protest spilled to her tongue. Cassidy wanted to scream that they weren't her enemies and what kind of psycho was he?
Mitch stood back, awaiting her response. His pasted smile spooked her.
"No one's ever done anything like that for me," she said.
"No one has ever loved you as I do." Mitch brushed a kiss on her cheek and his complexion deepened to darker crimson. He swiped at jewels of sweat with his jacket sleeve.
Cassidy distracted herself from the slick patch of spit that globbed her skin. She had to find out what he planned, how long he intended to keep them. She had to regain control of her gun.
Mitch steered her to the table, centered on a water-stained rectangle of carpet. He slid out her chair and supported the back until she sat down.
"Thank you," she murmured.
He scrambled around the table, plucking Styrofoam containers out of paper bags from a local deli. She caught sight of an open notebook beside a grocery store champagne bottle bearing an orange markdown sticker. Cassidy leaned forward, squinting to read the neat handwriting on the page. I've slain your enemies as a knight would slay a dragon.
The lunatic had a script.
Grunting, he seized the notebook off the table and stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers. Mitch unwrapped a sandwich, pried the clear lid off a salad container and ripped open a packet of Italian dressing. "The sandwich is grilled chicken with lettuce and tomato. Remember?"
Remember what?
"Sounds good," Cassidy hedged.
He poured her a goblet of champagne with the bubbles overflowing. "You ordered it in Los Angeles. You came to the cafe for lunch. I heard you and Josh talking about the auditions and game shows. Your all-time favorite is Wheel of Fortune. That’s mine, too. You smiled at me as I cleared your plates, and there was this connection. I'm sure the whole restaurant felt it. You came back for lemonade and wore that cute green shirt. Redheads look wonderful in green. I knew you had chosen it just for me."
He illuminated the candles with the scrape of a match. Cassidy stared into the gold flicker, the impact of his words stirring hairs on her arms. He must have worked at the cafe next door to the television studio. As they ate, she and Josh had laughed about auditions and speculated on their chances. She recalled a coffee/dessert bar, overstuffed chairs and couches tucked between leafy plants and an outside patio.
Cassidy couldn't picture the waiter or busboy, the rest of the memory a blank. If she had smiled, it would have been out of routine politeness. He had twisted a well-mannered gesture into fantasy.
"I didn't know your name, but I kept thinking about you," Mitch said. "A couple months later, I saw you on Sink or Swim. I knew our meeting was fate."
Fate. Had Reggie and Felicia fulfilled their "fates," too?
She forced down a dry sip of champagne, suppressing an urge to toss it in his clammy red face. He looked nervous, feverish, uneasiness threatening his confidence. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.
"I remember the connection," Cassidy said. "It was powerful. So many months have passed that I couldn't remember exactly what you looked like."
"I shaved my mustache and changed my hair color before I came out here. I didn't want you to recognize me until I'd had a chance to prove my devotion." Mitch heaved himself into the chair across from her and dabbed his glossy forehead with a linen napkin.
He offered the plate of sandwiches. Cassidy accepted a thick triangle of bread, oily residue greasing her fingers.
His eyebrows slashed together. "You haven't tasted your salad."
"I'll start now. Everything looks delicious." She speared a tomato with her fork, mozzarella clinging to the plump redness like white mold. He had lapsed into quiet.
"Mitch? I'm here now. I'm staying with you. Couldn't you let my brother go?"
"No."
"But you and I won't be here for long, will we? Before we leave, we could untie Bo. He won't say anything. Right, Bo?" She raised her voice and shot her brother a severe look.
"R...right," he stammered.
Rubbing the back of his head, Mitch darted to his feet. He snatched his notebook out of his pocket and riffled through the pages as if hunting for a written answer. His mood shifts alerted every warning antennae in her body.
He was insane. Dancing with her and sharing his feelings had flustered him. Maybe now that he had her in his clutches, Mitch didn't know how to proceed. Without a plan, he might kill them out of frustration.
"No ... he knows who I am ... where we are," he sputtered. "Not yet ... we have so much to do. You haven't even met Olivia."
"Olivia?"
"Our daughter."
Daughter! Cassidy dropped her fork onto the tablecloth as the shock wave passed. Of course. The little girl on the cruise ship.
"Don't worry, you'll be the perfect mother," Mitch said. "I've told her all about you. That’s why I gave you the locket, so you could carry our pictures with you always."
"Where's her real mother?"
He scowled, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "She's irrelevant. Let's go meet Olivia."
Mitch strode to the dressing room, motioning to Cassidy over his shoulder.
"You mean Olivia's here?" She followed with perverse curiosity, hoping she wouldn't find the child tied to a chair.
They entered a room barely larger than a broom closet. A blonde girl knelt on the wooden floor, cradling a stuffed panda with thinning black and white fur. Her flashlight lay beside her, spilling a narrow beam over alphabet-stamped building blocks, a box of animal crackers and Cassidy's tattered copy of A Little Princess.
Olivia chewed a damp furl of tangled hair, her blue eyes blinking up at them. She couldn't have been more than five, her frame rail thin and her oval face long devoid of baby fat. A gash grazed the front of her pink Little Mermaid shirt and the cuffs of her jeans fell inches too high.
Outrage squeezed Cassidy's heart. How dare he drag this innocent child on his deranged journey. Could Mitch really be her father, or had he kidnapped her? What had he done with her when he killed Reggie and Felicia?
"Olivia, I told you to stop biting your hair," he said. "What will Cassidy think?"
"Daddy, I'm cold."
"The building's cold. There's nothing we can do about it."
She buried her pointed chin deeper into the panda.
"Now be a good little girl and your new mommy will read you the beginning of A Little Princess." He nudged Cassidy forward.
New mommy. What the hell had happened to the old mommy? Cassidy bent down and reached for the book. It had collected more creases. She squatted and Mitch nodded his approval.
"This was my favorite story when I was a few years older than you," she said. "Do you want me to read you some of it?"
Olivia stared at her, arms tightening around her drawn-up knees.
"Olivia, your mother asked you a question," Mitch scolded. "It's rude not to answer."
"Okay," she whispered.
Cassidy opened to the first page. In a high voice, she read about a dark winter's day in London and a seven-year-old girl sitting in a cab with her father. Mitch stayed for a couple minutes, and then disappeared into the studio. Cassidy faltered, reluctant to leave him and Bo alone.
"I like books," Olivia murmured.
She looked into the girl's solemn gaze and down at the muted glow of the flashlight. Daddy-long legs crawled in the dust and shadows. Most children feared monsters in the closet from their warm beds. This child lived among them.
"Me too. The little girl in this book, Sara, is orphaned and winds up locked in an attic as a servant. She's very brave. She gets through it by using her imagination and making up stories. There's a happy ending."
"I like to pretend, too. I was making-believe that this was a room where fairies lived, and that they were having a tea party with me and Pandy." Olivia smiled shyly, dimples blooming.
Mitch's dimples. She even had the cleft in her chin. Dear God, he was her father. That didn't bode well for Mommy.
Cassidy patted the top of her head. "Keep pretending, Olivia. You're a real life Sara Crewe, as courageous as she is. I'm going to see what your daddy is doing."
She kept the door open and returned to the blare of Chattanooga Choo Choo. Mitch paced the far side of the room, swab
bing his forehead with the linen napkin. Her pulse accelerated. His jacket was off. She spotted it draped over the back of his chair.
Cassidy crept over to it, her gaze fastened on Mitch. He didn't notice her, absorbed in his own sick world. She fumbled in his inside pockets, releasing a gust of air as her hand closed around the gun.
She pulled it out from the fabric and fished in the other pockets. No switchblade or pepper spray, but she didn't need them. Cassidy placed the heel of her left hand against the heel of her right and rested her thumbs atop one another. She glided toward him, her index finger poised along the side of the frame.
Bo shook his head, mouthing words she couldn't decipher. Her attention on Mitch, she shifted her finger to the trigger. He swung around, his white shirt stark in the dimness. He stood motionless, a wide open target. Betrayal glinted in his somber blue eyes.
"It's unloaded!" Bo yelled as she held her breath and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened. Cassidy lowered her arm, dumbfounded.
Mitch's tight-lipped mouth quivered, his face mottling purple. "I had to test your loyalty. You failed miserably. Everything you've told me has been lies."
He extracted the knife from his trousers pocket and popped off the black sheath. An eight-inch steel blade glimmered silver. "All I wanted you to do was love me. We were perfect for each other, but no, you couldn't see that. You thought you were better than me."
Damn straight she was better than him. If she was going to die, she'd tell the psycho what she thought.
As anger torched her insides, Bo sniffed in his chair and made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Tears pooled down his cheeks, mucous gelling under his nostrils.
Cassidy’s balance wavered. Her brother deserved a fair chance. She had to control her temper for Bo's sake.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I made a mistake."
"You were a tease, flaunting yourself in front of me, wearing tight clothes and smiling when you knew I was watching."
"I didn't know. I-"
Mitch flew at her and tackled her to the parquet floor. He jerked her head back, wrenching her long hair in his fist. He smacked the right side of her head.