Last Dance (COBRA Securities Book 14)

by Velvet Vaughn

  “I’m not one to gossip, and what I’m telling you I’ve only heard through said gossip, but you know he’s a widower.”

  “He told me. His wife was murdered.”

  “Yes, but the marriage was over long before. He’d already contacted a divorce lawyer. Scuttlebutt says that she cheated on him, repeatedly.”

  His wife had been unfaithful? He was the most honorable, noble man she’d ever met.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Harlow added, “From what I heard, she cheated on him to get his attention. She wanted him to fight for her but instead, he called it quits.”

  I can’t imagine any woman cheating on him.

  “I know, right?”

  Cassidy jerked. She’d said that out loud? “It’s just that…I mean…oh, heck.” She huffed out an exhale. “Fine. I’ll admit that I’m intrigued…more than intrigued. I may have a crush on my bodyguard.”

  Harlow tossed back her head and laughed. “Oh, sister, I’ve been there. And I hate to tell you, but it’s kinda fatal. There is no cure.”

  Chapter 23

  The following day, Russell Ingram called a meeting of all the pros and celebrities. There’d been no more incidents since Jenna Lanier opened the baby-powder-laced envelope and Cassidy hoped that maybe that would be the end of them. Maybe Barry Nelson or whoever was tormenting her had given up. But she wasn’t counting on it.

  Russell wasted no time getting to the point. “Marcus Howe’s family set the funeral arrangements for tomorrow. Viewing will be from ten to one. The funeral will be next, with a procession to the cemetery. I want us all to be in attendance to show our support. Marcus was one of our own.”

  “Even Cassidy?” Irina asked cattily. “Is it not her fault?”

  “That’s enough,” Russell boomed, and everyone jumped back. Irina’s eyes widened in shock. Russell never raised his voice. He was calm and collected. Always. For him to get this emotional, it had to be monumental. “I’ve had enough of your insinuations, Irina. You do not represent a professional on this show. I’ve overlooked many of your spiteful remarks and juvenile stunts over the years, but no more.” He slashed a hand through the air. “This will be your last season. And if you even attempt to blame Cassidy, I will throw you off the show right now. This has nothing to do with her. This is all me.” He stabbed a thumb in his chest. “I’ve had it with you. You’re done.”

  Irina gasped. Harlow reached for Cassidy’s hand and squeezed. Trey wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and Glen clasped a hand on her shoulder. Emma slinked over to thread her arm through Cassidy’s. Several of the other pros gave her encouraging smiles. The support and sense of family she felt right now was overwhelming. Tears crowded her eyes.

  “As I was saying,” Russell continued. “I’d like for all of us to make an appearance. I realize this will cut into your practice time, but this is important. I’ve chartered a bus to transport everyone to the funeral home. It will then proceed to the cemetery for the burial. If you wish to decline, let my assistant Belinda know.” His narrowed eyes raked the group, making it obvious that no one dare decline. “Otherwise, I’ll see you there tomorrow.”

  As the group broke up, Irina scurried after Russell, probably to beg for her job. Cassidy didn’t care.

  The following day, after showering, she dressed in a tasteful black Calvin Klein dress and black pumps. When she exited the bedroom, she almost swallowed her tongue. Mason wore a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. He looked positively drool-worthy.

  Instead of riding with the others, their group drove separately, but arrived at the same time. Cassidy took a deep breath when they entered the church. Marcus’s casket rested in front of the altar, the top half open. She forced down the nausea that threatened to consume her.

  Russell wanted each pair to sit together since most of the celebrities didn’t know Marcus, so she and Trey slid into a pew beside Harlow and Glen. A dozen people eulogized Marcus to the point of sainthood. Russell spoke last, delivering a poignant speech that brought everyone to tears. Once it was over, they filed to the front of the church for a viewing. She relied on Trey’s strength, since she could barely make her feet move forward. She wished it was Mason at her side, but he’d stayed in the back of the church with Kellan and Sawyer.

  She was almost afraid to peer into the open casket. The last time she saw Marcus, his face had been contorted into a mask of horror. Gathering her courage, she peeked inside. The funeral home makeup crew had done a good job. He looked normal—peaceful, even. This was the face she wanted to remember. She said a prayer for his soul and then stood in line to pay respects to his family. She’d met his parents once when they dated, and the couple had been chilly towards her. She wondered if they would remember her.

  When it was their turn, she stepped forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Howe, I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  Mrs. Howe’s jaw dropped open and she ignored the hand Cassidy presented. “What is she doing here?” she screeched. “She killed my son!”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “Get out! You killed him!”

  “Mrs. Howe, Cassidy did not have anything to do with your son’s untimely demise.”

  It was Cassidy’s turn to gape in shock as Irina came to her defense.

  “Get out now!”

  Trey urged her away from the family and out the door. “Sorry about that, Cass. She’s just grieving.”

  She sighed heavily, holding back the tears. “I know. But she does have a right to resent me. He died in my apartment. Whoever killed him wanted to hurt me or frame me. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. He’s dead because of me.”

  “You had nothing to do with it,” Trey argued. “Stop beating yourself up.”

  “Cassidy.”

  She turned to see Russell hurrying towards her. “Honey, I’m sorry. I had no idea she’d react that way. Please don’t take it personally. In her heart, she knows you didn’t kill Marcus.”

  “It’s okay. Really. I understand her grief.” She squeezed Trey’s hand. “I think it’s better if I don’t go to the burial.”

  #

  Cassidy had been feeling down after the scene at the funeral, but Mason made her forget all about it…and everything else. The next morning, she was back to herself again. Dress rehearsal days were hectic, and tomorrow would be the first eliminations of the season.

  She and Trey watched tapes of their practices in her trailer, looking for ways to improve. Frankly, she saw little room for improvement. He was sensational. He was even suggesting moves that worked into her choreography perfectly.

  Once they finished, she followed him outside. She spotted Mason chatting with Kellan, Sawyer, Harlow and Glen and headed in their direction.

  Boom!

  The ground shook, causing her to stumble into Trey. His arms gripped her, steadying her. With a gasp, she spun around to see a fiery orange ball of flames lick high into the air. Mason rushed over, guiding them to where Sawyer, Harlow and Glen were standing. “Stay with Sawyer,” he commanded. Then he was gone. Sawyer herded them inside the auditorium. She glanced over her shoulder to see Mason sprinting towards the fire, Kellan close behind. Dammit, did he always have to put himself in the line of danger?

  She knew the men wore comm devices to keep in touch. “What’s happening?”

  “An explosion,” Sawyer informed her. “Sounds like it might’ve been a car bomb.”

  Chapter 24

  Once Cassidy was safe with Sawyer, Mason took off for the explosion with Kellan keeping pace beside him. Car alarms were sounding from vehicles near the one currently blackened beyond recognition. Two people were down. He checked on the woman who looked to have been closest to the blast. No pulse. He glanced at Kellan, who shook his head. A low moan had him lurching to his feet. A pair of boots protruded from beneath what looked like a car door. He reached for it and jerked his hands back from the scorching hot metal. He called for Kellan and together they lifted the chunk of debris off the
man Mason recognized as Stan Cornwell, the lighting technician. He was conscious but groaning in pain.

  “Stan, it’s Mason Rossi. Can you tell me where you hurt?” The heat from the fire was intense, but he didn’t want to risk moving Stan in case he’d suffered a spinal injury.

  “Leg, mostly, though I feel like a Mack truck plowed into me. Mason glanced down to see a piece of jagged metal protruding from his thigh. Damn, that had to hurt, but the metal was plugging the wound. If he removed it, Stan might bleed out.

  The on-site ambulance screeched to a stop, with three security guards close behind. “Help’s on the way, Stan. Hang in there.”

  Mason recognized the two paramedics from when they helped Cassidy after she fainted. They dropped beside Stan. He’d passed out, hopefully from the pain of the metal embedded in his leg and not something worse, like a head injury. They carefully slid a backboard beneath him and lifted him to the stretcher.

  “Mason.”

  He looked over to where Kellan was crouched down on the ground and headed over.

  “Take a look at this.”

  He bent down to discover what Kellan found. It was a brown nylon wallet lying open with the driver’s license clearly visible. Barry Nelson.

  “Son of a bitch.” Mason stood and surveyed the area. Spectators had flocked to the sound of the explosion and the guards were keeping them back until police arrived with crime scene tape. He catalogued each face but didn’t see anyone resembling the pictures he’d studied of Nelson. Sometimes perps liked to stick around and watch their handiwork.

  Sirens wailed closer and a police car arrived, followed by two fire trucks. The firemen whipped out hoses and made quick work of the flames. He snapped pictures of the wallet with his phone before it was bagged and tagged.

  “My car!” Russell Ingram came running over before the cops could stop him. “What happened?”

  “Looks like someone planted a bomb. Killed two, injured one.”

  Russell was holding on to his head as if it would explode like his car if he didn’t. “The bastard is targeting me now? This has got to stop.”

  “Have a look.” Mason handed him his iPhone with the picture of Nelson’s wallet on the screen.

  Russell slid on a pair of reading glasses and peered at the image. His jaw tightened. “It is him.” He ripped the glasses off and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. “How does he keep getting in? That’s it. I want security cameras covering every single inch of this lot.”

  Great idea, one Mason had suggested before but was told they weren’t necessary.

  The cops came over to talk to them and Detective Parsa arrived, looking even more haggard than the other day. Mason showed him the wallet.

  “Looks like he dropped it in his haste to get away from the bomb.”

  That was what it looked like, but Mason wondered how someone so methodical and crafty had made such a stupid error.

  Russell ordered everyone back inside to begin rehearsals. Blankets had been draped over the deceased. The male had worked for the catering company that provided food to the set. The female was one of the makeup assistants.

  Frustration ate at Mason. Nelson, or whoever was responsible had already cost too many lives. How many more would die before he was caught?

  Chapter 25

  Despite the excitement surrounding the car bomb, dress rehearsals went off without a hitch. As a group, they’d held a moment of silence for the two people caught in the blast. Cassidy couldn’t help but feel responsible. Logically, she knew it wasn’t her fault some twisted individual had fixated on her, but three people were now dead. How could she not feel culpable?

  As they were driving to the studio the next day, Mason’s phone buzzed. Waking up in his arms was becoming her favorite part of the day—well, second favorite. Lying with him at night, kissing, touching, making love, that was definitely number one.

  She enjoyed getting to know his teammates as well. Both Sawyer and Kellan were easy-going and fun to be around. And Harlow had quickly become her best friend.

  He disconnected the call. “That was Parsa. He has some news. Said he’d meet us at the studio.”

  Marcus’s sign-toting fan club groupies were back with their cardboard placards and verbal tirades. Security had moved them across the street, but that didn’t stop the women from hurling nasty volleys her way. When she arrived at the studio, she’d ask one of the caterers to deliver coffee and pastries to them. Spewing nasty filth and venomous hate had to take a lot out of them.

  Technicians were installing security cameras when they arrived at the lot. Cassidy prayed they’d catch whoever was behind the attacks. A burst of panic flared deep in her belly. If they captured the person responsible, would Mason leave? Technically, his assignment would be over. Russell hired him to protect her from the threats and with the suspect behind bars, the case would be closed. She glanced at his strong, solid profile. The thought of not seeing him every day frightened her. He’d become her rock. She had to believe he wouldn’t leave since he’d originally come to guard Harlow.

  Sawyer parked the SUV and they headed for the practice facility. Detective Parsa was already waiting for them. “Is there someplace private we can talk?”

  “We can use my trailer,” Cassidy offered. She led the way, with Harlow at her side.

  “Do you think they caught the guy?” Harlow whispered.

  “I hope so.”

  Trey jumped in front of her and spread his arms wide, singing, “Hey, hey, Cassie, she’s my favorite lassie.” Then, as if just hearing what he said, he quickly corrected, “I mean that in the Scottish way. I’m not calling you a dog, like the TV collie.”

  She smiled, wondered if he was ever in a bad mood. He seemed to have a perpetual grin and sunny attitude. “I understood what you meant.”

  His gaze moved past her to the group of men behind her that included Detective Parsa. His smile disappeared and he grabbed her hand. “Is everything okay? Did something else happen?”

  “I’m not sure. Detective Parsa needs to speak with us.”

  “Can I come, too?”

  Trey had been such a huge support to her, never letting her dwell over what had happened or wallow in self-pity. All of this had affected him, too. “Sure.”

  She unlocked her trailer and after Mason did a quick check, they all piled inside. She scooted into one of the bench seats with Trey sliding in beside her. Harlow sat across from her, with Sawyer at her side. Mason and Kellan stood, as did Detective Parsa. He wasted no time getting down to business. “We found Barry Nelson.”

  Cassidy sucked in a breath, hope engulfing her. If they’d captured him, all the torment would be over. People would stop dying because of her.

  “Where? And I want a minute alone with him,” Mason growled

  Parsa wiped a hand down his face. “Yeah, that’d be a little difficult. We found him hanging from the rafters in an abandoned house in the Valley.”

  Harlow gasped. “He’s dead? Does this mean it’s over?”

  Parsa’s mouth tightened. “Optimistically, I’d say it looks like the case is closed. We found the sniper rifle that was used to shoot at you among his belongings. Ballistics matched the bullets. Plus, we found a receipt for the hotel where the shooting took place. That’s why we couldn’t find a trace of him. He just retreated to his room and hid out until we were gone.”

  “Why wasn’t his name flagged?” Kellan asked. “He was a suspect, so any credit card activity should’ve been monitored.”

  “He paid cash. We also found all the makings for a bomb like the one he used to blow up Ingram’s car. We also found dozens of snapshots of Ms. Swain, taken at various locations. It was obvious you didn’t know you were being photographed.”

  Cassidy shuddered, hating the fact that he’d been close enough to take pictures for who knew how long. Trey wrapped an arm around her in comfort and Harlow squeezed her arm in sympathy.

  “He left a suicide note.”

  “What did it say?” Sh
e was almost afraid to know.

  “That he didn’t mean to kill anyone yesterday. His targets were you, Russell Ingram and Marcus Howe. Ingram since he blackballed him. He didn’t say why he targeted Howe.”

  “They had a falling-out a few years ago. I’m not really sure why.”

  “Ah.” Parsa nodded. “That would explain it.”

  “What else?” Mason’s jaw was locked.

  Parsa sighed. “He said he snapped when Ms. Swain spurned his advances and then took out a restraining order on him.”

  “But why now?” That had been bothering her. It’d been months since the restraining order expired. Why hadn’t he attempted something sooner?

  “He didn’t say, but my theory is that he waited for the new season to start so you would all be in the same place, therefore, easier to target.”

  “I’m not criticizing the police because we’ve been searching for him, too, but he was getting away with it,” Sawyer pointed out. “Why off himself now?”

  “The suicide note said he realized he’d dropped his wallet and he had no access to cash. We’d impounded his car, so he had no means to get away. It was just a matter of time before he was caught. He didn’t want to go to prison.”

  Cassidy understood that. Barry Nelson wasn’t the kind of man that would do well being locked up.

  “How did you find him?” Mason asked.

  “He purchased a disposable cell. He dialed nine-one-one and left the line open before he slipped the noose over his head and kicked the chair away. A car went to check it out and found him.”

  Parsa closed his notebook and slid it in a shirt pocket. “As far as the LAPD is concerned, the case is closed. All indications point to him working alone with no sign of an accomplice. If anything else happens, like with those wackos across the street, give me a call.”

  “By wackos, you mean the four women protesting me?”

  Parsa nodded. “I mean, come on, get a life.”

  Cassidy smiled, feeling an immense relief. She didn’t wish anyone dead, but she also couldn’t muster much sympathy for Barry Nelson. He’d ruined lives. He’d killed.