Charade (41 page)

"So why didn't you ever mention her to me? Wait!" Her thoughts were racing past with such confusing speed that she couldn't organize them. Something had triggered her memory of what had been said in conversation the night before last, although now it seemed years ago. "The wreck on the Houston freeway," she exclaimed. "Jeff mentioned it to me the other night. I'd almost forgotten it. Was Amanda a casualty of that?" "No." Air rushed out of her lungs. "Who was she, Alex? Damn you, tell me! You went on vacations together. It was obviously a meaningful relationship." "Very." Tears stung her eyes. "You had a very meaningful relationship with a heart donor, but you never mentioned that to me? Why?" "It doesn't matter. Not any longer." He moved forward; she took a hasty step backward. "I believe it matters a lot," she said breathlessly. "Otherwise we would have speculated openly about her the way we did Sparky and Judy Reyes. What aren't you telling me about Amanda?" Feeling as though she was about to suffocate, she clutched her throat and swallowed convulsively. "How did she die?" "Cat--" "Answer me! How did she die?" "Of an embolism in her brain. During childbirth." "Childbirth?" she croaked, barely loud enough to hear. "And the baby? What about the baby?" "Stillborn. My son strangled on the umbilical cord." A small cry of anguish escaped her. "Your son. Amanda was your wife?" "We never were married." "A technicality, right? You were committed to her, and she to you." "Totally." "You loved her." "More than my own life." Reflexively, Cat swiped at the tears streaming from her eyes. "And you believe I got her heart."

He came toward her with his arms outstretched, but again she recoiled, which made him angry. "Dammit, stop backing away from me. You've got to calm down and listen to me." "Oh, I'm a good listener," she said with a self-directed scornful laugh. "I take everything at face value. I believe whatever I'm told without question. I never look for double meanings or hidden agendas. I trust blindly." A sob rose out of her chest with such force that it was painful. "You bastard! You haven't been making love to me! You've been making love to Amanda!" "Listen--" "No! I'm through listening." Tormented by the implications of what was happening, she ground the heels of her hands against her temples. "When I think of how elaborately you planned all this . . . And you did plan it, didn't you? It's been one grand charade. The whole thing. Our meeting, everything?" "Yes," he admitted tersely. Her chest caved in, forcing another harsh sound from her throat. "Irene and Charlie Walters had applied for one of your kids," he said rapidly. "I hoped to meet you through them. Eventually. I certainly didn't plan on Irene's brother in Atlanta getting sick, or on you showing up that morning." "I can't believe this." "But there you were and I felt an instant. . . something. You felt it, too." "Love at first sight," she said, sneering. "You think Amanda's heart gave a little leap of recognition when I saw you?" "Jesus," he muttered, plowing his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what to think anymore. All I know is that I'm in love with you." "No. You're in love with Amanda." "What I did was--" "Despicable. Underhanded. Contemptible. Shitty!" "All right! You're right. I'm a shit. I admitted that a long time ago." He bit back whatever angry words were to follow. His head dropped forward. For several moments he stared at the floor. Finally he raised his head and said softly, "Before you can forgive me, you'll have to understand how much I loved her."

Cat was too upset to speak. He used her silence as an opportunity to defend himself. "Amanda pressured me to get married, but I refused because of my job. Sometimes I was gone for days at a time. When I walked out the door, she never knew if she'd see me again, or if some punk would pass his gang's initiation by doing a cop. That kind of life is hell on relationships. I wanted her to feel free to walk out anytime. No strings. "Shortly after the shit came down in the department, she let herself get pregnant. At first I was angry, then scared. But she was so goddamn positive about the baby that gradually I came to love the idea. The new life growing inside her was like a spark of hope, you know? "When word got to me that she was in labor, I sped toward the hospital, but I was detained by that pileup on the freeway. When I finally made it there . . ."He rubbed his eyes. "I went a little crazy when the doctor said they'd already declared her brain-dead." Cat's eyes were still streaming tears, but she was no longer angry. She was captivated by the tragic story. Intermittently she hiccupped small sobs. Otherwise she didn't interrupt. "The agent from the organ bank introduced herself to me. She didn't pressure me. I'll give her that. She was apologetic for the intrusion at that most difficult time, but reminded me that Amanda had designated on her driver's license that she wished to be an organ donor if anything ever happened to her. "That's considered a legal document. Even so, she said they wouldn't proceed with retrieval without my permission. Amanda had no living relatives. The decision was entirely up to me. "Someone desperately needed Amanda's heart, she said. Without it, the other person would die. The organ had to be harvested quickly. Haste was imperative. So if I could please grant permission ..." His voice trailed off, and Cat knew he was no longer with her. He was back in that hospital corridor, numbed by grief, being asked for permission to cut out his lover's heart. "We were together for five years, but I never gave her what she wanted most, and that was my name. It wasn't a popular name

around Houston at that time. I thought she'd be better off without it. Or maybe I was just too goddamn selfish. "I knew I loved her," he continued. "I knew I wanted to live with her and our baby for the rest of my life. But I didn't realize how much I depended on her emotionally until she wasn't there anymore. "Ironically, I'd resigned from HPD that day, something she'd been urging me to do since the shooting incident. She wanted me to devote all my time to writing. She believed in my talent. At least that's what she told me," he said with a poignant smile. "After burying her, I emptied our apartment, threw away all the baby stuff, and stayed drunk for several months. It wasn't until after I got sober and linked up with Arnie that I thought to inquire about her heart recipient. "Since the procurement agency wouldn't tell me anything, I be came obsessed with finding the recipient myself. It haunted me to know that her heart was living inside someone else. "I began reading newspapers from every major city published on the date of her death and for several weeks afterward. I searched for stories about heart transplants. If recipients are media savvy, they can sometimes discover who their donors are just by reading the headlines. I thought it might work in the reverse. "I read everything available on the topic. I learned the criteria ' necessary to make a good organ match. I wrote down those criteria and sketched a profile of the recipient, much as I would for a character in one of my books. "Your transplant had been a media event. Using former police contacts, bribes, any method I could devise, I learned from hospital personnel in California the time your transplant had taken place. It was cutting it close, but still possible. Your blood types matched. ' You were comparable in size. The more I researched it, the more convinced I became that you got her heart. "I was actually planning a move to Los Angeles to try and meet you when it was announced that you were coming to San Antonio. I moved up here from Houston immediately." He paused. "You know the rest." "I know you're a sneaky, lying son of a bitch." "At first, yes. Seeing you through that screen door hit me like a

blow to the gut. I knew," he said, making a fist for emphasis. "I knew I was right. The more I was around you, the more convinced I became. You have traits that are so similar to hers." "I don't want to hear this." "Your expressions remind me of her. Your likes and dislikes are the same. You even have the same sense of humor, the same optimistic attitude." "Stop it!" She covered her ears. "I had to make love to you, Cat. I had to." "You used me like a medium." "Yes," he said, his voice becoming a hiss. "I had to see if I could reach her. Feel her. Touch her just once more." "Ah, God!" Cat cried, shattered by hearing him admit it. "And I did feel a cosmic connection. But was it Amanda? Or was it you? What happened between us had been so good that I started feeling guilty for betraying her." "Surely I wasn't the first woman you'd been with in four years?" "No. But you're the first one I'd been with where it meant something, where I woke up knowing your last name. That's why I broke it off with you. I no longer trusted my motives. I was falling in love with you, and it had nothing to do with Amanda. "I no longer wanted to know if you had her heart. I nearly swallowed my tongue that morning you told me you'd asked the organ bank about your donor. Immediately after you left, I called the agency that had retrieved Amanda's heart and canceled my longstanding request for information. If you'd gotten her heart, I didn't want to know. At that point, all I knew or needed to know was that I loved you." "Do you expect me to believe this drivel? As for this ..." She swept the files to the floor, scattering their contents. "You've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble for nothing. For all either of us knows, I don't even have her heart!" "I'm ninety-nine percent sure. I didn't experience that tug of recognition with any of the others." "It's still only a--" She broke off abruptly when the realization of what he'd just said hit her full force. "The others? The other transplantees? You met them, too?"

Her tears dried instantly and she saw the truth with crystal clarity. "Oh my God. It's you!" "Cat--" She charged him, ramming both fists into his chest and taking him off guard. He lost his balance and careened into the shelves, knocking books to the floor. Cat ran out the door and slammed it behind her. She raced down the hall, through the living room, snatching his car keys from the end table. The front door was locked. Her nerveless fingers grappled with the bolt. She heard his bare feet running on the carpet behind her. Without an instant to spare, she shot through the front door and dashed to his car. He came sprinting after her. "Cat, wait a minute," he shouted. "So you can kill me like you did them?" She pushed the gear shift into reverse and tromped on the accelerator. The tires squealed on the pavement and spun out of control. He was almost within grasp of the door handle before she was able to get traction and speed off into the night.

Chapter fifty four

"There was that stupid bitch? Only Kismet wasn't so stupid, Cyclops bitterly reminded himself. Like an asshole, he'd fallen for her act. For days he'd been mulling over how he could find her. So far, he'd had no brilliant ideas. It would have been a miracle if he had. His brain was pickled. He'd been subsisting on a continuous cycle of booze and drugs. He'd asked around, but none of his acquaintances knew where any women's shelters were. His inquiries had resulted only in smartass remarks about how he couldn't keep his old lady under wraps. They'd laughed at him. Damn! He had to find her and drag her back, if for no other reason than to save face with his friends. He was even losing the respect of his enemies, which was worse. When he did get his hands on her--and he was certain it was only a matter of time before she came crawling back to him--he'd make her sorry she'd ever double-crossed him.

She wouldn't have gotten so brave if not for that Delaney broad. The blame for all this really belonged to her. She'd shown up out of nowhere and gotten Kismet worked up about Sparky again. Keeping Kismet in line was a cinch. All he had to do was threaten the kid and she became as meek as a lamb. There was no limit to what she'd do to protect Sparky's spooky little bastard. But he could hardly control her, much less punish her the way she deserved to be punished, if he couldn't even find her. Only one person could tell him where Kismet and her whelp were hiding. Well, actually two people, but he'd just as soon not tangle with that Pierce character unless it was absolutely necessary. In any event, sitting on his butt and brooding wasn't accomplishing anything. He'd thought the situation through till he was sick of thinking. It was time to take action. The heat would have cooled by now. The cops would have other things on their minds; they wouldn't be looking for him. He came to his feet, reeling drunkenly before gaining enough equilibrium to make his way to the exit of the bar. The night air was chilly and bracing. It sobered him somewhat. As he mounted his Harley, he patted it as though it were a living thing. When he gunned the powerful engine, he welcomed the familiar thrumming that vibrated up through his thighs and sex and belly. It imbued him with a sense of manliness and confidence, which the fiasco with Cat Delaney had squashed. If he let that redheaded bitch get away with screwing up his life, he'd just as well hand her a butcher knife and let her castrate him. "No way in hell," he snarled as he roared off into the night.

Bill Webster had spent a sleepless night. For the umpteenth time he checked the clock on Melia's nightstand. It was now past midnight. He threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. His pants were neatly folded over the chair. He was stepping into them when Melia sat up and groggily spoke his name. "Sorry I woke you," he said. "Go back to sleep." "Where are you going?" "It's time I left."

"Now? I thought you told Nancy you'd be away all night." "I did." "Then why don't you wait until morning?" "It is morning." She frowned, disinclined to split hairs at that ungodly hour. "I hate waking up alone," she said crossly. "It can't be helped this morning." "What's your rush?" "There's something I've got to do." "At this time of night?" "The sooner the better," he said cryptically. She tried her sexy best to lure him back into bed, but couldn't persuade him. He left in a hurry, without even kissing her goodbye.

Alex cursed viciously as he watched the taillights of his car disappear around the corner, but he didn't waste time on regret. He hurried back inside, ran up the stairs to his bedroom, and pulled on some clothes. He retrieved his revolver from the top bureau drawer, grabbed a handful of bullets, and dropped them into the breast pocket of his shirt as he raced back downstairs. On his way out the door he glanced at his wristwatch and cursed again. His motorcycle was still in the shop. So, with the grip of the pistol, he broke out the driver's window of his neighbor's BMW. Within seconds he'd hot-wired the ignition. As he sped away, he looked at his watch again. He was no more than five minutes behind Cat.