Heart of the Night (36 page)

Setting a fist on either side of her, Jared brought his face close to hers. “Coming down?” he asked in the soft, sandy voice that sent tingles along her spine.

She gave a quick nod. “In a minute.” She touched her hair, which was a mess of escaped tendrils around a spindly knot. “I want to fix myself up.”

“Don't fix too much. I like you this way.”

She made a face in disbelief.

“I like you this way,” he insisted, with greater feeling this time. He kissed her gently. “Gotta run. Don't be long.”

Still hugging the edges of the shirt together, she smiled and shook her head. He strode to the door and looked back at her a final time before heading downstairs.

It was during that last look when her heart warmed and her senses seemed to reach out that Savannah first suspected she was in love.

C
HAPTER
15

On Friday morning, Sam took Susan and the Jag to see Matty Stavanovich.

“You never did say whether this Matty was an authorized repairman,” Susan murmured as Sam helped her from the car. While she didn't want him to laugh at her again, she did want an answer. The Jag was one of her prized possessions. She felt elegant driving it. When she sat behind its wheel, she was on top of the world. Heads turned. She was in command.

She didn't want just anyone fiddling with her car.

Taking her arm, Sam guided her toward the repair shop's office. “Matty's authorized, all right. He also happens to do a damned good job, which is more than I can say for some authorized repairmen.”

“Does he work on your car?”

Sam smirked. “The Mazda's a little too plebeian for his skills. He's very selective.”

The office was far neater than she had expected it to be. It was also filled with Beethoven's Fifth, playing a little too loud for comfort.

Matty Stavanovich was nowhere in sight. That didn't seem to bother Sam, who proceeded to walk around the small room, scrutinizing everything in sight.

“Where is he?” Susan demanded above the music. She expected service.

Sam turned a desk calendar toward him, flipped back several pages to scan what had been written there for the preceding few weeks, turned the calendar right again. Then he went to the elaborate stereo setup against the wall and lowered the volume. “Give him a minute. He'll be here.”

Susan watched him nonchalantly thumb through a cluster of papers on the desk. “Are you looking for something?”

“Hmmm?”

“You're being very nosy. Either you're looking for something, or you have terrible manners.”

He flashed her a broad smile. Then his gaze slipped beyond her. “Here he comes. The man, himself.”

Susan turned to confront a man who was several inches shorter than she, several pounds lighter, several years older. While his features were average, his skin was sallow, contrasting sharply with dark hair that was thinning on top. He wore overalls that barely camouflaged his slenderness. As grease monkeys went, he was immaculate.

“Well, hello,” he said, eying her with interest. He held out his hand. “I don't believe we've met. My name is Mattias. You are…?”

In an instant, Susan knew she would let him work on her car. He had slender fingers, the fingers of an artist, or a piano player. Between that and Sam's recommendation, she sensed he would have a way with the Jag.

But the Jag was the only thing she'd let him touch. She didn't like his voice. And she didn't like his eyes.

Tucking her hands deeply in the pockets of her jacket, she tossed a helpless glance at Sam, who came to her rescue by leaning in and shaking the hand that had been extended to her.

“This is Mrs. Gardner,” he said. “That's her red Jag out front. She's got carburetor problems. I told her that if anyone could fix it, you could.”

With a grin that Susan liked as little as his voice and his eyes, Matty brought his free hand up to clap Sam on the shoulder. “Well, well. Sam Craig. How've you been, old friend?”

“Working hard, Matty.”

“I'm sure you are,” Matty drawled. “I haven't seen you in a while.”

“That's right. I've been out on assignment each time you've been brought in. Cranston this time?”

“That's what they say.”

“And you're innocent as a babe.”

“Naturally.”

“Innocent as a babe, and as quick-fingered as ever, eh?”

Matty flexed those fingers and shrugged. “I have to stay in shape, now, don't I?”

Susan knew she was missing something. But she was content to let Sam do the talking. Matty Stavanovich gave her the creeps. The less he looked at her the better.

Sam was walking around the office, studying again—this time the framed certificates on the wall, the piles of papers neatly criss-crossed on top of a file cabinet, an obligatory pinup from the most recent
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue, several snapshots. He pointed to one. “From Cancún, I take it?”

“You've done your homework.”

“It's right there on your calendar, bold as day. A five-day trip to Cancún. Was it a nice one?”

“By all means,” Matty said. “And those were taken at Chichén Itzá. Marvelous Mayan ruins there. I had a private guide. He told me some fascinating things.”

“I'm sure.” With a final glance at the pictures, Sam moved on to the wall calendar beside the phone. “We'll get you one day,” he said softly, almost absently. “You know that, don't you?”

“Not at all,” Matty returned pleasantly. “I'm a very careful man. I don't make mistakes.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Sam said as his eye skimmed notations on the calendar. “Somewhere, you'll slip up. Then we'll have you.”

Susan was beginning to get the gist of things she didn't want to know. She wondered exactly where Sam had brought her.

“We'll see,” Matty hummed at Sam's prediction. He cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger and looked into the distance. “I may want to retire someday, to settle down, let the state foot my bills. Then again,” he dropped his hand and said whimsically, “I may decide to go abroad. I've always fancied retirement in Switzerland.”

“I'll bet you have,” Sam said, less indulgently now.

Sensing the shift in mood, Matty rubbed his hands together. “But that's a long way off, and right now I have a job to do. I'm flattered that you're sending me work.” He turned to Susan with a smile that again grated on her. “I take it you have a ride home?”

“She does,” Sam answered possessively.

Matty nodded. With a smooth, catlike walk, he went behind the desk and took a work-order form from the drawer. Sam gave him the information he needed, and Susan was happy to let him do it. She was even happier when they left.

“What was going on there?” she asked as soon as they'd hit the fresh air.

“Where?”

“There. What was all that between you and him?”

Sam opened the Mazda's door for her. “Just a little good-natured kidding.”

She waited until he slid behind the wheel to confront him. “Good-natured kidding, my foot. Neither one of you was kidding. Is that man an authorized repairman, or is he a crook?”

“Don't worry. He'll fix your car,” Sam said, patting her knee.

She batted his hand away. “Is he a crook?”

Sam started the car, pulled away from the curb, then shot her a look. He had the distinct feeling that she wouldn't settle for anything but the truth, so that was what he gave her.

She was livid. “The Cat? You had me leave my car with
the Cat?
How
could
you?” she cried, grabbing for the wheel. “Sam Craig, how
could
you? Turn around. We're going back.”

He held the wheel steady despite her efforts to turn it. “I wasn't lying to you, Susan. He happens to be the best one to fix your car.”

“I'm not totally ignorant.” She gave another tug. “I've read about him. I've even heard Savvy talk about the Cat, but the name Stavanovich never registered. How could you do this to me, Sam?”

“He'll fix your car,” Sam insisted.

“But he knows me now,” she wailed. “You gave him my name and my address. Who do you think's going to be next on his hit list?”

“Not you, and that's a promise. You're safer now than you were before. He never preys on customers.”

Susan was only mildly mollified, though she did sit back in her seat. “There's more than one way to prey.” She screwed up her face. “What a smarmy little man. He's the kind to turn vicious in bed.”

“You've had experience with kinds like that?”

“Once,” she said with distaste. “That was enough.”

Satisfied that her distaste was genuine, Sam glanced her way again. “You don't have to worry about Matty. He's pretty careful with women. They'd be too apt to scream and yell if something went wrong.”

“Unless he threatened them into silence.”

“A little guy like Matty?”

“He wouldn't have to use physical force. Doing the kind of work he does for the kind of clients he does, he probably picks up all the latest gossip. Do you think he'd be adverse to blackmail?”

“I doubt he'd try it. It's not his style. I'm telling you, Susan, he's got a good thing going as the Cat. He's probably got several million stashed in numbered bank accounts. His strength is his cleverness. One of the reasons he's been so successful is that he works alone. He's not about to go stupid on us at this late date and start playing rough with women. You're safe. Trust me.”

He reached over to chuck her chin and left his hand to slide down her neck and under the lapels of her blouse.

“I should trust you?” Susan asked, but her voice had lost its edge. No doubt it had something to do with the long, blunt-tipped fingers that had stolen into her bra.

“About as far as you can throw me. Where do you want to go?”

They'd talked of picking up a VCR for Sam's place, but Sam had to go to work later that day, and Susan wasn't in the mood for shopping.

“My place?” she asked, catching her breath. Sam's finger was brushing her nipple, setting the rest of her on fire.

“You got it,” he said and stepped on the gas.

*   *   *

“We have to get moving,” Savannah worriedly told the small group gathered in the conference room at five that afternoon. “Time is passing. We're getting flack from the press. I'm getting flack from upstairs. Megan is having trouble getting on with her life. And whoever kidnapped her is having a good laugh.” With a quick breath, she turned to Mark Morgan, the FBI agent on the case. “Anything new, Mark?”

“Not much. Nothing's turned up at points of departure, but we don't know what we're looking for. We've sent alerts throughout the country for unlikely-looking persons spending money freely, but that could as easily net half the population of Las Vegas as our men. We're going through files of kidnappings and attempted kidnappings in other states, but kidnappers don't usually do it twice. We're also working through lists of recent escapees from either federal or state penitentiaries. Theoretically, an escapee would be able to put three million to good use. But the kidnapping was carefully planned, so whoever it was would have had to have been around this area for a while beforehand. We're canvasing the area with mug shots. Someone may recognize a face.”

Savannah turned her questioning eyes to Peter Sprange, who was with the state police.

“I don't have much more. The hospital tests tell us that we have two men, blood types A positive and O positive. Both have dark hair. That's about it. Mrs. Vandermeer hasn't been able to give us anything. We've checked out every recent parolee in the state, but aside from three, they're all accounted for. We're working on those three, but two have different blood types and the third is an unlikely candidate.”

Savannah looked at Sam, who was representing the local police, but he slowly shook his head. “We're looking for a needle in a haystack, and we don't even know which haystack it is. We need Megan's help, Savannah.”

Savannah was discouraged. “I know. But I hate to pressure her.” She turned to the last person in the room, a counselor trained in rape therapy. “Do we dare push her?”

“I think we do,” the woman said, then corrected herself. “I think
you
do. She won't have any part of me. She's totally resisting the idea of therapy, individual or otherwise. But it's been a week since she was let go. While the horror is still very real, it's not as immediate as it was last Friday. You can push, but gently.”

Savannah didn't want to push anyone anywhere. She had just completed a full day in court, and although she would be wrapping up her case on Monday, the pressure wouldn't let up until the verdict was announced.

She planned to visit Megan over the weekend, though. And yes, she would push. She intended to solve this case.

Sitting forward in her chair, she went from one person in the room to the next, asking questions, asking each for additional resources to call on during the next week. Then, knowing that there wasn't much more she could do, she thanked them for coming and adjourned the meeting.

Sam stayed after the others had left. “How's the trial going?”

She raised her eyebrows wearily, but said, “Pretty well, actually. There have been one or two glitches, but one or two is nothing. I think we've got a good shot at winning.”

“If you hadn't thought that, you'd never have gone to trial.”

She smiled crookedly. “True.” Then she studied him more closely. He was propped on the edge of the conference table, at ease physically. Still, he looked like a man with something on his mind. “I talked with Susan the other night,” she said. “She mentioned she'd seen you.”

“Did she?”