Nerves of Steel (27 page)

"That's what I was afraid of."  His hand relaxed its death grip on the sheets and moved to pull her onto his lap.  He surrounded her with both arms and began to stroke his fingers along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Cassie's body responded instantly to his touch.  She tilted her head back, and he lowered his mouth to the side of her neck.

"What about Plan A?" she asked.

"Doesn't start until morning."

His fingers continued their work, and her pelvis arched in synchrony with their movements.  "Don't start something you can't finish," she warned him.

"There's something you should know about me," he whispered as he nuzzled her ear.  "I always finish what I begin.  Always."

CHAPTER 44

"Hey, wake up.  It's late."  Drake shook Hart's shoulder.  She flopped over onto her stomach, ignoring him.  "Come on.  We still have to get your car, and I've a seven o'clock task force meeting."

"What time is it?" she mumbled without lifting her head.

"Six fifteen."

"Five more minutes."

"That's what you said twenty minutes ago.  Twenty minutes that we could have spent together in the shower."

"Go 'way."

"Maybe this will help."  He opened the lid of his travel mug, held the steaming cup of coffee near her face.  She unearthed her face and turned it toward the coffee, eyes still closed.  "Have a drink, then get some clothes on."

One brown eye popped open and took in his clean shirt and jeans.  "You're dressed."

"Seemed like a good idea."  She reached for the coffee.  Drake pulled it out of reach so that she was forced to sit up.  Then he gave it to her, and she took two deep swallows.

"Good coffee," she mumbled, her eyes still at half-mast.  She shivered as the covers fell away from her naked body.  "Cold.  Need clothes."

"Your wish is my command.  Just get a move on, will you?"  Drake easily dodged the pillow she hurled at him.  "You always this cranky when you wake up?"

"I am when I've only gotten an hour of sleep," she called after him.

"Who's fault was that?"  He returned with her clothes as she emerged from the bathroom smelling of mouthwash.  She lifted the coffee mug to her lips one more time, then dressed with rapid, efficient movements, never once looking at the mirror.

"All right, let's go."  She stepped into her boots and grabbed the mug.  "You're gonna be late."

They shared the coffee as Drake drove them back to the Westinghouse warehouse and Hart's Impreza. 

"If Trautman didn't kill Fran, who did?" she asked. 

"I don't know.  Trautman certainly fits for the FX.  We reconstructed his work schedule and correlated it with the treatment failures Weaver found.   But using the cell phone to set you up to witness Weaver's killing, why?  You're no threat to him.  You said yourself you only knew him by sight.  And why would Weaver know him at all?  She wouldn't have access to the work schedules--how did she discover him?  The whole thing doesn't make sense."

Drake frowned.  "So far we have no idea who was working with him.   It would have to be someone familiar with the pharmacy routine at Three Rivers."

"Guess this blows your one big dealer theory."

"That's all right.  Getting that much FX off the street is worth a blown theory."  He pulled alongside her car.

Drake turned to her, wanting to memorize everything--from the tousled, unbrushed hair to the smell of coffee, Listerine, and stale sweat.  It didn't matter how unromantic the details were, they were what made Hart who she was.  The thought of not seeing her, not touching her, made him seriously consider asking Miller for reassignment.  "This is good bye.  For a while, anyhow."

"Not so long.  Just until you find Fran's killer."

"Optimist."

"No, just the opposite.  But I have faith in you."

He looked up at that, surprised by the quiet, earnest tone of her words.  He wished he was as confident in his abilities as she was.  After what happened last summer, he had his own doubts.

Hart seemed to read his mind.  She took his face between her hands, pulled him closer to her. 

"You'll find him.  I know it," she whispered.  She kissed him deeply and, before he could draw in a breath, she was gone.

Cassie caught herself humming Eric Clapton as she went through her front door, kicking her shoes onto the rug so that she wouldn't dirty the hard wood floors.  It was a habit bred by years of Rosa's lectures.  When she crossed the living room she saw the message light blinking furiously on her answering machine.

"I can't believe you!" came Adeena's voice on the first message.  "You promised you wouldn't go there.  Tessa heard it on the eleven o'clock news and told me!  She's really upset, Cassie.  I don't care if you lie to me, but you'd better not do anything to hurt that old lady.  She wants you to call her tomorrow, or better yet to come over." 

There was a click as she hung up.  Cassie frowned.  She couldn't face Tessa until she had some sleep, the old woman was as bad as Rosa with her lectures and interfering. 

The second message was Ed Castro.  "I saw Trautman in the ER, the optho guys think they can save one of his eyes.  Thought you'd like to know."  He cleared his throat noisily.  "I hope you're all right.  Please.  Be careful.  Come talk to me anytime if you need to."  The last came in a heartfelt rush.

"Cassie, are you okay?"  Neil Sinderson's voice sounded concerned.  "You were on the news.  They said some drug dealer was trying to kill you.  Do the police think he had anything to do with what happened to Fran?  Gosh, I hope everything is all right.  Give me a call or page me, I'm available 24/7.  Whatever you need, I'm here."

The last message was Adeena again.  "Hey, sorry I yelled.  You know how I get when Tessa's upset.  Anyway, I hope you're all right and I'll see you tomorrow.  Take care now--and no more crazy stunts, okay?  Love ya.  Call me." 

Cassie climbed the stairs in her stocking feet, thinking of a few more hours of sleep followed by a hot shower.  She stripped in the bathroom, tossing her sweat and blood stained clothes into the hamper, changed into the T-shirt and sweatpants she used as pajamas, and crossed the hall into her room.  She took two steps toward her bed.

The door slammed shut behind her.

"Morning, Ella."

CHAPTER 45

Cassie spun around.  Richard leaned against the door, arms crossed, seemingly relaxed.  Until she looked into his face.  His pupils were dilated with either excitement or drugs, his mouth set with fury.

"Get out," she snapped, her own anger rising to match his.  Even before he left for rehab, Richard never dared violate the sanctuary of her home.  Shoulders hunched, jaw clenched tight, she squared off with him, refusing to be intimidated.

"You've kept me waiting."  He ignored her command.  "After I heard about Victor Trautman almost killing you, I was worried."  He opened his hands to demonstrate his sincerity, as if he expected her to rush into them for comfort.

"I'm fine, Richard.  Now, go."  She fought to keep the anger from her voice.   Richard never responded well to ultimatums, but this was her house, she was damned if she was going to beg him to leave.

"You're sure you're all right?"  He stepped toward her.  She stood her ground, kept her eyes focused on his, not liking what she saw.  Fine.  If he wanted a fight, they could have it right here and now--all the easier to document so the police could lock him up for a good long time.

"Yes.  I just need some rest.  Good-bye, Richard."

"You've hurt your hands.  Let me see." 

His tone was one of concern and his hand reached for hers.  Cassie's glance dropped for an instant.  He grabbed both her wrists, stepping so close she almost toppled onto the bed.  She fought for balance, couldn't kick at him without falling back, his grip tugging her arms forward, keeping her upright and pinned against him.

He pressed his body into hers, nuzzling her neck.  "I can smell him. Taste him on you.  You should have waited, Ella.  A good wife would have."

"I'm not your wife anymore."  She squirmed against him, trying to find space to kick, hit, escape.

"You're still mine, Ella.  Forever."

Cassie fought to breathe.  The scent of his cologne filled the room, polluting the air she gulped.  "Richard, you need help."  She tried to find some compassion for the man she once loved.  There was none.  "Let me go before I call the police."

His larger hands held her wrists in a stranglehold, tightened them until she gasped in pain.

"You won't do that, Ella.  See, I finally figured it out.  My problem had nothing to do with drinking or drugs.  It was you.  You never learned how to listen, how to give me what I needed, how to be a good wife.  But this time you're going to."

He ground her delicate wrist bones together and she could no longer hide her wince.  His eyes widened even farther and he abruptly released her, shoving her back onto the bed.  He straddled her, sitting on her legs before she could kick at him, recapturing both her wrists in one hand, pinning them over her head. 

"There, now we can talk in peace."  He raised his free hand, his leer widening when she flinched.  He brushed her hair away from her face.  His palm lingered, his flesh hot and slicked with sweat as he demonstrated his total control over her.  The one thing she'd fought against during every second of their relationship.

She blinked against the burning behind her eyes.  Her mouth was dry and her lips began to tingle, grow numb.  Her chest was heaving, her panicked breathing fast, too fast.

"Let me go, Richard.  Now."  She tried to put all her pain and frustration into her voice, to find the voice of command she used in the ER.  He responded by squeezing her neck, so tightly that she could barely breathe, much less speak. She tried to swallow, it hurt so bad tears came to her eyes.  Focused instead on slowing her breathing before panic could cement its hold on her body.

"So here's my plan," he went on, oblivious to her pain.  His voice took on a maniacal singsong, and she knew he must have been fantasizing about this moment.  For how long?

"You're going to come home with me.  Don't worry about clothes or anything."  His lips curled into a sneer.  He released her face, his palm bracing his weight as he leaned forward, his face inches from hers. "I doubt you'll be leaving the bedroom for awhile.  You'll call Ed Castro, ask for an indefinite leave of absence.  We're going to start over again."

"You're crazy."  She managed to scrape the words together and force them past her bruised vocal cords.  She didn't see his slap coming, had no time to prepare or recoil from it.  Warm blood flowed from her nose.

"Did I say you could talk?" he bellowed.  "You never learn, do you?  A good wife listens and does what her husband tells her."

She wondered how he was faking his urine tests.  It was obvious he was on something.  Probably a form of amphetamine.  Then he would bring himself back down with a barbiturate or opiate like FX.  Never before had Richard been so delusional, out of control.

Which was least likely to get her killed?  Playing along or fighting back?  She stopped struggling against him, lay there placidly and watched for her opportunity.

"Want do you want?"

"What every husband wants--his wife, at home, by his side, where she belongs.  And that's what you're going to give me.  You see, Ella, you forgot one small detail when you took up with that cop--yeah, I know who he really is, it's all over the news.  You forgot about the cameras in the trauma rooms."

She froze.  Swallowed back a groan.  There was nothing Richard could threaten her with, she'd taken the worse he had to offer and had survived, but now he held Drake's career in his hand.  For the first time she felt afraid, truly afraid. 

"That's right.  And I have the only copy from the other day."  He shook his head.  "Necking in the ER, your best friend barely cold.  Imagine what the tabloids could make of it--detective fucking murder witness.  I suppose any potential defense attorney would find it interesting.  As will Drake's superiors.  I checked into this guy, he's been in trouble before.  Really Ella, you should use better judgment about who you get involved with."

He cupped her chin in his hand once more, his fingers caressing the bruises he'd caused.  "We'll go home.  It'll be just like old times, won't it?"

"Give me the tape.  I won't tell anyone about you using drugs again," she bargained, hoping she wouldn't be forced to choose between Drake's future and her freedom.   

"Wrong answer.  You do as I say, and your boyfriend keeps his job.  The only right answer is 'Yes Richard'."  His face filled her vision, the rancid odor of his breath corrupting the air she breathed.  Triumph etched his features into sharp relief.  "Say it."  He raised his hand for another strike. 

He wanted her to resist, to give him a reason to hit her.  She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at his face, her mind made up.  Sorrow and guilt loosed the dam of tears that had built over the past few days.  They burned as they slipped past her defenses. 

"Yes, Richard," she said in a dull tone, opening her eyes, ignoring the sting of tears.  Richard seemed fascinated by her crying--probably because it was the first time she'd ever wept in front of him.  Her tears convinced him of her sincerity.

"Good girl.  Let's celebrate our new understanding."  His lips parted in anticipation, and he released her wrists as he reached down to fumble at his belt.

Cassie watched as he lowered his head.  "Richard," she called sweetly.

He glanced up.  She smashed her fist into his face.

"Not if you were the last man on earth."  

He floundered off the bed, holding his nose.  She leapt to her feet and gave him a solid kick in the groin.  He doubled over, yelping like a wounded dog.  Her muscles surged with adrenalin and unleashed fury.  She brought her elbows down on the back of his head.  His face ricocheted off the wood floor with a satisfying crack.

Before she could strike again, he scuttled away to the other side of the bed and climbed to his feet.  Blood from his nose and split lip smeared his designer suit and silk shirt. Richard always was a clotheshorse.