Smoke and Mirrors (29 page)

Rage careened through him. Regret. Betrayal. "You've got nerve showing up here."

"Nerve is about all I have left." She pulled her long wool coat tighter around her.

She was shivering, he noted, despite the knit cap snug on her head, the wool scarf around her neck, the gloves encasing her hands, the boots protecting her feet. For a change a snug French braid did not secure her hair. Tangled strands slipped from beneath her cap and dangled against her chest and shoulders.

The urge to hold her came hard and fast, the need to give her every molecule of his warmth. "You're wasting your time. And mine."

Her eyes filled, as they had that day in Grant Park, when he'd found her staring at other people's children. "Wait," she said, stepping toward him. "Let me explain."

He stood unmoving, towering over her, relying on his height and physical size to communicate words he didn't trust himself to say. Once started, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.

Never in his life had anyone cut him deeper. Not his mother, not Marla.

But it took every ounce of control he had to remember the lies and ignore the alleged pain in her eyes.

"I've got to hand it to you," he drawled with a casualness he didn't feel. "You're one hell of an actress."

The glass slipped from her fingers, crashed against the battered stump. Water sloshed against them, but she didn't glance down. "Derek, you have to listen to me."

"I don't have to do anything."

"I never meant for this to happen," she said, reaching for him.

He twisted away, his breathing heavier than while he'd been swinging the hatchet. "Never meant for what to happen? Never meant to use me? To get caught in your lies? Never meant to trade your body for evidence?"

Cass staggered back. Her skin went even paler, as though he'd hit her with his fists and not the plain and simple truth. "You've got it all wrong," she rasped. "The lies are all you see right now, but there's so much more. We can get through this," she said, the fervent wind dulling her words. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." He didn't want explanations, didn't want more lies to distort what he knew to be true. "It was a hell of a ploy. Get me addicted to you, to the way you make me fee—" He bit back the offending word. He didn't feel anything. "You thought you could get me addicted to that hot body of yours, turn me inside out so I forget to watch my ass."

The words sounded cold, even to
his own
ears.

Cass rallied, squaring her shoulders and narrowing her eyes like the fighter he knew her to be. "You think this is what I
wanted
to happen? You think I wanted to fall in love with a man I believed to be a criminal?"

The question, the passion in her voice, nicked at the self-preservation that kept him alive. But he wouldn't fall for the lies again. Instead, he flicked his gaze over her body. "You forget, Cass. I know exactly what you wanted, and it had nothing to do with love."

She recoiled from the nasty words. "You're damn straight it had nothing to do with love. Not at first. It had to do with cracking a case I'd been working for months. I'm good at my job, Derek. I always get my man."

"You're saying I'm not the first to fall into your trap? Your bed?"

The thought of it turned his stomach.

Fire flashed in Cass's eyes, and her hand whipped toward his face.

He easily caught her wrist. "What's the matter? The truth hurts?"

She glared up at him, her breathing now labored. "You wouldn't know the truth if it stabbed you in the heart."

The accusation cut deeper than it should have. "Don't talk to me about truth and honesty, Detective." He looked at where his fingers curled around her slender wrist, hated how easily he could hurt her.

He abruptly released her and turned back to the stump, raising the hatchet and slamming it down one more time.

He didn't trust himself to speak.

"I tried to stay away from you," she said, her voice still strong but now angry, as well. "I tried to ignore the attraction, knew it couldn't lead anywhere but trouble. But you didn't exactly let me, did you?"

He didn't want to look at her anymore but couldn't let that remark slide. "You're saying this is my fault?"

"It's not about fault, Derek. It's about the lies we were forced to tell, the love that grew anyway."

The words scraped. "Don't talk to me about love and lies,
Cammy.
Don't pretend they're some pretty little package."

"You shouldn't have followed me, damn it! Not to the park, my house, anywhere! You should have just left me alone."

"How could I when you were everywhere? I'm a man, Cass. A man who thought he saw a woman in need and tried to help. If that's a crime, then fry me." He sucked in a sharp breath, enjoyed the sting all the way to his lungs. "Tell me something, was it all a lie? Did you even have a husband and child, or was that just a story to worm your way under my skin?"

The blood drained from her face and she swayed. "Damn you."

He ignored the urge to steady her. "You've already done that, doll."

Moisture flooded her whiskey eyes, and all too quickly she looked like the woman he'd found at the park, the one who'd fallen apart in his arms. Not the cop who'd betrayed him.

"What happened to my family is as real as the way I feel about you," she whispered, a horrible quaver to her voice. She wrapped her arms around her body, but still she shook. "You made me realize I couldn't hide behind a wall of pain. You made me feel things, Derek. You helped me let go of the past. You touched off the desire for a life I'd forbidden myself from even thinking about. And that's when I realized the truth, that you weren't the criminal I thought you to be, but a warm, generous man. That's what I've been fighting to prove."

Unwanted emotion crashed through him, the desire to pull her into his arms and pretend she spoke the truth.

Instead he clapped. "Keep it up, doll, and I'll nominate you for an Academy Award."

"Damn it, Derek—"

"No, not damn it, Derek. Damn it, you!" He couldn't believe what a fool he'd been. "You're the one who said lovers shouldn't have secrets," he reminded.

She swiped the tears from beneath her cheeks. "I had no choice."

"We all have choices, Detective." He spoke as snidely as he could, hating himself, not her. "Some of us just make wiser ones than others."

Rather than retreating, as he'd hoped, Cass rushed toward him and grabbed his arm. "Derek—"

He went completely still. Poison coursed through his body. Betrayal. Desire. He looked down at his forearm, where her gloved fingers curled around flesh. "You don't want to touch me right now," he warned.

She looked up at him, defiantly, evocatively, much as she had that very first day. "Yes, I do," she said clearly and firmly. "Don't you understand?
I love you."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, to the very core of who he was. Never had he wanted to believe something more.

"Love me?" he scoffed. "Well, you've got one hell of a way of showing it."

"We can get through this. I—"

"Save it, Cass." He yanked down his arm and broke her grip. "Save it for someone who gives a damn."

That said, he turned and strode toward his grandfather's house. He didn't want to hear anymore, see anymore.

He didn't want to be tempted anymore.

He never looked back. He wouldn't start now.

* * *

Derek raked a hand through his hair, shoving damp strands from his face. He'd been in the midst of a hot shower when Montford had banged on the door, apologizing profusely but announcing an urgent call on the secure line.

Now Derek stood by the small night table in his bedroom, water dripping down his naked body and puddling at his feet. If he'd been capable of feeling, he might have wrapped a robe around him to fend off the chill.

"We were so damn close," he ground out. "So close to that last nail in the coffin."

"It might not be as bad as you think."

"A cop, damn it." It sickened him to utter the word, much less accept the implication.

He swore, voicing his anguish aloud. There weren't many people he'd let hear it, less than a handful, in fact. Sir Maximilian, of course. Brooke. Sometimes Brent, yet not this time, not when he could blow everything sky high.

And Lucas Treese. They'd
raised
more than their fair share of hell together in their merchant marine days. Since then, life had taken them down radically different paths, but the friendship born in rowdy ports had survived the test of time.

They were in this together, as they'd been so often before.

"She's a cop," Derek told him, though of course Lucas, an FBI agent, already knew. "And there I was feeling guilty about dragging her into my world."

"From what I hear," Luc offered, "she's one of
Chicago
's finest—you couldn't have known."

"But I should have." The signs had been there, had he only been thinking with his head and not his hea—lower half. Hadn't he been the one to tell Vilas he smelled a rat? He'd not only let that rat flourish in his hotel, he'd let her demolish his penchant for sound thinking.

"How many times, Luc?" His gaze riveted on her crumpled panty hose abandoned by the foot of his bed. "How many times do I have to hit the same brick wall?"

"Quit raking yourself over the coals." Like other times, Luc was more than willing to help Derek pick up the pieces. He'd been there in the beginning, when Derek had joined the merchant marines to escape his stepfather's wrath, after Sasha, again after Marla. And Brent. He knew the whole truth, every last sliver of
it,
and accordingly, he'd been the one to help Derek past the sting of betrayal and exact a plan for retribution.

He'd been the one to rein in Derek's impatience six months before, the one to warn of FBI agents moving in for the kill. He was always harping about Derek's death wish, as though keeping his friend alive had become his own personal crusade.

"Put it behind you," he said. "Focus on what needs to be done."

Slowly Derek became aware of his surroundings, of the cool air slapping his wet skin. "It should have been over by now," he snapped, then pulled the spurt of anger in check.

Lucas let out a weary sigh. "It's not too late to abort. All you have to do is tell them. I'll back you up."

Like hell. That would be the easy way out, a cowardly move that would do nothing but jeopardize his plan and his life. Other lives hung in the balance now, other lives too precious to ever put at risk. Brent. And Ryan. The boy deserved to grow up with a father who loved him, a gift Derek never had.

"Don't worry," he told Lucas. "Just hang tight, man, and be ready for my call—I'll take care of everything else."

* * *

Cass watched the Salvation Army truck disappear down the street, the last of Jake's belongings on their way to brighten the lives of other little boys.

"Come on, Barn," she said, smiling despite the tears. "Let's get out of this cold."

Several minutes later she and Barney sat on the brick hearth. The big mutt lapped at the salty moisture on her face, then nestled his head in her lap and fell asleep. A pathetic fire crackled in the grate.

Restless, she reached behind her head and began braiding her tangled hair. Going to Derek's had been a mistake. Even though she deserved his animosity, she hadn't been prepared for the brick wall she'd hit.

Lost in thought, it took Cass a few minutes to hear the incessant knocking at the front door. A strange surge of hope shot through her, propelling her to scoot from underneath Barney and dash to the door. She pulled it open, not expecting, but hoping, to see Derek.

"Cassidy Blake?" a young man asked. The label on his uniform said his name was Paul and he worked for a local courier.

And he used her real name, not the one she'd been going by for months now.

Unease settled low in her belly. "Can I help you?"

"I have a delivery for Ms. Blake." He handed her a sealed envelope, then turned and hurried back to his car.

Cass looked at the envelope and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the last domino had fallen. Closing the door, she sank down against the wood and sat crouched on the cool tile. She sat that way several minutes before tearing the seal and yanking out a single sheet of paper.

Ten words stared back at her.

"We need to talk. The
Museum
of
Natural History
.
Midnight
."

* * *

The deserted museum looked much as it had the night Derek and Vilas conducted their transaction. The parking lot stood empty, an abandoned sports car here,
a
broken-down minivan there. Sharp wind blew off the lake, pushing around crumpled fast-food bags and sending discarded cola cans rolling.

A full moon stood sentinel this night, its eerie glow occasionally waylaid by high, thin clouds. Shadows stretched across the concrete.