Smoke and Mirrors (30 page)

Cass stood shivering. No matter how tightly she hugged herself, the chill stayed in her bones. She'd been sure he would show up, tell her he believed her, that he knew she loved him, that he loved her, too.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

Derek Mansfield was not a man to forgive.

"Cass."

She spun toward the voice, heart leaping into a staccato
rhythm. She knew the voice, had heard it countless times
before.

Clad in a long trench coat, a gentleman's hat hiding his
blond hair, Brent moved toward her. He looked like a
figure out of a fifties
Hollywood
flick, except no gallantry underscored his stance, only gravity.

Disappointment cut through her. "It was you."

"I know who you are," he said, stopping a few feet away. "I know what you did. I saw you at the house, saw Derek after you left." The tone of his voice said it hadn't been a pretty sight. "Leave him alone, Cass. Back off."

This was a first. Ever since she'd begun her association with the Stirling Manor—and the men who ran it—Derek had been the one to take charge, Brent the one to let him. This newfound strength, this sudden intervention, sent alarm bells clamoring. "Not on your life."

"He doesn't need you or your brand of help. He'll get through this, just like always. My brother's a fighter. If he's letting this happen, there's a reason."

Something more was going on, Cass realized, something more than one brother looking out for another. Brent suspected something. Either that or he was worried.

"There's a reason, all right," she adlibbed.

I take care of what's mine,
Derek had once said, but now those words took on a whole new meaning. There was no disputing the evidence gathered at the manor, only its interpretation.

Could Brent have been the guilty one all along? "He's trying to protect you," she realized aloud.

"Me?" he asked, his tone brilliantly befuddled. "There's nothing to protect. Not anymore."

Her patience wore thin. "This is your brother's life we're talking about. Riddles aren't going to cut it. Either you come clean with me, or—"

"Or what?"

"Or I'm taking you in."

He eyed her warily, suspiciously, then his shoulders seemed to slump. "It was about a year and a half ago," he murmured. His eyes were glassy, his
voice whisper
soft. "Derek had been traveling. He came home late one night, unexpectedly. He found me…"

Cass swallowed. This U-turn wasn't what she'd been expecting. "Found you where?"

"At the hotel … in my office … unconscious."

"Unconscious?"

"My wife Susan had walked out on me—she told me she would make sure I never saw Ryan again. I was scared," he admitted, his voice trancelike. "So scared. And there was nobody there, nobody except the heroin."

Heroin. The facts of the case swirled through her mind. A series of high-profile drug busts, all connected to the manor. Several raids there, as well. Suspicion that the manor itself was linked to the trafficking. Not Brent, though. The other brother, the one who had a reputation for bucking authority.

The one who took care of what was his.

"Tell me what happened," Cass encouraged. Her throat was so tight, so dry, the mere act of breathing hurt.

Derek's baby brother stood before her, the flamboyant playboy extinguished, the remaining shell looking every bit as bombed-out as the manor.

"He went wild," Brent murmured. "Wild. I don't remember much, just snatches. Derek yelling, pounding my chest … the paramedics … the emergency room. Derek was there the whole time, telling me it would be okay,
willing
it to be okay. Making it
be
okay. But I was so far gone…"

"The drugs," Cass prompted, hiding her urgency. "Where did the drugs come from?"

"One of our guests," Brent mumbled. "It started out simple, just a little fun, a little relaxation. Things started getting tough with Susan, and
Villy
was there. He always had something to make me feel better."

Cass's pulse quickened.

"He wanted something from me," Brent went on. "I didn't see
it,
not until it was too late, not until Dare came back and went ballistic. He saw everything so clearly—he always has. Villy used me as a puppet, a cover, a convenient front for his organization. By the time I realized it, I was in too deep. There was no way I could back out without losing everything, including my son, in the process."

That last domino wobbled before her. "What happened?"

"I don't know." His eyes cleared a little, yet they revealed nothing. "When I got out from rehab,
Villy
was gone, and I had joint custody of Ryan."

Courtesy of Derek, no doubt.
I take care of what's mine.

"Villy was gone? Just like that?"

Brent nodded, said nothing.

I take care of what's mine.

The words taunted her, yet she couldn't pinpoint why. Brent had been Vilas's puppet. Brent had been the front man. Brent had been the one to drag the manor into drug trafficking. Not Derek. But since his return from
Scotland
, Derek had been the one sneaking around, the one to do business with Vilas, the one who'd stashed cocaine and heroin in his suite.

I take care of what's mine.

"Sweet God," she murmured, the truth slamming home.

Yes, Derek had done all those things, but not as a cold-blooded criminal, only a brother out for vengeance. He wasn't a man to sit back and wait for the slow wheels of justice to
turn,
her Derek was a man to
make
them turn.

"A setup," she said aloud, a setup more elaborate than the one she and Gray had staged. "It all makes so much sense now. He was luring Vilas into a trap of his own making."

But what then, she wondered. What had he planned to do next? He had no credibility with law enforcement.
Even with evidence to the contrary, the cops would never believe Derek Mansfield wasn't trying to cover his own tracks.

But more clearly than she'd ever known anything, Cass knew the truth.

"No wonder
Villy
backed off." Brent's eyes sharpened. "He replaced me with Derek. Dare must have convinced him that he had something better to offer." He closed his eyes. "I should have known it was too easy to be real."

An old-fashioned vigilante. The label sounded romantic, but Cass knew it for a reckless, dangerous act. Derek hadn't just put his future on the
line,
he'd slapped his life there, as well. And now, unless Cass could prove it, he could lose both.

"We have to find him," she told Brent, reaching out and grabbing his coat. Time to take charge, for the cop and the woman to work together.

"Well, well, well." A snide voice cut through the night.

Cass stilled, Brent stumbling into her.

"The lovely Cassandra LeBlanc—or should I say
Cassidy Blake?"
From behind one of the columns, a man stepped into a pool of moonlight, a pistol in his outstretched hands.

"We meet again."

Chapter 16

«
^

A
n eerie silence rang through the manor. Never in his life had Derek heard it that quiet, seen it that empty. Always, always, it had been the heart and soul of the Stirling Manor
empire
, the hub from which everything thrived.

Now it stood empty, a few sleepy cops wandering around, standing guard, sifting for clues. They'd tried to keep Derek out, no doubt suspecting he was going to tamper with evidence, but Derek would not be denied. A compromise had been struck: Derek would be admitted onto his property, but only under the watchful eye of one of the detectives.

No problem. He'd gone straight to the third-floor garage, the scene of the worst devastation. It wasn't as bad as he'd
imagined,
images of the bombed-out Federal building in
Oklahoma City
permanently etched in his mind. He considered himself, his family and the guests lucky as hell.

Minutes later he surveyed the lobby, where smoke and water had caused the majority of the damage. It could be restored to its original splendor, but he knew it would never be the same.

He needed to go upstairs, but detoured to the lounge instead. He grabbed a bottle of Scotch and poured a tumbler full. The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, prompting him to just stare at the half-empty glass.

He wanted no more burning.

Cass.
The thought blasted out of nowhere, and all but leveled him with its force. No matter where he went or what he did, she was always there waiting. The desolation in her eyes haunted him. That she'd come to him didn't make sense, not after she'd gotten what she wanted. Unless…

No. He wouldn't poison himself with naive fantasies. Guilt had driven her to his house, nothing more. Absolution. That's what she wanted, something he couldn't give.

He'd loved her. Unabashedly. Irrevocably.

But no matter how hard he tried to banish them, images of her lingered. Cass standing on the edge of the park, crying. Cass throwing her head back in defiance. Cass coming apart in his arms. Her courage and pain, her strength, her vulnerability. Her passion. Her tenacity. All those traits that made Cass such an intriguing enigma twisted into a force he couldn't deny, wrapped around his heart with devastating tenacity.

At first the pull between them had simply puzzled him. Later, when it grew stronger every time he saw her, it had bothered him. That, too, had faded away, to the point where the foreign ache in his chest began to comfort.

Now it destroyed.

He wanted to throw back the immutable hands of time and recast the die. Have them meet another time, another place, under other circumstances. Just a man and a woman, not a cop and a vigilante.

Without the lies, the love might have been enough.

There was no such thing as love, he reminded himself. Only smoke and mirrors.

Derek threw back the remainder of his Scotch and poured another. Sooner or later, the smoky alcohol was bound to numb.

"You son of a bitch!" Two hands slammed down on the back of his shoulders and hauled him out of his chair. Before he could react he was spun around, the front of his shirt grabbed and twisted by none other than Detective Mitch Grayson.

"What's the matter, bellboy?" Derek sneered. "The
scam's over. Don't tell me you forgot?"

The cop's eyes hardened. "You've got a hell of a lot of nerve," he ground out, twisting Derek's shirt tighter. "Leave her alone, man. Just let it go."

Derek tried not to laugh. "Trust me,
that's
exactly what I plan to do."

"You've got a funny way of showing it." Grayson let go of Derek's shirt, but remained nose to nose. "She was so hopeful, so sure you'd come to your senses. I told her not to go. I warned her nothing good could come from it."

"I'd think anyone as close to Cass as you obviously are would know she does what she pleases, when she pleases."

Grayson frowned. "It's a habit I haven't been able to
break her of."

And one of the traits Derek loved most about her. "Thank God for that."

"You really are heartless, you know that?" Grayson looked toward the empty tables scattered about the lounge. Some lay on their sides, untouched since the explosion. "She's been through hell," he muttered. "She deserves better than this."

Suspicion dawned, and Derek realized why Grayson was so protective of Cass. "You were there, weren't you?" he asked. He knew the beauty of partnership, something he and Luc had enjoyed for years. "You were there when she lost her husband and son."

"I was the one who told her. The one who saw the light drain from her eyes. Who held her while she cried her heart
out.
Watched her fade away."

Grayson's haunted eyes riveted on the bottle of Scotch. He reached behind the bar for a tumbler, poured two fingers and downed them. "I always knew she would fall in love again, I just never thought it would be with a slimeball like you."

The words, the bitter tone, crashed into Derek. "She doesn't love me."

"I wish to hell she didn't." Gray slammed down the empty tumbler. "But she does, with everything she is and then some. And because of that, one of
Chicago
's brightest cops won't accept what's right before her eyes. She insists you're innocent, that you were set up. That's why she went to meet your sorry ass at the museum tonight."

"What are you talking about? What museum?"

"It's late, Mansfield, and I'm tired. I have
neither the time or
patience for games. I told her not to go, but when it comes to you, she won't listen. I better get down there, that's where I was headed when the boys out front beeped me. Knowing Cass, she's still standing there in the cold, waiting for a man who's never going to show."