The Devil She Knew (16 page)

“Is your lease up in the rat hole, Cass?” she asked as they drove.

“No, I have another week. It was a monthly lease.”

“Do you still have the key?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I was thinking it might be a nice little hideaway for me and someone special, you know? A place where we might be alone that none of our friends could find us.”

Cassidy’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know you had someone special.”

Amber laughed. “Well, after I take him there and have some time alone with him he might be special. What do you say? I promise not to trash the place.”

Cassidy’s heartbeat quickened. Someone already trashed the place.

“I don’t know Amber, it might not be safe.”

“Maybe not for you, but I know people down in that neighborhood. I can pass as one of them. Will you loan me the key and let me have some fun?”

Against her better judgment, Cassidy dug into her purse and retrieved the Fortieth Street key. “Just be careful, okay? Turn here,” she said, pointing.

Amber whistled as her Ford Escort chugged up the driveway to the Cestra Chalets, a trail of black smoke spewing from the exhaust pipe.

“Whooeee, girlfriend. You have made it to the big time.”

Cassidy laughed, directing her to the rear building. “It’s only temporary. I’m in that one.”

As the car slowed, Clay emerged from the front door, smiling as he walked down the steps and eliciting a second whistle from Amber. “Now that’s something to come home to.”

Cassidy’s heart flip flopped. In tight jeans and a sky blue T-shirt spread as thin as film across his chest, Clay looked delicious. Every part of her body applauded the view.

He ambled to the driver’s side and leaned in the window, smiling as he eyed Amber. “Green?”

“It’s called Neon Kiwi,” Amber laughed. “You like?”

Clay shook his head and chuckled. “It’s definitely you, hon. Thanks for giving Cassidy a ride home. Looks like you’re burning oil.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got to get it fixed.”

“What day are you off this week? I’ll make an appointment at my buddy’s garage. He’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t have the money right now, C.C.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll check Cassidy’s copy of the schedule and set something up.” He pulled his money clip from his pants pocket and tugged a twenty free, handing it in the window. “Are you able to ride her home tomorrow, too?”

Amber winked. “For another shot of you in a skin tight T-shirt, I’ll do just about anything.” She waved as she backed up and drove off.

Clay reached out his arm. “Hi. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Come here.”

Cassidy scanned the smattering of cars in the parking lot, then eagerly stepped into his embrace and raised her eyes to his. How she had come to depend on this man so quickly, to want him so desperately, she wasn’t sure. The only time she felt safe was now, in his arms. The feeling overwhelmed her.

He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I want you to come over to Maggie’s. We need to talk about Arizona.”

She fought to keep her knees from buckling and stepped out of his arms. Looking around again, she cleared her throat and pushed her glasses up her nose. “What about Arizona?”

“That’s what we want to discuss.”

“We?”

“Me, Maggie, and Dan. C’mon.” He extended his hand for her to take.

Crap. She wasn’t ready to confront the devil yet. It was one thing to resolve to stand up to him while riding a bus, totally another taking that first step to start the process. She needed a little more time. This whole feeling of empowerment was still in its infancy. Her flight instinct barreled full force to the front of her brain. It was the only way she knew how to survive.

“How about if I change my clothes and then come over?”

Clay smiled. “How about if I come with you?”

Her head snapped up. “What’s the matter, Mr. Cestra? Don’t you trust me not to run?” She didn’t feel as mean as her words sounded. She actually felt lightheaded, like she might faint.

Clay eyebrows rose. “To be perfectly honest, Miss Hoake,” he said, emphasizing the formal title, “I don’t. The look in your eyes screams panic. You want to bolt.”

It was a standoff. Her, hands on her hips, defying him to say more. Him, returning the stare without the attitude. She studied a car backing into a visitor’s parking spot. The muscles across her shoulders grabbed each other, bursting into an instant headache. The hairs on the back of her neck edged up.

“Can we discuss this inside?”

“After you,” he said, motioning to the door. They walked into the building and headed toward the stairs.

“You’re really going to follow me to my apartment? Really? You don’t think I can change my clothes and walk over to Maggie’s on my own? I’m insulted.”

Clay smiled, a slow easy smile that seared its way into her heart. “You want to pick a fight with me. Nice try. I’m following you because I like seeing you without your clothes. How’s that?” He stopped at her apartment door.

She raised her chin defiantly, but tears threatened to spill and she looked away.

“C’mon, honey. I know about the shooting. I know about Tony DelMorrie. That’s who you’re hiding from, isn’t it?” He spread his hands wide. “See? I know the truth and I’m still here. I think you’ve been running so long, you don’t know how to stop. Please, Cassie. I want to help. So do Maggie and Dan. I asked you the other night to trust me and I’m asking again.” He gently squeezed her elbow and she raised her face to meet his gaze.

“We can work this out together. We’ll get through it.”

She blinked back her tears. “We?”

The corners of his mouth edged up. “I already whispered you’re not alone anymore. Maybe I need to say it louder.” His eyes scanned her face. “We’re definitely a ‘we’ now.”

Inserting the key into the doorknob, Cassidy pushed open the door and glibly threw her words over her shoulder as she entered her apartment. “I’m not sure Mrs. Cestra is going to like that idea.”

Seconds earlier, her heart had been in her throat. Now, seeing the stunned look on Clay’s face, she relaxed. She wasn’t the only one with problems. Obviously, he had his own demon.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Who?”

“Your wife. Tall. Stunning. Icy cold. She came to see me today to tell me to stay away from you.”

He closed the door behind him and strode to her. Clutching both her elbows he leveled his gaze at her. “First of all, she is not my wife. We are divorced. Secondly, you do need to stay away from her. She’s dangerous.”

Something about the look in his eyes erased the levity she’d felt moments earlier.

“I’m not the one seeking her out, Clay. She came looking for me. What are you telling me? That now I have two people to fear?”

• • •

He released her arms and automatically walked to the sliding glass doors to scan the parking lot. He was familiar with the tenants’ vehicles and noted, almost subconsciously, that all of the cars presently in the lot belonged there. She wasn’t waiting outside.

What was he telling her? What did he dare tell her?

“Clay?”

Turning, he noticed the dark circles beneath Cassidy’s eyes for the first time, the strain on her face. Throwing Lauren into the mix would add to her fears. But she had to be warned.

“There is a restraining order on file, Cass. She’s dangerous.”

Her eyes widened and she brought her hand to her throat. “She got an order against you? Why? What did you do to her?”

No one ever expected a cop to need help defending himself against a woman. He flexed his right hand open, closed, open, closed.

“No, honey. The restraining order is against her, not me. I have a two-inch scar just above my kidneys where she stabbed me.” He moved his hand to his back, gently touching the now-healed wound. Sometimes, he could feel that blade slicing into him again, akin to a box cutter separating a seam and releasing the contents like a jack-in-the-box. He could still hear her high-pitched shriek, recall stumbling under the full force of her weight when she jumped on his back, and remember the rage unleashed by her actions, a fury that had simmered for a full year, simmered to boiling and erupted in uncontrollable anger. His hands went to her throat, his anger out of control, his desire for revenge overtaking him like a flesh-eating disease.

“She tried to kill you?” He recognized stunned disbelief and panic in Cassidy’s voice.

“It was mutual, honey.” He’d wanted to kill Lauren, would have without a second thought if his colleagues hadn’t burst through the door and rescued him. Him, not her. He had been the victim of mental, verbal, and ultimately physical abuse. He flexed his hand, tightening and releasing his fist.

He moved toward her and she stepped into his embrace. God, even after a day at work she smelled wonderful. He buried his nose in her hair, captivated by the flowery scent. Heat surged through him as he ran his hand down her back to caress her bottom. He wanted her close, under his skin if he could manage that. As if sensing his need, she melted into his arms, and raised her mouth to meet his. The kiss, sweetly tentative at first, exploded into blistering passion. They tore at each other’s clothes and dropped to the floor, Clay fumbling for a condom as she wrapped those glorious legs around his hips. He plunged into her, needing to possess her, needing to make her understand.

“I’m not going to lose you, not to her, not to DelMorrie, not for any reason. I’ll kill to keep you,” he croaked.

He exploded inside her while she clung to him, gasping from her own orgasm. She’d whispered something, he was certain. Barely audible. He rose up on his elbows and pushed sweat-soaked hair off her forehead. Her eyes remained closed, her mouth in a half-smile.

He traced her lips with his fingertip. “Hey,” he whispered. Slowly, her eyelids lifted, revealing shining brown orbs. “Say something.”

She kissed the finger at her lips and smiled. “I’m afraid you’ve just made love with a fugitive, Officer Cestra.”

He grinned. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Her smile disappeared and her eyes darkened. Her breasts rose when she inhaled, brushing her nipples lightly against his chest. He didn’t think she was going to say anything at all, and then she took a second deep breath.

“I want to, Clay,” she whispered, “I really do. Just give me some time, okay?”

He touched the tip of her nose with his lips. “We have all the time in the world, hon.”

She suppressed a shiver. She didn’t think so.

• • •

Something jolted him awake. Christ, he’d fallen asleep in the front seat with his head sitting on his chest and now his neck was stiff. One more reason to hate that Hoake bitch.

Swinging his head in tiny circle eights, he grimaced while he stretched out the kinks. Blinking, he focused on the apartment window and sat bolt upright. A new light shined inside. Vaguely, he could make out a shadow moving. Finally.

Tony eased out of the car, one stiff leg followed by the other, shoving himself off the seat with his hand. It wasn’t only his neck, his whole damn body was stiff. He leaned against the car, waiting for the blood to circulate down to his feet, and glanced over his shoulder at the window again. Definitely movement. She was home.

From the backseat, he retrieved a black ball cap, which he jammed onto his oversized head and pulled low over his eyes. He slipped into a black windbreaker, yanking the collar up to his ears, then retrieved his Berretta 9mm, screwed on the silencer, and checked again that the serial number had been obliterated.

He’d imagined playing out this scene several different ways in the weeks he’d tracked her. He’d love to punch her in the face a few times, maybe break her nose. Grab her by that long hair and swing her to the floor, drag her around a bit. Maybe pin her down and fuck the living shit out of her before he put a bullet in her brain. Anything to let her know she had crossed the line, that she couldn’t get away with trying to put him in jail, that she’d lost and he, Tony DelMorrie, had won.

But as he crept down the hall toward apartment one twelve as silently as a man his size could, he just wanted it over with. He wanted her dead. It couldn’t be simpler.

Under the windbreaker, sweat soaked his undershirt, plastering it against his stomach, and his armpits felt sticky. He needed to catch his breath. All that sitting had weakened his leg muscles. He hadn’t walked a great distance, but he was winded. He paused in front of her apartment, bending over to slow his accelerated heartbeat.

Some kind of crappy, loud music boomed from behind the closed door. It didn’t surprise him that her taste in tunes sucked. Concealing the gun against his thigh, his finger hovering above the trigger, he knocked.

Jesus. The stupid bitch must not have heard. He pounded harder.

“All right! All right! Hold your horses, Slick.”

The door swung open. “Who are … ”

“Fuck you, Hoake. I win.” Tat. Tat. Tat. Tat.

She dropped like a rock. The recoil jarred his hand slightly, but the silencer kept the sound muffled. With the music blaring, the neighbors couldn’t have heard.

Opening his hand wide the gun slipped from his grip and bounced on the carpet with a dull thud. He turned and ran toward the exit. This time, adrenaline surging through his veins made it an easy sprint. Up the stairs two at a time and out the door. He forced himself to slow to a walker’s pace and surveyed the parking lot. Perfect. Not a soul in sight. As casually as possible, with sweat dripping from his underarms and his bowels churning, he walked to his car and squeezed into the front seat. Careful not to look around, he started the car and slowly drove out of the parking lot.

Once on the main road, he tugged off the ball cap, tossing it behind him, and allowed a small smile. It was done. Ding dong, the bitch was dead.

He’d never forget that look of surprise on her face. Never. She’d done a good job of disguising herself, he’d give her that. When the hell had she put purple and green streaks in her hair?

It was settled, she was going back to Arizona.

But not alone. After more than an hour of heated debate that included multiple curses, and threatened to turn into a loud, ugly argument between her and Clay, she agreed to let him take her back in what he called “protective custody.” A cop and a witness.