Charade (30 page)

"I doubt Cyclops was the name the leader was christened with, either." "I doubt Cyclops was christened." Forlornly, she stared through the windshield. As he'd said, the likelihood was extremely slim that they would identify her stalker in time to prevent a catastrophe. But she would continue exploring every open avenue. She wasn't going to simply wait for a fatal accident to befall her. "Alex, you said earlier that you were checking into several catastrophic deaths that would result in organ donations. What were the others?" "One was a multicar accident on the Houston freeway. It happened during rush hour. There were a number of fatalities, but I haven't learned if any became organ donors. I've got a paid informer working that angle for me. He's an orderly in one of the major hospitals. "The other was a case I was already familiar with. I didn't realize until I began looking into it again that it had happened around the time of your transplant." Interested, she urged him to go on. "For months it was a statewide news story. As a crime novelist, I was interested because it wasn't a run-of-the-mill murder. It happened in Fort Worth. Paul Reyes discovered his wife, Judy, and her lover in bed together. Reyes pulverized her skull with a baseball bat, but the paramedics managed to keep her heart beating until they got her to the hospital and declared her brain-dead. Meanwhile, Reyes had been taken into custody. From his jail cell, he gave permission for his wife's organs to be harvested." "Did he go to prison?" "No. That's the hell of it. His attorney argued for change of venue and got the trial moved to Houston, where he was acquitted." "How could that have happened?" "Technically, Mrs. Reyes's heart was retrieved before it stopped beating. He didn't actually kill her. It was a mistake for the state to go for premeditation instead of manslaughter. There was also some fancy legal maneuvering by his defense attorney. Combined, the trial resulted in an acquittal."

"Couldn't they get him for attempted murder? Or assault with a deadly weapon or something?" "That would be double jeopardy. After the trial, Reyes disappeared. Hasn't been seen or heard of since." Cat was excited. "This fits, doesn't it? Paul Reyes is still angry with his adulterous wife and obsessed with stopping her heart." "That crossed my mind. I watched him when the verdict was read. His eyes had the fanatic gleam of a man possessed. I think he fully intended to kill Judy, and his only remorse was that he'd been denied the pleasure of doing it." "People don't disappear without a trace. Someone knows where he is." "I've already started trying to track down a family member who'll talk to me, but in the Mexican community, families tend to close ranks to protect each other from outsiders. Besides that, they become borderline hysterical whenever organ transplantation is mentioned." Cat nodded in understanding. "The Spanish cultures traditionally reject the entire concept. They feel that a body should be buried intact, or the departed never finds peace and rest in the afterlife. We had several Hispanics among our transplant population in California. They're working to break through that cultural barrier, but with limited success. So Mr. Reyes's decision was probably unpopular with his and his wife's family." "I'll keep probing." "Does my blood type match hers?" "Yes." "So I could have received her heart." "Conceivably. But there's the time factor to take into account." Having arrived at the TV station parking lot, he pulled into the space beside Cat's car. After cutting the motor, he stretched his arm along the back of the seat and turned to face her. "Reyes attacked her in the middle of the afternoon. Your transplant took place early the next morning." "But how long did Judy Reyes's heart continue beating before they pronounced her brain-dead? It could have been hours, right? Which moves the harvesting closer to the time of my transplant." "That's speculation."

Miffed over his lack of enthusiasm, she said, "This has a lot of possibilities. Why are you throwing a wet blanket over it?" "We're searching for facts, not possibilities. Don't jump to conclusions just because they're convenient. This must be methodically investigated." "Well, don't drag your feet." She tapped the crystal of her wristwatch. "The clock is ticking toward the anniversary date." "I'm aware of that, Cat. Are you scared?" She saw no virtue in equivocating. "A lunatic has very subtly, but very definitely, threatened my life. Damn right I'm scared." "Then move in with me until we find him." "I can't believe you'd have the nerve even to suggest it." She clearly enunciated her words. "It ain't gonna happen, Mr. Pierce." "Why not?" "Because I don't want it to." "Liar." Cat saw red. She admitted to several character flaws, but lying wasn't among them. Furthermore, she despised lies and liars. He couldn't have insulted her more. "You really value that appendage in your pants, don't you? We poor, frail females tremble at the thought of being deprived of it. Is that what you think?" She laughed scoffingly. "It was probably her husband's stupid male arrogance that drove Judy Reyes to take a lover." Moving like quicksilver, he whipped the revolver from beneath his jacket and aimed it at her head.

Chapter thirty-nine

Cat thought she'd been shot, until she realized that the three sharp raps weren't emissions from the revolver but someone knocking on the car window. She turned her head quickly. A rent-a-cop was peering into the car, his nose almost touching the foggy glass. Hastily she rolled down the window. "Oh, Ms. Delaney, it's you," he said with surprise and relief. "This strange car parked next to yours? I came to check it out. Everything okay?" "Everything's fine, thank you." "Mr. Webster hisself sent down orders that we were to be on the lookout for anything peculiar goin' on." He looked beyond her shoulder at Alex. Had he tucked the gun out of sight? "You a friend of Ms. Delaney's?" the guard asked. "Yes, he is," Cat replied before Alex had a chance to speak. "He gave me a lift back to my car."

Not one to be passed over, Alex said, "We're almost done here, buddy. Do you mind?" "Everything's all right, really," Cat interjected, hoping that her smile looked genuine. "We were just chatting. I'll be leaving shortly." "Well, okay, then." Self-importantly, the guard hiked up his belt and holster, as though to remind Alex--or himself--that he was armed and dangerous. The standing joke around the TV station was that the guards had only one bullet among them, and that they took turns with it. Chances were his weapon wasn't even loaded. Alex's was. "I'll be right over yonder, Ms. Delaney, if you should need me for anything." He glared a warning at Alex, then ambled back to the building. Cat rolled up the window. She'd managed to be civil with the guard, but when she confronted Alex, she gave vent to her temper. "Are you crazy? How dare you point a loaded gun at me! You scared the hell out of me!" "I wasn't aiming at you. I was trying to protect you." "From what?" "From a shadow I saw looming out of the darkness and approaching the window. I didn't know it was the guard." "You could have waited to find out before pulling a gun." "Which is a damn good way to get killed, wait and let the other guy get the jump on you." "No, your way is much better. Shoot first and ask questions later. Isn't that what happened on the Fourth of July when you killed that man in Houston?" Her angry words reverberated inside the car, then were followed by a startling silence that was broken only by her rapid, choppy breathing. Alex's face turned to stone, and his eyes glittered like flint. "Who told you about that?" Cat instantly regretted her outburst. "Alex, I--" "Who told you?" "Dean. Dean told me. This afternoon."

"I bet the son of a bitch got a charge out of that," he muttered. "Told you all the grisly details, did he?" "Actually, the details were sketchy." Alex snorted scornfully. "I'd like to hear your side of it." "Some other time." He reached across her and opened the passenger door, giving it so hard a shove that it almost sprang back on itself. "Alex, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. Not like that." "Too late," he said curtly. "It's out. Now, you'd better go." She hesitated, but it was apparent that he was furious and not in a mood to defend himself. She got out of the car and closed the door. He gunned the engine and sped from the parking lot, leaving her alone.

Cat was startled awake from a deep but troubled sleep. Before she could scream, he placed his hand over her mouth. "It's me." He spoke in a low, husky whisper, but she instantly recognized his voice. "I need . . . this ... I need you." He lay down beside her, half covering her body with his. "Don't be afraid, Cat. Are you afraid?" She shook her head. Gingerly he removed his hand and replaced it with his lips. He kissed her lightly at first, then evocatively, exploring her mouth with his tongue. When the kiss finally ended, he rested his lips against her throat. "Don't send me away." He unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, and drew her hand inside. "It's been a bad night. I'm dying, baby." He used her hand to massage his solid erection. When her thumb rolled across the straining glans, he moaned. Lowering his head, he nuzzled her breasts through her nightgown. "You want me. I know goddamn well you do. Don't you, Cat? Don't you?" He sighed her name beseechingly. She murmured, mingling protest and consent, the former giving way to the latter. Cloth whispered against cloth as she bicycled her legs from beneath the covers. She parted his shirt. His skin was hot

against her fingertips, her lips, and when he was at last naked and lying on top of her, she enveloped him in a welcoming embrace. He gathered her nightgown in his hands, bunching it up inch by inch, until he slipped it over her head and tossed it aside. His hands moved down her torso from collarbone to hipbone, all ten fingers extended, touching as much of her as possible in one pass. He pressed his face into the giving softness of her belly; she clutched his head to her and locked her legs around his hips. He kissed her navel, rubbed his cheek against the nest of tight, springy curls. His tongue traced the groove between her belly and thigh. Her heels dug into the mattress as she arched up, grinding her mons against his face. He placed his hand between her thighs and slipped two fingers inside her. She gave a soft cry of surprise and pleasure. "Don't come," he ground out. "Not yet. I want to be inside you when you come." But she was very wet, and his fingers were nimble and deft. She fought the passion building inside her until she couldn't fight it any longer. He seemed to know the exact moment of her surrender because he levered himself up and sank into her just as the first contractions seized her. The walls of her body closed around him like a tight fist. "Ah, Christ, yes." Moments later, replete, he lay heavily atop her, their skin so silky with sweat that their flesh seemed to meld. After a while he raised himself to his knees. She wasn't ready for him to leave her. Doing a partial sit-up, she angled the upper half of her body up and placed her open mouth on a damp patch of hair-dusted skin low on his abdomen, just below his navel. He tangled his hands in her hair and fell backward onto the mattress, bringing her with him. She bent over him and dabbed his stomach and chest with light kisses. She flicked his nipples with the tip of her tongue until they protruded stiffly. When she took his sex in her hand, he was hard again. She straddled his middle and remained poised above him to heighten the anticipation, then gradually lowered herself onto his rigid length. He watched her through half-closed eyes as she rode him, her chest

thrust out, her breasts high and proud. She was shocked by her own exhibitionism, her lack of modesty. Holding her stare with his, he moistened his fingertips with his saliva and brushed them across her nipple. It shrank to a hard pebble that he gently pressed between his thumb and forefinger. He slid his other hand into the mesh of their pubic hair and touched her center. The sensation was electrifying. Her head fell back on her shoulders; her hips pumped faster. He continued to stroke her there, barely glancing the slippery little nubbin with the pad of his finger. Her release was shattering. Impaled on him, she bore down hard. He gripped her cheeks and held her anchored to him as, together, they experienced a drenching climax. Then she collapsed on his chest, gasping, her heart drumming against his. He gathered her to him like a child and held her close, his lips moving in her hair, whispering. But because of the pounding of her own pulse, she couldn't distinguish the words.

Cat awoke with her head at the foot of the bed. She'd been covered with the corners of a sheet and a blanket, but the rest of the linens formed a tangled heap in the center of the bed. She sat up, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and glanced around her bedroom. It was illuminated only by the gauzy grayness of predawn. The house was silent. She knew she was alone. Sometime between ecstasy and sleep, Alex had left. Or had she dreamed it? No, their erotic interlude had been indisputably real. Her body bore the bittersweet imprints of it.

Chapter Forty

It was three days before she saw him again. He didn't call or try to see her. Frequently during those three days, she thought that maybe the stress of the last few weeks had taken their toll on her sanity, and that she had imagined him sneaking into her house, into her bed, and taking her on the most thrilling sexual adventure she'd ever experienced. But she had only to examine herself closely--her emotions as well as her body--to know that it hadn't been her imagination. Any lingering doubts vanished when he popped his head inside the production van where she sat with Jeff, discussing the details of the Cat's Kids segment they were about to shoot. He tapped on the side of the van. She raised her head from the file she'd been perusing. Jeff turned in his seat. "Mr. Pierce," he said, showing his surprise. "Hi." Alex acknowledged her assistant's greeting with a mumbled hello, but his eyes were fixed on her. Her reaction to seeing him was a comical cliche. She went limp.

Lifeless fingers dropped her fountain pen. It rolled off the edge of the folder on her lap and landed on the floor of the van. "I'll just . . ."In tune with the awkwardness of the moment, Jeff stammered an excuse, then climbed out of the van and left them alone. Alex continued to stare at her through the open side door. He was dressed in jeans and an unironed chambray shirt with the cuffs loosely rolled back to his elbows. It was a humid, airless day, but his hair looked wind-tossed. "Hello, Alex. What brings you here?" He glanced over his shoulder at the production crew setting up video equipment on the park playground. The video photographer was discussing camera angles with Jeff. The production assistant was checking microphones. The rent-a-cop, which Bill had insisted on, was leaning against a tree, smoking. "I've never seen you work," Alex said, turning back to her. "Not on location." "It's not as glamorous as it might seem when you're watching it at home." "I'd like to stick around, if you don't mind." So they weren't going to address it. Okay. If he wanted to pretend that the orgy hadn't taken place, fine. It was probably better this way. He'd come to her in the middle of the night, desperate and begging for physical and emotional release, an indication that he had weaknesses just like all other mortals. She'd responded to him without a whimper of resistance, an indication of her susceptibility. They'd both exhibited a lack of self-control and common sense. She couldn't condemn him for using her without condemning herself for being so easily used. Why open it up for discussion? To spare themselves embarrassment, why not just pretend that it hadn't happened? Besides, she wasn't sure she could speak freely in glaring daylight about what they'd done in the dark. Her cheeks were flushed just thinking about it. "I don't mind if you watch," she told him. "But you'll probably get bored before we finish."