Charade (31 page)

"I doubt that." Jeff approached hesitantly. "Uh, Cat. Sherry just arrived with Joseph." "Coming." She tied on the sneakers she'd previously taken off. Alex gave her a hand down as she stepped from the van. "Thanks." For the benefit of Sherry, Jeff, and the production crew, she tried to appear casual, although her knees were still wobbly over his unexpected appearance. Joseph soon took her mind off Alex. The boy's growth had been stunted by his crippling disease, so, although he was seven, he looked no older than four. His legs were in braces, but he was able to walk on his own. He had large ears and wore glasses with lenses so thick that they distorted the size of his eyes. He was beaming at Cat as he hobbled forward. "I came to be on TV," he announced proudly. Sherry Parks laughed. "Maybe I'd better warn you, Cat. He's a natural ham. Watch him, or he'll steal the show." "It's good to see you again, Joseph." They'd been introduced at Nancy Webster's picnic. Looking down at him now, she narrowed her eyes and growled threateningly. "But if I catch you upstaging me, you're history. Remember, I'm the star!" "Okay," Joseph said, laughing. "Does he run the camera?" He was pointing at Alex. "No. He's only observing. This is Mr. Pierce, Joseph. He writes books." "Books? No foolin'?" "Pleased to meet you, Joseph." Alex shook hands with the boy as though he were an adult. "You're tall." "Naw, it's the boots." Alex raised his foot and showed the boy the riding heel of his boot. "Without these, I'm only five feet five." Joseph's laugh erupted like bubbles from a bottle of champagne. Cat made a mental note to get that laugh on videotape. Who could resist it? She made a round of introductions, then Jeff announced that they

should get started. She took Joseph's hand and said, "Don't forget, I get all the best lines." She and Joseph sat side by side on a merry-go-round. The production assistant put wireless mikes on them, and they recorded the interview segment first. She chatted with Joseph about inconsequential things until he was unmindful of the camera and completely relaxed. "Would you like to be adopted, Joseph?" "Sure. Could I have brothers and sisters?" "Possibly." "That'd be neat." All his answers were disarming and endearing. They reshot the interview from a reverse angle so that, when edited, segments could be lifted from either camera angle, making it appear that the piece had been shot with at least two cameras. Then she and Joseph walked among the Spanish moss-laden live oak trees while the photographer followed, carrying the camera on his shoulder. When Jeff announced that they had all the raw footage they needed, Alex gave Joseph a high-five. "If you ever get a hankering to go into show business, I want to be your talent agent. Deal?" Joseph's smile was radiant. Cat knelt down and hugged him. "Let's hope for the best, okay?" "Okay. But don't worry, Cat. If I'm not adopted, I won't be mad at you." A hard lump formed in her throat. His father had split before he was born. His mother suffered from drug addiction and depression. When Joseph was three, the state had taken him from her. He'd been living in foster homes ever since. He deserved a family's love. And, with his charming personality and sense of humor, he'd be an asset to any family. She regretted having to return him to Sherry and continued to wave until they drove out of sight. Alex dragged his sleeve across his sweating forehead. "You're right. It's not as glamorous or as easy as it looks. Two hours' work for a two-minute piece?" "That's not counting all the postproduction time," Jeff told him.

"And the taping time would be doubled if Cat weren't such a prc. She rarely has to do more than one take." She dropped a coquettish curtsy. "Y'all coming?" the PA called from the van. The equipment had already been reloaded. The cameraman was in the driver's seat. He'd started the motor and had the van's air-conditioning going full blast. The rent-a-cop was grinding out his last cigarette, ready to climb into the van. He'd never challenged Alex or questioned his being there. Bill was wasting his money on that precaution, Cat thought. Jeff headed for the van, but she held back and looked shrewdly at Alex. "You didn't come out here on an unseasonably hot day just to watch, did you?" "It was interesting." She placed her hands on her hips. "You're a little old for field trips. Come clean, Pierce. What's up?" "I found Cyclops."

He was squatting beside his Harley, replacing a spark plug. It didn't really need the tune-up; he was tinkering just to keep his mind off his problems. If everything in his life ran as well as his bike, he'd be a happy man. His Harley was the only thing he could rely on to obey his commands without argument. Riding it never failed to give him a thrill. Kismet was another matter. He shot her a malevolent glance over his shoulder. She was seated on a yellow vinyl bean bag that she'd dragged into the shade of a scraggly cedar tree. A few years back, she'd been the hottest piece of ass around. He'd been the envy of every man who knew him. Her temper had burned hot and fierce. She'd been afraid of nothing. Not even him. Hell, back then, if he did something she didn't like, she'd light into him, sometimes drawing blood with her fingernails and teeth. They'd go at it until the fight turned into screwing, which it always did. Violence had been her biggest turn-on. The rougher the better. Bucking and heaving, she'd scream like a banshee when she came. Now, the dark eyes that used to smolder hardly reflected light. They were dead eyes. She fucked like a corpse, too, tolerating him but never participating.

She even looked different. She kept her tattoo covered and tried to keep her hair tamed. He didn't remember the last time he'd seen her wearing something that showed off her figure. She didn't talk the same, either. Trying to resurrect the old Kismet had become his life's occupation. She presented him with a constant challenge. The hellcat was in there, somewhere. Behind that vapid expression, the real Kismet was still sneering at the world. He knew it; all he had to do was come up with a way to draw her out. Was she worth all the crap she put him through? No way in hell. He'd have dumped her years ago, except for one major reason: That's what she wanted. She'd like it if he booted her out. For that reason alone, he planned to keep her till hell froze over. He had let her escape him once, and it had made him a laughingstock. Although he'd gotten the last laugh, hadn't he? Once Sparky was out of their lives, they'd picked up where they had left off. Well, not entirely. She'd never been the same. Most of the time, she looked through him as though he weren't there. The only thing that seemed to penetrate her indifference was fear. When she got good and scared of him, she turned to putty. So scaring her had become his favorite pastime. He stood now and wiped his hands on a faded red rag. "Get in the house." His brusque order startled her. That was another thing that bugged him--her daydreaming. She had a private world that was closed to him. "It's hot inside, Cyc," she said. "I'd rather stay out here where there's a breeze." "I said, get in the house." "What for?" "What do you think?" he asked in a soft, taunting singsong. Reaching down, he grabbed her arm, nearly jerking it from its socket as he hauled her up. She cried out. Just then a car pulled alongside the Harley and stopped. A man got out and looked at them over the roof of the car. Cyc dropped her arm. "Who's that?" "I don't know."

The tall, lean dude came toward them. He had calculating eyes and a mean slant to his mouth. Cop. Cyclops could sight heat a mile away. The guy probably had a piece in the small of his back beneath his windbreaker. "Who are you and what do you want?" Cyc asked, facing his visitor aggressively. "I'm looking for a guy who goes by Cyclops? Is that you?" Cyc folded his tattooed arms across his chest. Smirking, he tilted his head to one side, jiggling the silver cross that dangled from the hole in his earlobe. "What if I am?" Ignoring the question, the man looked beyond him. "Are you Kismet?" "Yes." "Shut up," Cyc barked. "You don't have to talk to him." He glowered at the man, intuitively knowing that he meant trouble. "Who the fuck are you?" "Alex Pierce." "Doesn't ring any bells." "No reason it should. But I've brought someone with me who wants to meet you." He returned to the car and opened the passenger door, where he carried on a brief conversation with someone before stepping aside and helping her out. The late afternoon sun spotlighted her hair, identifying her instantly. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Cyc exclaimed, his belligerent stance slipping. The cop/dude never let more than an inch of space come between him and the redhead as they approached. She showed no such caution. Gutsy broad, Cyc thought. Tiny, but gutsy. You could tell right off. "My name's Cat Delaney." "I know who you are," he said. "Did you come for the kid?" Kismet surged to her feet, dumping the tray of beads she'd held in her lap. They fell into the dirt, sparkling in the sunlight. "No! I won't let you take him again!" she cried. "Mommy?" Cyc jerked his head around. The kid was standing behind the screened front door, his finger hooked in his lower lip. He was staring

at them with those wide, spooky eyes of his. When he stared like that, the little shit gave Cyc the creeps. He was just about to order him back into the house when the redhead uttered a startled cry. "Michael!"

Chapter forty-one

Cat stared at the boy as if transfixed. He bolted through the screen door and ran to his mother, burying his face in her skirt. "You're Michael's mother?" Cat asked weakly. The woman nodded warily. Cat turned to the biker. "Then you must be George Murphy." "Ain't that why you're here? To get our kid, so's you can put him on TV and get him adopted?" Kismet began to whimper. Cat extended her hand to her. "No, I'm not here because of Michael." Cyclops frowned. "If you didn't come after him, what are you doing here?" Just as Sherry had said, Michael and his mother seemed to love each other. The boy was looking at Cat and smiling shyly in recognition, but his arms were still wrapped around his mother's legs. Cat turned to the biker and gave him a contemptuous onceover. "Have you been sending me threatening mail? If you have, I'm here to warn you that I've made it a police matter. If I receive any more--"

"Look, bitch--" "Watch it, pal." Alex didn't raise his voice, but it was menacing enough to silence Cyclops. He had let the startling events unfold without making a single sound, but Cat knew that nothing had escaped his notice. "This doesn't have to get ugly," he said. "Just answer the lady's question. Have you been sending her newspaper clippings through the mail?" "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Cyc growled. "I don't know nothin' about no clippings. And if you don't get your ass off my--" Cat broke in, "You were friends with a guy called Sparky." Kismet made an injured sound. "Sparky?" she repeated breathlessly. "What about Sparky?" "Shut the fuck up, will ya?" Cyc shouted. He then turned his hostile, one-eyed glare onto Cat. "If you're looking for that little stump, you're shit out of luck, lady. He's been dead for years." "I'm well aware of that." "Then why come pestering me?" "You gave permission for his heart to be harvested for transplantation. I had a transplant within a few hours of his death. It's possible that I received his heart." Kismet gasped before covering her mouth with her hand. Tears filled her eyes. "I understand that you were very close to him," Cat said softly. Kismet bobbed her head. "That's ancient history," Cyc said. "What do you want from me?" Alex answered. "Three people who received hearts on the same day as Ms. Delaney have died. We believe they were murdered by a donor family member who's having second thoughts." "Whoever is doing the killing has made it clear that I'm next on his list," Cat added. "Gee, that's too bad," Cyc said sarcastically. Alex took a threatening step forward, but Cat grabbed his sleeve and held him back. "I don't think they know anything about it, Alex." "He recognized you immediately. I saw it on his face."

"She's on TV, for crissake!" Cyclops shouted. "What d'ya think, I'm blind and stupid?" "I think you're an asshole," Alex fired back. "Be quiet. Both of you. You're frightening Michael." Cat looked at Kismet. "Did you ever try to contact the recipient of Sparky's heart?" "Yes, I did." Cyc turned around and glared at Kismet. "What the fuck are you talking about?" As though she hadn't heard him, she spoke directly to Cat. "About a year after Sparky was killed, I went to the hospital where he'd died. They told me to call the organ, hmm ..." "The organ bank?" "I guess so. They wrote down the phone number for me." Cyc took a hulking step toward her. "Will you shut your ugly face? You don't have to tell them nothin'. And where was I while you were sneaking off to the hospital?" She continued to ignore him. "I called the number they gave me. The lady I talked to was nice, but because I wasn't related to Sparky, she wouldn't tell me anything. I pleaded with her. I wanted to know if--" "I said shut up!" Cyc struck suddenly, cuffing her on the side of her head. Cat couldn't have stopped Alex if she'd wanted to. He lunged for Cyc, put his hands around the man's throat, and slammed him into the exterior wall of the house. "You touch her again, you go to jail, dickhead." His voice was quiet but steely. "But before that, I'd give you the fight you're looking for. I'd tear out your good eye and piss in the hole. By the time I got finished with you, you really would be blind and stupid. You'd be begging them to lock you up for a long, long time so I couldn't get to you again." "Get outta my face, asshole." Cyc grunted. He was in obvious pain. Alex's knee was grinding his crotch. "I ain't gonna hurt her." Cat noticed Michael. He was clutching handfuls of his mother's skirt in his tiny fists. He face was buried in the folds of fabric again. "Alex, the child."

The words worked like a magic wand. Alex relaxed his stance and released the biker. He backed away until he was standing beside Cat again, but he remained tense, poised for attack. During their altercation, Kismet had remained docile, seeming impervious to it. Cat supposed that she was inured to violent outbursts, having been the victim of them so often. "Kismet," she said, "do you know anything about the recipient of Sparky's heart? Where it was sent? Anything?" She shook her head, glanced at Cyc, then looked down at the ground. Cat wanted to probe her for more information, but she didn't want to incur Cyc's wrath, which he would no doubt vent on Kismet and the child. Turning to the biker and making no attempt to conceal her scorn, she asked, "Will they be all right?" "Why wouldn't they be?" "Because several times you've put them in the hospital," she said contemptuously. "You're pathetic, you know that? You're nothing but a foul-smelling bully who beats up a woman and child in order to prove your manhood." "Cat." This time Alex was warning her, speaking her name under his breath, out the side of his mouth. Cyc flexed his fists at his sides. "We don't know nothing about your heart, or Sparky's heart, or any goddamn mail," he said with a snarl. "We particularly don't know nothin' about no murders. So get the fuck outta here before I get really pissed." Alex grasped her arm. "Come on." She let herself be led back to the car. Alex pulled out and drove away fast, putting distance between them and George Murphy. "I can't believe it. All this time they've been in my files," she said in wonderment. "Cyclops and Kismet. How'd you find them?" "Uncle Dixie keeps good records. Murphy has a score of misdemeanors to his credit. Several police departments in the state had kept track of him. SAPD had a dossier with his current address." "When Michael appeared in that doorway ..." She was still reeling from the shock. "He's so sweet and defenseless. I can't bear to think of him living with that brute." "And the woman?"