Charade (36 page)

head and stood up. "Very well, Bill. I understand your position. You'll have my resignation by the end of the day." "What!" Jeff exclaimed. "Cat--" "Listen to me, both of you. If that story gets printed, Cat's Kids is tainted forever. I could deny the ugly allegations until I'm blue in the face, but it wouldn't do any good. People are prone to believe the worst, especially if they read it. If it's in print, it must be true, right? "Bill, you said you must consider what's best for the TV station. Well, I must consider what's best for the children. Whether Mr. Truitt or anyone else believes it, their welfare was my sole reason for starting Cat's Kids. They're still my primary concern. "They're already innocent victims. I don't want them to be victimized again by eliminating what might be their last hope. If I'm out of the picture, you can change the name of Cat's Kids and continue the program. I urge you to start shopping for my replacement immediately."

Chapter forty seven

"What do you want?" "I thought you might need some tender loving care. I brought cheeseburgers." Jeff held up a white paper sack so she could see it through the peephole. "Are they chock-full of fat calories?" "The sack is almost too heavy to lift." "In that case ..." Cat unlatched her front door. Stepping out onto the porch, she gave a wave, then went back inside with Jeff and locked the door. "What was that all about?" "Did you notice the car parked down the street? It's a surveillance cop. Until they locate Cyclops, Lieutenant Hunsaker is keeping a twenty-four-hour watch on the house." "Good idea." "Alex's idea. I feel like a fool with all this cloak-and-dagger stuff." They went into the kitchen and began unloading the fast food. "Early this afternoon, when we went to the police station to give

our statements, Alex convinced Hunsaker that my house should be watched in case Cyclops returns. Mmm. These are delicious," she said, devouring another french fry. "Thanks." "I figured you hadn't eaten." "I hadn't. I didn't even realize I was hungry." "Where's Mr. Pierce now?" "How should I know? I don't keep track of him and vice versa." She sounded defensive because that's how she felt. Alex hadn't called. Although he knew she wasn't going to California, Cat suspected that he was still angry with her for calling him to her rescue, then spurning him in favor of Dean. That hadn't been her intention, but that's how he'd perceived it. He'd turned her over to Hunsaker, then washed his hands of her. She wanted to hear his opinion on this latest chain of events but decided against contacting him. He would have to make the next move ... if there was one. "I thought he might be staying here with you," Jeff said. "He did last night." She rubbed her forehead, trying to stave off the headache that always seemed to seize her whenever she tried to make sense of her undefined relationship with Alex. "Mind if we don't talk about him?" "Not at all. You got ketchup?" "In the door of the fridge. But use it sparingly. As of this afternoon, I'm unemployed." "You don't mean to make that resignation stick, do you?" At first the cheeseburger and fries had smelled delicious. Now, with the reminders of Alex's desertion and Truitt's column, the food was making her queasy. "I'm in a quandary over what to do, Jeff. Everything's in such a muddle." She laughed without humor. "You know, I really had it good when my only problem was a terminal heart condition. "Now, my love life is in shambles. I've got a biker fiend out to skin me. My reputation is about to be trashed by a jugular-seeking journalist, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it." She flashed him a dazzling smile. "Of course, looking on the bright side, in two days a homicidal maniac is likely to spring from nowhere and do me in, saving me from all my other trials and tribulations." "Two days? Jeez. I hadn't realized."

"Time has flown since I met Cyclops and got involved with Patricia and Michael. The anniversary date sort of crept up on me, too." "Mr. Pierce isn't any closer to learning who sent those clippings?" "We knocked around the idea that it might be Cyclops. But after thinking about it, we crossed him off as a possibility. He's not clever enough." "What about Paul Reyes? Any word on him?" She had shared with Jeff what Alex had told her about the three incidents that had occurred shortly before her transplant. Per her request, he'd checked the library for newspaper stories relating to them. As a result of his research, they'd read every available account of the Reyes murder trial. "Alex is still trying to locate a relative who'll talk to him." "What about the lover?" "The lover?" she repeated, perplexed. "I don't know." "Or did any information come out of the multicar accident on the Houston freeway?" "Not that I know of. I'd almost forgotten about that." Her telephone rang and she excused herself to answer it. "Hello?" "Where are they?" Her heart gave a lurch. "Cyclops?" Jeff's eyes popped wide. He dropped his hamburger and came out of his chair so fast it fell over backward. "Should I get the cop?" he asked in a stage whisper. She shook her head and waved him to be silent. As it was, she could barely hear Cyclops over the racket in the background on his end. "I'm warning you, bitch. You'd better tell me where they are." "They're someplace where you'll never find them." She spoke calmly and without fear, although her heart was pounding. "They're safe from you. You can never hurt them again." "Maybe. Maybe not. But I can sure as hell find you, can't I? I know where you work and where you live. None of this would've happened if you hadn't started meddling." "You won't find me at work. I don't work for WWSA anymore, thanks to you." "Huh?" "Don't play dumb, although I realize that's asking a lot. On the

other hand, maybe you're smarter than you pretend to be. Only a cunning but twisted mind could devise a lie like that one you told Mr. Truitt." "Who?" "The columnist for the Light." "The what? What the fuck are you talking about? Hey, is this call being traced? Are you talking bullshit just to keep me on the phone? Shit!" The line instantly went dead. Cat continued to hold the receiver to her ear long after she'd gotten a dial tone. Finally she hung it up, but continued staring at it thoughtfully. "What'd he say?" Jeff asked. "He, uh . . ." "Did he tell you where he was? Cat? What's wrong? Cat?" It took her a moment to shake off her puzzled daze and bring Jeff back into focus. "He's still issuing threats." "You mean accusing you of child molestation wasn't enough?" "Cyclops claims not to know anything about that. As strange as it may sound, I think he's telling the truth." Jeff shook his head in bewilderment. "I don't get it." "Neither do I." "Truitt said Cyclops called him. He couldn't have made up that name." "I don't believe he made it up," Cat said. "Then he's lying?" "No, someone called Truitt, all right. And identified himself as Cyclops." Understanding dawned on Jeff's face. "But it could have been anyone. Probably the same guy who sent you those articles." "Exactly. This person's omniscient. He seems to be living inside my skin with me. He knows everything that happens almost as soon as I do, including my dealings with Cyclops. Or maybe I'm jumping to conclusions." With a groan of frustration, she pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. "I don't know what to think anymore, or what to do." "Hang in there, Cat," Jeff said sympathetically. "Let's approach

this pragmatically. Assuming your stalker concocted the child molestation story and called Truitt, who corroborated it? Truitt's ambitious and nasty, but he doesn't strike me as a fool." "Me either." "So I don't think he'd stick his neck out unless he really had a second source backing up the allegations." They bandied it back and forth until Cat's headache grew unbearable. She hadn't slept but a few hours the night before. Since awakening this morning, she'd dealt with Patricia's unexpected arrival, Truitt and his bad tidings, then Bill's betrayal, and now this. Her brain was filled to capacity with disturbing data; she couldn't force any more into it. "We're going in circles, Jeff," she said at last. "If you'll forgive me, let's call it a night. I'm going to take a long, hot bubble bath and try to get some sleep." "I'll be glad to stay with you tonight if you want company." "Thanks. But I've already got a watchdog--he's parked down the street." At her front door, Jeff hugged her awkwardly. "Please reconsider your resignation, Cat." "It's already been submitted." "But Mr. Webster had already left for the day when you took it upstairs. It's not official until he opens it. Wait and gauge the effect of Truitt's article. It might not turn out the way we expect." He earnestly pressed his point. "You can't walk away from Cat's Kids. You and it are one and the same." "That's what everybody said about me and Laura Madison. The character no longer exists, but the show goes on every day at noon." "This is different. Cat's Kids is your life's mission. It's too important to you. To all of us." She tried to alleviate his concern with a joke: "You don't fool me, Doyle. You're just trying to protect your job!" Cat watched him move down the walk and get into his car, then she checked to see that the unmarked police car was still there. At first she'd been opposed to having someone on watch outside her house. Now she drew comfort from knowing that help was nearby. Cyclops might come back. He was still bloodthirsty. But she truly believed that he knew nothing of the story given to Truitt. A sneak attack wasn't Cyclops's style. A knife, yes. But not subterfuge.

If he hadn't called Truitt, who had? And how had the caller known to identify himself as her enemy, Cyclops? Who was privy to that much information about the events in her life? Who was Truitt's secret second source? Still searching for answers, Cat immersed herself in the bubble bath.

Chapter forty eight

He grimaced with the force of his thrusts. Blood coursed hotly through his veins. His forehead was beaded with sweat. It rolled into his eyes and made them sting. He was breathing as though running an uphill marathon, pushing himself to his physical limit, seeking escape from his guilty misgivings, absolution for his transgressions. He didn't delude himself that this was making love. It was self-flagellation. He took shameless advantage of her sensuality. She never said no. He could take her without a word of affection or a tender caress, and she never complained. She performed on command. The more he demanded, the more she gave. Her compliance wasn't founded on love, either. And it wasn't charity. She had selfish reasons for wanting to keep him happy and remain his lover. They each took from the affair exactly what they wanted. The sex was always lusty. Dirty. The raunchier it was, the more appropriate it seemed. The relationship was illicit. They were already

sinners. So they lost nothing by satisfying their basest appetites and acting out their most lascivious fantasies. Reaching beneath her, he fondled her breasts. His belly made wet, smacking sounds against her buttocks. She didn't like it this way, but her own eroticism governed her. She bowed her back like a cat. Her sharp fingernails clawed at the sheet. She cursed him even as she began to shudder in climax. Sweating profusely, heart pounding, he came at the same time. She fell face first into the bedding; he collapsed on top of her. After a while she mumbled, "Get off. You're crushing me." He flopped onto his back, flinging his arms wide, still trying to regain his breath. She crawled on all fours to the edge of the bed, then got up and put on a robe. "Did I hurt you?" he asked. "That's part of it, isn't it?" "I know you'd rather not do it like that." "I'm sure cavewomen found it very romantic." He searched her expression for sarcasm and found none. She was rarely critical. The doorbell rang, surprising them both. He propped himself on his elbows. "Who could that be?" "I'll have to go see." "Ignore it." "I can't. It might be my kid brother looking for a place to crash." "While I'm here?" he asked in alarm. The idea of someone seeing him at her apartment made him uneasy. "Relax. He doesn't ask questions. What I do is my business." She made certain her robe was securely belted, then jogged downstairs and answered the door. "What in the world are you doing here?" he heard her exclaim. "Hello, Melia. May I come in?" It wasn't her brother. It wasn't anybody's brother. It was Cat. "Jesus," he groaned, dragging his hand down his flushed face. The sweat cooling on his body gave him a chill, and he shivered. "What do you want?" Melia asked ungraciously. "We need to clear the air. May I come in?" He heard the door close and pictured the two women squaring off.

"Okay, you're in," Melia said. "Now what?" "It's been you all along, hasn't it? You're the one playing dirty tricks." "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Melia said heatedly. "Where do you get off, coming over here in the middle of the night without an invitation and start talking nonsense? Jesus! You've gotta be the most paranoid person in the world. I think you need a psychiatrist." Cat didn't back down. "The clue was there all the time, only I didn't see it until tonight while I was soaking in my bubble bath. Then, voilla! Your name just popped into my head. King." "I know my name," Melia said drolly. "But that's not your legal name, is it? That's not the one you were born with. Your birth name was Reyes. You've Anglicized it to King." "Is that right?" "I'd bet on it. And you were related to Paul Reyes." "Who?" "Paul Reyes." "Maybe. I don't know all the twigs on my family tree." "You'd remember this twig," Cat said. "He made headlines after killing his wife with a baseball bat. He stood trial for murder, but was acquitted." "Look, I don't have a clue what you're talking about. I don't know anybody named Reyes. So why don't you get the hell out of my house?" Cat plowed on relentlessly. "Paul Reyes donated his wife's heart for transplantation." "As if I care." "I think you care very much. I think he cares very much, too. He cares so much, he wants to stop his unfaithful wife's heart. How does it work? Let's see. You find the transplantees and set them up, then he comes in to make the kill, right?" "I don't--" "Of course it's you!" Cat said. "You had access to everything that crossed my desk. You were privy to incoming and outgoing calls. You knew everything that went on in my life." "All I know is that you're a freaking nutcase," Melia shouted.

"All station personnel were invited to the barbecue, so you saw me there with Michael. Today, you heard about my encounter with Cyclops. You knew Truitt was no fan of mine or Cat's Kids. He'd be eager to hear even a breath of scandal about me. "So you had someone call him, probably Reyes himself. He identified himself as Cyclops and told that outlandish story. Then, when Truitt began investigating the allegations, you were all too willing to corroborate them. What could be worse--a program designed to help children is actually a hotbed of molestation and abuse." "You've got one active imagination, lady." "I didn't imagine that studio light falling on me." "I had nothing to do with that!" "I didn't imagine my medication being thrown into a Dumpster." "I was pissed at you." "Why?" "For being such a bitch!" "Or for having a heart that you and your family want stopped." "I already told you, I don't even know anybody named Reyes." "Judy Reyes was screwing around. The whole family was offended, right? You appointed yourself the avenger." "I can't believe this!" "Oh, I can," Cat said. "Once I got the clue about your name, everything else fell into place. You've been harassing me. The light, the clippings sent anonymously, the story told to Truitt. Those were planned to weaken me. Break me down. Make me vulnerable. "Then, when I showed up dead--maybe by suicide?--everyone would say, 'You know, she's been acting awfully weird. For months she's been on the verge of flipping out.' "Tell me, Melia, how did you and Paul Reyes plan to kill me? Run me off the road and make it look like an accident? Poke pills down my throat to seem like an overdose? Another accident in the studio? What?" "Stop yelling at me," Melia threatened. "I don't know anything about this." "The hell you don't." "Okay! Sure I know you've been getting some anonymous mail, but it didn't come from me. I didn't rig that studio light to fall,