Red Silk Scarf (19 page)

“Oh, but it
is.
 
I had a vision of love once that
looked a lot like you.” Then it happened, vulnerability claimed his features,
the kind Cassidy never believed him capable of experiencing.
 
“Dear God, woman, what have you done,” pretty
words that road the vibrations of an anxious rasp that made her knees buckle
sufficiently to tighten his hold.
 

Damn he was good,
very convincing, Romeo and Don Won rolled into one gigantic mass of male
brawn.
 
Words of love were dangerous
commodities on Sullivan’s lips.
 
Seduction was his expertise a whole other art form she never knew
existed.
 
A technique obviously perfected
during liaisons with many women, he used his eyes, hands and mouth as magic
wands to stir hedonistic fantasies.
 
Cassidy prayed he would cease this foolishness, but apparently, God was
busy with matters of more importance.
 

“Though you seem
afraid, inside there's a longing that sets your eyes aglow, and your skin on
fire that convinces me all you need is the right fireman.”
 
Parting full moist lips grazing her forehead,
eyebrows, found and floated over her cheek.
 
Although she wanted to scream, she forgot how, his lips were banishing
all thoughts.
 
Right now, all she wanted
was a man, wrong, all she wanted was Sullivan. Thank God, he didn't know he was
the match and she the kindling, that when he touched her all the evil he might
be capable of vanished, or, did he.

           
“Tell me you don't want this.
 
Tell me,” he whispered.

“I don't . . .
two words soft, a little distant, definitely indecisive, anything else she
might have said, his lungs inhaled.
 
Despite her body refusing to respond, her lips were not as
faithful.
 
It seemed the natural thing to
do. With the sureness of a woman whose instincts matched his, the fluidity of
her lips began manipulating him.
 
They
sent a signal to his hands that eased into her shorts to claim bare buttocks
with such tenderness she shuddered.
  
Her
kiss light yet so deep became magnetic pulls that made her fingers want to
gather his shirt into bunches to haul him closer and she was thankful they
listened to the part of her that had some sense left.

In the short
time, she had known Sullivan; he'd kissed her more than any man had, not
because she, wanted him too, allowed him, he took the liberty.
 
For some insane reason, Cassidy liked that.
 
Unfortunately, his kisses were becoming too
familiar, and hers were telling him of his hold on her, one that she couldn't
control, didn't want to control.
 
She was
ignoring the years of training that warned against becoming personally involved
with suspects, and if she did, how it might impair her judgment.
 
Like quick sand, sucking her down, Sullivan
was.
 
Now more than ever if she wanted to
live somehow she had to break the hold he had on her.

Brutal one
minute, unbelievably gentle the next, Sullivan had multiple personalities, the
gentle side, her body couldn't resist, the strong, brave, demanding side, her
mind admired.
 
Everything about him was
on her list of wants, but regardless of the trial’s they faced Brady’s always
held tight to their beliefs.
 
She didn’t
want Sullivan to be the killer, or Mark, or Ben either, but if she had to
choose.

Despite knowing
Sullivan was a man who liked to eat out every night, her mouth offered
nourishment, a kiss that went too far when her tongue entered his mouth. With a
wrenching groan, he set her back.
 
“I
think you better know I plan to be the one buried deep inside you.
 
I'm the man for you, Cassidy.
 
I know I am.
 
The stained glass window's you hide behind are slowly becoming
clear.
 
We're going to do this and do it
well before it’s over. You want it and so do I.”
 
His hands traveled the plains of her body so
quickly; she was unaware of them around her neck until he squeezed gently,
shockingly, instead of fear Cassidy had to suppress a sudden rush of
ecstasy.
  

All at once,
Sullivan’s eyes seemed to be begging for understanding.
 
“Before it's too late, give up what you
do.
 
Stay away from Mark.”
 
The pressure of his thumbs increasing on the
indentation of her throat made exhilaration and helplessness collide.
 
Training and natural instinct prepared her
for defense, protection that wouldn't be necessary until . . .
 

“Next time, be
ready for me.
 
Next time, you're
mine.”
 
One of Sullivan’s hands gliding
beneath Cassidy’s tank top found a breast, fingers gently squeezing and
stroking before rolling the nipple between a thumb and finger.
 
Apparently gratified, his hand fell away,
“Sleep tight, sweet cakes.”

Never before did
Cassidy climax without physical manipulation.
 
She was close, damn close.
 
She
was primed, ready and left wanting, yet, just stood there not believing her
mangled thoughts, the vibrations, and the pain mixing with ecstasy.
 
Knowing Sullivan was ablaze with desire,
again he did not take what she was unable to withhold making her question for
the first time between the two who possessed more will power.
 

Disturbing her
more, when he left the apartment, his fascinating body gave her lascivious
thoughts.
  
Killing her would be easier
than what Sullivan was doing, his tools of trade, unmerciful.
 
No one did that to a Brady, no one.
   

Cassidy’s eyes
found the wastebasket, the tattered scarf nothing compared to the shredded
fabric of her emotions.
 
How long she
stood by the door she locked and chained, with sadness stalking, choking back a
barrage of tears, she didn't know.
 
In
fact, she didn't know she was, so confused was she until a startling knock at
the door made her senses plummet.
 
Peering through the viewfinder, she unlocked and unchained the
door.
 

Literally barging
in, not saying a word, Ben set a frantic pace searching the apartment not
missing an inch before hauling her to him.
 
Holding her much too tightly, much too intimately, his hands stroking
her back, among other things, he finally spoke, “Thank God you're all
right.
 
Thank God.
 
Jesus, when you didn't show up at our Ronda
view, when I saw Sullivan leave the building, I thought . . .”
 

Craving the
sympathy, he seemed so willing to offer, Cassidy gave into tears made enormous
from disappointment.
 
Ben’s hands and
eyes took the privilege of a thorough inspection before reluctantly asking what
he didn't want to know.
 
“Sullivan, he
didn't, he didn't…”

           
“No,” her muffled blubber filled to
the brim with disillusionment.

Neither one
feeling very steady somehow they found the couch.
  
Arms entwined, Cassidy grieved for a woman
named Margie and her three children, for Sullivan, Mark, Ben, Pamela, and
Vera.
 
There was a gush of tears for,
what each man had been, for what they had become, for what the women were yet
to learn.
 
She, grieved for her-self what
she felt for Sullivan, and what she had to do, the unfairness of life and its
unpredictability.

Cassidy hated
herself for being hell bent to take on this case, now no matter which one was
the killer she wondered how she’d find the courage.
 
Was it possible at one time all killers were
good, kind, and loving people? Having learned a painful lesson, she now knew
life-altering experiences made people capable of anything.

Secure in her
friend's arms, Cassidy felt safer now, or was it a false sense of
security.
 
The evening’s events had
reared its ugly head.
 
Pulling away from
Ben, she used every excuse imaginable to make him leave, she was exhausted, had
a headache, felt sick among them.
 

           
Pressing the key to his apartment
into her hands, Ben finally caved in, “If you need me for anything,”
 

Her fingers
stopped what she was afraid he might say.
 
Surely, a man knew when a woman was in need, and right now, she was in
an extreme state of emergency.
 
Sex could
never happen between them again, there were too many risks, too much at
stake.
 
When he placed a kiss on her
cheek before leaving, Cassidy covered it with a hand not wanting to let go of
the warmth, the love, meanwhile wrenching her insides was the possibility the
time might come.
         

Desperately
wanting to call her family, she couldn't without breaking down.
 
They’d be upset and God forbid come to her
rescue.
  
With a thump, her body found
the mattress, her tears the pillow.

____________

           
The need for warmth, to feel the
rhythm of Mark's heartbeat, rolling towards him, Margie reached to place her
hand on his chest only to find him gone.
 
Sweat gloved palms and fingers smoothed over the cotton sheets and the
indentation his body left behind. Still vivid were the memories of their
lovemaking that tonight, more than ever before was intense so desperate was
Mark to seek satisfaction.
 
Yet, no
matter what she did, the need remained.

Tears welling up
rippled as she recalled hearing him get up, dress, enter the children's room,
descend the stairs then start the car.
 
With an arm hugged across her body, one hand clinging to her ribs, the
other pressed hard over her mouth Margie gave into despair.
 
Little by little, bit-by-bit, she was losing
him.
 
A torture she disguised in front of
the children, and particularly in Patrick's presence.
 

Oh, what she
would give to have Patrick beside her right this minute.
 
He'd hold her, soothe her, and yes, make love
to her in a way that would reach down, revive, and replenish everything Mark
had leeched from her.
 
It would be good
between them, very good, but, she couldn't use Patrick that way, although she
loved him, she’d always love Mark more.
 
As always Margie chose the alternative, she cried herself to sleep, no
one hearing, and no one caring.

____________

Precisely,
quietly, a key slid into a lock.
 
Expertly the intruder removed the chain.
 
Even in the dark, slow, steady footsteps found the bedroom, eyes knowing
exactly where to find his prey.
  

           
He was surprised when Cassidy Ilene
Brady came to L.A. and how easily she’d fallen into his trap considering her
notoriety.
 
Now he had a worthy contender
for his cat and mouse game, the thrill of all thrills, the murders already
committed insignificant pleasures compared to anticipating her.

           
Tip toeing into the bedroom he found
the shapely body where he always imagined each night in his dreams.
  
Shiny skin spoke of softness, firm breasts
and nipples like the finest porcelain, lips the color of Rubies, ecstasies he
planned to sample on his journey to the juncture of her legs.
 
Spread before him a banquet of desires for
his taking anytime so cunning was he.
 

           
Leaning down, a finger smoothed away
a few strands of Auburn hair still moist from tears.
 
Lost in dreams, his goddess was unaware of
the spider like fingers gliding over her shoulder, downward toward a breast
almost to the nipple before she stirred slightly.
 
Quickly withdrawing his hand, he stood
transfixed by her elegance.
 
No other
women stirred his desires like Cassidy.
 
Although she was the epitome of beauty, what enticed him most was her
intelligence, and guts.
 
Reflections that
became an excruciating ache in his loin’s riotous emotions he controlled along
with the breathing that threatened to expose him.
 

Now, he'd take
her, now.
 
It would be so easy.
 
If not for the devil whispering in his ear
saying that it was much too soon, he would kill her tonight.
  
Temporarily mollifying the urge his hand
reached into the wastebasket to retrieve the red silk scarf, toying with the
delicate material satisfying him for the time being as his demented mind
wandered.