Red Silk Scarf (35 page)

Dangling in a
realm of disbelief, passions sweet whispers found her skin.
 
“Do you really want to see me crawl?
 
I will you know.
 
I will.
 
Come away with me, Casey, tonight, right now.
 
Please.
 
You have my stomach doing hoola hoops around my asshole.”
 

Sheer panic
expelled on her breath; he tasted it on her lips, an aroma that tugged bile
into his throat, a recognizable level of terror.
 
Having been there, at once he knew that it
was not fear for her that was suffocating her, but fear for him.
 

Body tensing,
from out of nowhere came a shocking fury that he’d felt before towards his
mother, his sister, towards whores.
 
Damn
them all, particularly Cassidy for believing she could walk on the waters of
death alone.
  

“You think you
have me where you want me, don't you?
 
You think you've suckered me in again, immersed me within your feminine
folds so you can make your deadly strike.
 
Not this time, Casey baby, not ever again.”
 
Sullivan's hand came to her neck encircling
the small circumference, thumb pressing into the indentation beneath her Adam's
apple.
 
A strangle hold that blocked Cassidy’s
breathing passageway and caused her to cough.
 
Color rushed her face.
 
Still, he
refused to release his hold as his other hand tugged from a pocket a red silk
scarf.
    

Jesus no, could
she have been wrong?
  
She was positive,
she'd figured it out, knew who the killer was.
 
God in Heaven, whatever made her think she was smarter than Sullivan
was?

Cassidy’s
intuition charged to the forefront.
 
Emotionally weak, Vera probably ignored her warning and allowed Patrick
entrance into the apartment.
 
Under
duress, most likely she told him everything.
  
No doubt, the scarf he was holding was the one found in the box.
 
Of course, Sullivan would be furious an
antagonism he had masked quite well up until now thanks to his multifaceted
personality.
  
Stupid idiot Cassidy
upbraided herself she’d trapped them both.

Frantically
Cassidy's hand began wedging between the cracks of the couch, fingers in
desperate search of the gun.
 
The other
prying its way between their bodies struggled to reach the pager.
 
By the time Sullivan had the scarf snugly
wrapped around her neck, a finger found what it sought.

Mere inches from
her face she saw heart wrenching, agonizing disbelief collapsing otherwise
handsome features. “I know I'm a mean son of a bitch, a lousy cop, a drug
addict, a whoremonger, a no good brother and son, but, a killer?
 
You honestly believe I'd kill you, that I
killed the others.
 
Jesus, Cassidy!
 
I thought I was crazy, but you!
 
I’m only trying to teach you a lesson.
 
When will you get it through that thick skull
of yours that you don’t stand a chance against the killer?”

Sullivan didn’t
need the scarf; his words were the strangling kind, his weight, crushing, and
his expression robbing all means of reasoning.
 
Fighting back was Cassidy's only defense, disabling him sufficiently, in
hopes of executing her plan.
 
Though
Sullivan managed to find her wrists, secure them above her head, his reaction
was too late.
 
Praying it was in time,
she’d pressed the pager.

           
“Stop it, you silly little . . .
Dammit it, Casey.
 
I'm crazy in love with
you, you little shit.”
   

Freeing a wrist,
her hand found his cheek with a crack, and her nails tore skin.
 
Fingers gathering up hair jerked back his
head.
 
Teeth connecting with his arm
penetrated skin.
 
He yelped like a girl.
 
With all her might, she heaved her body, but
despite her efforts, he quickly blocked her knee from doing major damage.
 
Nothing was working.
 
He was a hardheaded jackass who could take
her abuse.
 
She didn't want to use
self-defensive methods for fear of really hurting him.
 
Thankfully, he didn’t know she was searching
for the gun that she never found.
 
Besides, she couldn’t shoot him; she may as well shoot herself.
 
A thought that was very real, too real,
frightening when . . .

The door sprung
wide crashing against the wall.
 
Like
“Super Hero's” in a movie, Michael and other police officers invaded holding
firearms directed at Sullivan.
 
Grabbing
Sullivan’s' shirt at the back of the neck, Michael yanked him off Cassidy while
an officer handcuffed his wrists behind his back.

Cassidy stood
like a statue.
 
Forever she'd remember
the stunned look transfiguring Sullivan's face.
 
Apparently, Vera didn’t tell him everything.
 
Badly shaken, bleeding from his words, she
would have sobbed if she dared, but there wasn't time.
 

Sullivan actually
said he loved her.
 
Now who was brain
dead?
 
Once he found out whom she was. .
. a ridiculous thought when she may not live to face another day.
 
Looking beyond Sullivan lacking sincerity, voice
cracking, “You're under arrest for the strangulation murders of five
women.
 
You have the right to remain
silent . . .”
 

For a moment
Sullivan's head shook expressing his disbelief, just long enough for his vocal
chords to seek the sound barrier and burst into Michael’s face.
 
“You ignorant Jackass, I'm not the
killer.
 
Release me this instant.
 
Don't listen to her.
 
She's nuts.
 
The killer is waiting for her.
 
I
came here to . . .”

           
Michael's nose was practically
touching Sullivan.
 
“Right, that's why
you put the scarf around her neck.”

Sullivan's
stunned eyes found the scarf still dangling from her neck before jerking back
to Cassidy’s.
  
Suddenly everything
seemed clear.
 
Hatred charging in the
form of vocal waves overshadowed any understanding and love he had for
her.
 
“How could you?
 
Jesus Christ, how could you?
 
You're from Internal Affairs.
 
You've been investigating Mark and me.
 
You set us up.
 
What we shared was a lie.
 
God dammit Cassidy, how could you?
 
Your drive for success, your over confidence,
your lack of fear, will be the death of you.”

 
With a loud crunch, Michael's fist connected
with Sullivan's jaw.
 
Without a flinch,
full force Sullivan charged Michael, the officer unable to yank him back in
time.

           
“Michael, please,” Cassidy screamed.

With an explosive
amount of frustration and fear, Sullivan turned on Michael and the
officer.
 
“Are the two of you so Goddamn
dumb and blind you can't see what she's doing?
 
She thinks she's Superwoman, a match for the killer.”
 
Terror riding Sullivan's features made his
eyes bulge, flamed his neck, and expanded his jugular beyond capacity.
 
He was struggling for the freedom he would
have gained if not for reinforcements arriving in time.

Going completely
berserk, it took five men to contain Sullivan as furniture crashed to the
carpet, lamps shattered, and pictures hurled. Lashing out at anything in his
way, Sullivan screamed Cassidy's name.
 
“I'm not leaving without you.
 
God
dammit, make her come with us.
 
He's
going to kill her.”
 

CHAPTER 27

A car screeched
to a halt in front of Cassidy’s apartment building.
 
With the engine left running, doors swung
wide exited four men that charged the entrance.

Reports of
occurrences happening at Cassidy’s residence came over loud and clear on a police
monitor causing an arm to jerk out a car window to smack a portable flashing
red light onto the roof.
  
With the smell
of burning rubber polluting the air, the vehicle squealed away from a curb, the
driver driven by terror.
 
Oblivious to
traffic laws, or pedestrians, defying intersections, setting new boundaries for
corners, nearly side swiping parked cars the hunk of steel scattered other
vehicles in multi-directions to avoid the missile.
 
Destiny demanded that the person behind the
wheel arrive in time.

Taking too much
liberty, Michael’s mass of muscles enfolding Cassidy's slender body began
rocking her as though she was a child in distress.
 
A privilege he could no longer deny too
irresistible was the musk fragrance of Cassidy’s hair.
 
Lips deprived for too long found the softness
of her forehead. “It's all right, baby.
 
Everything is all right.
 
Calm
down.
 
They will not hurt him.
 
Honest!
 
I promise.” Michael never dared to admit even to himself that Cassidy
might need him, not a woman of her integrity, intellect, strength and beauty,
but right now, his dream had come true.
 
Any man would be proud to walk behind such a woman, he believed.
 
He, could love a woman like that, did love a
woman like that.

_____________

Whatever made
Michael believe she was trembling, that the moisture on her face were tears,
that anything was wrong?
  
Cassidy was
numb.
 
The dark side had joined forces.
 
Raising its ugly head was the certainty she’d
never live to see tomorrow.
 
She’d never
see her father, brothers, or Sullivan, loved ones that would never hear from
her lips an explanation, therefore they’d always wonder.
 
With revenge anesthetizing her judgment right
now she'd lie, cheat, steal, even kill to remove Michael from the apartment
before he became a victim.
 
Her instincts
were telling her that time was dwindling to evacuate everyone from the line of
fire.

A sizable amount
of fear seasoned with irritation flared giving super power to flattened palms
that shoved Michael's chest.
 
“Go,
Michael.
 
I'm fine.
 
I’m just a little shaken, that's all.
 
Please go.
 
Make sure Sullivan is safe.
 
Promise me.
 
Promise me,” she
begged.

           
Squinted eyes spoke of Michael's
reluctance, “Are you sure,” he asked dubiously.

           
“Positive,” she snapped louder than
she intended.

Flinching from
the whip like sharpness of Cassidy’s voice said Michael was hurt.
 
Emotionally wounded, lumbering to the door he
paused briefly.
 
Sidelong glances offered
him the courage to manage a few parting words. “Try to get some sleep.
 
Everything will look better in the
morning.
 
Goodnight Cassidy.”
 

Despite the
disappointment literally dripping from his features, Cassidy was thankful he
was finally leaving.
 
A short-lived
respite, for a space of a second Michael reconsidered.
 
Daring to face her, he added, “I love you,
Cass.”

Damn all men,
there were too many who loved her.
 
What
fools they were.
 
She didn't deserve
their love, didn't want their love, nor did she want to love any of them
either.
 
Love hurt unmercifully
especially when it deceives and abandons.
 
How well she knew.
 
They'd never
understand her actions any more than she could come to terms with Ben's
sacrifice.
 

Michael was the
last person she'd see.
 
Having hurt him
unnecessarily, his demeanor demanded reassurance. “I know,” slipped through the
tightness of her chest as whispered words, a weak attempt that Michael never
heard due to the latching door.
 
Again,
she'd, denied love, ignored the emotion, and casually brushed someone else’s
feelings off like a particle of dust.
 
If
she survived, she promised herself, she’d make it up to everyone,
tomorrow.