Red Silk Scarf (38 page)

Guilty eyes sought those of others.
 
Jonathan knew Cassidy had entered that realm
where forgiveness was non-existent.
 
It
wouldn’t matter how much she loved them, there in her eyes truth had wielded a
terrible blow.
 
Regardless of his good
intentions, Jonathan hadn’t been successful in teaching mercy.

CHAPTER
29

Four weeks later,
the close confines of the quarters did not allow for the volume of swelling
emotions.
 
It was time for expected
explanations that were weighing heavily on Jonathan's heart.
 

Reluctant to face
the inevitable, the hesitant gathering was not conversing or moving about.
 
You could hear brewing tension like static electricity,
expanding and contracting, crackling each second stretched out by the constant
swish of wrists examining watches.
 
Swirling steam from untouched cups of coffee was not to blame for
trickling perspiration.
 
It was a half
hour past the scheduled meeting time, and two members were still missing
whether either would attend, the major question churning the invisible storm.

One man never
lifted his head as though permanently hung in shame.
 
Knowing Cassidy was a stickler for the truth,
Ben knew how she’d react upon learning of everyone’s part in the betrayal.
 
No one listened to his repeated
warnings.
 
Their determination gave him
no choice.
 
Someone had to be close
enough to protect Cassidy.
 
Dammit all,
someone was.

In unison, three
Brady’s stood anxiousness apparent in their gestures.
 
They were certain Cassidy wouldn't
attend.
 
None of them blamed her.
 
She'd never understand their element in the
deception.
 
Possibly the difference in
their age and experience explained why they'd come to terms with what had to be
done.
 
Cassidy was everything to them, so
much so they willingly sacrificed her trust.

Staring blankly
at a nonexistent object, complexion pale, in silence Mark sat in a wheel
chair.
 
Ignoring doctor’s objections, he
insisted on attending.
  
It didn’t matter
that Margie pleaded with him to reconsider.
 
He needed to express his feelings.
 
Most importantly thank Cassidy for saving Margie’s life.
   

Everyone’s senses
jerked to the knob of the door whose faint noise sounded more like rumbling
thunder.
 
Slowly the widening gap allowed
a man entrance that would have been taller had his stature been erect. Somewhat
disguised by a neglected beard, his worry wrinkles seemed deeper than before on
an otherwise manly face.
 
Lacking his
uniform, he looked out of place.
 
No one
cared, having earned their respect and admiration he held the gatherings
attention.
 
A mortal on the edge who knew
what it was like to dangle precariously who, almost fell off, instead chose to
withdraw from drugs, and make the required deviation from an otherwise
life-threatening detour.
  
Indeed,
everyone had to admit Sullivan was a commendable man.

Sullivan's
pleading glance found Jonathan's stunned expression, both read the message
stamped there, neither had a choice but to attend.
 

Not until that
moment did Sullivan notice that Cassidy favored her father, an elegant,
well-educated expert in his field.
 
Having only met Jonathan once, his presence alone demanded respect, as
did his credentials.
 
Two months ago,
he’d survived a grueling interview that before it ended, made him feel like
he’d been chewed up and spit out by Hitler himself.
 
Convinced Jonathan would not consider him for
the position it came as a shock when notified otherwise.

           
Entering behind Sullivan was a distinguished
looking man whose mannerisms and business attire defined his position in the
world.
 
Sliding a leather briefcase onto
the end of the table, he immediately occupied a vacant seat.
 
Grey hair followed his eyes as they quickly
scanned all those present.
 
There was a
thickness in the stagnant air that said he was not welcomed.
 

Relieved by the
shift of attention, Sullivan crept into a remote corner hoping the crevice
would swallow him.
 
Pressing his back
hard against the plaster, he inspected men he knew, and those he didn't, a room
overflowing with male brawn and intellect sufficient to damage his
self-confidence.
 
He felt, insignificant,
outnumbered, out classed.
 
One man in
particular, making him feel especially unworthy, now held his interest.

Patrick’s mind
meandered down a path taken some time ago.
 
A simple “yes” got him into this mess. Never did he believe life could
be worse than it previously was.
 
Cassidy, an irritating little Cupie doll he came to admire, and love,
was the worst kind of undercover agent, an Internal Affairs agent, the daughter
of an FBI member.
   

From the first
moment they met, she dominated his thoughts.
 
Finally, someone came along who was capable of turning his insides into
longing.
 
Idiot that he was used her,
abused her, ravished her body.
 
How would
he find the strength to face her?
 
He
would, of course, somehow he would.
    

Suddenly pale
blue eyes focused on the man of prime importance.
 
Believing that DeMarco was alive was
difficult enough, let alone on the side of the law.
 
Tough as it was to admit, Patrick admired the
guts it took for DeMarco to deceive a woman he loved.
 
Having cleaned up so Goddamn good, Ben was
handsome and virile; understandably, any woman would melt, including Cassidy.

When Ben's eyes converged
on his, it was there that Sullivan knew of the intimacy between DeMarco and
Cassidy.
 
Well, they could have each
other.
 
The best man won. There would
never be a better time to bow out he tried to convince himself.
 

Ben began to
squirm, just like women; men knew when other men were measuring them, the
sharpness of Sullivan's eyes, dissecting, an examination that spoke loud and
clear of a mutual love for the same woman.
 
Fool that Sullivan was he didn’t know he'd already won Cassidy's
heart.
 
The irony, fool that she was
Cassidy would turn her back on them both.
 

As the agent
checked his fourteen-carat, gold, watch light flashed off the facets of an
extravagant diamond ring.
 
He had more
important, things to do, and places to be.
 
Tardiness irritated the hell out of him.
 
Facing Jonathan, he snapped sarcastically, “We've wasted an hour
already.
 
Shall we begin?”
 

“No!”
 
A firmly spoken word along with the scraping
of chairs’ legs across the tile floor that made Tempelton sit back on his
haunches and brought everyone’s attention to Jonathan.
  
Tempelton’s almighty attitude had feathers
ruffled enough.
 
No one needed or wanted
the intruder.
 
This was a personal
matter.

From the hallway
the clicking of high heels hypnotized the gathering and brought everyone
soldier erect.
 
Cassidy was going to
attend after all.
 
In the time, it took
for the clicking to reach the door, tendons flexed, foreheads wrinkled, eyebrows
raised and nostrils swelled from the pungent aroma of anticipation.
 

Last night it was
ridiculous to think she could sleep, despite her exhaustion.
 
Anger had a way of overtaking bodily
functions, over-ruling convictions of the heart.
 
All through the night, Cassidy considered the
past months and all that had occurred trying to come to terms with everyone’s
part.
 
She, didn't understand, and never
would.
 
Attending the meeting was not her
preference of the day nonetheless there were plaguing questions that required
answers.

Embarrassment
flaring high flushed Cassidy's cheeks.
 
Soon she'd face the married man who pawed her, the friend she slept
with, the cop she fell in love with, a prior suspect that turned out to be an
undercover cop who probably knew her identity all along.
 
He was a Goddamn liar accepting an assignment
that offered him the opportunity to take advantage.
 
Sullivan did undercover work all right, where
he brazenly took what he wanted when he wanted.
 
Everything they shared was nothing more than lies.
 
So convincing was he, no doubt, “God Father,”
himself granted permission.

Indeed, Jonathan
was behind the scheme purposely allowing her to believe the plan was her
idea.
 
Convincing he was leading her to
believe she‘d be working alone, right, how when a whole Goddamn FBI team was
selected and supervised by none other than God Father himself?
 

Who else had the
authority to pull off such a complex scheme? Truth be known, Jonathan most
likely contacted Ben in advance to ask for his support.
 
What an idiot she was for believing so
strongly in herself, in loved ones, a friend.
 
Well, they could all kiss her ass.

Sputtering
profanities, Cassidy selected a tantalizing, skin hugging black shift slit on
one side to the hip, a size smaller than she would normally wear, that allowed
a sufficient amount of cleavage to erupt from the low cut bodice, and hugged
her rib cage and outlined her buttocks.
 
To ease her embarrassment, in contradiction, she tugged on black nylons,
those with a seam up the back. Ignoring her vow never again to wear high heels,
she chose black shiny patent leather the height that mashed her toes.
 
Wasting a half bottle of musk, she,
splattered some here, spilled some there.
 
Slicking back her hair exposed tiny ear lobes now sparkling from
diamond-studded earrings.
 
Knock dead
sexy best described her looks.
 
Served
them all right, let them look, let them drool over what none of them will ever
touch again, she grumbled as though the looking glass could hear.
 

Leaning into the
mirror, she noticed that the black and blue marks had faded, any remaining discoloration
easily covered with makeup.
 
Several
stitches above her eyebrow left a barely visible scar, and the finger
impressions around her neck had disappeared.
 
To look at her, no one would ever guess the battle she’d survived.
 
It was the scars inside that would take a
long time to heal.

Standing back,
she examined the whole package.
 
Yes, she
thought, her battle dress was weapons men couldn't resist.
 
Spending the past weeks recovering alone had
convinced her love was a farce, all men wanted from women was sex, forget
brains, and should a woman have both, God forbid.
  
Even her father abused her beauty.
 
Well, after today, they could all go to hell.
Without saying a word, they'd know she exaggerated her dress for their wanton
eyes.
 
Pay back was a bitch.

Before the door
opened, the aroma of musk seeping through the cracks forewarned the nervous
assembly of Cassidy's presence.
 
There
was no time to run from the attack or prepare for the force invading.
 
All anyone could do was suck in and hold deep
breaths in hopes of shoring up courage.

At the very last
second if Sullivan could have bolted, he would have.
 
It was a big mistake to be in the same room
with Cassidy Ilene Brady, huge mistake.
 
The ends of the earth wouldn't be far enough away.
 
A heart beating wildly surging blood through
his veins released oppressive warmth that escaped through millions of pores
hopefully to become absorbed into cotton.
 
He needed fresh air, space to flee from the black eyes that without
blinking would sentence him to eternal longing.
 
Drugs, at the moment, seemed the lesser evil.

All the words
Jonathan rehearsed became scattered.
 
What he had to face would be unmerciful torture.
 
He could choose to be a coward, and ignore
his obligations, choices that were not part of the Brady's code of ethics.
 
Cassidy would have to accept his
explanations, come to terms with his decisions, if not he'd failed miserably at
parenting.