Red Silk Scarf (4 page)

How long had she
been a member of DeMarco’s harem?
 
The
S.O.B. must have kept her all to himself until he became bored.
 
Though too appalled to admit it, he had to
hand it to the sleaze ball for having the knack of picking the most
appealing.
 
No doubt, Cassidy would be
more than worth the price she charged.
 
On the other hand, he couldn’t help but wonder why someone with as much
going for her needed a pimp like DeMarco?
 

What use was it
to try to understand when recently nothing made sense?
 
Putting Cassidy out of his mind was the only
answer.
 
The problem was he couldn't.
 
Not only did her peaches and cream complexion
glow with vitality, her features shone with impudence, and there was something
about the way she challenged him with spirit radiating from those black eyes
that sparked admiration.
 
Troubling
Patrick, more, despite the clothing that spoke of her profession, Cassidy appeared
uncomfortable when he assessed her.
 
If
it had not been for the pounding headache she'd caused he probably would have
laughed aloud at her ludicrous walk.
 
There could only be one conclusion, Cassidy was new to prostitution.
 
What a fool he was.
 
Of course, DeMarco knew innocence enticed men,
ignited their male need to protect, especially Police Officers.
 
On second thought, Cassidy most likely knew
acting innocent would be to her advantage.
 
The dash of aggression she added, enough to make any male cower at her
feet. Then when she pressed her breasts against his chest, she proved he was no
exception. Why didn’t he move back, and, why, in hell, did he touch her, his
grip certainly far from brotherly or a chaste grazing of the flesh.
 
Right now, he’d love to wring her neck.
 

A reflection that
made him wonder if a portion of evil remained that made it impossible to
repress wild imagining’s, the part known to erupt unexpectedly that scared the
hell out of him.
 
All too often recently,
he couldn't remember things he'd done or said times that were beginning to
convince him he had a dark side capable of doing evil things that was out of
his control.
 
The possibility nudging the
sparse conscience remaining, rudely reminded Patrick of his desire to turn his
life around and his need to forget the dishonorable things he'd witnessed and
participated in.
 
However unplanned the
past had been, L.A. had had its way with him far too long.

Quick flicks of
his eyes in the rear view mirror went unnoticed by his unwanted guest, times
when he inspected Cassidy's hair framing a stunning face.
 
Unable to keep his eyes off her body made him
no better than Mark.
 
There wasn't a man
alive who wouldn't be interested in the little witch, so how could he blame his
friend?
 
Knowing there were few women
Mark had not wooed into bed, Patrick questioned how long it would be before
Cassidy became a challenge his pal couldn't resist.
 
A pro at sucking people in Mark made
everything sound so easy, so guiltless, the sex the drugs.
 
If Margie ever found out, she'd pack up the
kids and leave, what a fool he was to deceive such a fine woman.
 

It was not until
Patrick fell into the rattle snake pit that he came to realize how impossible
it was to refuse.
  
For the longest time
he resisted, turned his head, said nothing, did nothing.
 
Then when the drugs dislodged his brain, he
became pitifully weak.
 
God, would he
ever forgive himself?
 
Maybe the
impossibility was poisoning what little good remained.
        

The fight was
what Patrick needed to numb the guilt killing him.
 
Calling upon guts, head first he threw
himself into the bloody battle. He didn’t care what happened, he'd given up
hope that someday someone would come along to flip the switch to the tracks of
life.
  

Was that his
punishment, to remain in the cold world alone? Or, was it when he returned to
the patrol car to discover Cassidy missing a time, when an alarming amount of
pain and despair struck practically doubling him over and twisting his insides
into a pretzel.
 

No one knew that
tonight he feared the killer would strike again.
 
Cassidy was safe for now neither he nor Mark
had tasted her wares, but plaguing him was wondering how long he could keep her
safe.

Patrick was a
mortal brought to his knees that was just beginning to walk again.
 
Allowing a woman like Cassidy an inch, would
be his ruination and possibly her death.
 
He was having difficulty coming to terms as to why she filled his head
with wild imaginings and hoped that it was only because his job was to protect
the vulnerable public, a job he had not been doing successfully.
  

CHAPTER 4

Cassidy’s
introduction to DeMarco’s harem was unmerciful, their eyes poisonous darts with
a mission.
 
Whether it was their
unwillingness to share profits, or DeMarco, she was yet to learn.
 
One thing was certain winning their trust
would be a monumental feat, a formidable project that made her even more
determined.

Thanks to them,
her first night was unimaginably unbearable.
 
Within two hours she'd memorized every crack in the sidewalk of a half
block territory they had reluctantly allotted.
 
Standing beneath a streetlight showing off her wares she whined, what
she wouldn't give to soak in a hot bath right this second.
 

Five times her
services were hired.
 
Making her
associates green with envy was the highlight of the evening.
 
Of course, no one knew her tricks were
undercover agents.
 
Due to the dangerous
position she was in she could take no chances.
  
Besides DeMarco made it well known to everyone involved if anything
happened to Cassidy, the responsible party would answer to him personally.

Brooding about
her aching ankles and throbbing temples, Cassidy was oblivious to the patrol
car approaching from behind until jarred by a wolf whistle. Through the open
window, she recognized Mark, his mouth spread into a broad come-hither
smile.
 
Behind the wheel, Sullivan sat
ridged, his face contorted with the same anger she’d witnessed previously.

Calling upon all
the sexual innuendos she could muster at three A.M., sashaying as she
approached, Cassidy leaned over placing her forearms on the door purposely
offering up her breasts for observation.
 
Eyebrow arched, consciously broadening a hard to rally smile, she cooed,
“What can I do for you, handsome?”

Christ, already
Cassidy knew she had to appease the police, Sullivan cursed inwardly.
 
DeMarco was a shrewd bastard.
 
What chance did they have of getting him off
the streets when he always managed to come up with the most desirable whores?
           

           
Too early in the game to deem
Cassidy trustworthy, Mark replied, “Just the sight of you is enough,
sweetheart.
 
Are you all right?”

           
Addressing him with animated cheer,
Cassidy countered, “Why wouldn't I be sweet cakes?”

           
“The maniac killing prostitutes
might be on the prowl tonight, so don’t take any chances,” a wink punctuating
his statement.

           
“Who, me, I never take chances.
 
I know exactly what I'm doing.
 
A girl can never be too careful or too well
protected these days.” Insinuations so seductive the drool was practically
leaking from Mark's mouth, his reaction certifying the authenticity of her
role.

Uncomfortable
sensations alerted Cassidy to Sullivan staring, once again assessing her
breasts practically spilling from a skimpy tube top.
 
She detected the desire leaping into his
eyes, turning them a darker, mysterious shade of blue.
 
Not liking for one instant anyone ogling her,
particularly the likes of Sullivan, it took every ounce of willpower she
possessed to allow the scrutiny.
 
Responding with a quizzical lift of her brow and questions in her eyes
wrenched his head forward.

It was when
Mark's fingers found and began stroking her bare shoulder that Cassidy felt the
razor sharp edge of Sullivan's tongue.
 
“I told you to get off the streets.
 
You're asking for trouble, Ms. Smart Ass, all looks and no brains.
 
Typical!”
 
 

Sullivan may as
well have slugged her.
 
How dare he? Any
other time, any other man would have gotten a swift kick in the balls for such
a cheap shot.
 
Feeling skyrocketing blood
pressure scalding her mind, and skin, Cassidy prayed her expressions weren’t
rising to the occasion.
  
Where she found
the stamina to sound cool and collected, she'd forever wonder.
 
Assembling a practiced facade of calmness,
she retaliated, “What's wrong, baby, haven't gotten laid in a while?
 
But then, prick that you are that's
understandable.”

Mark was certain
he'd wet his pants.
 
Guts, wow, Cassidy
had more than her share.
 
This was the
best entertainment he'd seen in a long time.
 
Unable to resist the silly grin creasing his cheeks, anticipating with
great delight a reply, his attention swished back to Patrick.

“Is that an
offer?”
 
If he could summon the answer he
wanted, Sullivan thought, she'd be in the back seat headed toward the precinct
where she'd be safe for the night.
 
Although, why he was concerned for such a forked tongued devil, he
didn't know.

           
Barely containing the
laughter-rumbling deep in his gut, Mark's head swung back to Cassidy.

“It would take a
much better man with a great deal more between his legs to satisfy a woman like
me.
 
Besides, love, I have more
pleasurable things to do with the time you're wasting.”
 
Score, Cassidy gloated having just managed to
knock Sullivan's ego right on its ass.
 
Leveling him with a glare, reaching into the car her fingers made a
quick romp through Mark's hair.
 
Puckering her lips, she blew him a parting kiss, “See you later, sweet
cakes.”

She may as well
throw kerosene on a fire.
 
Repeatedly
told to, take it easy; take her time, not to push too hard too fast, leave it
to a Brady to ignore the warnings.
 
What
an idiot she was for permitting temper to rule.
 
Nice going kiddo, she upbraided herself.
 
If Sullivan were indeed the killer, certainly she'd antagonized him
sufficiently for him to pen her name at the top of his list.
 
Worse yet, when she turned to leave, anger
swayed her hips like a swinging pendulum.
   

She heard a door
slam, then another, the sounds so loud; her body completely left the
sidewalk.
 
Calling upon Brady gut's she
refused to acknowledge Sullivan's reaction and continued to retreat.
 

           
Like a huge Oak tree, Mark planted
himself in front of Patrick, both hand's gathering a great deal of shirt to
prevent him from charging Cassidy.
 
He
could see his partner's jaw muscles move beneath his skin from grinding teeth.

           
“Get the hell out of my way.
  
Damn straight, that little bitch is going to
get herself killed.
 
And, it's likely to
be me doing the killing.”
 
         

           
“Cool it, buddy, and get your ass
back in the car.
 
What is it between the
two of you anyway?
 
Christ, how in hell
can you hate someone you just met?”

Sullivan knew not
to shove Mark, but did anyway.
 
In a
split second, using a forearm pressed to Patrick's Adams' apple, Mark pinned
him against the car door.
 
“Isn't there
enough shit going on?
 
Do we have to be
at each other’s throats besides?
 
It's
too dangerous out here to fly solo.
 
Now,
knock it off.
 
Let’s take a break.”
 

           
With sparks practically spitting
from his eyes Patrick's red-hot glare never left Cassidy.
 
Acknowledging what was inducing the flames,
Mark watched as Cassidy got into a silver Mercedes.