Red Silk Scarf (8 page)

Like an
earthquake, his reply shook Cassidy’s foundation.
 
Determined not to drown in the cesspool of
his desire she shot back, “I don't work cheap.” Choking words that made the
constriction in her throat worse as she inspected the full lips bearing down
looking all too sensual, all too interested.
 
With the image of the possibility of a pending kiss sticking stubbornly
in her mind, she snapped abruptly, “and, kissing is extra,” hoping the
statement would become the life jacket she desperately required.

If he remembered
how, Patrick would have laughed hysterically.
 
In spite of his racing pulse, what made her think he wanted a kiss from
her of all people?
 
Did she think he
would stoop that low?
 
The audacity of
her insinuation wrenched a cold smile and made rigid his features.
 
“I expected as much.
 
Besides kissing is not what I need,” he
snarled instead.
 

In a mad attempt
to stall what seemed inevitable, Cassidy managed, “The price depends on what
you want and how long it takes,” her make believe voice masking surprisingly
well the fragility of her rioting emotions.
 

How much would a
few seconds cost, Patrick wondered, certainly enough time at the pace she
aroused him.
 
What harm would it do,
eventually he'd take her anyway, an unwanted reflection that punched an
invisible anger button.
 

Hands roughly
compressing her narrow waist lifted her buttocks with a smack to the vanity
top.
 
Entering the realm of insanity,
vice like fingers gripping her knees jerked them apart to allow room for his
body.
 
Even when roughly hauling her to him
brought his enlarged penis slamming against her, Cassidy remained collected
denying the signs of fear he craved, or so she naively believed.
 
Her wide-eyed look revealing more than a hint
of desperation, the heaving of her chest, the barely audible shallow breaths
alerted him that he'd finally broke ground.
 
At last, he was in control.

Making her squirm
shot unbelievable pleasure through him and induced a ravenous appetite for
more.
 
Without hesitation, a hand
slipping beneath the towel clutched a bare silky buttock.
 
The other coming to the back of her head
snugly gathered up damp strands of hair.
 
Actions any man might believe would trigger alarm, wrong; first, her
parting lips, then her moist tongue escaping and lastly the sweetness of her
breath entering the membranes of his mind nearly brought about a climax and
stripped him of nerve.
 

God forgive him,
Cassidy was positively irresistible, an unbelievable beauty without the harsh
makeup and psychedelic clothing.
 
Her slender,
firm frame adorned with abundant curves, all in the right places, were his for
the taking.
 
It would be so easy, just
like it always had been.
 
Like the
others, she'd allow him to do whatever he wanted his only penitence would be to
pay the price.
 
The problem was so would
Cassidy.
 

With her around,
how was he going to climb out of the hell he'd created?
 
How would her death make him feel?
  
Why should he give a shit, he sputtered
inwardly, Cassidy was a whore living life in the nowhere lane.
 
Was the price they'd pay be worth the few
seconds it would take to fuck her?
 
Sullivan would never know what changed his mind, his conscience or
self-worth taking a deep reviving breath or, his ability to lasso the evil
within before it left its lair.

Please don't do
this, Cassidy’s mind pleaded.
 
If she
allowed him to kiss her, make love to her, he might . . . no Brady was going
down lying on her back.
 
The time would
soon come when she'd have to kill or arrest him, now her runaway emotions made
her wonder if she could.
 
For God’s sake,
why was she questioning her duty, certainly, she could.
 
Then how would she live remembering the staff
this evil man used to stir riotous feelings, a mad desire that in all
probability she'd never experience again?
 
Did she wait all her life to lie beneath a killer?
  
What would her family say, think?
 
She couldn't tarnish the Brady name,
wouldn't.

Though oddly
enough Sullivan seemed reluctant to kiss her, Cassidy pressed on hoping to
distract him enough to slash the razor across his throat.
 
As the fingers of one hand, trained and
prepared to kill, searched for the razor, others continued unbuttoning his
shirt.
 
Fingertips slipping through the
opening wandering lazily through the black coarse hair of his chest found and
slithered over a nipple.
 
He
stiffened.
 
An explosive gasp riffled the
air, a combination that shot a thrill to the quick of her as well.
 

Until that,
instant Cassidy didn't miss the towel protecting her womanhood held against the
intense heat of his desire, naturally, against her will.
 
Nevertheless it didn’t matter from whom the
heat came from, it branded her there?
  
She never knew she possessed the ability to arouse a man to such a
degree. A glorious yet frightening revelation that made her wonder just when
she'd find the button responsible for making him explode one way or another,
damn her curiosity, the inbred part of her trained to probe.
 
Little did she know it would be her legs
crawling around his waist, locking, unconsciously drawing him closer to an
all-consuming need?

Cassidy was
having her way, like all the rest, sucking him into an all too familiar exotic
maze.
 
He'd never escape, never.
  
This witch was good at her job, damn good,
and to her that's all it was, a job. Well, Sullivan wanted more needed more,
just like everyone else.
 
Was there such
a thing as love anymore, happiness a normal life?
 
What were his chances? He hated weak women,
whores.
 
Dear God, how he’d love to. .
.
 
to . . .
 
strangle them.
 

Worked into a
pious rage, transformed features into one gigantic scowl.
 
On the surf of an impatient breath, arm
curled around Cassidy’s waist, Sullivan plucked her off the vanity.
 
Carrying her to the bed, he angrily flung her
down.
 
It didn't matter that the towel
was lost in the process completely exposing her gifts.
 
Sullivan was, oblivious, too preoccupied
jerking garments from hangers, lingerie from drawers, tossing them at her
yelling irritably, “Get dressed!
 
You
have two minutes,” instructions escaping as a hiss through the slits of his
teeth.
 

When the bedroom
door banged shut, Cassidy almost became hysterical from of all things,
rejection, God forbid.
 
At once the
unleashed anger assisting her in yanking on clothing, made her storm shoeless
into the living room.
 
Armed with only a look
that should have killed him, she confronted Sullivan.

Christ, the guts
the little bitch possessed was mind-boggling.
 
Sullivan had just ridden himself of the lust she’d invoked; at least,
that's what he wanted to believe.
 
Her
presence tore his brooding look from the window to anchor it on her.
 
Holding the head desperately wanting to shake
in disbelief steadfast, shoring up the body still trembling from desiring her,
Sullivan hurled verbal weapons in defense.
 
“Don't worry, sweetheart.
 
Trust
me; I'll pay you for your time and efforts.”
   

What audacity he
had calling her “sweetheart,” treating her like a “whore.”
 
Pay her!
 
Trust him!
 
Sure!
 
A venomous, egotistical lizard was what he
was.
 
If there were a magnum within
reach, she'd blow his head off, or better yet, other anatomy.
 
How dare he plunder her mind, rape her soul,
enlighten her to the fact that the super woman she believed herself to be was
indeed vulnerable?

           
Like a whippoorwill in a windstorm
Cassidy’s mouth flapped, “I'm not going anywhere with the likes of you.
 
No two-bit cop orders me around.
 
Got that?”
 

Standing tall in
front of Cassidy didn’t intimidate her in the least.
 
Within inches of him, hands on hips, her
position offered the advantage she craved.
 
“Nothing you do or say will scare me, if that's what you're after.”
 
God help her, Cassidy couldn't resist
directing her pointer finger beneath his nose.
 
The same finger jabbed his badge, “That uniform and badge means nothing
to me.
 
If you feel the need to boss a
woman around, there's plenty out there stupid enough to allow you the
pleasure.
 
Now, unless you have business
that needs tending and the money to pay for it, get to hell out of here.”
 

Nothing he did or
said scared her in the least, that's what Cassidy foolishly believed.
 
Why, all of a sudden, was she eating every
word.
 
When Sullivan retrieved a
one-dollar bill from his wallet and stuffed it between her breasts, the insult
summoned a powerful wrath that brought her hand full force against his
cheek.
 
Despite the imprint stamped in
bright red making her experience unbelievable pain, damn it Sullivan never
cringed.
 
Worse yet, she couldn't
decipher just where in her body she received a sudden painful stab of regret.

What he said and did
was a cheap shot that he regretted instantly, until Cassidy slapped him.
  
In retaliation with one hand savagely
clamped over her mouth, the other crushing her waist, damn near cutting off her
breathing entirely, he carried her kicking and screaming from the
apartment.
 
Obviously, no one heard her
bare feet connecting with the walls, the doors, or her desperate bid at
screaming, or saw her arms and legs flailing maddeningly like any other wimpy
woman might.
 
Sullivan was a cop, she a
prostitute, who would ever question the incident?

Cassidy was mad,
damn mad, so much for feeling secure by having Ben on the same floor.
 
He didn't hear a damn thing.
  
She couldn't use her expertise that in
seconds would bring Sullivan to his knees and show him once and for all, who
was boss.
  
She had to pretend she
couldn't find an opening to strike back, had to cope with the degradation of
him tossing her onto the back seat of the patrol car, the humiliation making
her want to punch him silly.
 
Locks
clicking the instant the car door latched should have frightened her to death,
but didn't.
 
Cassidy was beyond a
reasonable level of fear, or anger, her emotions were in orbit.
 

Sullivan could be
taking her anywhere to do anything, regardless, she held tight to her sanity.
 
Reflections of eminent death were brief,
knowing the killer preferred weak, fearful whores dressed in skimpy
eveningwear, their faces overly made up, reasons why she fought back, acted in
control, and choose a horrible loose fitting black shift.

Muttering
profanities under his breath all the way, he finally stopped and dragged her
from the car.
 
With anxiety ruling every
particle of her, Cassidy made it all the way to the entrance of the morgue, of
all places before applying her feet like brakes.
 
What was Sullivan up to?
 
Did he have the guts to kill her in such a
place, why not, that's where dead people wound up anyway, besides, the lunatic
that he was, why would she doubt the possibility, especially when most serial
killers were brazen enough to try anything.

Though fragile in
looks, Cassidy proved to be shockingly strong when her fingers clutched the
casing and hung on for dear life as her size six feet managed several licks to
Sullivan's shins.
 
Adding to her delight
her bites to his arm induced yelps of pain.
 
Indeed an admirable fight brought abruptly to an end when Sullivan
easily flung her over his shoulder and carried her into the room writhing and
swearing, fists pounding his back, until he abruptly set her down on shaking
limbs.
 

Hands crushing
her shoulders forced her toward a body draped in the color she must have
resembled, a corpse revealed with an unexpected swift movement of his
hand.
 
The woman was young, beautiful,
one of Ben's girls she'd met earlier in the evening.
 
Beast that Sullivan was had accomplished his
goal, served him right to have to hold her up with an arm locked around her
waist and a hand pressed against her forehead while she heaved unmercifully all
over the floor barely missing his shoes.