Smoke and Mirrors (14 page)

Fire burned through him. He needed to bury himself inside her, right there, right then. She must have sensed it, too, because her fingers were fumbling with his jeans. One cool hand slipped inside and found him hard and ready for her.

Near the breaking point, Derek yanked at her sweatshirt, stilled when he recognized the crudity. No matter what passions ruled him, this was Cass, a woman who'd fallen apart in his arms scant hours before, a woman who'd suffered more pain than anyone should have to in ten lifetimes.

He couldn't just rip her clothes off and drive into her like a careless rutting animal, no matter what passions drove him. She deserved better. She deserved pleasure, a bed and sheets, not a wham-bam, oh-so-good-ma'am, on the sofa. And in front of a roaring fire, too. The cliché of it appalled him. He wouldn't do that to her. They didn't have long together—he would leave soon—but what they did have needed to be right. Special. Just like she was.

"Derek?" Her voice was soft, her tone uncertain.

He hated the confusion behind the question, in her eyes. She deserved certainty. "It's okay, honey," he whispered. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise."

"Don't leave now…"

"Not even possible."

Breathing hard, fighting his own need, he rolled to his feet and lifted her into his arms. She felt right there, nestled up against his chest, her hair fanning out over his arm. Dangerously content, he carried her down the hall.

Cass wrapped her arms around his neck and urged his mouth down to hers. He kissed her as he walked, letting his lips and tongue make promises his body would soon keep.

Urgency veered him into the first room he found. He crossed to the bed and laid her down gently, then stretched out alongside. He was tempted to just pull her close and hold her tight, but she was lifting her face to his, running her hands along his cheek. "Kiss me, Derek."

It was a frantic reunion, as though the separation had been years and not seconds. His hands returned to their earlier exploration, intent on finding the edge of her sweatshirt and freeing her from the cumbersome fleece. She pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his. She practically purred when he pulled off her sweatshirt.

A sliver of moonlight made its way in through the
window,
just enough to illuminate the beautiful swell of her breasts. And her nipples. Sweet heaven, her nipples were all mauve and swollen, just begging to be kissed. And sucked. Worshipped.

He started to do so, lowering himself as Cass stretched out on the bed with catlike grace.

Then she froze. And moaned. Not in passion as before, but a low, keening cry, like a wounded animal.

And it sliced through Derek like a knife.

He fumbled for a bedside lamp, found one,
flicked
it on. Light poured through the room, turning his blood to ice. A Barney comforter covered the single twin bed, accompanied by an array of stuffed animals, including the infamous purple dinosaur. Cass
lay
dead center, still and stricken and half nude.

The sight shredded him. Her son's room. Good God, he'd brought her into her son's room. It was perfectly preserved, like the refrigerator art, as though the little boy could come bounding in at any moment, bright-eyed and smiling, ready to hear a good-night story. "Oh, Cass. Sweet Mary, have mercy."

The frozen look crumbled into anguish. She curled into a tight ball, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Helpless and appalled and desperate, Derek crawled over and pulled her against his chest. He cradled her when the sobs came, murmured soothing words when the shaking worsened.

A vicious string of curses roared through him. He should never have carried her into a darkened room. He should have indulged the fire between them and taken her right there on the couch, where it was safe.

Since when did he know a damn thing about being noble and doing the right thing?

But he'd had no way of knowing what minefield lurked in the darkness. No way of knowing Cass still had Jake's room ready and waiting. The reality of it ripped at his heart.

Living in a make-believe world wasn't healthy.

"I c-couldn't…" she sobbed into his chest
. "
I … c-couldn't … t-take it … apart."

The words, the hot tears that accompanied them, soaked through the fabric of his shirt, clear into his uncomfortably raw heart.

"I just c-couldn't," she cried. "It seemed so … s-so final. And I … j-just … c-couldn't let … my … my b-baby
…
go."

She started to tremble, violently. Her hands. Her shoulders. Her lips. Her entire body. No matter how frantically Derek ran his hands along her body, cocooned her with his own, she just slipped further into the fray.

"Oh, God," she sobbed brokenly, clinging to him like a buoy in a violent storm. "Oh, God, God, God, God,
God!"

Derek had never witnessed such bottomless grief. The incoherent muttering and chanting, the shaking, the crying. They ripped and shredded, shattered and destroyed.

He'd never felt more helpless in his entire, godforsaken life.

He scooped her into his arms and left Jake's mausoleum behind, this time checking to be sure before entering another room. He found a king-size bed in this one—the bed she'd no doubt shared with her husband—and enough feminine accoutrements to give him confidence she belonged here.

Barney lay stretched out and snoring on a huge denim pillow in the corner.

"It's okay, honey," be whispered against her ear. "So help me, God, you're going to be okay." She was still naked from the chest up, and shivering, so when he laid her down in the bed, he slipped under the thick comforter with her.

He just wasn't ready to let go.

So he held her that way, stroking and soothing as her incoherent sobs subsided into the blessed escape of sleep.

* * *

Warmth.
That was Cass's first sensation as she wove through the thick layers of numbness. It was a slow, groping process, one she wasn't sure she wanted to complete. But a vague surge of questions pushed her on.

Darkness.
That was her second sensation, the one that came when she forced open her grainy eyes. She was nestled in her own bed, the thick comforter encasing her, the room dark but for a sliver of moonlight.

Derek.
He'd been there. The memory was vague and nondescript, but intense in its own way, like the man himself. He'd carried her to bed, slipped in beside her, held her against him, stroking and caressing, murmuring nonsensical words as she'd cried for all she had lost, all she would never have again.

She shuddered in the darkness. The pain had been as sharp and debilitating as during those blinding days following the accident. Blessed years had crept by without a return of that level of anguish. That it resurfaced now made no sense.

I had no right to say what I did.

Derek held himself responsible. But there'd been cruel words before, spoken by others. They'd never hit Cass so hard. More than just Ryan's presence and Derek's taunts were responsible for her fall. Just what it was didn't bear considering.

Cass pulled herself to a sitting position and squinted into the darkness. The sound of breathing came to her, deep and peaceful.

Adrenaline surged. No wonder she'd felt warm upon waking, no wonder she'd been content to stay nestled in sleep's seductive cocoon.

A chill ran through her.
She'd spent the night in the arms of her chief suspect.

But when she looked across the bed, she saw nothing but Barney, stretched out on the far side, big furry paws twitching, deep in doggy sleep.

Relief tangled with disappointment, frustration with sanity. Derek was gone. He'd left her, after all. Whatever else sizzled between them, she hadn't slept with him.

She slowly became aware of other things, like the flannel nightgown twisted around her legs. Funny, she didn't remember changing clothes, didn't remember anything beyond losing herself in Derek's arms.

Groggy and far-too shaky, she rolled from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom, intent on a shower. She'd learned the trick long
ago, that
comfort came from a stream of hot water beating down on her. Slipping free of her nightgown, she stepped inside the glass stall, cranked up the water, and waited for the cleansing to begin.

Peace didn't come. The wounds were too raw. As she stood under the spray, a fresh wave of memories overtook her, this one as powerful as the night before.

Her marriage had been more like a comfortable old blanket than a fusing of souls, but Randy had been a good man, a wonderful father. They'd shared goals if not dreams and had planned a life for their son.

Losing them had left a brutal tear in the fabric of her life. She'd patched the pieces as best she could, but it had never been the same. Big black patches just never blended with anything else.

That was her cross to bear. She'd dutifully borne it, but nothing filled the emptiness. Nothing chased away the ghosts. They dwelled in the remnants of her heart, making their appearance during the quiet hours of the night, precisely why Cass relished any assignment that stole those hours from her.

But she was alone now, her defenses stripped away. The past rained down on her; the scalding water didn't wash it away. Both scorched. She gave herself over to emotion, and let the sobs begin anew.

It was a routine she knew too well. And she hated it. Growing weary, she slumped down against the cool ceramic tile and drew her knees to her chest.

"Sweet God."

The raspy words were part oath, part prayer,
100
percent heartfelt. Cass was vaguely aware of the shower door opening, the fully clothed man stepping inside, the strong arms closing around her. The pain in his raw voice remotely
registered,
the pain in his eyes. Go-to-hell eyes, she'd thought of them once, yet, at that moment, they said he was already in hell with her.

He pulled her to his body and held her against his chest, showing her what a powerful narcotic solace could be. And in that moment she'd never needed him, anyone, more.

She buried her face against his neck and wrapped her arms around his drenched shirt. Tepid water rained down on them. And her sobs subsided into shallow, ragged breaths.

And for that moment in time, it was enough. More than enough, it was what she needed, what she'd craved from the moment she'd peered through the darkness to find him gone.

That's why she'd gone to the shower, she vaguely realized, to wash away the dangerous, forbidden needs this man stoked. But the ploy hadn't worked, not as she'd intended, anyway. But in another way it had. Derek was there. He hadn't left her alone. He was holding her, giving her the most special gift she'd received in a very long time.

Himself.

Chapter 8

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C
ass took a drag of coffee, another,
then
another still. Not enough, though, not nearly enough to chase away the haze that surrounded her, to make her forget. She needed something stronger than French roast coffee to do that, like the so-called-friends she'd told Derek about last night.

God have mercy, what had she let happen?

For months now everything had been black-and-white. Derek Mansfield masterminded a dangerous crime ring with tentacles throughout
Chicago
society. He possessed no scruples, no regard for anyone but himself.

Cassidy Blake, alias Cassandra LeBlanc, had been primed to bring him down. She knew his kind too well, ruthless, amoral scum who threatened the fabric of society. Only one thing mattered to his kind, and that was to get what they wanted, all else be damned.

But last night he'd held her in his arms while she sobbed against his chest. He'd refused to take advantage of her vulnerability, when all too easily he could have.

Because she would have let him.

Maybe even wanted him to.

The rules had changed. How could she view the man with the edgy eyes but tender hands as the enemy, when he, and he alone, had helped exorcise her grief? How could she crusade against him, when she craved the touch of his body, the mindless escape of his passion?

She knew better, damn it. Knew better than to get involved. Especially with a suspect. But not all the training in the world had been enough to prevent her two worlds from colliding once again.

Cass wrapped her thick terry cloth robe tighter, yet the chill remained. Two cups of coffee later, her body jittery from caffeine but still in a fog, she made a hasty decision and placed a phone call.

"Come on, Barn," she said. "We're going for a ride."

The big St. Bernard's eyes lit in anticipation.

After she threw on a sweater and old pair of jeans and opened the back door, she remembered Derek had driven her home from the park. But her car sat in the driveway, silently waiting for her use. Barney bounded over, ready for his favorite pastime besides eating and sleeping, and thumped his tail.

Anger marched in, mingling with the confusion. Through her years on the force, she'd been toyed with before, yet she'd always recognized the ploy. Never had it seemed real or sincere, heartfelt. Never had she entertained the ridiculous fantasy that it could be just that. Real.