Snowfall (12 page)

He moved from the living room to his bedroom, taking comfort in the newspaper clippings, as well as the pictures he had plastered all over the walls. A poster-size photo of her hung above his bed. The beauty of her face had been marred many times over, but the act had done nothing to assuage his rage. The fact that there was now a bodyguard between him and justice was a thorn in his side, but not a pertinent issue. There were plenty of ways to get to her, and he was a patient man.

As he stood, he became aware of the silence. Except for the occasional rattle of the windows from the storm, everything was muted, buried beneath the wind and the snow. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, concentrating on the sound of his heartbeat. After a while, he crawled into bed and pulled up the covers, letting his mind go free. And as he listened, the race of thoughts with which he usually lived stilled and peace settled within.

He was on the verge of sleep when the silence in the room was broken by a series of scratching sounds, followed by one very distinct squeak. His eyes opened, his nostrils flaring in anger. A large part of his paycheck went toward the rent on this apartment. It was a nice place in a decent part of the city, and yet there was no mistaking what he’d heard. There was a rat in the walls. That was something that belonged with his childhood. He wasn’t going to live in that kind of poverty again.

He climbed out of bed, yanking on clothes as he went, then stalked out of his apartment. Just as he reached the elevator, the power flickered. Unwilling to chance getting trapped in the elevator he took the five flights of stairs down to the super’s apartment. By the time he arrived, he was furious. It showed in the fervor with which he knocked.

“Who is it?” the superintendent called.

“It’s me!” Buddy yelled. “The tenant in 505.”

Buddy heard locks turning and then the door opened on the chain. When the superintendent recognized Buddy’s face, he came out into the hall.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

Buddy’s voice was soft, a deceptive indicator of his state of mind.

“There are rats in the walls of my apartment.”

The superintendent’s eyes widened nervously. “Can’t be,” he denied.

Buddy inhaled slowly, maintaining his composure. “Oh, but there are. I heard them.”

The superintendent shrugged. “I ain’t sayin’ you’re right and I ain’t sayin’ you’re wrong, but it ain’t my problem. I just work and live here, like you.”

“And part of your job is to see that the complaints of the tenants are dealt with. I expect traps to be set in the basement and the owner to be notified. You tell him to get an exterminator into this building before he finds himself sued.”

The superintendent frowned. “You ain’t gonna win no lawsuit because of rats. The city is full of ’em.”

Buddy’s fingers curled into fists. The urge to punch that smug expression off the superintendent’s face was overwhelming, but he held his ground, maintaining the hold on his emotions.

“Not at the rent I’m paying,” Buddy said. “You know what I do for a living. I know important people. I could make big trouble for you and for the owner. You think about that. You think long and hard. You hear me?”

The man nodded nervously, unsure of the tenant’s true power, but unwilling to push the issue.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he muttered.

“I’m going back to my apartment now,” Buddy said, then poked his finger into the soft flesh of the man’s chest. “And you’d better pray I don’t hear any more scratches or squeaks.”

Without waiting for the man to answer, he pivoted angrily and stalked back up the stairs and into his apartment, slamming and locking the door behind him as he went.

Mac stood at the window of Caitlin’s living room, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. The stress of being snowed in with her was driving him nuts. Half the time he wanted to throttle her, the rest of the time he was dying to take off her clothes.

“It’s still snowing.”

“I know,” Caitlin said, without looking up from the pages she was editing.

She thought she heard a muffled curse but ignored it. She understood Mac’s frustration but she couldn’t change it. The snow of the past few days had turned into a full-fledged blizzard sometime after midnight, but its power was nothing to the kiss they’d shared in the hall. Afterward, she’d run like the coward she was and, by daybreak, convinced herself it meant nothing. But now Mac’s predatory prowl was starting to bother her. And when he turned around, she realized she’d been right to worry.

“Caitlin, we need to talk.”

She marked her place on the manuscript with a small red check and then looked up.

“Yes?”

“Something’s happening between us—something I didn’t expect.”

Taken aback by his openness, she didn’t quite know what to say.

“I don’t know…maybe it’s the close quarters we’re in,” he said. “And maybe it’s nothing more than compassion for what’s happening to you, but I’m not in the habit of wantonly kissing my clients.”

Her mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not a client. I didn’t hire you, remember? You are free to leave any time you feel the need.”

He sighed and shoved his hands through his hair in frustration.

“See? We don’t get along at all. You don’t like me and truthfully, I didn’t think I liked you all that much, either. But I don’t want to mislead you about what’s been happening.”

“I’m not misled,” Caitlin said. “You kissed me twice, both times in anger. I think you need counseling to rechannel your emotions.”

He stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. It was the last thing Caitlin had expected him to do.

“What?” she muttered.

He was still chuckling when he walked over to where she was sitting and absently ruffled the top of her hair, as if he was petting a dog.

“You know something, kiddo? You just might be right. It’s after two. Aren’t you hungry?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, think,” he said, and grabbed her by the hand, pulling her off the couch and toward the kitchen. “I’m starving, and I’m bored. So feed me or take me to bed.”

She grinned and punched him on the arm, not realizing it was their first friendly exchange.

“It will be a cold day in hell before I go anywhere near a bed with you.”

Mac grinned back and pointed out the window. “Wrong choice of words, girl. Have you looked outside lately?”

She looked startled, then laughed as she moved toward the refrigerator, unaware that Mac hadn’t followed.

For Mac, movement at that moment would have been impossible. He’d been intrigued by her smile, but her laughter had struck him dumb. He caught himself watching the sway of her hips and the lithe motion of her body as she leaned forward to peer into the refrigerator.

Oh man…this isn’t happening. I won’t let this happen.

And then she turned around, a jar of peanut butter in one hand, a jar of dill pickles in the other.

“Mac?”

“Huh?

“Do you like peanut butter sandwiches?”

He looked at the jar of oversize green dills with dismay. “With pickles?”

“I have jelly.”

“Sold.”

She eyed him curiously. “Somehow I pictured you as a more adventurous sort of man.”

“Adventure is one thing, gastronomic disaster is another.”

She set the jars on the counter and reached back into the refrigerator for the bread and jelly.

Mac set his jaw and strode toward the sink to wash his hands. He wasn’t going to let this thing happen, and that was that. They would eat peanut butter. They would fuss. They might even have the occasional amiable conversation. But there would not be any more kisses, that was for damned sure.

The phone rang as he was drying his hands. Caitlin answered, balancing the phone against her ear and shoulder as she spread a dollop of peanut butter across a slice of bread.

“Hello?”

“Miss Bennett, Detective Neil here. How are you feeling?”

Caitlin smiled, still holding the peanut butter as she leaned against the wall.

“Detective Neil, how kind of you to call. I’m doing quite well, actually. Of course, I won’t win any beauty contests, but then, I don’t think that would have been possible before the accident, either, so I can’t say all that much has changed.”

“I disagree completely,” J.R. said.

Caitlin smiled.

“Thank you, but I think you’re just being kind.”

From across the room, Mac watched the play of emotions coming and going on her face. The way she was cuddling that phone was disgusting, and that stupid smile she was wearing was a total disgrace. He yanked the jar of peanut butter out of her hands, slammed two pieces of bread on his plate, slathered one side with peanut butter, the other with grape jelly, and slapping them together just as Caitlin giggled. He didn’t care what she did. It didn’t matter to him who turned her on or off. All he wanted was some food and a plane ticket back to Georgia. Chewing angrily, he poured himself a cup of coffee and then stalked to the window, realizing as he did so that he’d done little else since he’d been here but get hard for Caitlin and stare out windows.

Damned snow. Stupid, eternally miserable damned snow.

She laughed again. His nostrils flared as he tore a bite from the sandwich, his eyes narrowing angrily as he dug a hunk of peanut butter from the roof of his mouth with his tongue, then began to chew.

Damned stupid peanut butter.
Then he realized the phone call was coming to an end and turned just as Caitlin said her goodbyes.

“That would be lovely,” Caitlin said. “Yes, and thank you for calling.”

She hung up the phone, the smile still on her face, and looked around for the peanut butter to finish making her sandwich. Mac swallowed his bite as he watched her, listening to the clink of the knife against the plate, the soft, almost nonexistent sound of her breathing, and then inhaling the tangy scent of dill as she opened the jar of pickles. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Well?”

Caitlin looked up, surprised by the tone of his voice.

“Well what?”

“It was the cop, wasn’t it?”

“Oh…well, yes, it was, actually.”

“Did he have anything new on your case?”

She frowned as she licked a smear of peanut butter from the end of her finger.

“I don’t think so. Actually he called just to check on me. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

Mac slammed his half-eaten sandwich back on the plate and set his coffee cup down on the cabinet, a sarcastic smirk on his face.

“Yes, Caitlin, it was nice…so nice. In fact, I don’t think I can remember a time when anyone was nicer.”

Taken aback by his sarcasm, Caitlin was at a momentary loss for words.

“Well,” she muttered, and then got her second wind, “I think you’re behaving rather childishly. What’s wrong with someone asking after my health?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop acting so weird,” she said, as she resumed making her sandwich. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“Not in this lifetime,” he said, managing a weak chuckle while his legs went weak.
Oh God, oh God. I am.

He looked around frantically for something to do and, in a panic, picked up his sandwich and took another big bite. But the more he chewed, the more certain he became that his life was out of control. He’d come to help his brother, not fall for some straitlaced bookworm who treated him as if he was only one rung above a snake.

Caitlin cut her sandwich into four pieces, then carried her plate to the table.

“Mmm,” she said, rolling her eyes in satisfaction as she took her first bite.

Mac felt himself gulp. If he could figure out how to become as attractive to her as that damned peanut butter and pickle sandwich, he would be in like Flynn.

“I need to make a few calls,” he said. “Check on the business…that sort of thing.”

“Feel free,” Caitlin said as she took another bite.

“Nothing’s free in this life,” he murmured, and walked out of the room.

Eight

M
ac tossed aside the letters and then stood, a deep frown etched upon his forehead. He’d just reread the entire file of threatening letters that Caitlin had received, and the acceleration of anger in each one seemed so obvious, he still couldn’t believe the police had ever hesitated. Even from the start, the letters had crossed the line.

Yesterday he’d faxed them to a friend who was a profiler for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Now all he could do was wait to see if his personal analysis was right. His gut feeling was that Caitlin Bennett’s life was in imminent danger. But how to track a faceless enemy? He’d been a good cop, and he was an even better businessman than he’d believed he would be, but unless they got a really big break in this case, Caitlin was going to be just what she was right now—a sitting duck, waiting for the hunter to pull the trigger.

“What do you think?”

He turned. Caitlin was in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her head cocked to one side in a questioning manner.

I think you look good enough to eat.
“I think you were right to be concerned. I think whoever is writing these is past crazy.”

Her face paled.

Though he hated the fear on her face, it was still only fair to tell her the truth as he knew it.

“I’m waiting for a call from a friend in the Bureau. Maybe she’ll be able to help us.”

“What kind of a friend?” Caitlin asked, her interest piqued.

“A profiler.”

“Oh!” Interest replaced her fear as she thought about her book in progress. “Do you think when she calls I might talk to her?”

Mac sighed. “Caitie, I don’t know if—”

“It’s this book I’m working on,” she said. “I’m stuck on this scene and I thought if—”

He started to laugh. “God, but you’re something, you know that?”

“What’s so funny?”

“You’ve got a crazed fan writing you death threats. You got mowed down by a truck. And all you’re interested in is getting research for a book.”