Sleight of Hand (20 page)

When he'd finished, when his fury was released with a final groan of pain and pleasure, he slumped forward, pinning her enervated body beneath him.

<><><>

Her face buried in the soft leather of the couch, Cassie breathed in its essence of animal, could taste its coarse earthiness as the grain rubbed against her skin.  Her body ached for more of what Drake offered her.  She wanted more, needed more, demanded it.  

She twisted her sweaty body so that she faced him.  The crimson of anger and pleasure filled her mind.  She was infuriated by how much she craved his touch, by her own response as she'd surrendered, riding the wave of ecstasy he gave her.  Damn it, she hated him, the way he knew her every vulnerability, the way he could bring her to places she'd never dreamed of before.  No one else knew her like Drake did, could drive her as crazy with lust, desire and frustration.  

Conflicting emotions constricted her throat and left her mouth dry.  She resisted the urge to smile, didn't want to encourage him.  As irritated as she was, she had to admit that it was a hell of a way to end an argument.  A big improvement over yesterday.

He said nothing but planted his mouth on hers, forcing his tongue past her teeth, devouring her.  Her body answered once more with a hunger that she was desperate to control.

She pulled her shirt down, some small barrier between them.  Once she had her feet planted back on the ground and her hands against his chest, she pushed against him.  If he wanted to play games, she could give as good as she took.  She knew how to make him beg, knew his weaknesses as well.  He'd had his turn with randy jungle sex, now it was hers.  

He resisted for an infuriating moment as if still intent on demonstrating his power over her.

Then, without warning, Cassie was suffocating, unable to draw air.  She panicked.  For one blinding instant it was Richard on top of her, not Drake.

"Get off of me!"  Her shout startled them both.

CHAPTER 16

Hart's eyes blazed and Drake's desire rose once more.  Then she broke eye contact, her gaze darting past him, a wounded animal desperate for escape.  Her breath quickened and all thoughts of passion fled from him.

This was what King had done to her.   

He lurched back, eager to give her the space she needed.  Her pupils grew wide with terror, her chest heaved as she gasped for air.  

He had hurt her.  Just like King.

The realization left a sinking in the pit of his stomach.  He'd given into his own anger and fear and because of it had made an awful, terrible mistake.

<><><>

Cassie kept her head down as she adjusted her clothing, edging farther away from Drake, eyes focused on the exit, her avenue of escape.

Once she passed through the threshold and slammed the door behind her, the panic attack eased and she could breathe once more.  She raced down the steps without a backward glance.

She made it to her car, her head sagging against the steering wheel as she collapsed into the driver's seat.  

As angry and irritated as she was by Drake's usurping of her control, she had to admit: she'd liked it.  Some small–not so small, she thought as the memory of the waves of pleasure he'd given her returned–part of her enjoyed his touch.  Wasn't that touch what she'd been craving for the past six weeks?

She'd gotten exactly what she asked for, hadn't she? 

Then why had she confused Drake and Richard for the split second that had sent her reeling into panic?  Had she somehow asked for the treatment Richard had given her as well?  Was she in some way responsible?

"No," Cassie said the word aloud once, then repeated it louder, filling the Impreza with its echo.  "No!"  She'd fought Richard, escaped him and his warped ideas of love, she'd never allow herself to enter another relationship like that.  Never again.

She thought about the victims of domestic violence that came through her ER.  Wasn't that exactly what they said as they entered one abusive relationship after another?  It won't happen again, this time is different, this man is different.

Despite the warmth of the night, she shivered.  What if Drake wasn't so different?  Worse yet, what if she herself hadn't changed–would she always be attracted to men who would fight her for control and win?  Maybe this was all her fault.  Maybe everything was.

Cassie clenched the steering wheel, trying to bury those thoughts, doubts that shook the core of her being, even more so than Drake's passionate touch had.

<><><>

Drake watched her go.  Her eyes were dark and wide as a deer caught in headlights.  She ran away almost as fast.

He pulled his jeans back up, fastened them and sank to the floor, his back against the couch.  How could he have done that to her?  Treated her like that?  He was as bad as King.  His fingers tugged at his hair as he tried to understand his actions.

He couldn't.  Something in him had snapped, some primitive beast broke loose of its chains.  No excuse.  He knew what King had done to her, how any confinement or loss of control panicked her–she wouldn't even ride an elevator, for chrissakes.

And he had held her, forced her–God, what was wrong with him?  He'd never done anything like that, not even back in the days when Jack Daniels had been his best friend.

He had to talk to her, explain.  Apologize.  Pray that she would forgive him.

Drake climbed back to his feet, grabbed his car keys and left.

He parked in front of her house.  The lights were on upstairs. Good, she was still up. Hart's fat tortoiseshell cat, Hennessy, was silhouetted in the windowsill.  He gathered his courage and got out of the car.  He had no idea what he'd say to her, hoped that the right words would come.

The steps to her porch seemed to have grown steeper since he was last here, weeks ago.  By the time he reached the top he was breathing hard and fast.  He moved across the porch, his legs feeling heavy, and reached a hand toward her door.  His arm grew numb, and he had the sudden feeling of being pushed back.  A heavy weight pressed on his chest, threatening to suffocate him, and he broke out in a cold sweat.

Drake tried to move forward.  His vision darkened.  He fought for air as an overwhelming sense of doom and terror filled him.  He stumbled backwards down the steps.  

Hanging his head between his knees, he leaned against the Mustang's bumper and caught his breath.  It was several minutes before he was able to raise his head and look up at the house looming over him.  Slowly the numbness and sense of terror receded, leaving him feeling limp, powerless.

Adeena Coleman had once told him Cassie's house was haunted.  Not by ghosts, but by memories.  Shivering in the warm spring night, he wrapped his arms around chest, unable to ward off the memories of the last time he'd crossed the threshold into Hart's house.

His vision filled with a kaleidoscope of images.  Bright roses flying through the air, scattered in all directions.  The cold touch of a gun muzzle.  Hart's body sprawled on the floor, bloody, maybe dead.  Fear and rage and grief churning through him as he surrendered to a killer.

Drake shook his head.  Ridiculous.  He dealt with scenes of violence all the time.  He was used to it, part of the job. There was no killer waiting inside the door tonight–only Hart.  

He started toward the house twice more but couldn't make it past the first step before the pounding in his head and chest stopped him.

He returned to the safe haven of the Mustang.  Bent over, racked with dry heaves, swallowing hard to keep his dinner down, he drummed a fist on the still warm hood.  Tomorrow, he told himself once he could breathe again.  He'd talk to Hart tomorrow.

Far away from this house and whatever demons inhabited it.

CHAPTER 17

Cassie woke realizing that she had nowhere to go, nothing to do.  The thought paralyzed her.  Then she remembered the way she'd left Drake last night and a feeling of dread overwhelmed her.  What if she'd lost him as well?  

It'd been weeks since she'd had a panic attack like that.  And for Drake to see it.  No wonder he was hesitant about getting seriously involved with her–who wanted to get involved with a nut case?

At first she'd been angry with him about the sex, the way he'd taken control, but, she had to admit, that kind of passion was exactly what she'd been wanting.  It had been exciting, letting go like that–jungle sex, primal passion, call it what you will, it had been good.

So good.  Until the end.  Somehow Richard seemed to invade everything she touched, poisoning even the things she cherished like her relationship with Drake.

Cassie hurled a Rom curse into the air, a weapon aimed at her ex-husband.  Hennessy jumped and looked at her in reproach.  Cassie clamped her hand over her mouth in chagrin, hearing Rosa's voice warning her about the power and danger of curses.  What you send out in this world always comes back sooner or later.

"Sorry Gram," Cassie whispered.  Then smiled.  She'd never get Drake back this way.  Talking to herself like a crazy woman, spewing gypsy curses and half believing they might work.

She huddled beneath Rosa's quilt, despondent, blocking out the morning sun.  Until Hennessy's plaintive meows forced her to lower the covers.  The cat jumped lightly onto Cassie's chest, kneading the quilt back farther until she could butt her head against her owner's.

Empty food bowls must take priority.  The cat punctuated her message with a tap of a paw against Cassie's nose.

"All right, already," Cassie muttered, sliding free from the warmth of her bed and grabbing her robe.  Why bother getting dressed?  She padded downstairs in bare feet and fed the cat.  Who would see her?  Would even care?

The house was quiet except for the sound of the cat gulping down her food.

Maybe she should get a TV.  Let it hypnotize her, placate her until she didn't notice the passing of the days.  Morphine for the masses.

That thought did it.  She ran upstairs, threw on shorts and a T-shirt, then went down to the basement where she spent an hour working with her heavy bag and weights.  Her reaction time was off, her kicks lacking in power, but it was satisfying imagining Virginia Ulrich's face on the bag.  Then Richard's.  Slamming one punch after another into them until her knuckles were red and raw when she took the gloves off.

She sat on the edge of the weight bench, head sagging as she caught her breath.  Where had she gone wrong?  All she wanted was to protect one little boy–was that so awful?  Now she had nothing.  Humiliated in front of her coworkers, facing disciplinary action.  And Drake–what was she going to do about Drake?

"Why do anything?" she asked the cat who sat watching her from the top of the dryer.  "Maybe it's better this way."

Hennessy looked up at that.  Yeah right, her expression seemed to say.  Then she rolled back on her haunches and began to clean herself, ignoring Cassie.

Cassie threw her gloves at the dryer, but the cat studiously ignored the bang.  "Maybe what I need is another cat."  

Later, in the shower, she remembered Drake's hands and the way they knew every secret of her body.  Where did men learn that?   She could live without him, she resolved.  In fact, life would be so much easier without men in general.

Of course, she'd never been one to settle for easy.  A short while later, she locked her front door.  Rain was threatening, a cold front moving in, so instead of walking, she took the Subaru over to the Blarney Stone.  Drake's favorite lunchtime haunt.  Neutral territory, well, more neutral than either of their houses.  She could talk to him there.

He might tell her to go to hell.  She wouldn't blame him either, after the way she'd fled last night, without a word of explanation.  And she'd been the one trying all week to seduce him–he must have thought her crazy or at the very least fickle.

<><><>

Drake dragged himself up the steps to the Major Case Squad, leaving Jimmy downstairs socializing with some of the uniforms.  Another morning of playing grim reaper, forcing people to relive a nightmare they'd prefer to leave buried.  They'd spoken with the speech therapist and both bus drivers.  No one had anything significant to contribute.

After lunch they were scheduled to meet with Sophia Frantz's parents.  Drake thought he might just skip lunch–this case had taken away his appetite–and bury himself in the murder books.  Again.  There had to be something he was overlooking.

As if he might find something his father had missed.  Fat chance.

He had also started the ball rolling on Hart's case, begun a background check on the nurse she'd mentioned, Sheila Kaminsky, and the Ulrich family.  Least he could do after last night.  Maybe he could find something to help her patient, take it to her as a peace offering of sorts.

His extension rang.  He made the mistake of picking it up, acknowledging his existence.  His hope that it might be Hart was instantly crushed. 

"I understand that you are interested in one of my cases."  Commander Sarah Miller's voice reverberated through the handset.  "My office.  Now."

She hung up.  Drake didn't waste effort on a groan.  Should've known Miller would get prickly about his and Jimmy re-opening a case she'd failed to solve.  Miller much preferred her mistakes buried and forgotten.  Sometimes he wondered if she kept him on the squad, under her immediate supervision, because she considered Drake one of those mistakes as well.

His leg hurt more today than it had yesterday.  It was looking like rain.  If he ever left the force, maybe he could get a job as a weather forecaster.  He re-traced his steps back down the stairs to Miller's office on the third floor.

"I had a phone call from Clinton Eades.  He wasn't too happy about your visit yesterday.  Neither was Tanesha Kent," Miller said as soon as he entered her office.  She didn't ask him to sit, so he leaned against the back of one of the chairs situated in front of her bleached oak desk.  "She's requesting that we cease from interviewing her mother anymore.  Apparently Mrs. Kent was so upset after your visit that her physician has her under heavy sedation."