Cassandra's Dilemma (5 page)

“As I said, I’m Special Agent Jacob Book. We’re investigating the bombing in Grant Park.” He held out a slim leather wallet, displaying his credentials.

Cassie spared them a brief look before returning her gaze to his face. Book’s eyes were the most amazing shade of brown and hazel, like a beautiful autumn day. “I know, you said earlier.”

“I’m going to advise you of your rights…”

“My rights?” Cassie blinked. The words brought her up short. “I’m a suspect?” Behind her, Helcyon’s fingers tensed on her shoulder. Book’s gaze flickered up and to her right.

He
looked
at Helcyon, a challenge edging his expression.

Cassie squeezed Helcyon’s hand before letting her fingers slide away. The situation was not unsalvageable, but she didn’t need the Fae acting in a way that would draw more attention to them.

Well, more attention than the scrutiny the agent was already pointing in their direction.

“Standard operating procedure.” Book offered another solicitous smile and apologetic look. He seemed only moments away from an “aww shucks.” His attractiveness and great eyes aside, Cassie’s internal alarms clanged a wary warning. “I can wait for you to contact an attorney if you wish.”

How is it standard operating procedure? I’m a victim. Not a suspect.

Right?

“No. I want to help. I want to know who did this. I want to know who killed Billy.” She didn’t need any acting skills to manufacture the emotions aroused by the statement. She really wanted the ones who killed Billy. He was a great kid and a better friend. The terrorists needed to be caught.

“Excellent.” He recited the Miranda and then produced a digital recording device. “I’d use the PDA, but it tends to fry it out when I do that.”

“You should upgrade. My BlackBerry lets me do virtually everything except fire warp engines.” She’d never had much luck with the handheld devices. Why the BlackBerry was more successful than the others, she wasn’t sure, but it was.

“I was thinking about an iPhone.” Book smiled again, but the toothy grin didn’t relax her. “That way I can watch my Scott McCoy and J.J. McQuade whenever I feel like it.”

“Lone Wolf McQuade?” Cassie laughed. “I didn’t know anyone admitted to liking Chuck Norris movies.” The utter humanness of his Chuck Norris affection yanked the rug out from under her worry and indignation. It was
sweet
.

“Always liked his raw strength. His determination and his duty to do the right thing—no matter how uncool it might be.” The gold flecks in his brown eyes warmed as he spoke.

“I suppose there are worse heroes to admire.”

“Helps that he kicked ass.” Book leaned forward, legs spread slightly and elbows resting lightly on his thighs. His brown suit showed wrinkles from too much wear. The faint musty odor of fresh aftershave over sweat suggested no time for a shower recently. The tiredness left shadows around his eyes. If he was investigating the bombing, there was every chance he’d been allowed little time for sleep while sifting through the evidence. Cassie’s reluctant annoyance softened. The agent was just doing his job and in a climate where terrorism had left its mark on their country.

“Lies are better received when layered with truth.” She focused on Sartre. She’d memorized whole passages in high school, and the mental mantras got her through tough meetings with clients who wanted to play hardball. The mental recitations kept her from throwing things in childish temper when events didn’t go her way.

“I would have thought you would prefer ‘Like all dreamers, I mistook disenchantment for truth.’” A hint of something gleamed in his eyes as her gaze was inextricably drawn back to his. She could lose herself in those golden flecks, counting each tiny chip of gold as priceless in the honey brown.

Cassie responded to the warmth of his tone, the casual openness of his body posture, and the teasing glint in his eye. “Hell is other people.”

The rush of masculine laughter stroked her insides like a feather, sending a wave of rippling warmth out from her core. She enjoyed his laughter. Helcyon shifted his posture. The warmth of his fingers bit into her shoulder. She yanked her gaze away from the agent’s, barely noting the frown he sent Helcyon.

Blood rushing to her face, Cassie covered her discomfort with a quick cough.
Flirting? Seriously, Cass? Get your head in the game.
“Maybe we should get to the questioning portion of the interrogation.”

“Interrogation? Hardly.” Special Agent Book cut his hand through the air as though saying that wasn’t the issue and she shouldn’t worry about it. The simplicity of it comforted more than any long-winded assurances could have.

“We’ve withheld most of the details from the press, including the names of the victims, yours as well, until we can notify families. But you’re one of the few surviving witnesses, so why don’t you tell me what
you
remember?” Again, Book’s gaze tracked up her to focus on Helcyon, a mild animosity shivering in the air, but that, too, evaporated when he looked to her.

Cassie hesitated. Thinking about the bombing splashed the icy waters of reality onto her amusement and ardor. Sobered, she closed her eyes, closing out Book, Helcyon, and the hospital room. Plucking the images from her memory took no effort. Billy’s easy smile, his thumbs-up, and the blast wave of heat were all entangled in her thoughts.

“I arrived at the park. Billy gave me my coffee. He was there ahead of me. He’s always one step ahead. It’s the best trait in an assistant. I cultivated that type of go-get-them attitude when Michael Wentworth hired me out of college. I looked for it when I was hiring an assistant, and I found it in Billy.” The words spilled out in a rush. Tears pricking her eyes, Cassie clenched her hands into fists, letting her nails dig half moons into her palms.

“Michael Wentworth, he’s your boss?”

“Business partner. I mean, he was my boss for a few years, but when I began representing my own clients, Michael offered me an opportunity to buy in.”

“And where is Mr. Wentworth now?”

“California. Our main office is in Los Angeles.”

“And he wasn’t a part of the presentation?”

“No, this was my baby. My project. Michael, Mr. Wentworth, wasn’t even aware of the identity of the clients.”

Book’s eyebrows lifted. “And that’s not unusual?”

“Special Agent Book, my partner and I are in business, not bed, together. Our client lists are personal, and discretion is a premium in our business.” The unexpected line of questioning relaxed the knot of grief choking her throat.

“Huh.” Book grunted. “So your assistant gave you your coffee.”

“Yes, Billy had my coffee. He had some messages for me and a rescheduled lunch meeting with the governor.” Cassie looked past the special agent, seeing Billy’s gentle countenance as he listed off his notes. “I told him to keep the meeting for when it was. I knew the governor would want to talk to me as soon as the press conference ended. Billy was going to do a sound check while I took my ten minutes to prepare. He gave me the thumbs-up and then it all went to hell.”

She sniffed once, focusing back on Book. “I didn’t actually see what happened then. If I did—I don’t really remember it.”

“Understandable. You were thrown a distance. Blast radius suggests that you were on the outer edge, which is probably what saved your life.” Sympathy vibrated in the spaces between his words. The speculation in his gaze was tempered by the kindness of his words.

“Cold comfort for Billy’s family.”

“Your death wouldn’t make any of those people undead, Ms. Belle.” His words slapped away her self-pity. “Now, if you can, think back to before the explosion, when Billy was giving you your messages—did you see anyone or anything out of the ordinary?”

“It was the park. The press was there. I saw some plainclothes security we had in place to keep people from drifting to where the press was setting up. But it’s not like I knew everyone by first name.”

“It could be inconsequential—but you’d be amazed by what people see without realizing what they are seeing.” Book smiled encouragingly, adding a gentle touch to the back of her hand, perhaps seeking to soothe her agitation. The action drew her forward in the seat, forcing Helcyon’s hand to slide off her shoulder. The conflicting touches, no matter how comforting alone, zinged through her, leaving fire and agitation.

Cassie closed her eyes. Better to block out his image and the distracting effect he was having on her equilibrium. “I arrived. It was early. The sun was shining.”

“What could you hear?”

“Cars. People talking. Music. Different types of music. Birds. An airplane.”

“What could you smell?”

“Seriously?” Cassie cracked an eyelid, confusion swarming through her. “In Grant Park?”

“Yes.” Book, the bastard, smiled encouragingly. “In Grant Park. What did you smell?”

“Coffee. I could smell my coffee. I could smell the peppermint and the chocolate in the coffee. I could smell Old Spice. I gave some to Billy at Christmas because you can never go wrong with a classic. He was wearing it. Um—” Cassie squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to concentrate around the knot of grief. “I could smell water. Not lake water, but—the damp, wet odor you smell when water is standing in mud or grass.”

“Dirty water?”

“Yeah, dirty water and something like cabbages. Rotting cabbages.”

“Cabbages? You weren’t near any of the food carts?”

“No. And I remember the cabbages because I don’t like cabbage. I got sick on boiled cabbage and beef when I was a kid.”

“That’s a pretty good reason to remember the odor.”

“I felt kind of ill when I smelled it—you know”—Cassie opened her eyes, meeting his gaze—“like you do when your body remembers being sick?”

“Yes. That’s quite a bit you’ve already remembered about what you heard, what you saw, and what you smelled—so what didn’t belong there?”

Cassie lifted a hand to rub at her face and hesitated when Book winced.
Oh. The burns.
Her freshly healed skin itched, but she knew it didn’t appear healed. In fact, it was supposed to look burned damaged, and sutured. The glamour thing was annoying.

Focus, Cassie.

She dropped her hand back down.

“I really don’t know, and I’m tired.” The last was not a lie. “I want to be able to tell you I saw who did it—but all I see over and over again is Billy’s face, his thumbs-up, and then—nothing.”

“Okay, okay.” Book turned her hand over, capturing it in his larger palm, and gave it an unexpectedly gentle squeeze. Book cocked his head to the side, capturing her gaze with a small smile. “Just a couple more questions then, and I’ll let you rest.”