Charade (39 page)

Chapter fifty one

"What're you thinking?" Alex handed her a glass of soda, then stretched out on the chaise lounge next to hers. They were relaxing on his deck. The sun had set, but it was still light. Steaks were grilling on the hibachi. Periodically, fatty juice dripped onto the smoldering coals and, with a sizzling hiss, sent up a cloud of aromatic smoke. Cat hadn't talked much during the return flight to San Antonio. When he suggested picking up something to cook at his place, she'd agreed out of indifference. Sensing her need for introspection, he hadn't pressed her for conversation until now. She took a sip of soda, then, with a sigh, laid her head back and gazed up at the deep lavender sky. "I can't really believe it's over. I thought I'd feel more . . . relieved. And I am," she hastened to say. "But I keep seeing him screaming at me." "He can't make good his threats, Cat. There's no reason for you to be afraid anymore. After what we heard today, which was practically a confession, Paul Reyes will never leave that institution. "The Justice Department will check in to his activities for the past

several years. My guess is they'll find that his path crossed those of the transplantees who died. "If he's indicted, he'll probably be declared incompetent to stand trial. But if his mental condition ever improves and there is a trial, he'll no doubt be convicted and sentenced to life in prison. Either way, you're safe from him." "I don't actually fear him, Alex. I pity him. He must have loved her terribly much." "Enough to bash in her skull?" "Exactly." She gave a serious answer to his caustic question. "When he pressed his hand over my heart, I saw more pain than hatred in his eyes. His wife's unfaithfulness destroyed him. He was outside himself when he picked up that baseball bat. He killed her, but he still loves her and grieves for her. Maybe that's why--" "What?" "Never mind. It's crazy." "Tell me anyway." "Maybe that's why he gave his consent for her heart to be harvested. He wanted to kill her, but he didn't really want her dead." "Then why'd he bump off three people to stop her heart?" She gave him a weak smile and shrugged. "That's a definite hole in my theory. I told you it was crazy." He swung his feet off the chaise and sat up to face her. "You know, in another life, you might have done police work yourself, Cat Delaney. You have a knack for deductive reasoning." He looked deeply into her eyes. His voice lowered to an intimate pitch. "I'm glad it's over for you." She took a deep breath and let it go slowly. "So am I." "Ready for supper?" "I'm starving." Food would slake her hunger. She wished there were an instant erasure for memory. The scene at the mental hospital would stay with her for a long time. Mrs. Reyes-Dunne had been distraught. Weeping, she had confessed to them that she had lied about the clippings; she had seen them before. "I was doing Paul's laundry and came across them in his suitcase," she had said. "At the time, I wondered where he'd gotten them since

they were from out of state. But I never brought it up. The less said about heart transplantation, the better. "You see, some members of our family were as upset with him for donating Judy's heart as they were that he'd killed her. Some thought she had it coming. Machismo, you know?" Cat and Alex had nodded their understanding. "His wife was found cheating, so killing her was justifiable. But taking her organs, and not burying them intact, violated religious and cultural traditions." As she talked, her distress increased. "Maybe if I'd said something to Paul when I found the clippings, you would have been spared this terrible ordeal," she had said to Cat. "If I'd realized the extent of Paul's insanity sooner, those other people wouldn't have died. I know what drove him to kill Judy, but I can't believe that my brother would cold-bloodedly murder a stranger." "He was rekilling Judy, not the other individuals," Alex had reminded her. "I realize that. All the same, I can't believe Paul is capable of doing such a thing." Both Cat and Alex had tried to console her, but to little avail. She knew, as they did, that her brother would be institutionalized for the remainder of his life. He would never recover from his beloved Judy's infidelity. His daughters would grow up without either parent and would always bear the stigma of their father's crime. Cat knew what that was like. Her heart went out to the girls, whom she'd never met. She and Alex sat down to dinner and feasted on the steaks, baked potatoes, salad, and a pecan pie that Cat had selected from the supermarket bakery. Alex pushed aside his empty plate and leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. "You know what impresses me most about you?" "The amount of food I can consume at one sitting?" she joked, patting her full stomach. "That, too," he said, grinning. "For a skinny gal you can sure pack it away." "Thank you, sir," she drawled. "I don't recall ever receivin' such a flatterin' compliment."

When his laughter subsided, he turned serious. "Actually, I was going to say that I'm impressed by your courage. Today you held your ground even when Reyes touched you. Something as traumatic as that. . ."He shook his head. "Anybody else would have freaked. I've never known a woman--and damned few men--as brave as you. I mean that, Cat." She absently stabbed her fork into the remains of her pie. "I'm not brave, Alex." "I disagree." She dropped her fork and looked at him. "I'm not courageous. In fact, I'm a coward. If I were brave, my parents wouldn't have died." He cocked his head. "How do you figure that?" She'd never told anyone what really happened that afternoon the school nurse brought her home early--not the child welfare personnel, not the counselors who tried to determine how badly the experience had affected little Catherine Delaney, not any of her foster parents, not Dean. No one. But now she felt an overwhelming need to unburden herself to Alex. "It didn't happen exactly the way I told you before," she said quietly. "The nurse brought me home from school early. It was odd to see my father's car in the driveway. Ordinarily he would have been at work at that time of day. He rarely took off, even on the weekends. You see, he had to work extra long hours to pay my medical bills. Even at that, he'd gone into debt, and the creditors were howling. "I didn't understand all the terminology. Words like second mortgage, lien, collateral, weren't in my vocabulary yet. But those words frequently entered into my parents' subdued conversations." Stalling, she folded her napkin very neatly and laid it beside her plate. "That day, the moment I stepped through the kitchen door, I sensed that something was wrong. The house had a ... feel to it that I've never felt before or since. A chill went through me that had nothing to do with the temperature. Premonition, I guess. Whatever it was, I dreaded walking down the hallway to my parents' bedroom. "But I forced myself. Their bedroom door was open a crack. I

peeped in. They weren't dead like I told you, like I've told everyone. My mother was on the bed, propped against the pillows. She was crying. "Daddy was standing beside the bed. He was holding the pistol at his side and talking to her quietly. I didn't realize until later that he was explaining to her why taking their lives was the only way out of their financial crunch. "I mistakenly thought he was talking about killing me. He was saying things like, 'It's the only way. It'll actually be better for Cathy this way.' He was the only one ever to call me Cathy," she added with a rueful smile. "I knew I'd cost them a lot of money. But beyond the financial considerations, they'd been put through hell. Instead of fussing over ballet costumes, my mother had to figure out creative ways to cover my hairless head after chemotherapy. My illness had actually changed her more than it changed me. I also recovered faster. Mother didn't bounce back as quickly. "So when I heard Daddy talking about a speedy solution to all their problems, I figured they were going to snuff me in order to save themselves a lot more grief and expense. This was an eight year old's rationale, remember. I understood just enough of what was being said to panic. I crept to my room and hid in the closet." She paused and pulled her lower lip through her teeth a few times. "While I was crouched there in the dark, I heard the gun blasts. I realized that I'd been wrong. Terribly wrong. That's when I decided to remain hidden forever. I figured that I'd eventually starve to death or die of thirst. Even at that tender age, I had a dramatic flair," she added with another sad smile. "Finally, one of our neighbors came over to borrow something. When no one answered the door, she came inside and sensed, as I had, that something wasn't right. She discovered Mother and Daddy. 1 still didn't reveal myself. Not even when the police and ambulance arrived. Someone called the school office and learned that I'd been taken home. Only then did they search the house and find me. I was afraid I'd get into trouble, so I pretended that I'd come home and found my parents already dead. I didn't tell them the truth--that I could have prevented it."

"That's not the truth, Cat." She vetoed his soft argument with a brusque shake of her head. "If I'd gone into the bedroom--" "He would probably have killed you too." "But I'll never know, will I? I should have stopped him. I should have run outside and screamed for help. I should have done anything but hide. I should have realized what he was about to do--maybe I did, subconsciously." Alex came around the table and pulled her to her feet. "You were eight years old." "But I should have understood what was happening. If I hadn't been so cowardly, I could have saved them." "Is that why you've taken it upon yourself to save everyone else?" He caught her by the shoulders. "Cat, Cat," he whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. "You're remembering what happened through the mind of an adult. You were a child. Practically a baby. Your parents were weak, not you. They copped out, you didn't." He pulled her close and pressed her head against his chest. "When I was a cop I saw it happen dozens of times. Someone who'd reached the end of his rope took himself out, and anybody else who happened to be around. If your father had known you were in the house, chances are very good you'd have been blown away too. Believe me." He held her tighter, lowered his head, kissed her temple. "Hiding in the closet saved your life." She wasn't entirely convinced, but she grasped every persuasive word. For years she'd needed someone to tell her that she'd done the right thing. She clung to Alex as tenaciously as she clung to his reassurances. Eventually his lips sought hers, which hungrily reacted to his touch.

Chapter fifty two

Desire overtook them. They kissed madly. She loved the scratchy feel of his beard against her face, loved the way his hair curled around her fingers, loved the sight, smell, and taste of him. Loved Alex. There were still things that needed to be worked out, but now she knew she loved him. When he said, "Let's go upstairs," she placed her hand trustingly in his and followed him. When they reached the second floor landing, they paused to kiss. It got out of hand. Within seconds they were against the wall, frantically wrestling with clothing until he was planted solidly inside her. It was hard and fast and soon over. Supporting her on his thighs, he stumbled into the bedroom. Together they fell across the bed. His hands were everywhere at once, moving over her possessively, impatiently stripping off clothing until they were naked. He nipped her tummy with his teeth and slipped his hands beneath her cheeks. He massaged the backs of her thighs, his fingers making

flirting passes between them until she thought she'd die of anticipation. "God, Alex, touch me." He separated the lips of her sex, exposing it to the silky strokes of his tongue and the gentle suction of his mouth, which resulted in another orgasm. Then she reversed position and took his erection into her mouth. She loved the musky taste, the velvety texture of it against her gliding tongue, the firm, smooth feel of it inside her mouth. She gave herself over entirely to loving him, but he pulled away, rose above her, and entered her swiftly. Suddenly he became very still and gazed down into her face. She opened her eyes and looked at him, puzzled by this unexpected respite from their frenzied lovemaking. "This is too important to rush." Holding her stare, he pressed deeper. She gasped softly. "I love you, Alex. No, don't say something you don't mean. Just kiss me." His mouth made slow love to hers; their bodies followed suit. Even when it was over, he remained nestled inside her. "It's never felt like this," she said with a sigh. "Only with you. For the first time, I feel really one with another person. This depth of feeling, this merging of body, mind, and soul is incredible." He squeezed his eyes shut. In a rough voice, he said, "Yes, it is."

"You know," she said, her words muffled by her pillow, "if we keep this up, I'll have to add another pill to all those I already take." They lay like spoons beneath the sheet, her bottom fitted snugly against his lap. His arm was curved around her waist, holding her close. "Birth control, you mean?" "Hmm." "Don't bother," he said. "I'll see to it that you don't get pregnant." "Or we could skip the precautions altogether." Mischievously, she turned her head and grinned at him over her shoulder. "Don't blanch, Pierce. If I got pregnant, the baby would be my responsibility alone."

"The hell it would. But that's not the reason I blanched. You're not supposed to have children, are you?" "It's not recommended. But several heart transplantees have. So far, mothers and babies are doing great." "Don't risk it. Too many things can go wrong." "You're such a pessimist." "I'm a realist." "You sound angry. Why? I was only teasing." He hugged her tighter. "I'm not angry. I just don't want you taking unnecessary chances with your life. It's nothing to tease about." "I've always wanted a baby," she said wistfully. One couldn't have everything, she reminded herself. And look at how many blessings she'd received, the greatest of which was now holding her protectively. She could feel his breath in her hair. Even that was comforting. He was so handsome, so virile, so ... everything. Images flashed through her mind, chronicling every moment they'd spent together. He must have sensed her silent laughter because he nudged her butt with his knee. "What's so funny?" "I was just thinking about the threat you issued Cyclops. It was the grossest thing I'd ever heard." "About tearing out his good eye and--" "Don't repeat it, for heaven's sake! Where'd you come up with such an expression?" "Where else? On the streets. Or in the locker room. You hang out with cops long enough, your mouth starts spewing garbage." He'd opened a window of opportunity. After a moment of silence, she asked quietly, "What happened, Alex? Why did you leave the Houston Police Department?" "Spicer already told you. I killed somebody." "I assume you shot someone in the line of duty." He waited a long time before saying anything. No longer relaxed, every muscle in his body had tensed up. "Not just someone. Another cop." No wonder it was a blot on his memory. Policemen were like a fraternity. Universally, they regarded one another as brothers. "Do you feel like talking about it?" "No. But I will."