Red Dawn Rising (Red Returning Trilogy) (7 page)

“You said we
could get into trouble
. What kind of trouble?” She felt her eyes burn into him.

He answered firmly. “You don’t go playing private eye and tailing people to strange apartments, knocking on strange doors. You don’t know who might come to that door or what they might be in the middle of.” His eyes flared back at her. “Don’t you ever do it again.”

Cass felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She couldn’t speak.

“You mean a lot to me, Cass,” he said after a blistering silence. “Don’t be careless with your safety.”

He looked into the overhead branches of a barren tree, but Cass didn’t take her eyes off him. Something lurked beneath his words, just as sure as if the thing had jumped out and grabbed at her.

Without another word, she got up and fled from it.

Chapter 9

C
ass had just returned to the theater when her phone rang. She stared at Hans’s name on the screen and promptly aborted the call. After the voice-mail notification chimed, she wondered what more he’d felt compelled to tell her. To accuse her of. He’d been right, of course. She shouldn’t have followed him, shouldn’t have taken it that one step further and sent Jordan to the door of a stranger’s apartment. It had all seemed so harmless, though, a simple one-two assignment just to realign her mother’s fractured nerves.

But Hans’s words came back to her, and she remembered the way his eyes had held hers when he said them.
If you don’t know who you’re messing with
…

Cass looked around the stage at the rest of the crew tending the punch list for that night’s performance. This was her world, removed from the real one, just like her playhouse, still perched high above the ocean breakers. Just a short walk across the back lawn from the house where angry voices had filled the alcoves and stairways. Had she just done something to close that distance?

The phone in her pants pocket chimed a reminder, insisting that she listen to its latest message. She resisted for another hour, feeling the phone’s weight pull against her. Finally, she listened. “Cass, after upsetting you
the
way I did this afternoon, I probably have no right to ask a favor of you. But I must. It would be best if you didn’t mention our conversation to your mother. Now that you’ve told me of her suspicions, I will put her mind at ease, I promise. And hopefully, I won’t need to continue meeting with clients after hours.” A pause. “Not much longer.” Another pause. “Now, please consider watching the inauguration with us here in New York, not in that Washington madhouse. We’ll talk to you more about that soon. And, Cass, don’t ever doubt how important you are to your mother and to me. Goodbye.”

Before Cass could pocket the phone, it rang. She checked the caller ID and answered. “Hi, Mom,” she said quietly, looking carefully about her. No need to attract a coworker’s attention.

“Honey, I have the most wonderful idea. Why don’t you and your friends come to our apartment for an inauguration party? You don’t want to stand for hours in that freezing rain. That’s what they predict for Washington, you know.”

Hans was right about that talk, Cass thought. This is soon. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate your concern, but we’ve already made arrangements. We’ll be fine.”

“But where will you stay? You and Jordan and, uh—”

“Married friends of ours, Mom. What are you getting at? Do you think Jordan and I are bunking in together?”

“Oh no, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I just … would love to have you all here with us. Warm and well fed.” She laughed nervously. “I’ll put on a presidential brunch worthy of Travis Noland’s second big day. And don’t forget, Hans and I attended the president’s first inauguration and still remember how painful the cold was. We both came back sick.”

Cass regretted being so edgy and irritable. “I appreciate the invitation. And sorry I jumped at you like that. Just a hectic day so far.”
Hectic
wasn’t the right word.

“So you’ll come?”

“No, Mom. I just want to see it for myself.”

“But Hans will be so disappointed.”

That stopped Cass. She glanced at her watch, less than two hours since her abrupt departure from her stepfather. Cass was certain he’d put her mother up to this. It wasn’t just a casual invitation.
He wants me to stay in New York. Why?
Then Cass remembered the odd look on his face when she first announced she was going to the inauguration. It didn’t make sense.

“Mom, when did Hans ask you to call me?” Cass felt no guilt over the loaded question.

Jillian Kluen sputtered. “Well, uh … why do you … he didn’t … well, he did ask me a little while ago. But we both thought it was a good idea. My goodness, Cass, don’t make such a big deal out of this.”

“Mom, you’re the one insisting I cancel my plans. Why?” But her mother was innocent. Cass knew that. “Never mind, Mom. Tell Hans I’m sorry, but I’m going to Washington. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Well, please wear that full-length down coat I gave you. And take some of those hand warmers for your gloves. And maybe some—”

“Mom, I’ll be fine. I really do have to go. I love you.” She ended the call and sat down on the floor, still cradling the phone in her hands. Beside her rose a stand of synthetic black cornstalks backlit by a fiery red sunset that almost quivered in anticipation of the Oz witch’s arrival. From above, a technician adjusted the trajectory of the spotlights for maximum impact of the visual lie. Had Cass lived so long in a mirage that she could no longer distinguish what was real and what wasn’t? Who lied and who didn’t?

Before Arnie could catch her dazed and distant, she forced herself to her feet to check the fittings on the great bubble ride of Glinda, the good witch. By the time Cass left the Gershwin Theatre, tense and knotted, she was eager for a long, brisk walk home and a workout at the gym, which she usually managed about four times a week. But the downpour she encountered on the other side of the stage door made her race for the subway instead.

“You’ve got a perfectly fine car, Cass. Please use it and stay off that filthy subway.” Her mother’s frequent refrain merely amused her. Who was Cassandra Rodino that she shouldn’t swing a hammer in her chosen career or travel with the masses? Shouldn’t inhale the same subterranean
molecules
as her coworkers? Did the Manhattan real estate her father left her and her mother—which included a couple of parking garages—exempt or entitle her in some way? She didn’t think so.

Cass slung her gym bag over her shoulder and hopped aboard a southbound train to the SoHo neighborhood that had long ago flung its luminous membrane around her and snuggled her to its forbearing self. She had moved from her parents’ Upper East Side apartment after dropping out of NYU her sophomore year, desperate for another life entirely, for a full retreat from the thing that had so disfigured her sense of self. It was along the byways around propriety and protocol that she’d found others like her, the damaged ones who’d redefined themselves within no one else’s parameters.

From SoHo to Greenwich Village, Cass had gathered a new family about her—the poets who resonated from barstools in smoky bistros; the playwrights who clung to all-night cafés, tapping out their souls in dialogue no one might ever hear; the artists who filled studios and galleries with the images that cavorted inside them, set free in the shapes and colors of abandon. At the long, crude farmer’s table in her apartment, she had delighted in nurturing those even needier than herself. She had fed out-of-work actors and stage hands, mimes and musicians. And one polygamous airline pilot.

Cass had met Everett Biggs in a karate class four years ago. He was almost ten years older than she. One night, he hung around after class long enough to engage her in conversation. He’d been intrigued by her theatrical habitat, and she, in turn, had welcomed his tales of world travel. The ensuing courtship had been swift and blinding, Cass would later admit. It took only three months for him to produce an engagement ring. A month later, they stood before a chaplain in Hudson River Park and proclaimed their undying love for each other, though Cass had no idea the chaplain was as fraudulent as the groom. The nuptials were witnessed by a few of Cass’s bohemian and Broadway friends, dressed in the artful wilds of unrestrained fashion, and the recently widowed Jillian Rodino in a Dior suit with matching pumps and handbag.

Everett had moved into Cass’s loft with little more than some pricey
clothes
, pilot uniforms, toiletries, a laptop, and an old StairMaster. Just months later, he fled her wrath and threats to file charges, which she never did. Some rancid little voice had surfaced within and convinced her that even such egregious betrayal was deserved.

Slogging from the subway through a torrent of rain, Cass decided against the gym that evening and headed straight home. The thought of curling onto one of her overstuffed sofas with hot clove tea and a book was far more appealing. But the likelihood of that peaceful respite ended when she reached her door and found Jordan emerging quickly through his. “Go in and lock the door,” he ordered. “And don’t open it for anyone. I’ll be back.” She was still staring after him when he entered the elevator down the hall.

Is this a joke?
But she did as he said, then went to her living-room window and looked down into the street. In a moment, she watched him exit the front of the building, pull the hood of his slicker over his head, and take off down the sidewalk, now filling with after-work pedestrians and their bobbing umbrellas. When he turned the corner, she shrank back from the window and looked about the loft. Everything was in place, as clean and neatly arranged as it always was. No matter how disarrayed the rest of her life might be, her home was always in order, even the jungle upstairs.

She headed there now to shed her wet clothes and slip on warm sweats and socks, pausing every few moments to listen for Jordan. What had happened? She wondered if there’d been trouble with one of her tenants. Her tenants. She’d never grown comfortable with the notion of being anyone’s landlord. It must have amused Nicholas Rodino to leave such responsibility to his runaway daughter, but she was surprised he’d left anything at all to her. She certainly hadn’t asked him for anything, nothing but his affection and approval, neither one ever extended.

In the kitchen, she put a kettle of water on the stove, then assembled loose tea, cloves, and fresh lemon while keeping an ear tuned to the door. She dropped a few melon slices and crackers onto a small plate and settled uneasily on the sofa facing the window. The rain hadn’t let up, and she wondered what could possibly have sent Jordan headlong into it.

She doctored her fully steeped tea and had just returned to the sofa when three quick raps sounded at the door. Seeing Jordan through the peephole, she unlocked the door and flung it open. He was a soggy bear of a man filling the doorway in a bright yellow slicker that made him look like a school bus emerging from a car wash.

“Didn’t you see her?” he panted, lumbering through the doorway, dripping rainwater. “You almost ran into her.” He quickly closed and locked the door securely behind him.

“Who?” Cass asked, reaching for his slicker.

“The woman from the UN apartment, the one who stared at us from the door.” He shrugged out of the coat and gave it to Cass, who made no move to hang it up, her eyes fixed on Jordan as he swept a hand over his dangling wet hair. “I spotted her from my window, or I thought it was her. She was standing under the bakery awning across the street, looking up at the building, right at my window. If that really was her, how’d she know where I live?” Cass heard more irritation than alarm in his voice. “And why hunt me down? What’s up with those people? How do they know I wasn’t really looking for a friend’s apartment?” He finally took the slicker from Cass’s hand and headed for the bathroom. “This needs to hang over the tub.”

“Are you sure it was the same woman?” Cass called after him. “You only saw her for an instant, you said.”

“No, I’m not sure, especially through the rain. That’s why I took off after her. You’d just walked past her and crossed the street; then she left. I wanted to get close enough to be sure.”

“And then what?”

Jordan returned from the bathroom with a thick white towel around his neck, his hair squeeze dried and uncombed. “Well, I was going to slip up behind her and inject her with a homing pellet and … what do you mean, then what? What did you think I was going to do?” He mopped his face. “She was already gone, anyway.”

Cass didn’t respond. She was sorting through Hans’s words, searching for something.
You don’t know who might come to that door or what they might be in the middle of
. She closed her eyes. This was ridiculous! She
refused
to allow mistaken identity or her stepfather’s unfortunate choice of words to disrupt her peace. She’d worked too hard to achieve even a semblance of it.

Still, it was foolish to ignore what she knew was true. Hans had told her. Those people had run Jordan’s license plate number. They did know where he lived. Where she lived.

So what? They’re just a couple of paranoid oddballs
. She headed for the kitchen. “Jordan, we’re going to have some hot tea and forget all about this silliness. Okay?” She felt his eyes on her as she lifted the kettle from the stove and poured more water inside. “Now, let’s talk about the trip to Washington.”

Chapter 10

A
cab pulled up at the Juilliard School at Lincoln Center, and Liesl Bower stepped from the back seat, her hair tucked beneath a powder-blue woolen cap, a matching scarf coiled inside the lapels of a black pea coat. She tucked her head against the invasive cold and headed toward the front entrance of the venerable school. Throughout most of her celebrated career, she’d come to New York every few months to teach piano workshops and give a private concert for Julliard’s generous patrons. She’d always enjoyed her visits to the city until fifteen months ago when it tried to swallow her, when evil struck on a night street and chased her into a terrifying vortex.