Red Silk Scarf (24 page)

God, Cassidy
didn't want to think such thoughts, not while lying in the arms of a man she
once suspected of murder.
  
She was a
survivor, therefore, should be thankful.

Why not confess,
what she shared with Sullivan was the most incredible experience ever.
 
For the rest of her life she’d have to live
knowing; she'd used him to ease her suffering, that all along she'd betray
him.
 
When he found out, discovered her
identity, how she'd interfered with his family, he'd hate her.
 
How would she survive such wrath after
knowing such love?
 
Why it mattered,
Cassidy couldn’t explain, but it already hurt so much.

Expressions
frozen in thoughts made arms fall away.
  
In unison, back-to-back, both came to a sitting position, legs dangling
over the edge of the mattress.
 
For long
moments, oppressive silence held them in confinement before they sluggishly
began putting on clothing as they found them, where they found them.
 
When Sullivan came to his knees on the living
room carpet to pick up the change that had spilled from his pockets, foolishly,
Cassidy did the same returning all but a penny.
 
In an attempt to ease the suffocating tension she tossed the penny to
him,
  
“A penny for your thoughts,” she
said her voice weak with despair while attempting a smile that never found her
lips.

Eyes hungrily
running over her reminded Sullivan of every curve, every crevice, the soft
skin, moist lips, the hesitant movements her small body made against his that
said she lacked the knowledge of love making her profession required.
 
Catching the coin, “Trust me, my thoughts are
worthless,” Sullivan all but whispered swallowing the words, “without
you.”
 

Doe like eyes
followed him to the door where he lingered much too long before confronting
them.
 
Eyebrow lifted, “It was good,
Cassidy, honest.”
 
Damn her, even with
disappointment disfiguring her face she didn't bat an eyelash.
  
Christ, she was only a whore who did a
job.
 
What did she expect him to do, pay
her, say thank you, and kiss her goodbye?
 
Well, he wouldn't, if he did, he'd never walk out the door.

Eyes holding those
spiting fire, said what he couldn't.
 
He
wanted her all over again.
 
Becoming
extremely uncomfortable with the wave of heat building between them, Sullivan’s
glance found the window as if searching for fresh air, a means of escape.
 
Shifting his weight from one foot to another,
he adjusted his glance on her.
 
Breathing
deliberately, slowly, “I’ll admit I want you, I need you, but you need to know
I’ll never love you.”
 
Liar his insides
screamed.
 

Stinging words
that made blackness seep into Cassidy's soul.
 
He was no different from other men, devious when desire rode them, then
once satisfied tossing the woman aside.
 

The door was open
he'd taken one stride across the threshold before her reply reached through him
and collapsed his lungs.
  
“I guess two
out of three ain't bad for a girl like me.”
 

Sullivan spun
around in time to catch another penny.
 
Her face was as stiff as her spine, her lips pressed into a straight
line, her eyes glittering with conflicting emotions.
 
Lifting her chin, she said icily, “This
should cover your efforts.” Words that vacuumed from him what little life
remained.
 

           
Feeling like she’d just fed his
private parts to the lions, “I did not treat you like a whore,” Sullivan said
defensively, a statement that he realized later better left unsaid.

           
“You just did,” she replied.

Regretting the
hurtful things, he said, wondering why he said them, knowing he wounded her,
someone already battered, he watched as she proudly entered the bedroom and
quietly closed the door.
 
All he could do
was stand motionless examining his clothing waiting for blood to ooze from the
gaping hole in his chest.
 
Never did he
know anyone who could take him through the moonlight, only to burn him like the
sun.

Cassidy expected
a barrage of tears.
 
Never before did she
feel so miserable, so alone, so used, so discarded.
 
Regrettably, there were no more tears left no
self-pity, she was plumb out.
 
Now she
understood what a whore must experience at the end of each trick.
 
Somehow, some way she had to draw strength
from her sorrow.
 

Rolling in her
skull were too many unanswered questions.
 
Determination gathering at the basement level of her soul increasing in
velocity midway, reached the summit.
 
She
wasn’t done yet.
 
                                               
 
         

Sullivan didn't
like the ending of a story only he could rewrite.
 
Consuming him was wondering if he could
sacrifice the gold beginning to make his heart shine, or if he’d trade, his
life for hers.

CHAPTER 18

Ego
Maniac that Sullivan was, believed she wanted “Love.”
 
How ludicrous?
 
There were better chances of Castro and the
Queen of England getting married.
 
Who
needed someone, rearranging their life, interfering with their independence, their
career?
 
Not Cassidy, the only thing she
occasionally needed from a man was “Sex,” and that was highly
questionable.
 
Never mind that Sullivan
was a philanderer who couldn't be trusted.
 

           
What rational
reason was there for thinking such nonsense, she chided herself.
 
Maniacal thoughts that were broadening the
hollowness beginning to pulsate the moment Sullivan closed the door.
 
Thank God, the phone rang, her weak “Hello,”
very unconvincing.

”Hello,
sweetheart.” Letting out a long, slow breath, drained some of the tension tying
him in knots nevertheless his face remained like granite.

“Daddy,
is it you, really you?”
 
As though the
sun had just risen, Cassidy's face glowed with a genuine smile that exercised
lips that had long forgotten how.

“Well,
the last time I looked in the mirror I was.
 
Missed me, didn't you, really missed me!”
 
An attempt at humor Jonathan Brady was not
feeling.

           
Trembling
claimed the limbs Cassidy was trying to calm.
 
Fresh tears swelled tear ducks.
 
Hovering overhead was a dark cloud cloaking the sun substantially
lowering her body temperature, her stature.
 
Lacking the stamina to continue the facade of normality, somehow, she
had to or father would be in L.A. on the next flight.
    

“Daddy,
you're impossible, certainly I missed you,” she rallied.

“Then,
why haven't you called,” Jonathan added solemnly.

           
Because you'd
know, I'm hurting, the mess I've made of things that I've failed miserably for
the first time.
 
If she were honest,
that's what Cassidy wanted to say, almost did, but pride got in the way.
 
“I no longer know night from day
anymore.
 
This case has been . . .
difficult.”

Even
though she was absent from his presence, Jonathan knew. “What's wrong, baby
girl?”

           
At the
velvety sound of her father’s endearing name time stood still briefly allowing
Cassidy's voice to climb out of the dark endless pit that had gobbled her
up.
 
“I'm fine, daddy, honest.”
 
A grown woman and she still called her
father, daddy, amazing, she reflected.

           
“When are you
going to learn you can't fool me?”
 
Pausing long enough to take in a deep breath, “I know, Casey, I know
about Ben.”
 
Sorrow's tears, that were
clutching Jonathan's throat, choking him he could not allow the privilege.

The
air became thick as Cassidy struggled to reposition a heart and lungs suddenly
trading places.
 
How did he find out,
when?

           
“Casey, talk
to me.
 
For God's sake, talk to me.
 
If you don't, I swear I'll come out there,” a
threat meant to jar her senses.

           
Deep seeded
concerns rumbling in Cassidy's mind taking on life spewed forward.
 
“There was condemning evidence against Ben that
I chose to ignore still, I can’t bring myself to believe he was the
killer.
 
Not because we were friends,
it’s more than that.
 
Inside there's
something nagging.
 
Why did everything
come to a head so quickly?
 
Why after two
years undercover, involved with the worst kind of drug lords, was Ben
murdered?”
  

“You
don't believe it was just a senseless drive by shooting, do you?”
       

“No.”

Cassidy
wasn't disappointing Jonathan after all.
 
Under fire, she was tougher than he ever imagined.
 
In spite of weeks of physical and emotional
battering, she’d stumbled, taken a hell of a fall, yet landed on her feet.
 
The pride and tremendous love swamping him
only served to intensify his fear for her safety.

           
Feeling her
shrinking from inadequacy, Jonathan couldn’t allow her to give up.
 
All Casey needed was a boost of
encouragement.
 
“Even though I strongly
objected to you taking this case, I know you're the best.
 
If anyone can unravel the evidence, you
can.
 
Maybe the murderer believed Ben's
death would throw you, damage your capabilities sufficiently to send you
packing.
 
Always remember what I taught
you, baby girl, trust your instincts.
 
Don't crumble under fire. There is no room for grief, Casey, pull
yourself together.
 
Do you hear me?”
 
Each word tightened Jonathan’s knuckle white
grip on the phone as he tried to remain tough.
 

Familiar
with the gruffness of her fathers' lecturing voice, only recently had Cassidy
come to understand the enormous love for her that provoked the tone, and the
lectures.
 
A tough love that was not
through.
 
       

“Forget
Ben for now.
 
He'd want it that way.
 
He'd want you to believe in him, prove them
wrong, and clear his name.”
 

           
“God, daddy,
why not get right to the point.
 
I should
be angry with you for your lack of sympathy, but . . . but . . . I can't,” she
sniffled slightly.

           
Lack of
sympathy, who was he trying to kid?
 
His
heart was bleeding from beating way beyond its limits, dangerous palpitations
for his age.
 
Multiple bruises from
anxieties increased need for oxygen had scarred his lungs.
 

What
he wouldn't give to rush to her, save her from herself, protect her from life's
horrible lessons, but he knew a good parent didn't cave in under pressure, they
allowed room for growth, mistakes, stood back and waited hoping beyond reason
their child wouldn't get hurt.
 
Sadly, it
was already too late for Cassidy.
 

Leaning
forward in his chair deeply troubled, “You really didn't expect sympathy, did
you?
 
Ben wouldn't.
 
It clutters things, gets in the way of the
truth.
 
I've never babied you, never
will.
 
Pampering makes people weak, sets
them up for a fall.
 
Besides, if I tried,
it would only piss you off.
 
You’d think
I didn’t have faith in you.”

           
Although
Cassidy almost chuckled at the truth of his statement, there was silence.
 
Odd that he mentioned a “fall,” for that's
exactly what she'd done, splat, flat on her face.
 
No, more like her heart, fallen big time for
a probable murderer.
 
There was no way
Ben killed those women, she was positive.
 
Now she only wished she felt as strongly about Sullivan.