The Devil She Knew (7 page)

“Cassidy. What’s the apartment number?”

She blinked. “One twelve.”

Clay spoke again to the officer and he motioned for one of the cruisers to move. They crept slowly through the barricade and down the street. Cop cars were everywhere. In front of her building, a sheet covered a bulky form on the sidewalk. A body?

Clay stopped in the middle of the street up a ways from her building, parking beside another patrol car. He mumbled for her to stay put, jumped out, and walked around the rear of the truck.

She heard him acknowledge someone before he opened her door and extended his hand. “This is a crime scene so stay beside me and don’t touch anything. We’ll have to be quick. Let’s go.”

In a daze, she took his hand and a hundred bolts of electricity shot through her arm. He held it as they moved up the sidewalk. At the door he acknowledged another policeman and explained their mission.

Then they were inside, walking down the short set of steps to the bottom floor and her apartment door. Clay stood expectantly when they halted in front of one twelve.

Her heart stalled in her throat. She didn’t want him inside, didn’t want him to see what she had sunk to.

“Do you have your key?”

She turned watery eyes to him. “Can you wait out here?”

“No, ma’am.”

This was definitely a low moment in her life. She took a ragged breath, shoved her glasses up her nose with her index finger, removed the key from her purse, and unlocked the door. She regularly left a light on in the kitchen, casting the living area in shadows. But not dark enough to conceal the hideousness of the place.

Clay grasped her upper arm and walked farther into the apartment, glancing first into the kitchen, and then to the floor, no doubt noticing the braided throw rugs as he moved across them to the bedroom. He switched on the overhead light and crinkled his nose at the mattress in the corner.

“Why do you live here? Do you like this?”

Her temper flared. “Of course I don’t like it,” she snapped. “I’m down on my luck right now. This is all I can afford.”

“Get your stuff. All your stuff. You can’t stay here.”

She yanked her arm from his grasp. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

She sensed his demeanor soften. “Don’t you have any friends here?”

Her breathing was faster than usual, partly from anger and partly from fear.

“No.”

“Why is someone like you all alone?”

Her head snapped up. “What do you mean someone like me?”

For the first time he smiled. Straight white teeth that gleamed right up into his gray eyes. “Take it easy, Cassie. You always act like you’re ready to fight with me. I didn’t mean it as an insult. More of a compliment.” He raised his chin toward the closet.

“Get some things together. I’ve got a place you can stay tonight and as soon as the area is clear we’ll come back and move you out of here.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not staying with you.” Although after looking at him in tight blue jeans and a polo shirt that clung to his body like skin, the idea didn’t seem too repulsive. Maybe under different circumstances, in her former life. But he was a cop and she was a fugitive.

He chuckled. “I didn’t invite you to stay with me. Gather your stuff. I have a business proposition for you. I’ll tell you in the truck.”

She moved uncertainly toward the clothes closet. “I can’t afford higher rent.”

“Don’t worry about it. Hurry up. We should get out of here.”

She yanked her duffel bag from the closet shelf and tossed in most of her clothes. She tucked her laptop safely in between the jeans and shirts and moved into the bathroom for her cosmetics and a few linens. Clay watched from a distance, turning only when the mantel clock chimed.

“Would you mind grabbing that, please? I don’t want to leave it here.”

He shook his head. “I can’t let you out of my sight. Crime scene, remember? You’ll have to get it.”

“But the crime didn’t happen here.”

“That’s a technicality, hon. Sorry.”

Her heart fluttered.
Hon.

Within minutes, practically everything she owned was stashed in the duffel. She gingerly took the clock from the mantel, wrapped it in a bath towel and eased it into a shoulder bag.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Do you have a pen?”

“In my purse.” She reached in and retrieved a pen from The Packing Place. Clay picked up the duffel and slung it over his shoulder. He took the keys from her hand and locked the door, then turned and scrawled the time, the date, and his initials on the wall beside the door frame.

Back at his truck, he helped Cassidy inside then spoke to an officer, reviewed a page on a clipboard, and signed. As they drove slowly out of the parking lot, Clay nodded and waved to several different policemen. And then they were on the highway.

“Where are we going?”

He grinned. “You know, if I thought you had a sense of humor I’d say my place. But I don’t think you’d appreciate the joke.”

She sat up straight. “I have a sense of humor.” The retort sounded childish, even to her.

“Really? We’re going to my place.”

“That’s not funny.”

He threw his head back and laughed. The sound sent tingles through her. “That’s what I thought.”

• • •

Even as he teased Cassidy about taking her home a pulse in his chest quickened, embracing the idea. What the hell? One restraining order was enough. No need to set himself up for another emotional disaster. When it came to women, he overextended himself, giving and expecting too much. And then he got screwed. He wasn’t going to lose everything again because of an irrational woman. Cassidy certainly fit that description. And he had more to lose this time.

He needed to re-establish his distance, resurrect his impartiality. With most everybody, he’d mastered the technique.

He barely knew this woman, yet she had a baffling effect on him. He’d been unable to stop thinking about her and now, with her next to him on the seat and their destination The Chalets, he wished they were going back to his apartment. It had been quite some time since he’d wanted to bring a woman home. And this one wasn’t the least bit interested in him. Yet he couldn’t keep himself from stepping into her life.

She threw off vibes that said “don’t touch,” and even stronger signals that hinted she’d take off at the drop of a hat. She’d packed her duffel bag and it had practically emptied the apartment. Yet, she had nowhere to go. And he had no idea where she’d come from. Perhaps it was the mystery that intrigued him. Cop curiosity.

It didn’t explain the jolt he felt when she grabbed his arm. That was more chemistry than curiosity, and it charged every part of his body, including the manly one. Been a while since a woman had affected him like that, too.

“How long have you lived there?”

She clutched the clock protectively in her lap, keeping her focus on the windshield. “A little over a month.”

“Where were you before this?”

Her head jerked up and she stared at him. “I’m originally from O’Hara Township. It’s a suburb of Pittsburgh.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. A clever answer. Amber was right, she was evasive.

“Ah, I thought I detected a tinge of an accent. Are you a Steelers fan?”

She nodded.

“What brought you to Browns’ territory?”

“I, ah, I needed a change. Where are you taking me?”

Hmm, change of subject. She was good at this.

“My sister and I own some apartment units, called The Chalets. You can stay in one of the vacant ones tonight. Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“Yes. It’s my short day, ten to two. Where’s the closest bus stop?”

“I should be home by nine at the latest. I’ll run you in.”

“Please, Mr. Cestra. I can’t repay you for all of this. I still owe you fifty dollars for the furniture fiasco. I don’t need any favors and I don’t need your help.”

“Clay.”

“What?”

“Call me Clay. Mr. Cestra is my dad. He’s in Florida.”

• • •

They cruised into a parking lot and stopped in front of a ten-story brown brick building decorated with flowering balconies. In the rear, off to the right, an identical building flanked the first one, connected by what appeared to be a lighted park area and a pavilion, from what she could see.

Clay looked at his Kobold watch. “I’m running late. I’ll put you in one of the semi-furnished apartments for tonight.” He wrinkled his forehead. “I’m pretty sure the sofa is a pull-out. Tomorrow, we’ll talk to my sister and see about better accommodations.”

“I can’t stay here.”

He raised his voice. “Well, Miss Hoake, where would you like to go? You can’t stay at your apartment and you said yourself you have nowhere to go. Amber might take you in if you call her. Or you can sleep in my truck tonight. It will be parked outside a police station, so you’ll be safe. You decide. But make it fast. I’m trying to be a nice guy here and it’s going to make me late for work. Where would you like to go?”

Without waiting for an answer, he shoved open the driver’s door and exited the truck. He walked around the front, yanked open the passenger door, and extended his hand.

She hadn’t said a word.

“I thought so. C’mon. If it makes you happy, I’ll charge you rent.”

Avoiding his hand, she swung her legs from the cab and stepped down to the asphalt. This was a bad idea on so many levels, she told herself as she turned and reached for her clock. Her heart raced. Clay snatched her duffel bag from the truck and placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to a darkened sign that said Office.

“Wait here.” He fished a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Thirty seconds later he was at her side, a ring of keys jingling in his hand. “This way.”

Again, he directed her with his hand, moving her toward the rear building. His touch sent a thunderbolt through her body. Despite the cool evening temperature, she dabbed at tiny beads of sweat above her lip and yanked at the collar of her pullover, hoping for a quick shot of cool air. Maybe she had a fever.

They walked beside an in-ground swimming pool and passed several picnic tables. She saw a second pavilion and some freestanding charcoal grills. Giant urns of flowers bloomed everywhere, having survived the summer heat, and now thriving in September’s temperatures.

A couple sitting beside a fire pit that burned bright waved to Clay and he acknowledged them with a return gesture. “This is the common area for residents,” he said.

They arrived at the front door of the second building and he unlocked it, motioning for her to enter. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, he guided her to a door at the end of the hall. Unlocking it, he signaled with his hand for her to precede him inside.

She blinked when he switched on the ceiling light.

“It’s been closed up for a couple weeks,” Clay said, walking toward the sliding glass door. “Some fresh air will help. Remember, it’s just for tonight.”

She looked around as he slid the balcony door open. The apartment was sparsely furnished but nicer than the one she rented. A small oval table sat in front of a long floral sofa and an overstuffed chair. To her left, a three-person kitchenette set snuggled against the wall of a long rectangular kitchen.

Clay walked into the back room then returned. “I didn’t think there was a bed here. Sorry. The bedroom is unfurnished. I can pull out the sofa bed for you.”

She lifted her hand to stop him. “No. That’s all right. Thank you. Whose apartment is this?”

“It was the McElroys’, but they moved out. I want to repaint it before we lease it again.” He walked into the kitchen and she heard cabinet doors opening and closing.

“There are a few dishes and some utensils. But no food in the pantry. I’ll bring you coffee in the morning. I’m afraid this is the best I can do for now.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need a glass of water. Like you said, it’s just one night.”

He cocked his head to look at her. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you took off the minute I left.”

She gasped. She’d been thinking she should.

Clay cleared his throat. “I can’t make you stay. But I think you should. You can’t live out of that duffel bag forever.” He turned and walked to the door. “If you do take off, make sure you close the balcony door, and please lock this door behind you. I’m gonna be late. See ya.”

He closed the door behind him and she stood in the middle of the room, where she had stopped upon entering. A cool breeze wafted in from the balcony and somewhere, a horn honked. She wrapped herself in her arms and slowly made a three hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. This place wasn’t nearly as frightening as the dump she lived in now. In fact, it almost felt safe.

If she left now, she could jump on the bus and go … where? She had no idea. She couldn’t go home to Pittsburgh. Tony DelMorrie would surely have her brother’s neighborhood staked out by now. She was estranged from her brother anyhow. He’d disapproved of her relocating to Arizona, calling it a foolish whim, and they hadn’t spoken since. Likewise, her best friend had not heard from her since before the shooting and Cassidy didn’t dare call for fear Tony DelMorrie would somehow find out.

She couldn’t go back in the direction she’d come and risk running into him. North? South? Another bus ride to the unknown? Another disguise? Another job?

She sank to the floor and caught her head in her hands. Clay was right. She couldn’t run forever. At least here, she could save some money and take a break from running. Temporarily. As long as no one found out who she was and what she knew.

She crawled to the duffel bag beside the entrance and reached inside for her laptop. Her stomach sank as if she’d swallowed a stone when she couldn’t access the Internet. The Chalets must not have wireless capability. She snapped the computer lid closed. It was like hoping to win the lottery, wishing that the Arizona authorities would catch Tony DelMorrie. But those commercials always advertised that it only takes one ticket to win. Would it only take one slip-up to catch the man who was after her? Please God, let it be so.