Killing Casanova (15 page)

“Where is everyone tonight?” Jake asked.

“Miriam went to Reno to pick up Cody at his grandparents’, and you know how it goes. When the cats away, the mice get dates and party till the sun comes up,” Cassie said.

“Did your date ditch out on you tonight, or you just don’t party with the sighted after last night?”

“The sighted were actually very helpful last night.” Cassie murmured quietly. “And you know my reasons for not dating.”

Jake stopped abruptly, and Cassie bumped into him as he turned to face her.

“One guy turns out to be a loser and all men are out of the picture? That doesn’t sound like a very healthy attitude, especially for a therapist.”

“I haven’t given up on men, Jake. I am taking some time to fix my picker.”

Jake turned and began walking again, and Cassie held tightly to his arm. “What’s your picker?”

“Most people choose their romantic interests in one of two ways: what they are attracted to physically and what they are attracted to emotionally. Good relationships are combinations of both of those, but the initial attraction is usually the most powerful.”

“What does that have to do with your picker?”

“I don’t have the ability to be physically attracted to someone immediately, and the emotional attraction with Dylan totally led me astray. Evidently, I am not very good at picking out appropriate, trustworthy mates based on the emotional, and I can’t do it with my sight, so …”

Her words trailed off, and Jake paused at the bottom step on her staircase. As he turned to face her again, Cassie put both of her hands out and felt around until she grabbed the rail leading up to her apartment. Instant recognition flooded her expression and the grim, lines at the edges of her mouth vanished.

“I guess I never thought about where attraction really comes from.” Jake said leaning against the opposite rail. “I’m not attracted to every woman I see, but it is usually what I see that catches my attention.”

“That’s because men love what they are attracted to, and women are attracted to what they love. Women have had to catch the eye of their pursuers since the beginning of time. Men, on the other hand, need things like status, money, or influence to woo their mates.”

Jake took a wayward lock of Cassie’s hair and tucked it behind her ear. “What was it that Dylan had?”

“Dylan had words; words that sounded like poetry and music. I misunderstood charm for sincerity. I am trying to learn how to tell insincerity from genuine goodness.”

Jake felt his cheeks grow hot and was immediately grateful that she could not see it. He didn’t need to mentally review his behavior with women and more specifically with her to know she was talking about him.

Cassie cleared her throat roughly, and Jake’s attention snapped back, “I’m sorry, Jake. I never intended for you to take that personally. I can feel how awkward this topic has gotten for you, so I’ll drop it. Just know … you are one of the reasons I think my picker is broken. You have not turned out to be exactly what I thought you were, and my confidence where guys are concerned is a little unsteady.”

Jake laughed, despite the sting he felt at her words. He grappled for a way to turn this exchange more comfortable. “The sheriff assured me you are perfectly safe in your apartment tonight, but I got the feeling you don’t trust him much either. Are you going to be okay?”

“I see what you mean about small-town politics, but I’d have felt better if you let him hear the recording.”

“It wouldn’t be proof of Carter’s presence here tonight. All we know, for sure, is that Carter strongly suspects you recorded him. Ed will believe nothing but hard proof, and we don’t have that yet.”

“There’s something else, Jake. I can hear it in your voice. You aren’t sure you want to get Carter in trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t mind Carter getting what he deserves. I guess I just wonder how much of that I should feel guilty about. Plus, I don’t want to bring any more of Carter’s focus to you. He and I were friends a long time ago. If I talk to him, he might just need to hit me, and then no one else has to get hurt.”

“First of all, I think it’s too late for that. Second, you cannot blame yourself for Carter’s present troubles, no matter what role you played in his past.”

Cassie’s voice was too blunt on his conscience, especially when she turned her arctic eyes on him. “What do you have to feel guilty about?”

“A lot, actually. Too much …”

Jake ran his hands absentmindedly through his hair, drawing away from this topic of conversation. She seemed to sense his reluctance and took his elbow again, turning him toward the ascending stairs. “Jake, could I ask you for a favor? I’m sure those cops took care of that snake but could you go up and see if there is anything or anyone up there that I should know about?”

Jake grimaced, removed her hand from his arm, and held it firmly.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence Cass, but you’re coming, too.”

“Jake,” Cassie whispered from the doorway of her apartment. “Is it safe?”

She heard the slight scrape of his boots on the carpet, and her heart automatically seized with the sound.

“Cassie, unless I am moving in or you’re moving out, you’ve got to come make sure yourself. Take my hand,” he said softly. “I’ll talk you through it.”

Jake kept up a running commentary as they inspected every corner of the small studio apartment. He explained in great detail where everything was located, and she affirmed nothing had been disturbed. He offered to empty her laundry basket onto the floor to check the bottom, but Cassie blushed and told him she could dig through her laundry herself.

After both she and Jake were satisfied with the search, she heard him sink onto her small love seat. Cassie folded her long legs crisscross beneath her and sat on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you for the verbal tour. It helped a lot. I may even be able to sleep here alone tonight.”

Jake was silent before her, and she heard the sound of a yawn escaping involuntarily. “It’s late and I’m fine if you want to go, it’s just that I’m finding the sound of your voice very …” Cassie broke off thoughtfully before she found the description she was looking for. “I find it very … giant redwood.”

“Very what? Did you just say my voice sounds like a tree’s voice? I know my ears aren’t as good as yours, but I am pretty sure trees don’t have voices.”

“Not sounds like a tree. Feels like a tree.”

“That’s actually less helpful. I don’t know how a tree feels either, or how it compares to a voice.”

Cassie laughed ruefully. How could she explain this to him? A sighted person’s world was filled with so many colors and images, she wasn’t sure she could make sense of this for him.

“No, Jake, just listen. If you go to a redwood forest in California, it feels like strength. The smell is of ancient earth and wood. The sounds are of hushed reverence. The air is steady, warm, like your favorite blanket wrapped around you.” She paused listening for his response, but he was quiet. “The sound of your voice, here in a room full of questions, feels like those trees.”

“Cassie, do you have any memories of what things look like?”

The question was so sidelong that Cassie thought she could feel its weight on her cheeks. He was asking her more than what she remembered from her sighted life. He was asking her to bring him into her present one.

“I have flashes of shapes, light, shadow. It’s kind of like waking up from a dream and only grasping at the memory of what it had been.”

“Do you have dreams?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you dream in picture, or just sounds and smells? Do blind people have dreams like regular people?”

Cassie laughed, and she heard him move down onto the floor in front of her, taking her hands in his. “If I let you touch my face, will you see me in your dreams?”

Cassie yanked her hands out of his and folded them in her lap.

“Yes, Jake, blind people dream. For me, I dream in pictures. I don’t know how accurate those pictures are, but I see in my dreams.”

“What about a person who has never had their sight. Do they dream like that?”

“I don’t know, Jake. What makes you so sure that
you
dream like regular people?”

Cassie stiffened as Jake leaned toward her and gently took her hands again. She felt her fingers tremble in his grasp, but she did not pull back from him this time. “What are you doing, Jake?”

“What do you see in your mind when you look at me?”

Cassie felt his eyes watching her reactions. Truthfully, she hadn’t formed a picture in her thoughts; she was avoiding that. The more she let her guard down with him, the more difficult it was to trust her judgment. She had not formed concrete impressions of him on purpose. It was easier to forget when he was gone, if she never really looked at him.

When she didn’t answer him, he pressed her further. “Do you imagine what color someone’s eyes are, or their hair? Do you see something if I tell you my eyes are blue, but not blue like yours?”

“Jake, colors to me are associated with sounds, textures, and smells, not words like blue. I don’t know what that means.”

She could feel her temper rising with his probing, and the emotion felt more like panic than annoyance. He was too close; she needed the protection he offered her more than she needed his face in her mind tonight. She had to escape.

“It’s not something I can explain.”

“Try, please. I really want to know. Which is more powerful? Texture? Sound? Or smell?”

When he started rubbing the backs of her hand with his thumbs, she broke free of his calloused fingers and brushed her hair back from her face. If he was going to push, then she would make him see things he didn’t want to.

“Texture leaves the strongest impression. For example, my complexion is fairly smooth, but when I was 11 years old I ran into a wooden post that was part of my father’s library. The carved edge of the post creased my forehead, and now I have a deep gash that feels to me like the Grand Canyon when I run my fingers over it.”

She lowered her head and pointed out the scar to him. Jake’s fingers slid lightly over the spot, and a part of her flinched as she felt the edges of the indention graze his skin.

“Cassie, I can’t see it, and I don’t feel anything either. There’s no scar, you are …” Jake’s voice faltered only momentarily before he lightly traced the edges of her features with his fingertips. “Do you remember that day we were all at the reservoir? I watched you on the dock before you went swimming. The sun was setting behind you and you were beautiful. Your lips, your eyes, your face. I’ve never seen anything more extraordinary.”

Cassie felt her lips involuntarily part as his fingers brushed over them, and she fought the urge to reach out and touch his. The soft, sultry murmur of his words pierced her, and she wanted him to keep his hands on her. “No face is perfect,” he teased reluctantly. “I’m sure you could find flaws in mine, if you looked.”

With the change in the tenor of his voice, Cassie reclaimed her senses, and leaned backward on her elbows. “Well, that’s what I mean; to me I am disfigured by that scar, and I picture it slashing across my forehead obnoxiously. I have no idea what the rest of my face looks like. I’ve been told I have a creamy complexion, pale blue eyes and auburn hair, but I don’t know what that means. What I know is my forehead has a giant crease in it.”

“I thought appearance didn’t matter to you,” he said in a terse retort. “What difference does it make if you have a scar?”

“Why are you so interested in this?” she snapped. “An old friend of yours is trying to kill you, and now me, and you want to talk about what people look like? I think you should tell me what happened in your past with Carter that makes him homicidal and you deserving of such hatred.”

Jake’s body moved away from her until she heard his voice drifting from his position, reclined on the floor beside her. “If we talk about Carter, then we have to talk about the past,” he mumbled. “I don’t like talking about the past. It has nothing to do with the present, and it’s awkward.”

Cassie tried not to smile at him but lost the struggle as she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“If it has nothing to do with the present, then why is it so hard to talk about?”

“It was painful enough then, why make it worse by feeling it again?”

“Jake, strong feelings that are buried alive never die. Talking about them gives them their last breath before they fade into memories.”

“How many breaths have you given your memories of your ex-fiancé? Because it looks to me like every time you talk about it, you are just breathing new life into the pain, not letting it die.”

Cassie felt the corners of her mouth turn up sardonically as she stared deeper into his turmoil.

“It gets easier and easier to talk about Dylan without the emotion, and just see it for what it was. I trusted his charm, his sincerity, and his tenderness. I had never experienced a relationship before where I was so close to someone and I couldn’t trust their words. Blind people are very honest with each other because trust is such a large part of what we do for survival. Aside from my family and the people at the blind schools, I had little interaction with people who didn’t understand that. The cruel or insecure ones either avoid you or attack. You know who and what they are. Dylan was my first experience with someone who lied to me with such beautiful words.”

“No wonder you weren’t so friendly that night at Mcgoo’s. I must have sounded like another Dylan.” Cassie felt the air around them ignite with his confession. A part of her wanted to soothe it away, make a joke to break the feeling, but Jake kept talking. “I wasn’t like that before I was famous. I was actually pretty oblivious to my own charms before …” Jake broke off, and Cassie felt the name clinging to the air between them.

“Before your girlfriend was killed.”

His previously relaxed form stiffened beside her, and Cassie kept her features placid while he recovered. “How did you … who told you about that?”

“Your mom was worried that the stable fire had brought that pain filled past of yours out from where you had buried it, and she thought maybe I could help.”