Material Witness (5 page)

She slouched a little in her seat and
smiled sheepishly. “Some habits are hard to break. Call it small talk this
time.”

“New Jersey. West Orange to be exact.
Most of my family still lives there.”

“I grew up in Stamford. But I went to
school in the city.”

“Really?”

She chuckled. “Why does that surprise
you?”

“It doesn't.”

They rode in silence for a few
blocks, past more streetlamps and lonely locked storefronts.

“Okay, maybe I'm a little surprised.
I'm having trouble figuring out why an obviously intelligent and accomplished
woman like you thought she could just walk into a place like Rory's alone and
walk out unscathed,” he finally admitted. “I mean, did you even think about how
dangerous a place like that is?”

“I certainly didn't expect to be in a
war zone. I guess being on deadline makes you do…stupid things.”

He pushed his foot on the brake to
stop for a red light. He thought he heard a soft sigh and wondered if he’d
imagined it or if it was real.

“I guess maybe I've just become
immune,” she said.

“
Someone like me who sees this stuff every week, I
don’t think I’d ever be immune to what happened tonight. So I find it hard to
believe someone—”

“Like me?” she said, eyeing him with
such intensity he hadn't noticed the light had turned green. “Forgive me, but
beyond knowing my name and professional alias, you know very little about me.”

“I’m all ears.”

“We have one block to go before you
reach my apartment building and not enough time to give it justice.”

A sudden sadness enveloped her, but
she quickly brushed it aside.

Jake drove the last block in silence,
fighting his strong desire to know something more about Cassie. He needed to
stay detached.

He double-parked in front of her
building and left the car running.

“Thank you for the ride,” she said,
slipping out of his leather jacket. “I'd say I had a nice time, but given the
events of the evening, and the fact that we weren't on a date, I don't think
it's appropriate.”

“How about nice to have met you?”

She paused for a second with her hand
on the door handle. A slow smile played on her full lips, but she didn’t
answer. She just pushed the door open and climbed out.

“I'll call you,” he said as she
stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Cassie swung around to look at him,
the question written across her tired features.

“If I need more information for my
report,” he clarified.

This time she didn't smile as she
nodded. Jake waited as she took the steps up to the front door, unlocked it and
stepped inside. He made sure the door had locked behind her before pulling away
from the curb.

It had been an endless night in a
string of long nights. As he drove his car onto the boulevard, the streets were
vacant. Jake usually welcomed heading home after a long shift. Especially after
a night as eventful as tonight.

But this time, something pulled at
him, making him want to turn back toward Cassie's, toward something he didn't
want to face. It had been years since he’d felt that kind of pull. The
department shrink had warned him he was treading on thin ice thinking he could
handle the stresses of his job without it affecting him. But Jake wasn’t giving
in. Not this time.

He said he'd call her if he had any
questions. Part of him searched his mind for a reason to make that call. But
the only thing Jake came up with was that he wanted to see Cassie again.

# # #

Chapter Three

That couldn't possibly be the door,
Cassie groaned silently as she lifted her heavy head from the pillow. Her head
was still hammering and her sense of time had shifted somewhat. But she could
swear she'd just crawled into bed moments ago.

If this is Maureen
…

Whoever felt the need to assault her
door at—she focused on her brass wind up alarm clock on the nightstand—9:30 AM,
was at it again. She dropped her feet to the carpet with all the heaviness
fatigue had left her with, wondering how she could have managed to sleep a
total of three hours and not feel like she'd slept at all.

When Jake had dropped her off at her
apartment last night and she’d bolted her apartment door shut, Cassie had
showered to scrub off all the makeup and stink from Rory's. After that, she sat
in her living room with every light in her apartment on, just staring, afraid
of what nightmares would assault her in her sleep. She finally forced herself
to go to bed at 6:30 AM, reasoning that if she woke from a bad dream, at least
she'd wake in the daylight.

The pounding on the door continued.
Taking the time to throw a short floral cotton bathrobe over her nightshirt,
Cassie glanced through the mini-blinds to the street three floors below. The
night had been replaced with a glorious sunny morning. Jake's empty sports car
sat double-parked outside the entrance where he'd dropped her off last night,
as if he'd never left.

The ferocious pounding on the door
matched the kind of power she imagined Jake could deliver if provoked. The kind
Cassie had felt last night as his arms wrapped around her and he shielded her
body, pulling her behind the bar to safety when the gunfire broke out.

“I'll be right there,” she said, and
cleared the sleep from her throat. She drew in a deep breath, pushing her
tangled hair away from her face before yanking the door open. She was met by
Jake's handsome and somewhat
scowling
expression, mid-knock. He slowly
lowered his fisted hand.

“You didn't even ask who it was,”
Jake barked.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“It could have been anyone here to do
God only knows what.”

Crossing her arms across her chest,
Cassie replied, “I knew it was you.”

“How?”

“I'm psychic.”

He didn't look convinced, nor did he
appear in the mood for any of her attempt at teasing, and at this hour of the
morning, Cassie didn't care.

“How did you get into the building
without being announced?” she asked.

“Perfect timing. I was coming in as
someone was leaving through the front door. I think a crime watch meeting with
your neighbors is way overdue.” Jake stared at her. “Aren't you going to invite
me in?” he asked.

“Give me a minute, I'm thinking.”

He spun past her into the living room
as if he hadn't heard her and tossed the morning paper to her cherry coffee
table, already cluttered with reference books she'd dragged home from the
library a few days before.

“Well, think while you read this. Got
any coffee?”

“Ah, I'll make some in a minute. Make
yourself at home.”

She pushed the door closed and padded
barefoot to retrieve the newspaper.

Jake's heavy sigh had her turning to
him. He looked exhausted, as if he'd had even less sleep than she'd had. The
dark shadow lining his jaw showed he hadn't bothered to shave yet. Normally,
Cassie liked men with a clean-shaven face, but something about the way Jake
looked, rugged, almost outdoorsy, made her stir inside. It started small and
began to build. She shifted in place to shake off the tingling feeling.

Jake cleared his throat. “You read.
Just tell me where.”

“Where?”

“Coffee. Preferably extra-strength,
if you have it. I'll make it.”

Uneasiness skittered through her,
settling in her stomach. It wasn't the same stirring she felt just seconds ago.
Cassie refused to believe it to be a premonition, so she passed it off as
fatigue.

Jake's presence in her home was too
intimate. He'd been an enigmatic stranger at Rory's, and a highly professional
police officer at the police station last night. He was much the same now,
except in her apartment, surrounded by her personal things, Cassie felt almost…
naked
in a way she hadn't felt for some time.

“Colombian coffee on the refrigerator
door. Filters in the cabinet above the coffee maker on the counter,” she said.

As Jake treaded to the kitchen,
Cassie plopped down on her slipcovered sofa and draped the afghan over her
legs. This man had been privileged to see more of her than any man had in three
years, and she hadn't even known him a full twenty-four hours.

It wasn't only modesty. Scratches
from the flying glass and bruises from hitting the floor were now surfacing on
her skin. Cassie hadn't felt them when she'd showered last night or before she
went to bed, but now that the adrenaline rush had worn off, they were nagging
at her.

She reached for the newspaper. “What
am I reading?”

“Front page,” Jake called out from
the kitchen.

Cassie slapped the newspaper on her
lap, fingering the edge of the paper as she examined the headline. “The
President vetoed—” she started to say before Jake came back into the room and
cut in.

“Bottom of the page, big bold print.”

Her eyes grazed the page of the
Providence
Journal Bulletin
until they settled on the article Jake was referring to.
Her whole body collapsed as the newsprint screamed at her.
Crime novelist
Cassie Lang involved in deadly shoot-out.

Cassie’s heart stopped beating and
her hands shook so violently, the newspaper slipped from her fingers and fell
to the floor. When she finally found her voice, it was barely audible to her
own ears as she spoke.

“You said you weren't going to reveal
my name.”

Jake was at the doorway, leaning his
shoulder against the doorjamb.

“I didn't.”

“Then how? Who?”

He came into the room slowly and
eased himself down on the sofa beside her, draping his arm across the back in
what seemed like a comforting gesture. The whole thing felt like watching a
movie in slow motion. Those bottomless blue eyes she'd locked onto last night
held assurance meant only for her benefit. She only wished it brought the
comfort she craved.

“That's what I'd like to know,” he
said.

“Just tell me one thing. Did you find
Angel Fagnelio?”

“No.”

To his credit, Jake didn’t try to
sugarcoat the truth. Cassie didn’t know why that made her feel better but it
did. But only momentarily.

“He’s in hiding,” she muttered.

“We’re looking. I need to know if you
recognized anyone at that bar last night. Anyone at all.”

“No. Why would I? I’d never been
there before.”

“Who knew you were there?”

“Just Maureen Phillips.”

Goosebumps invaded her skin like
wildfire running across a dry field, and she hugged herself to keep from
shivering. Jake inched closer and hesitated, as if he didn't like what he was
about to say.

“Not Maureen,” she insisted, taking
the burden from him.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw
before replying. “Who is she?”

“My editor.”

“Anyone else who might have known?
Someone Maureen might have told?”

“It just happened last night? Who
could she have told between the time I spoke to her at the station and the
newspaper went to press?”

Cassie squeezed her eyes for a moment,
wishing she could will away the newsprint on the page like writing on a
chalkboard. Wishing she could be invisible again. But suddenly she felt so
exposed.

“Ah, her boyfriend, Adam Coel, was
there when I called. I'm sure she probably mentioned it to him. But—”

“Do you know him well?”

“A little. We've spent a few weekends
in the Catskills together over the eight or nine months since she's been seeing
him. But he'd have no reason to call the papers about this? And it was so
late.”

“Why did you go to Rory's? I mean,
what made you decide on Rory's as opposed to some other bar in the area to do
your research. That part of town is filled with places like Rory's but not
nearly so notorious for criminal activity.”

“Maureen suggested a few places.”

“Your editor suggested you become a
hooker for the evening?”

Cassie tossed him a wry expression.
“I was not a hooker. I was pretending. Big difference. Besides, Maureen had no
idea I'd gone to Rory's specifically. We did a Google search while we were on
the phone. I made a list, closed my eyes and picked one.”

Cassie forced air into her lungs,
much like a gulp. Her head was swimming. As a novelist, she’d learned enough
about crime to know that this morning's headline was akin to having a target on
her back. Last night, she was just another nobody who happened to be in the
wrong place at the wrong time. Sure, she was a well-known author, but still
invisible to anyone who didn’t read her books. It was doubtful anyone at Rory’s
was part of her readership.