Nerves of Steel (16 page)

To see Pamela.  God, why did it always have to come back to her?  The one face he never wanted to see again, but the one he saw every night.  He sat up in bed.  Pamela turned to him, his off duty Baretta in her hand.  She raised the gun to her head and, this was the most horrible thing, the thing he had never told anyone about that night, she smiled at him.  Just before she pulled the trigger, she smiled.

The scene played out in slow motion.  He leapt toward her. The sound of the shot reverberated through the room, deafening him.  He fell down beside her, grabbed her arm, tried to find a pulse.  He held her head in his lap, her blood covering him, saturating him with the smell of copper and salt, a rank smell that turned his stomach.

He looked down on her face.  It no longer was Pamela, it was Hart.

That was when he woke.

Drake sat up, tried to control his breathing.  Looked around, disoriented for a moment, reaching for his gun, then remembering he had left it on the foyer table.  Where was Hart?  He was afraid to look beyond the foot of the bed, his nightmare still clouding his thoughts.

He shook his head, freeing himself from Pamela's image, and ran his fingers through his hair.  He hadn't imagined tonight--could he have?  Then he heard a small sound coming from the living room.  A woman sobbing.

Drake unraveled himself from the sheets and grabbed a pair of sweat pants.  He moved into the other room.  Hart was crumbled against the window, her body shaking with grief.  Drake watched the pain overwhelm her--but still she did not cry.  Something wrenched inside him.  He knew she needed to grieve, expel all those churning emotions before they consumed her from within, but it was impossible for him to see her in such pain.

He joined her on the floor, cradled her in his arms, held her frozen hand safe inside his own.  Rocking her like a baby, he crooned a melody from a distant memory, made up nonsense syllables when he could not remember the words.

Never before had he had such an overpowering need to care for someone.   He hoped she wouldn't realize that he was the one weeping as he buried his face deep in her hair.  Seeing her like this had undone him completely.  He wanted to be her champion, to slay her dragons, to heal her body and soul.

If she would only let him. 

Cassie took a deep breath, swallowed her grief.  Unshed tears threatened to choke her, but she gulped them back.  She didn't want Drake to see her like this.  She slid from his lap and stood once more.  He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes, then looked up at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. 

She couldn't talk, not without risking an explosion of pain.  She turned away, faced the window and bowed her head, resting it against the dark glass.  He joined her, standing behind her, his arms encircling her waist, fitting just right.

Cassie leaned back, enjoying the warmth of his bare chest against her body.  The city lights spread out before them like luminous jewels cast on a black velvet blanket.  Jewels she had been blinded to until he joined her.

She placed a hand on the window, connecting with her reflection there.  Drake reached his own hand forward and covered hers.  He eased her hand from the glass and raised it to his mouth, his lips sending a wave of heat through her body. 

Cassie turned within his embrace, slid her hand away from his mouth and behind his neck.  She reached up to kiss him.  He lifted her, pressing her back against the glass.  She tugged the shirt over her head.  His mouth eagerly searched for hers after the momentarily break in contact.

Her body was flushed with heat on one side and growing numb with cold on other.  The window rattled with the winter wind, its vibration echoing through her.  Cassie left the cold world behind as Drake carried her back into the bedroom.

CHAPTER 27

Cassie lurched from sleep, fleeing another nightmare.  She opened her eyes, disoriented, startled by the sound of a man's breathing beside her.  Richard?  She steadied her own breathing, fearful of waking him.

No.  Memory slowly returned.  Not Richard.

Drake.  She rolled over and watched him.  Pale dawn light picked out glistening strands of silver woven through the thick, black hair spread over his pillow.   Cassie liked the idea that, although he seemed to live life like one long beer commercial, Drake already had a few gray hairs.  She smiled, traced a finger over the v-shaped scar on his chin, wondered where he'd gotten it. 

She might never know.

Cassie slipped from beneath his arm and walked naked through the open door into the bathroom.  After using the toilet and washing her face, she grimaced in the mirror.  Puffy circles cradled her eyes.  It would be a long time before she would sleep soundly again.  She couldn't count on Drake always being there when the nightmares hit.  Maybe never again.

She dabbed some toothpaste on her finger, scrubbed her teeth, then gargled with mouthwash.  Looking with yearning at the old fashioned, oversized clawfoot tub, she decided against taking the chance on waking him before she left.  Best just to slip away.  They both knew this was impossible.  Better to end it now, before it became painful for either of them.

Although she would miss the man, the feeling of wholeness, of contentment he had given her last night. 

She crept out to the living room and slipped into her clothes.  All those crazy things Drake told her--no other man had ever treated her like that.  But finding Fran's killer took priority.  She couldn't become involved with Drake, not if it might jeopardize the investigation.

It wasn't only the investigation.  Part of the queasiness that stirred in the pit of Cassie's gut was good old-fashioned fear.  Why should she trust Drake, especially now that she knew how easily he could stir her emotions, make her lose control?  What proof did she have Drake would not reveal a secret side akin to Richard's?

Richard had been handsome, talented, and treated her like a princess.  Look how that had turned out.  Banishing the ghost of Richard and the pain he'd caused would take more than one night of passionate escape.

She took a few minutes to appreciate Drake's place in the rose tinted early morning light.  He had the entire top floor, which explained the many windows that climbed from just above knee level to elaborate cornices in the ceiling twelve feet overhead.  The windows themselves were large, comprised of leaded panels joined by intricate carved mullions.  The extensive woodwork continued past the cornice, crisscrossing over the plaster ceiling above.

How did he afford this on a cop's salary?  The building was old, probably dating from the twenties or thirties judging from the elaborate ornamentation and solid construction.   The leather sofa, love seat and overstuffed chair that circled a thick oriental rug all must have cost a good bit.  The dining room table, a spare Shaker style crafted from a light cherry sat on a similar rug.  The little wall space free of windows was covered with artwork.

Maybe there was more to Drake than the shallow he-man her imagination had conjured.  Too bad she wouldn't have the chance to know him better.  At least not until after Fran's killer was caught.

Once outside, Cassie jammed her hands in her pockets.  She wasn't dressed for the blustery weather, she didn't even have any socks on.  Shuffling toward the front of the building, she refused to look up, in case Drake was watching. 

She glanced down the street, trying to get her bearings.  There was no traffic, and the street dead-ended at his building.  Damn it, where was she?  She knew she was somewhere in East Liberty, they had driven around Penn Circle last night, hadn't they?  Her mind wasn't exactly on the landscape at the time.

Fool.  How could she let this happen?  Surrender control to a man who was a virtual stranger.  Let him get so close. 

Cassie shook her head.  Last thing she wanted to think about was Drake. 

She looked back at his building.  It was brick with large, wide windows ringing each floor. Signs in the windows advertised commercial space available on the first and second floors.  He must be the only residential tenant, she realized.  She was tempted to go back in and borrow a phone, but there was no way she could face him again.

As the sky gradually lightened, she jogged down to the corner.   Ravenna Way—never heard of it.  The cross street was wider, lined with brick rowhouses, several that appeared abandoned.  Pierce Street.  That rang a bell.  And there was the busway.  At least she knew where she was, about two miles from home.

She turned the corner and began to run.

Drake got to the living room window in time to watch Hart run down the outside steps, her hair streaming behind her.  He wanted to race after her, told himself it was pride that held him back, but knew that to be a lie. What would he say when he caught up with her?  His palm pressed against the chilly glass, he watched her run away.

He'd never felt like this before.  An unsettling mixture of fear, excitement and anticipation twisted in his gut.  Along with the knowledge that whatever this feeling was, he wanted more. 

Why had she run from him?  Did he scare her?  

She hadn't seemed frightened last night.  But she'd been in shock then.  He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging at it in frustration.  Was there something more going on?

The phone rang.  "Drake here," he answered, glad of any diversion from his thoughts.

"Remy."  His mother used her pet name for him.  "I know you're probably headed out to work, but I wanted to see how everything was going."

Drake smiled.  Typical Muriel, her ESP working overtime.  "Fine, Mom.  Sorry I haven't called, my hours have been pretty crazy."                                                                         

"Still that drug thing?" she asked, disapproval in her voice.  Muriel Drake couldn't wait for her son to return to Major Crimes and the more structured and less dangerous world of murder and mayhem.

"Yes, Mom."

"Well, be careful.  It's 74 degrees and sunny down here, why don't you come for a visit?"  Muriel had retired to Ft. Myers, Florida.

"I can't leave this case." Drake listened to the silence on the line and imagined the frown on her face.  "Maybe once it's wrapped up."

"The Weather Channel says you'll have snow today or tomorrow.  Make certain you dress warmly.  Do me a favor and leave the Mustang.  That car is a deathtrap on icy roads."

"Sorry, it's part of my cover."  He could have heard her sigh of resignation even without the help of Verizon.

"Just be careful."

"I will," he assured her, ready to hang up.

"Remy, is something going on?  You sound different.  Did something happen?"

He almost choked on his laughter.  Yes, Mrs. Drake, your son had his world rocked by a beautiful woman last night.  Aloud he just made a noncommittal noise.  "Everything's fine, I'll talk to you later."

"I love you," she said and hung up.

Drake replaced the phone in its cradle and started the coffee.  He returned to the bedroom, began to get ready for work.  He had just enough time to make it to the morning task force briefing.

In the shower he found himself humming as he imagined Hart's exquisite hands, soap sliding from her fingers, moving over his body.

He jabbed a hand out to the temperature control and was immediately jarred by freezing water.  He forced himself to endure it.  He needed to be especially sharp, make certain Miller never found out about him and Hart.  Had to close down the FX ring and find Weaver's killer.

Then he could figure out what to do about Hart.

The phone rang just as Cassie was climbing into bed. She grabbed the receiver, her pulse jumping as she wondered if it might be Drake, then immediately chided herself for her adolescent thoughts.  Drake wasn't going to call.  He knew as well as she did that they had no future together.  She wasn't even certain if she wanted him to call.

"Cassie?  It's Adeena.  How're you doing?"

She sank back against the headboard.  "All right, I guess." 

"You don't sound so good.  Listen, you can say no if you want, but Fran's parents are coming over to Three Rivers this morning.  The police said they could collect her stuff from her desk.  Some of the people who worked with her are going to meet them, and I didn't know if you wanted to join us."

Cassie was silent.  Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the phone.  Damn, she should have called Fran's parents.  But facing them was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.  She looked longingly at her bed. 

"We thought maybe we could pack everything for the Weavers," Adeena continued.  "Then they could go through it when they felt ready."

Cassie ran her hand over the quilt, savoring the rich velvets and silks.  "What time?"

"Around ten."

"I'll be there."  She hung up and stood, ignoring the warm comfort beckoning to her from the bed.

CHAPTER 28

Cassie stepped out of the fourth floor stairwell and headed toward the ICU.  It was only nine-thirty, she had time to check on Brian Winston and Jane Doe before meeting Adeena.  A familiar face popped out of the waiting room--Linda, one of the girls who had accompanied Brian into the ER.

"They won't let me see him 'cause I'm not family," she told Cassie.  "Please help me, I need to see him, be with him."

"Did you ask his parents?"

"They're flying back today.  They were skiing in Switzerland."  She looked up at Cassie with hope in her eyes.  "He's gonna be okay, isn't he?  He just has to be."

She led the girl back into the family waiting area and sat her down on the couch.  "Brian's  not doing so well.  The Double Cross caused some brain damage." 

Linda gasped and covered her mouth.  "Oh my God.  And I almost took it too!  What would have happened if I did?"

Cassie looked at the thin wraith of a girl with her plaid Catholic High skirt, leather shirt and pierced eyebrow and nose.  "You might have died."  She waited a beat and went on. "We have another girl in the ICU who almost died from FX.  We found her under the West End Bridge."

Suspicion hardened Linda's eyes.  "So?"

"We haven't been able to let her parents know she's here because we don't know her name.  If I take you in to see Brian, would you look at her, see if you can tell me anything about her?"