Nightfall (14 page)

"What makes you think my schemes are tortured? They're really quite straightforward."

"What do you want with her?"

"For the time being, Mark, none of your damned business." He started away from him, down the hall, and Mark's voice followed him.

"I'm warning you, Richard. If you're planning on hurting her, you'll have to look elsewhere for help. Someone else can arrange your legal and financial affairs."

He didn't bother to turn around. "I'm counting on you, Mark." And the faint words were only lightly tinged with threat.

He went straight to Cass's door. He expected it to be locked, so he simply knocked, twice, softly, as he'd heard Mabry do.

In a moment the door swung open, and Cass's face appeared, pale, woebegone, streaked with unexpected tears. "Mabry…" she said, and then her voice disappeared as she saw him.

She tried to slam the door shut in his face, but he put out his hand to stop it, forcing it open, moving inside and closing it behind him. He considered locking it, but Cassidy looked at the raw edge of her reserves, and she might very well scream the place down if he tried it.

"Go away," she said.

She refused to look at him, so he simply put his hand on her chin and lifted it, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I didn't know they were here," he said.

"Didn't you?" Her doubt was insultingly clear.

"If I did, I would have taken you to a hotel."

It shocked a reaction out of her, as pink flooded her pale cheeks. "I wouldn't have gone."

"Maybe," he murmured, leaning closer. "Maybe not. Tell me, Cassidy. What would have happened if they hadn't interrupted us?"

"I would have come to my senses. I stopped being a victim years ago, Richard. I don't do self-destructive things." Her eyes were surprisingly calm despite the flush on her cheeks.

"You're never impulsive? You never ignore what your brain tells you and follow your heart?" he persisted.

"My heart didn't have a damned thing to do with it," Cassidy said tartly. "We aren't talking about romance, we're talking about sex. I'm human, female, healthy as the next person. And you're very good, aren't you, Richard?"

"Good at what?"

"At seduction. At teasing and taunting and drawing someone along, making them do what you want. You know just how to play me. How did you develop such a talent?"

"Lots of practice," he replied in a silken voice.

"It's all a game to you, isn't it? Some nasty, manipulative little exercise in mind control."

"Actually," he said, "it's not only your mind I'm interested in. I want your body and soul as well."

She should have been past being shocked, but she wasn't. She just stared at him, and he moved closer, keeping his hands to himself, so close that his body brushed hers. She didn't back away from him, something he had to admire, even as he knew he had more work to do.

"Leave me alone, Richard," she said, very quietly. "You don't need me, and I'm hardly enough of a challenge."

"Wrong on both counts," he whispered, his mouth brushing hers, just feathering lightly against her lips. They moved beneath his, clinging for a brief, impulsive moment. "Just answer me one thing, Cassidy, and I'll let you be." He spoke against her mouth, barely audible, and he could see the dark torment in her eyes.

"Ask me," she said in a hushed voice, and the movement of her mouth against his was an unwilling kiss.

"Did you like it?"

Her eyes had begun to drift half-closed, but they shot open in outrage, and she jerked away from him. "Get out of here."

He caught her as she tried to get away, hauling her back up against him, and her eyes blazed into his. "Shall I find out?" he murmured, and slid his hand down the front of her skirt, over her mound, pressing.

She hit him. Hard, slamming her wrist against the side of his face, and he felt her ring scrape against his cheekbone, and then she backed away, clearly shocked.

He considered hitting her back. He would have, if it would advance his plan. He would do anything to further his agenda, whether he liked the idea or not. He didn't like the idea of hitting her. Kissing her, teasing her, fucking her, yes. But not hurting her, if he didn't have to.

"It's interesting how easy violence is," he murmured. "Just have someone goad you, and you lose control."

She looked sick. "Is that what happened with your wife?"

"I don't know," he said blandly. "I wasn't there." And he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Cass waited, her fist jammed in her mouth. She wouldn't have heard him walk away—he moved like a vampire, silent, elusive. She counted to twenty, then ran to the door and locked it. When she turned away she realized her knees were weak, and she threw herself on the bed, shuddering.

Her arm ached. She had never hit another human being in her entire life. Even in her childhood, when her elder brother Colin had teased her, she'd never attacked him with pummeling little fists. She hadn't liked the tension, the shouting that had filled her home. She hadn't liked the occasional blows she'd sensed more than seen between her parents. She'd always told herself she'd never lose control, never hit another living soul, never fly into a panic and rage so deep that her defenses crumbled.

But Richard Tiernan had breached those defenses, time and time again, and she had little doubt he'd done it deliberately. He'd wanted to see how far he could goad her, though she couldn't imagine why. Unless he were simply so bored that he was forced to waste his energies playing cat-and-mouse games with the only available mouse in the apartment.

He simply wanted to see what she'd do if he kissed her again. See how far she'd be willing to go, and she, like a brainless idiot, had been ready to do just about anything for him. What would he have done if they hadn't been interrupted?

Except she knew exactly what he would have done. She'd felt him beneath her hand when he'd drawn it down his body, known just how hard he was. He may have been toying with her, teasing her. But he'd been caught in his own trap as well.

She couldn't stay here. How many times had she decided that, how many times had she changed her mind? She wasn't going to pack, she wasn't going to tell anyone, she was simply going to take her purse and walk out the front door. Mabry could send her clothes to her. Sean could survive quite well without her—a semi-competent secretary could handle what she'd been doing.

She glanced in the mirror, intending to put herself in a semblance of order, when she stopped, horrified. Her hair was a tangled mass, a flyaway halo of fiery curves. Her lips were damp and swollen, her eyes huge, and the trace of her reluctant tears could still be seen. Her jacket was somewhere in the front hall, and her silk blouse hung open around her. The front of her bra was still damp from his mouth.

And so was she. He'd known it, he'd done it deliberately, and all her embarrassment and rage couldn't change simple biology. She was wet for him. Aching for him. Even though he was disaster.

Her hands were shaking as she pulled the blouse over her head. It took her a few minutes to change her clothes completely, dumping the skirt and underwear in the hamper, pulling on a pair of khakis and a cotton sweater and her aging running shoes. She even found an oversize pair of sunglasses to plop on her nose. She was running away, incognito, and she wasn't going to stop until she was safely back in Baltimore.

There was no sign of anyone when she stepped out into the hallway. From a distance she could hear men's voices, low, casual, Sean's distinctive, pseudo-Irish lilt mixing with Richard's slow, dark tones. Mark was probably there as well, damn him, and damn all men.

She almost made it to the front door when Mabry appeared. She looked pale, sick, and resigned. "Running away, Cassidy?" she asked.

"I really need to get back," she temporized. "Besides, can you blame me?"

"Not really. Are you leaving now?"

"I was trying to. Before someone tried to stop me."

"You know us all too well," Mabry said.

For a moment Cassidy had the horrifying thought that Mabry, cool, unruffled Mabry, might start to cry. And then she blinked, her serene smile in place, and Cassidy decided she must have imagined it.

"If you're determined to leave, I won't stop you," Mabry said. "But before you get on the train, we have to talk. Let's get out of this place—it's getting on my nerves. We'll go someplace for a drink."

"No drinks!" Cass said, shuddering, the taste of the Irish whiskey still blending with the taste of Richard Tiernan.

"Tea, then. A nice, soothing English tea, complete with scones and strawberry preserves. And then we can talk."

"About Sean, I suppose?" Cassidy said wearily. "You aren't going to spin me some cock-and-bull story about him being sick, are you? He's as strong as an ox."

Mabry's perfect mouth curved gently. "He's not just sick, darling," she said. "He's dying."

Sean was well into his third whiskey and soda, getting more expansive by the moment. Richard sat back in the chair, watching him, part of his mind preoccupied with Cassidy. She was going to try to run, he knew that. He wondered whether he dared try to stop her. Or if she escaped, could he go after her?

Both those possibilities seemed unlikely. He might have Sean ready to sacrifice his daughter, but Mabry would be on Cassidy's side. If he came up against the two of them, there'd be nothing he could do.

He could only hope he'd brought her far enough along that she couldn't run. No matter how much she wanted to escape him, the strands of his spider's web were too long and sticky, trapping her. Part of her might want to run, but another part was too fascinated to leave. He wondered which part would be stronger.

"Lord, Mabry's gonna tear a strip off my hide tonight," Sean said cheerfully. "And you should have seen Bellingham's expression when we found you two in the hallway. I thought his eyes were going to bug out. It's a good thing I didn't wait a few minutes longer, or he might have had heart failure, and you would have had to get another lawyer."

"What made you decide to come home? I though you were going on to some social function."

"I wasn't feeling well," Sean said blithely. "A bit too much of the grape last night. Besides, I was curious as to what you had planned for Cassie. I expected the two of you would be socked up in bed by the time we made it back here, but you weren't. I must say, I was sorely disappointed in you, laddie."

"Were you, now?"

"I should have known you were just doing things at your own pace. Lord, you remind me of me when I was a lad. There wasn't a woman who could say no to me, either."

Richard looked at the man, and calmly thought about murder. "We aren't at all alike."

"Bullshit. You would have had her panties off in another minute, and she's the most prudish little thing I've ever known. Takes after her mother in matters like that—she'd have the balls off you before you knew what you were doing."

"We're talking about your daughter, not some two-dollar whore."

"Didn't know any came that cheap anymore," Sean said wistfully, draining his glass. "Are you trying to tell me you respect the girl? You don't need to lie to me—I'm not asking your intentions. You could hardly promise to make an honest woman of her, now could you? You don't strike me as optimum marriage material."

Richard surveyed his hands for a moment. Long fingers, strong fingers. He could choke the life out of the old man in a matter of moments, and the world would be a better place. What more did he have to lose?

He looked up, suddenly shocked. It was that easy. So dangerously easy, to slip into that kind of thinking. And only another easy step to act on it. No wonder there was crime, and capital punishment.

"Are you all right, boy-o?" Sean demanded, lumbering to his feet and swaying slightly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Richard summoned the mere trace of a smile. "I have, Sean. And it's yours."

He'd managed to rattle the old man. "Jesus Christ!" he said, staggering backward. "You've got a creepy sense of humor, Tiernan. I hope you know that."

"I do," Richard said gently, staring at his hands again, his murderous hands. "I do."

"Have a scone, darling," Mabry said.

Cassidy stared down at the plate of delicacies with a hopeless sigh. "Somehow I seem to have lost my appetite. Between your melodramatic statements and Richard Tiernan, I'll probably lose enough weight to satisfy even my father."

Mabry took a small, elegant sip of her Lapsang Souchong, while Cassidy clutched her diet Coke grimly. "I wasn't being melodramatic, Cassie," she said quietly. "I meant every word."

"That's what bothers me. You've been around Sean too long—you're seeing everything in extremes. Sean is like an ox, he's tough…"

"He's dying. He doesn't realize I know it. The pain isn't bad yet, and the doctor said it probably will stay manageable. That's why he's drinking so much. If he stays just slightly looped he can control it without painkillers. He's got cancer, Cassie. And it's already spread."

The condensation around the glass of soda was wet and icy against her skin. The smell of Mabry's smoky tea roiled her stomach. "How long?"

"Not long enough. He wants to finish the book. He needs to, Cassie. And he needs your help."

"Why does he have to finish the book? It can't be money—I know my father too well. For all his grand auld sod ways, he's always been as close as a miser with his earnings."

"Money doesn't go as far as it used to. And if you're thinking your father has anything as mundane as health or life insurance you can guess again. He's always said he puts his life in the hands of fate."

"And look where it's gotten him."

"It's gotten him me," Mabry said in a gently reproving voice. "And it's gotten him you."

"Rare treats, indeed," she said, fighting down the panic and disbelief that were sweeping over her. "It also brought him Richard Tiernan, so I'm not sure if he's come out ahead. Why does he have to finish that book, if it's not for the money?"

"He wants to go out a legend. You know as well as I do that nothing's ever come close to
Galway Hell
, and Sean knows it, too, for all that he won't admit it. The sales have been fine on some of the newer ones, but the last couple didn't earn out their advance. I don't think it's death he's afraid of, Cassie. It's losing his talent, his reputation…"