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* * *
CASSIE WAS MOMENTARILY frozen by shock and fear, and then it was she who screamed as the stranger hurled himself toward her. He slid across her table, tipping her chair backward, and they both went crashing to the floor.
She was frozen again, this time without breath. The stranger lay sprawled on top of her, his lips only inches from hers, his blue gaze peering into hers.
“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.
Cassie still couldn’t speak. All she could do was lie there gasping for air.
“You’re not hurt, are you? Oh, God, you’re not—”
“Can’t…breathe…” she managed.
He rolled off her. “Stay down,” he warned, and then he got to his feet, vaulted over the wrought-iron fence surrounding the patio, and sprinted into the street. A horn sounded, tires squealed, but he didn’t seem to notice. In a matter of seconds, he’d disappeared into the traffic.
Cassie glanced around. She was the only one on the floor. In fact, a number of people had hurried over and stood staring down at her.
“It’s okay,” someone said. “It was just a car backfiring.”
Nervous laughter erupted on the terrace.
Now that Cassie’s initial fear had dissipated, mortification set in. “I thought it was a gunshot,” she muttered as she struggled to her feet.
“So did I,” the waitress who’d dropped the glasses said sheepishly. She reached to give Cassie a hand up.
“It was that old blue truck that just went by,” someone commented. “I thought it was part of the Art Car parade at first, but then I realized it hadn’t been painted to look that way. The metal was just all rusted. And it had Louisiana plates.”
Cassie glanced up sharply. Danny’s uncle drove an old rusty blue pickup, and he and his nephew were as thick as thieves. What if they’d come to Houston looking for Cassie?
But that was impossible. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going. That was part of her and Celeste’s agreement. In order for the plan to work, no one could know where she was, so she’d packed up and left town in the middle of the night.
The rusty, blue truck had to be a coincidence. No way Danny and Earl could have found her so quickly and, besides, there wasn’t a Cantrell alive who’d be caught dead in Montrose.
“Where’d your friend run off to?” the first waitress asked Cassie.
She tore her attention from the street. “He’s…not my friend. I never saw him before.”
“Maybe he was just embarrassed by the way he overreacted.”
I think we both overreacted, Cassie thought, remembering the way his finger had slowly traced the edge of his glass. She felt that odd little shudder go through her again.
The waitress cocked her head as she studied Cassie. “Say, do I know you? You seem familiar.” She snapped her fingers. “I know. You look like that actress. The one who was in—”
Cassie was spared from having to answer by the maître d’ who pushed his way through the crowd. “Miss, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Nothing hurt but my pride,” Cassie tried to quip as she brushed off her two-hundred-dollar jeans.
“We’ll get this mess cleaned up and have a new table ready for you in a matter of moments. In the meantime, if you would care to wait at the bar…”
“Oh, I don’t think I could eat a bite after all that excitement,” Cassie said with a weak smile. “I’m still a little shaky. If I could just have my check?”
He waved her off. “It’s on the house, of course. Please accept our sincerest apologies for the inconvenience.”
As he escorted her from the terrace, Cassie heard the waitress say behind her, “She looks just like her! You know the one I mean. She was in that movie…damn, I can’t think of her name…”
The maître d’ walked Cassie through the restaurant and even accompanied her out to the street after taking the time to personally call her a cab.
“You don’t have to wait with me,” she assured him. “I’m perfectly fine.” She felt a bit of what Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard had experienced the night before with Lyle Lester. She wasn’t sure if the man’s solicitousness was truly out of concern for her safety or fear of an impending lawsuit.
Apparently convinced that he’d done everything he could to ward off such a threat, he wished her a good night and went back into the restaurant.
The cab showed up a few minutes later, and as Cassie climbed into the back, she glanced at the building across the street. For some reason, her gaze was drawn upward, and she saw someone standing on the roof looking down at her. In the split second before he disappeared, she could have sworn he was the stranger from the restaurant.
But…what was he doing up there?
* * *
JACK WATCHED CELESTE’S cab drive off, then he turned his attention back to the roof. He hadn’t found anything yet, but he knew what he’d seen. Light reflecting off glass. Someone had been up there. He was still convinced of that even though he’d realized by the time he was halfway across the street earlier that the sound he’d heard was a backfire and not a gunshot.
Besides, a professional hit man would have used a silencer.
Professional hit man? Whoa, hold the phone. Jumping to a few wild conclusions there, aren’t you, buddy?
Who would want Celeste Fortune dead?
The cop in him silently began to list suspects. Owen Fleming’s wife. An old boyfriend. A jealous roommate.
And that was just off the top of his head. He knew from experience the potential for animosity was endless when it came to women like Celeste Fortune.
But if someone had really been watching her earlier, the culprit was probably just some sleazy tabloid reporter who’d followed her to Houston, hoping to catch Owen Fleming in a compromising position with his hot, young mistress. What Jack had seen on the roof could have been light reflecting off a camera lens.
His theory made a lot of sense, and he might have been able to buy it if not for that nagging sensation in his gut telling him Celeste Fortune was in danger.
A similar sensation had warned him that Casanova was still on the loose, and look where that premonition had gotten him.
* * *
THE FRONT DESK was deserted when Cassie walked into the lobby a few minutes later. She wondered if Lyle Lester had come on duty yet, and if he might be lurking about somewhere. For some reason, the notion of him skulking about in the halls and stairwells made her shiver, and she hurried across the lobby into a waiting elevator.
The car began to ascend, then jerked to a stop when the power went out. Cassie was plunged into pitch black for a moment before a dim emergency light came on. Trying to remain calm, she pressed the red button on the panel, but nothing happened. She couldn’t find a phone, either, so what was she supposed to do?
Panic! a little voice screamed in her head, but Cassie ignored it. No need for that. The power had simply gone off, and she was trapped somewhere between the first and second floor. It wasn’t like she was in danger of plunging hundreds of feet to her death. If worse came to worst, she could try to reach that little door in the ceiling, climb out, and—
A soft thud sounded from somewhere above her, and then the elevator shimmied as if…someone…had…jumped…on top…
Slowly, Cassie lifted her gaze.
“Hello?” she called as her heart flailed against her chest. “Is someone up there?”
No answer. Everything was silent except for the sound of her own breathing.
She whirled back to the control panel and jammed the red emergency button with her thumb.
Stay calm, she warned herself.
To hell with that. Frantically, she began to push random buttons.
A split second later, the power came back on and with a slight shudder, the elevator continued its ascent to the third floor.
As Cassie got out, she turned and glanced at the panel in the ceiling. Had someone been up there? Was he still there?
With a little shriek, she jumped back as the elevator doors slid closed.
Letting herself into her suite, Cassie tried to convince herself that the whole thing had been her imagination, triggered by the incident at the restaurant. But when the phone rang, she jumped violently, and then scolding herself, rushed to answer it. She hoped it was Celeste. She had a few choice questions for her cousin, like why in the hell hadn’t she mentioned the fact that a hit man might be on her tail?
“Did I scare you?” said an electronically altered voice in her ear.
The blood in Cassie’s veins turned to ice as her hand squeezed the phone. “Who is this?”
“Open the door and find out.”
The line went dead then, and as Cassie slowly turned toward the door, someone knocked.
CHAPTER FIVE
CASSIE’S GAZE REMAINED riveted on the door. There was no way she would answer it. No way in hell she would go anywhere near it—
The dead bolt! Had she locked it when she came in? She couldn’t remember. The phone had started to ring. She’d been distracted—
She flew across the room and twisted the lock, but it was already engaged, thank goodness.
Was he still out there? Cassie wondered frantically.
Pressing her ear to the door, she heard nothing. Then, her heart still pounding, she glanced through the peephole. She couldn’t see anything, either. Her tormentor might have cut and run or…he might be standing to the side of the door, out of sight, hoping to lure her into the hall.
Cassie glanced over her shoulder at the phone, wondering if she should call the front desk or even the police. But what would she tell them? That someone had played a prank on her? Because that’s all it was, wasn’t it? She couldn’t actually be in danger, could she?
What if she was? What if Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard was right, and Margo Fleming had called on her family to exact a little payback?
But…wouldn’t a Mafia hit man be a little more subtle?
Come to think of it, though, subtlety had never been the Cantrells’ strong suit.
When Cassie put her eye back to the peephole, someone stared back at her.
She gasped and jumped away from the door. Whoever was out there knocked again, more boldly this time, as if he didn’t care who might hear him.
Cassie’s hand flew to her chest. Her heart was racing so fast she could hardly catch her breath. “Who’s there?” she called.
A male voice said anxiously, “Miss Fortune? It’s Lyle…Lester. The night clerk said she saw you get on the elevator right before the power went off. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Then why hadn’t he simply called her suite? Cassie wondered.
And how had the night clerk witnessed her getting onto the elevator? The girl hadn’t even been at the desk when Cassie had come in.
“Miss Fortune?”
Cassie bit her lip. Then drawing a deep breath, she said, “I’m fine. No harm done.”
“I’m so relieved to hear it. I’ve brought you up a flashlight and some candles. I heard on the news earlier that these outages are happening all over town. Something about an overloaded power grid caused by the heat wave. Hopefully, it’ll just be temporary, but I thought it best to be prepared just in case.”
Cassie stepped back up to the peephole. She couldn’t tell what Lyle held in his hand, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to open the door to find out.
“I’m…indisposed at the moment,” she called. “Can you just leave the stuff outside the door?”
A slight hesitation, then, “Of course. If you need anything else, please let us know.”
“I will.”
Cassie’s eye was still pressed to the peephole, and as Lyle Lester walked away, she saw him pause once and glance over his shoulder before he disappeared from her view.
* * *
JACK PULLED A dark cap over his head and rubber boots onto his feet, then headed for the Dumpsters behind the Mirabelle. He’d bribed a maid to mark an X in red tape on the trash bags that came from Celeste’s suite, so he had high hopes that his job would go more smoothly tonight.
He had to be careful, though. Now that Celeste had gotten a good look at him, he couldn’t chance running into her again. He was damn lucky she hadn’t recognized him from the night before, but he supposed he had Cher to thank for that.
At any rate, it had been stupid and amateurish to follow her into that restaurant. The pricey menu and trendy decor were about as far out of his league as she was, and besides, it was never a good idea to get that close to a mark. It really wasn’t a good idea to get too close…to her.
But Jack had conducted enough surveillance operations to recognize the symptoms. It was the Stockholm Syndrome in reverse. Spending so much time observing from afar, the watcher began to identify with the subject to the point of infatuation. Sometimes the temptation to see her up close and personal became irresistible. Sometimes he would even fantasize about getting to know her, about protecting her…
That had to be it. How else to explain his feelings for Celeste Fortune? Love at first sight?
There was a time when Jack would have been the first to scoff at such a notion, but not after the Casanova case. Not after he’d seen with his own two eyes how five sophisticated and successful women had been swept off their feet by a suave and sadistic killer.
Love at first sight? Loneliness? The thrill of a stranger’s seduction? Who knew what had motivated those women to invite a killer into their homes after they’d taken the time to carefully set the stage for romance?
The criminal psychologist called in to consult on the case had been convinced that Casanova stalked his victims for weeks, possibly months before he approached them. According to Dr. West, the killer had gotten to know his targets inside and out—their hopes and dreams, their deepest fears and darkest fantasies. And then he used those intimacies to seduce them.
He’d probably even gone through their trash, Jack thought in disgust as he pulled out a plastic bag marked with a red X. He dropped the bag on the ground and grimaced.
What was he doing?
Just what the hell was he doing?
He was a cop, for God’s sake. The fact that he’d been kicked off the force didn’t change who he was. What he was. A man who’d sworn not only to uphold the law, but to serve and protect.
This wasn’t serving anybody but himself and some rich geek who couldn’t get a woman on his own merits. So he’d stooped to this level and so had Jack. He’d allowed his financial and professional setbacks to cloud his judgment. He’d used his desperation to catch a killer as an excuse to trade in his ethics.
