“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Marise,” Cassidy said, holding her eyes with his.

He hadn’t meant to say it. But he would keep her safe. One way or another.

He held out his hand, taking her much smaller one with his fingers. The contact was warm, and the warmth became heat, and the heat became electric, spreading sparks throughout his body.

He swallowed hard, trying to understand why he couldn’t take his fingers away from hers, nor his gaze from the dark blue eyes that were swirling with need.

Desire. Hunger. Need.

Caution.

He called himself all kinds of fool, and yet the electricity remained, the attraction growing more irresistible. But it was merely an attraction, Cassidy told himself. An attraction that could be controlled.

Had to be controlled. For both their sakes.

Dear Reader,

Once again, Silhouette Intimate Moments brings you six exciting romances, a perfect excuse to take a break and read to your heart’s content. Start off with Heart of a Hero, the latest in award-winning Marie Ferrarella’s CHILDFINDERS, INC. miniseries. You’ll be on the edge of your seat as you root for the heroine to find her missing son—and discover true love along the way. Then check out the newest of our FIRSTBORN SONS, Born Brave, by Ruth Wind, another of the award winners who make Intimate Moments so great every month. In Officer Hawk Stone you’ll discover a hero any woman—and that includes our heroine!—would fall in love with.

Cassidy and the Princess, the latest from Patricia Potter, is a gripping story of a true princess of the ice and the hero who lures her in from the cold. With Hard To Handle, mistress of sensuality Kylie Brant begins CHARMED AND DANGEROUS, a trilogy about three irresistible heroes and the heroines lucky enough to land them. Be sure to look for her again next month, when she takes a different tack and contributes our FIRSTBORN SONS title. Round out the month with new titles from up-and-comers Shelley Cooper, whose Promises, Promises offers a new twist on the pregnant-heroine plot, and Wendy Rosnau, who tells a terrific amnesia story in The Right Side of the Law.

And, of course, come back again next month, when the romantic roller-coaster ride continues with six more of the most exciting romances around.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Cassidy and the Princess
Patricia Potter

PATRICIA POTTER

is the bestselling and award-winning author of thirty-three contemporary and historical romances. She has more than three million books in print. Her last romantic suspense novel remained on the USA Today bestseller list for four weeks. It was also a Doubleday Book Club alternate selection. She was named “Storyteller of the Year” in 1993 by Romantic Times Magazine and received the magazine’s Career Achievement Award for Western Romances. She has also won several Reviewer’s Choice Awards from Romantic Times Magazine and three Maggie Awards from the Georgia Romance Writers, including one for best single-title contemporary. She is a three-time RITA Award finalist. Prior to writing fiction, she was a reporter with the Atlanta Journal, an editor with a suburban Atlanta newspaper and president of an Atlanta public relations firm. She is now a resident of Memphis. She recently served as PAN Liaison to the national board of Romance Writers of America and is a past member of the national board. She has also served as president of Georgia Romance Writers and board member of River City Romance Writers in Memphis.

To Tracy Farrell…

editor extraordinaire, and friend

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

Marise Merrick wasn’t sure when fear first began filtering into her consciousness, or the moment she realized she might possibly have done the most foolish thing in her life.

She did not usually do foolish things. Her life was a regimen prescribed by practice sessions, competitions and ice shows. She was seldom alone, seldom without a schedule and, it seemed, never with a moment of her own.

She had decided to steal a few tonight. She’d needed air. She’d needed time to think without everyone trying to do it for her. She was infinitely weary of being in a glass cage.

She’d left the Municipal Auditorium where she and her partner, Paul, had been practicing for the next day’s Challenge Skate. A short walk to clear her head. To whisk away the look of disappointment on her coach’s face when she’d missed a jump, the startled surprise—even anger—on Paul’s face. She had not looked toward her mother.

Something had suddenly struck her as out of proportion. She had been feeling that for some time. Figure skating had been her world since she was three years old. She had never known anything else, had never questioned the fact that she was destined for a career on ice. Now after years of practice and injuries, she was nearing her goal. The Sectional was in three weeks, and the U.S. Figure Skating Championships a month later. Finally, the Olympics. It would probably be her and Paul’s last chance. The next Olympics were four years away, and there would be new, younger skaters competing.

But that goal didn’t seem so important any longer. Instead she felt more and more trapped, especially now that Paul had asked her to marry him.

She had meant just to go outside. The air was the way she liked it—crisp and clear—with a full moon in the sky. The area outside the auditorium was empty except for some cars parked in the lot. A short walk. Just a short one.

Marise didn’t know whether she actually heard something or whether the fear that crept up her back was instinct. She turned back toward the door of the auditorium. There was a security guard inside. He had, in fact, warned her not to go out, and when she persisted, had said he would watch for her.

Why had she not listened? She hurried her footsteps, then heard others behind her. She broke into a run. An arm grabbed her from behind and went around her throat, cutting off her air.

“Don’t make any noise,” a rough voice whispered into her ear.

She tried not to panic. She was strong, stronger than a stranger would suppose, especially with her short height and slender body. Her legs and arms were all muscle. If she could get in position, she could kick where it would hurt.

But now she just tried to breathe. She was dragged a few feet, around the corner of the building, behind a Dumpster. She smelled rotten food. She also smelled something else—a sweet, cloying odor.

He pulled her down, and his arm slipped. She twisted, screaming as she did before he fell on her, putting a knife to her throat. “Another sound and I’ll kill you.”

In the shadows, she saw he wore a ski mask. He had broad shoulders. He looked, in fact, like a lineman on a football team. She saw the bulk and the mask. It was too dark to see the eyes.

Don’t panic. Wait for your chance. Yet her heart was beating so loud he must hear it. He liked fear. She could sense it. Let him think you are terrified. Not that she wasn’t.

The knife stayed at her neck as his other hand tore at her track pants. She had tied the drawstrings into a knot since the pants were loose, and he was having trouble untying them. With a curse he pulled, but they did not give. He took the knife away from her throat and shifted his weight. In that moment, her right leg was free and she thrust it into his crotch, and screamed again. He doubled over, and she sought to scramble away.

One of his hands grabbed for her, and in trying to avoid it, she grabbed his mask and pulled it off. He was close, but the shadows shielded much of his face. All she wanted was to get away, as far and as quickly as possible.

His hand came up. Empty. He must have dropped his knife when she kicked him. She heard a noise from around the corner, a shout, and then saw his fist come at her.

Everything went dark.

“Hoppy, there’s been another one.”

Cassidy MacKay turned away from the files that had kept him at the office tonight instead of in front of the television, watching Monday night football. Manny, his partner, had just put down his telephone.

Cassidy flinched at the nickname. Manny had started calling him “Hoppy” for Hopalong Cassidy. Cassidy’s glare and refusal to answer kept anyone else from following suit, but Manny had an advantage no one else did. He’d saved Cassidy’s life.

He took his feet off the desk and turned in his swivel chair. “The Rose Killer?”

“Yeah, but this time he didn’t succeed in killing his victim,” Manny said.

Cassidy whirled his chair all the way around. “She’s alive?”

“Yep. She’s at the hospital.’

Cassidy erupted from the chair. “How bad is she?”

“The beat guys said she was lucky. A concussion, a few cuts, abrasions.”

“Rape?”

“No, apparently she fought like hell. She screamed, and a security guard heard her.”

Cassidy didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. Now it exploded from his lungs.

“She’s unconscious,” Manny continued. “Could be for another few hours, even a day or more, according to her doctors.”

“He’s never left one alive before,” Cassidy said slowly. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“There was a battered rose. Not as perfect as the others. It looked as if someone had rolled on it, but it’s our guy. It had the ribbon.”

“Hot damn. He finally made a mistake.” Cassidy jumped from the swivel chair. “What are we waiting for? City Hospital?”

“Yep. But I don’t think for long. Her mother wants to transfer her to St. Agnes.”

“Mother? St. Agnes? She’s not a pro?”

Manny grinned. “She’s a pro all right, but not the kind you’re thinking of. She’s here for that figure skating competition.”

Cassidy’s brows knitted together in puzzlement.

“Ah, Hoppy, don’t you ever read the newspapers?”

“Not if I can help it.” It was a lie and they both knew it. Cassidy was a news junky, although he was also one of its most vocal critics.

“She’s a figure skater, apparently a champion in pairs. She and her partner could win the Olympic Gold Medal.”

Cassidy groaned. “Tell me you’re baiting me.”

“Nope. She’s a pure unvarnished princess, according to the newspapers.

“Since when do you read about figure skating?”

“Since we have a kid who wants to be a skater. She and my wife watch every time there’s a competition on television.”

“A damn good reason not to get married,” Cassidy said. “Give me a beer and a football game.”

Manny grinned. “That good-ole-boy act might play with others, not me. I happen to know you go to the opera.”

“Spread it around and I’ll ask for another partner.”

“No one else would have you.”

“True,” Cassidy said good-naturedly as he increased the length of his stride.

“Hey, Hoppy, slow up. I’m a short, fat guy.”

Cassidy grinned at that. Manny was Lebanese, and he was a short guy. Thick, too. But it was mostly muscle. Cassidy had no complaints with either his speed or ability, nor with his street smarts. Manny was, quite simply, the best partner he’d ever had.

He did not slow his stride, however. He’d been after the Rose Killer for eight months. Four prostitutes had been killed, a rose left at their side. Cassidy took it as a personal insult that the perp continued to kill at will. He had an insidious thought: now that someone other than a prostitute had been targeted, maybe he could finally get the resources he needed.

He slowed his stride until Manny could match it. “Tell me more about her,” he said.

“She’s beautiful,” Manny said. “I’ve watched her skate. She’s a true athlete.”

That was the supreme compliment for Manny. He was a frustrated athlete who’d been too short to play either basketball or football beyond junior high school.

“How in the hell did he get to her if she’s…a princess?” It had taken him a second to say the word. He’d never known a princess, even a media-created one, and he wasn’t sure how helpful one might be. But the prospect of getting a killer off the streets produced pure adrenaline in him. Up to now, he and Manny had come to a complete standstill in the case.

It had started seven months ago when they’d found the first body. A second, two months later; a third, another two months later; the fourth, two months later. This attempt was only a month since the last murder. All were killed on a Wednesday night. All were raped before being stabbed, but there had been no DNA, which led police to conclude the killer used both condoms and gloves. He never left clues, only a single red rose. The newspapers knew that. What they didn’t know was that the rose was always wrapped with a white satin ribbon tied into a neat bow.

Now they might have a witness who could tell them something about the killer. And, according to the beat cop, they might have to crawl over a mother to get to her.

They reached the parking lot and their unmarked car. “I’ll drive,” Cassidy said.

“I could have guessed that,” Manny said, fastening his seat belt and saying a Hail Mary, his usual practice when Cassidy drove.

Cassidy ignored it as usual. “What else do you know?”

“She apparently went for a walk outside the Municipal Auditorium.”

“At night?” Cassidy’s already preconceived notions about the woman dipped another notch.

“Yeah,” Manny said. “But she doesn’t know Atlanta…”

“You don’t go walking alone at night in any big city,” Cassidy interrupted. “She probably doesn’t have a brain in her head. And I’ll wager you my boat her mama will whisk her out of town faster than I can say boo.”

“No one wants your boat,” Manny said dryly. “And a boo from you would be enough to send anyone scurrying for a plane. Try to be charming for a change.”

“I don’t do charming,” Cassidy said, turning briefly to glare at his partner.

“Only because your heart isn’t in it since…”

“Don’t go there, Manny,” Cassidy warned.

Manny sighed. “All right. Back to Miss Merrick.”

“Miss…? Oh hell, you’re already besotted.”

Manny shrugged. “She must be something special. She got away. That puts her way ahead of the others.”

“Let’s just pray she knows something that can help us,” Cassidy said. He didn’t often depend on prayer, but he was ready to try anything. He couldn’t erase the thought that were he a little smarter, a little quicker, a little more intuitive, four women would still be alive.

He stepped on the gas pedal, and Manny crossed himself again as he beat a yellow light. Cassidy did not miss that, either.

They arrived at the hospital, and he parked illegally though he was careful not to block the emergency entrance. This, he thought, was an emergency. He wasn’t going to lose the only possible witness he might have.

He knew where to go, and in minutes he had the information he needed. Room number and condition, which was “satisfactory.” Poor Manny was practically running to keep up with him as he took the elevator to the neurology floor, checked the room numbers and rapped several times on the second door to the left.

“Come in.” The voice did not sound like that of a princess. It was obviously annoyed. And it belonged to a man.

Cassidy already had his badge out, and he flashed it to the three people in the room. A young man leaned against a wall, an older one sat half-sprawled on a window seat and a well-dressed woman in her forties sat on a chair. The bed was empty.

“Miss Merrick?”

“They are conducting tests,” said the young man who regarded him as if he were some strange creature. Cassidy returned the stare. “You are…”

“Paul Richards, Miss Merrick’s pairs partner and fiancé,” he said. “Tell me you’ve found the man who did this.”

Despite what Cassidy said to Manny, he knew enough about ice-skating to realize there must be more to Richards than was immediately visible. Still, he was singularly unimpressed, perhaps because of the contemptuous dismissal that flickered in the man’s eyes.

But then, after nearly thirteen years with the Atlanta Police Department, damn little impressed him.

Richards did not offer his hand, and neither did Cassidy. Instead of answering a question he thought rather stupid, he turned his attention to the blond woman huddled in the chair. She had scarcely moved since he and Manny entered. He went to her side. “Mrs. Merrick?”

She looked up at him, a glaze of tears hovering in her eyes. “How could something like this happen?”

“She was out alone,” he said matter-of-factly. “That can be dangerous anywhere.” He wanted to ask why her mother had not taught this small fact of life to her, but resisted. “When did you arrive at…the scene of the attack?” The preliminary report said she’d been present when the police arrived.

“Almost immediately,” the woman said. “Paul had finished changing clothes, and we were looking for the security guard to call a cab. We couldn’t find Marise or the security guard. Then we heard the sirens and I…I knew it was her. We followed an ambulance around the corner and saw her. She was so…still. Her blood…”

“Did she say anything? Anything at all?”

She shook her head, then seemed to remember her manners. She held out her hand graciously. “I am Marise’s mother, Cara Merrick.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, but the doctors said she suffered a concussion. She hasn’t awakened yet. The doctor thought she would be conscious by now. He told us…”

Cassidy’s heart sank. He’d hoped that she would be conscious by now. He knew that traumatic head wounds often caused at least temporary amnesia of events that occurred just before the injury. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Merrick,” he said.

“I plan to take her to Seattle as soon as the doctors say she can leave,” she said. “I have been looking into charter flights…”

“She’s a witness,” he said. “We think her attacker has killed at least four other women. We need her here.”

The woman stood and drew herself up tall. And as she did, he immediately knew his first instincts had been wrong. This was not a weak woman. She wanted people to think she was, but she wasn’t. “No, Detective,” she said simply.

Cassidy looked at his partner. Manny mouthed something like “charm.”

“And you?” Cassidy turned to the man sitting on the window ledge.

“David South, their coach.” The man straightened, and Cassidy recognized the loose grace of an athlete. “The doctors say they don’t know when she will wake. Or if she will have permanent damage when she does. The bastard cracked her skull against the pavement. We had to withdraw from the Challenge today. But we have the Sectional in three weeks. She shouldn’t miss it. Hell, she can’t miss it and stay in competition.”

Cassidy exchanged looks with Manny. They had been together so long now, they needed nothing more than a blink of an eye, a shrug of a shoulder, a tightening of the mouth to communicate.

Cassidy was beginning to feel very sorry for the princess. Everyone seemed to care more about getting her back to competition than about her well-being.

“We’ll wait here,” he said, leaning against a wall. Manny took up a position on the windowsill next to Mrs. Merrick.

“I tell you, she is unconscious,” the younger man insisted. “And as soon as the doctor says she can be moved, we will leave this…city.”

Not if Cassidy had any say in it.

“Why did she go out alone?” he asked the mother. “Was there a…quarrel of some kind?” The attack had occurred at ten o’clock. What had made a young woman wander by herself in a less-than-safe area? Not, he thought wryly, that there seemed to be any safe ones these days.

“There was no quarrel,” Cara Merrick said. “We were almost ready to leave after practicing all evening. It was very odd for her to just…disappear without telling anyone.”

Not really. Cassidy somehow knew that.

“Had anyone approached her? Stalked her, perhaps?”

Cara Merrick shook her head.

“And the security guard who found her didn’t see anything?”

“You will have to talk to him.”

“I will,” he said. “But I want to know if you heard or saw anything, either before or after the attack. If you have any idea why she went off alone, whether she intended to meet anyone…”

“Absolutely not,” the mother said. “We didn’t know anyone in this city. There had been no threats. No one with an unusual interest in her.”

“But still,” he persisted, “why would she be wandering alone?” He turned to her partner, who looked distinctly uncomfortable at the questions. “Would you know, Mr.… Richards, is it?”

“It is, and I have no idea,” Richards said. “She probably just wanted a breath of air. We’d been practicing for hours.”

Cassidy studied him carefully, then turned back to the older woman. “Mrs. Merrick, as I said, we believe the man who attacked your daughter has killed at least four women. She was very lucky to escape tonight. Your daughter might be our only lead.”

The door opened then, and he turned. Two orderlies were wheeling a gurney into the room, and for a moment he felt as if all the breath had been sucked out of him.

A blond woman lay on the gurney, her eyes closed. A bandage was wrapped around her head, and she had a huge bruise on her cheek. Lush dark eyelashes contrasted with the fine blond hair. Manny had said she was a stunner. He had not exaggerated. Despite the bandage there was no mistaking that this was a very pretty woman. She also looked young and vulnerable and, God help him, as if she were indeed a princess from a fairy tale. Hell, Manny had put that nonsense in his head.

He tried, instead, to go back to being a detective. She was blond. The other victims had been blond, too. That might mean the killer was looking for blondes, not specifically prostitutes. Maybe the prostitutes had just been targets of opportunity.

He watched as she was moved, along with an IV, onto the bed. She appeared small, weightless. She’d probably appeared vulnerable to a killer.

“As you can…see, she can’t answer your questions,” Mrs. Merrick said. She went over to the bed and took her daughter’s hand in hers. “Will you please leave?”

He glanced at Manny and nodded. “We’ll stay in the lounge outside,” he promised.

She returned his gaze. “We don’t want her to stay in this city one minute longer than necessary.”

Cassidy looked back down at the sleeping beauty who’d been shifted onto the bed. She’d been strong and smart enough to survive—or had it just been luck? More to the point, had she seen the attacker?

He watched the older woman loom over the patient as if warding off evil spirits. “I have some more questions.”

“The other officers have all the necessary information,” she said curtly. “And I think I asked you to leave.”

Obviously his charm wasn’t working. Well, it seldom did. Still, he wasn’t going to let the injured woman go without talking to her.

“We’ll be waiting outside, Mrs. Merrick. She could save lives.”

Then he turned to his partner. “Let’s go, Manny.”

Hours went by. Cassidy had learned patience a long time ago, but now the stakes were very, very high. He’d asked the nurses at the station to alert him if there was any news. He also kept an eye on the door. He and Manny took turns getting coffee and sandwiches. Noon came and passed. Then a nurse hurried into the room, followed, a few moments later, by a man who was obviously a doctor.

When the nurse came out, Cassidy approached her. “Anything wrong?”

“She’s awake,” the nurse said.

“Does she remember anything?”

She looked apologetic. “Sorry. I can’t talk to you about it.”

He and Manny exchanged glances. Damn, but he wanted in that room.

But Cassidy also felt relief for her. He felt an odd tug somewhere inside that he feared had nothing to do with his current case. He told himself that he merely wanted whatever information the skater might have. That was all. He couldn’t even think of anything else. He stayed away from women these days. Especially women like her. She was so far out of his league as to be on another planet.

Then he wondered why he’d even harbored that fleeting thought. Even if by some miracle she agreed to stay in town, she wouldn’t look at him twice. And he sure as hell wasn’t interested in a relationship. Any relationship.

“Whatcha think?” Manny asked.

“I think we are going to have to be very convincing.” While waiting, he read over the preliminary crime report. He’d been surprised at her age. Twenty-four. She’d looked younger. Born in California. The report was ridiculously void of details about her, and he was hungry for more. Most of all he wanted to know how she’d survived the attack and whether she had seen her attacker’s face. As usual there was no other evidence. No fingerprints. No strands of hair. Only the victim.

He tried to think of her that way. The victim.

The doctor left the room, closing the door behind him. Cassidy strode toward him and displayed his badge. “How is she?”

“Conscious. She’s in a lot of pain, but that’s usual with this kind of injury.”

“Can I see her?”

The doctor hesitated.

“She might have seen her assailant,” Cassidy said. “We think it’s the same man who’s killed four women.”

“I’ve read about them. But weren’t most of the victims pros…working girls?”

“Yes. But now I’m wondering if he specifically targeted prostitutes or if they were just more vulnerable.”

The doctor nodded. “You can see her if her family approves. They want me to discharge her today so they can fly to Seattle.”

“Should she be moved this soon?”

The doctor shrugged. “We would like to keep her another night, but we can’t force her to stay.”

“Does she remember anything?”

“She’s a bit hazy about what happened. There’s no permanent damage, but sometimes there is amnesia concerning events immediately preceding a head injury. Now, excuse me.”

Cassidy stood aside as he left.

Manny came up to him as the doctor disappeared down the hall. “Ready to breach the lion’s den?”

“Lioness,” Cassidy corrected as he strode to the door and knocked.

The mother opened it and blocked the door. She looked at her watch, then back at him. “Do you never sleep, Detective?”

He tried again to give her a charming grin. “I’m told your daughter is awake,” he said.

“She’s ill and shouldn’t be disturbed,” Mrs. Merrick said.

“Mrs. Merrick,” he added patiently. “Perhaps you didn’t understand what I said earlier. Women have been killed. She’s the only one who’s survived an attack by this man, and she’s all we have. We need her help.”

Their eyes met. “Then, you don’t have anything. She didn’t see a face,” Mrs. Merrick finally said.

“Come in,” came a soft voice from within the room.

Cara Merrick looked startled, then dismayed.

“Mother, let them in.” The voice was stronger this time.

Reluctantly, the woman opened the door and stood aside, as Cassidy and Manny entered.

The curtains were closed and the room was dim. The figure in the bed looked fragile and small. Her hair was long and the color of honey, and her eyes were as blue as a summer’s evening sky. And they were intent on him.

Their gazes met, locked. An odd flash of recognition passed between them.

No. He didn’t believe in immediate attraction. Or whatever you called it.

Still, he almost stopped breathing. For one of the few times in his life, he was nearly tongue-tied. He told himself that the twitch in his heart was merely male admiration for a pretty woman. And for her courage.

He went to the side of her bed, as she pushed a button raising the head of the bed and bringing herself to a sitting position. “You said other women were killed?” Her eyes looked tired and her face was pale. He saw her wince as the bed moved.

He nodded. “I’m MacKay, a detective with the Atlanta Police Department. This is Manuel Sharman. We believe the same man who attacked you has killed at least four other women.”

Something flickered in her eyes. She had not known. His eyes went to Cara Merrick. The expression in her mother’s face did not change.

“He wanted to kill me,” Marise Merrick whispered. “I could feel it.”

“Did you see his face?”

“He was wearing a face mask, but I tore it off,” she said slowly. “It was too dark to see much. I don’t think I would recognize him.”

Cassidy’s heart was beating faster. At least she’d seen something, and she probably knew far more than she realized.

“I could have a police artist here later today.”

“I don’t think I saw that much.”

“Will you try?”

She nodded, despite a protestation from her mother who had moved to her side.

Cassidy’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Height? Weight? Race?”

“He was tall. Perhaps Paul’s height, which is six feet,” she said, then smiled again. “Everyone looks tall to me. Bulky build.” She looked at Manny. “And he was white.” She hesitated. “He was wearing gloves like the nurses wear here.”

White. Tall. The first building blocks.

“Clothes?”

“Dark.” She closed her eyes as if trying to remember. “Track clothes. Like mine. Something else,” she said. “An odor. Almost sweet.”

“Could it have been medicinal?” Cassidy asked.

“I don’t know…it wasn’t familiar.”

She moved, and he saw her grimace.

“She needs rest,” her mother said, reaching out to push the call button.

Her daughter stopped her. “No,” she said. “If I can help…”

But Cassidy realized she was in pain. For a moment, he regretted that he had to do his job, but he pressed ahead. “Could you tell me anything else? Even impressions?”

“I don’t think so.” She moved again, and this time pain was evident in her face. “I wish I could help you more.”

“Do you think you might have seen him before? Could he have been following you?”

Her body seemed to shudder. “No. I…don’t think so.”

“Why were you outside—alone?”

She hesitated. For the first time Cassidy saw something secretive in her eyes. Then she shook her head. “Just fresh air,” she said.

“We’ll have the police artist over here,” he said. “Try to remember everything you can.”

Her eyes closed for a moment, then fluttered back open, and he saw exhaustion in them. He had more questions but they could wait a few hours. After she had some rest.

“You won’t be leaving?” he asked.

Cara Merrick started to say something, but the woman in the bed stopped her. “No,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want. I want him caught.” There was sudden strength in her voice. Determination.

“How did you get away?” he asked.

“I kicked him in the crotch,” she said. She grinned. Weakly, but it was a grin.

He was momentarily stunned. It was the last thing he had expected to hear.

“I have strong legs,” she added, as if unsure whether he believed her.

“I imagine you do,” he said.

“Did you find the knife?” she asked.

“Knife?”

“He dropped it when I kicked him. But maybe he picked it up when he left,” she said.

Cassidy turned to Manny. “I didn’t see anything about a knife in the report.”

“He had it…at my neck,” she added.

Which could be why the other women hadn’t appeared to have fought back. But they had been strangled. There had never been anything indicating a knife. He looked at Manny. “I think we had better ask for a second search. Just in case.”

Manny nodded.

Cassidy turned his attention back to Marise Merrick. “How did you…”

“I waited for my chance. He couldn’t untie the knot in my track pants. He lowered the knife to cut it.”

“That was very smart,” he said.

“Not really,” she said. “I knew the alternative.”

And she had. He saw the knowledge in her eyes.

“Thank you for cooperating,” he said, forcing a curtness into a voice that felt suddenly brittle.

She looked at her mother as if guessing exactly how little cooperation he and Manny had received from her. “I’ll be here when you return,” she said. “And if we have to stay a few days we—I will.”

Cassidy glanced at her mother and saw the set lips. The boyfriend—or partner—was frowning. Marise Merrick was going to have another fight on her hands.

Cassidy nodded and stepped toward the door.

Her voice stopped him. “Good afternoon, Detective… MacKay.”

He was oddly pleased that she had remembered his name. And angry at himself for feeling that way. He nodded to Mrs. Merrick, then abruptly turned around and headed out of the room.

Chapter 2

“You look like you’ve been struck by lightning,” Manny said.

Cassidy readjusted his face into his usual expressionless facade. “I was just surprised,” he said.

“Me too,” Manny said equably. “I don’t think princesses usually go around kicking people in their—”

“Don’t go crazy with this princess stuff,” Cassidy warned. “She’s a figure skater. Not a princess. She’s just another athlete.”

“Not exactly,” Manny said. “And I liked her. She’s got guts.”

Cassidy had liked her, too. That fierce determination, the way she’d stood up to her mother and fiancé. But how long would it last? Why had she allowed them to dominate her as they seemed to do?

He still didn’t know why she had gone outside the auditorium last evening. He instinctively knew that he would have to get her alone to draw the reason from her. Although he was ninety-percent sure the attacker was the one he’d been hunting, there was a ten-percent chance that someone just knew the serial killer’s M.O. Maybe it was a stalker. Or someone she knew. He had to eliminate that possibility.

Cassidy didn’t like loose ends.

“Let’s get an artist from the department,” he said.

“Do you really think she will stay?” Manny asked. “That mother of hers…”

“Anyone who can cold-cock a killer should be able to make her own decisions.”

“I wonder why…”

“It’s none of our business.” Cassidy said, cutting him short. Hoping to cut short his own thoughts.

The police artist was unavailable until the next morning. He and his computer program had been loaned out to another jurisdiction. Instead, Cassidy and Manny went to the crime scene and scoured the place for a knife. Nothing.

The rose and ribbon had produced no leads so far. At least, though, they had gotten help now that a “celebrity” was involved. Detectives had checked the hospital florist and all the other florists in the area, but no one had purchased red roses. Cassidy had expected as much. After the first killing, they’d conducted an extensive search of florists, only to be told haughtily that it was of a type sold to grocery stores.

The ribbon, too, was a brand found in every drug and grocery store.

So they hadn’t expected to find a knife. Their killer didn’t make mistakes.

“Either he took it with him or came back for it,” Manny said, as the last of the afternoon sun faded away, leaving dusk. It was eight. “I’ve got to go home,” he said, “or Janie will divorce me.”

“It’s been a long night and day,” Cassidy said. “You go. I’ll call Miss Merrick.”

After his partner left, he called Marise Merrick’s room. He’d feared the mother would pick up the phone. Instead, he heard the slightly slurred words of Miss Merrick. He silently cursed himself. He should have realized she would be asleep.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said.

“That’s all right.”

“Is your fiancé with you?”

“He will be. He and Mother went out to get something to eat.”

“I’ll be there with the artist at eight in the morning.

“That’s fine.”

A silence.

“Well, good night, then.” He hung up before he made any more of a fool of himself.

At least someone would be with her tonight.

Marise chased her mother and Paul out after they returned from supper, convincing them to return to their hotel. She feigned exhaustion; most of all, she needed breathing room.

The last time she’d wanted breathing room she’d nearly been killed. But she felt safe in this lighted hospital with attendants checking on her frequently, and she wanted to be by herself. She needed to think, particularly about Paul. She’d felt suffocated today when she’d heard her mother and Paul making decisions for her.

How long had she permitted that?

It had been insulting that she’d not even been consulted about their decision to slip her out of Atlanta, that they had turned away the police who’d wanted to help her and the other victims.

She was twenty-four years old and had been self-supporting since she was eighteen, when she’d turned professional. She made good money these past years since rules had loosened and the line between amateur and professional had disappeared. Between competitions, she and Paul were featured in ice spectaculars throughout the country. But she’d always felt she owed allegiance to her mother.

She had, after all, been responsible for her mother losing her husband and first-born child. And had spent her life trying to make up for it.

Her thoughts went to the detective who had been in earlier. He’d filled the room with restless energy. There had also been a rough kindness he tried to hide, and that made her want to help him. Help herself. She wanted her assailant found and convicted. She’d tried to suppress her anger, knowing it wouldn’t do any good, but it was deep inside her. Boiling. It wouldn’t go away until her attacker was in prison.

She still felt his hands on her, felt his hot breath against her face. She shivered with moments of terror revisited. Four other women dead. She could have been one of them.

That realization only added to her growing dissatisfaction with her life. She knew now that she couldn’t marry Paul. She liked him tremendously. You couldn’t skate in pairs for five years without liking each other. Each became attuned to the other, intuitive even of the other’s feelings. Paul, though sometimes possessive, was usually aware of hers. In many ways, they were a good match.

But though she liked him, she simply didn’t love him.

And neither, she feared, did she love skating the way she once had. She wanted a house of her own. A life of her own. Not one dictated by others. But how to break away without breaking her mother?

A nurse came in to check Marise’s vital signs. When she left, closing the door behind her, Marise turned off her light and closed her eyes.

She woke to fear. To panic. The room was dark but the odor was there. The cloying odor she remembered. She reached for the call button. A hand stopped her, pushing it off the bed. Another stuffed something in her mouth.

He was on the side of the bed with the table. The other side’s gate was down. She’d asked Paul to lower it since she was a restless sleeper and often threw out her legs during the night. Now she thanked God she had.

She struggled fiercely against his hold, and he hit her across the face. She stopped moving immediately as if stunned. Would it work again? She’d read that men like him liked to bully women. Liked the fear. She would let him feel hers.

She heard him exclaim, “Bitch.” One of his hands left her for a moment. Then in the dim light, she saw a needle and his face. A surgical mask hid the lower half. She willed herself to stay still even as the gag was pressed deeper into her mouth. But though he leaned his body over hers to pin it, one of her arms was free.

With one desperate movement, she grasped a pitcher from the bedside stand and swung it at his head. Then she threw all her weight into turning and tumbling off the bed. His hand sought to halt her, but the momentum carried her crashing to the floor with a sheet twisted around her body. She drew her arms around her head to protect it and relaxed her body so the actual impact was minor. She screamed and rolled under the bed, hoping the attacker would be momentarily trapped by the table. Frantically, she searched for the call button that had fallen on the floor. She screamed again.

She heard a muffled curse, then the sound of a door opening. No retreating footsteps. Her assailant must have been wearing tennis shoes of some kind.

The light went on. She heard a worried voice. She rolled from beneath the bed. A woman in a jacket populated by cartoon figures leaned over her. “What…on earth…?”

Marise tried to keep her voice steady. “Someone…was here. He had a needle. It was the man who attacked me the night before last.”

The nurse grabbed the phone. “Security. Room 414 immediately.” Then she leaned back down, looking first at Marise’s bandaged head, then at the rest of her. “I don’t think you should move until a doctor sees you.” She reached for the phone again and called for a doctor on duty.

“I’m all right,” Marise said. “But will you please call Detective MacKay at the Atlanta Police Department. I think his number is on the table…” She suddenly realized she wanted the detective more than she wanted Paul. Or her mother.

She got to her feet, disregarding the nurse, and sat on the bed. She saw a needle in the corner of her room and shuddered. Her entire body trembled. Delayed reaction. She used to do that when she first started in competition. She would skate, then nervousness would seize her as she sat waiting for her marks, knowing how much her mother lived for that judgment.

The nurse saw her hands, too. Instead of saying anything, she made the call to the police department, just as a security guard came into the room.

Marise answered questions over and over again. A doctor came in, checked her and left.

She only wanted one person, though. She didn’t know why. She only knew it was so.

Cassidy knew he should go home. But he couldn’t let the case go.

Instead he poured over the reports on the killings, then every word Marise Merrick had said. If only she could produce a description for the police artist.

He looked at the clock. Eleven-thirty. He needed to leave and get some sleep or he wouldn’t be any good tomorrow. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. Yet his thoughts kept turning to his only witness.

Only. He sat back in his chair. Damn. He should have asked for a police guard. Not that there had been anything in the news about her. Both the Merricks, and he and Manny, had wanted to keep this out of the media. Her mother had even asked the business office to admit her daughter under another name.

She should be safe enough.

Except that he had a gnawing feeling in his gut. He should have asked for protection.

Cassidy told himself he was foolish. And yet…

He looked at his watch. Then he called his captain at home. “I think we should have someone at the hospital with last night’s victim,” he said. “Can you authorize a protective detail?”

A silence. Then the captain said, “You think she’s in danger?”

“Her family is with her. But yes. If the perp finds out where she is, or who she is, I think he might try again. We were able to keep it from the news, but…I just have a feeling about this.”

“It will take a little time.”

“I’ll go on over,” Cassidy replied.

“You haven’t had any sleep in two days.”

“I’ve gone longer. And this is the first lead we’ve had. I want him.”

“We all want him. Get off the phone, Cassidy, and I’ll make the arrangements.”

Cassidy put down the receiver. The gnawing didn’t go away. He grabbed his jacket and went outside. He took his own car; getting a police vehicle would take longer. He broke every speed limit.

He looked at the car clock. Twelve now. Probably time for the shift change at the hospital. His foot pressed down on the gas pedal.

The cell phone rang. He took it with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel. A nurse told him Miss Merrick had been attacked.

Cassidy screeched to a stop in front of the hospital. He put an Official Business card on the dashboard, then rushed inside.

He waited impatiently for the elevator to take him to the fourth floor, then hurried down the corridor. The door to her room was open and a nurse was beside her bed. A uniformed security guard looked uncertain but put a hand on his holstered revolver as Cassidy entered.

Marise Merrick was pale as she sat in the bed. She gave him a wisp of a smile as he entered. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

He felt an almost uncontrollable anger, mostly aimed at himself. He should have made sure she was protected before he left.

How had anyone known she was here?

Her attacker might know she needed medical help. And this would be the most likely place because of its proximity to the attack and because of its trauma department. But how would he obtain the number of her room? Her mother had asked that she be admitted under another name to avoid the press.

Unless he was a cop. Or someone here at the hospital who heard rumors of a celebrity patient. He knew the grapevine at hospitals was fast. He filed all of those possibilities.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought someone would be here with you.”

“I know,” she said. “You called and asked. But I wanted them to leave…”

“I should have requested uniforms,” he interrupted. “Or stayed myself. We would have had…him.”

“He wouldn’t have come in if he’d seen someone,” she said. Then her brows crinkled in a frown. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I was already on the way. I had a feeling…”

Their gazes met. Cassidy felt as if he had been hit by a sledgehammer.

The security guard looked at him curiously.

He realized he must be gaping. He pulled out his badge. “Detective MacKay with the Atlanta P.D.,” he said. “Has anything been touched or moved?”

The nurse hovering nearby shook her head. “Nothing except the telephone. I used it to call Security. He…left a needle.” She motioned to the corner of the room where the needle lay. Cassidy could tell it was still filled with some substance. He looked around. The nurse handed him a glove before he could ask for it.

“The…he had on gloves like those,” Marise Merrick said in an unsteady voice.

Cassidy pulled on the glove and leaned down and gingerly picked up the needle. He could guess what was in it. Potassium, probably. The right dosage could stop the heart almost immediately. The assailant had taken a chance. A big one. He must be afraid that she knew far more than she did.

“Did you see any more of him than you did before?”

She shook her head. “The room was dark. He wore a surgeon’s mask.”

“Perhaps some of the hospital staff did,” he said. But he wasn’t hopeful. The attacker obviously timed his attack during the change of shifts. Anyone could have slipped by the nurses’ station. Again, he blamed himself for not anticipating this.

And then there was the nagging conviction that had firmed in his mind. The killer obviously thought Marise Merrick was a danger to him. That meant she would continue to be in great danger.

“Would you like your fiancé here?” he asked, more to stop his own troubling feelings than because he wanted the man around.

“He’s not my fiancé,” she said quietly.

Cassidy felt the oddest sense of relief. “He said…”

“He asked me. I didn’t give him an answer. That’s why I wandered outside last night. I needed some distance.”

She was answering the question she hadn’t been able to answer before, not with Paul Richards in the room. Her blue eyes were late-evening blue, a rich dark color he’d never seen before. Her long hair had been plaited into a braid that fell across her shoulder.

He was aware of an attraction so strong he could barely restrain himself from reaching out to her. More puzzling was the sense that he knew her. That they had met previously, though he knew they had not. The air between them was thick yet compelling, as if he was being pulled toward her by some invisible force.

He struggled against it. “How…”

“I fell on the floor. I’m used to falling,” she said with that quirky little smile that had accompanied her admission yesterday that she’d kicked her attacker in a vulnerable place.

“Like you have strong legs,” he said.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“I want you to teach self-defense classes to some people I know,” he said. Then he realized he was suppositioning that she would be here in Atlanta longer than a day or so. And he could also see in his mind the implausibility of the princess teaching hookers how to disable a killer.

“You’re smiling, Detective,” she said as if astounded at that possibility.

Well, he was. He couldn’t remember smiling since his wife had left him two years ago.

Snap out of it, Cassidy. She’s a victim, nothing more. And not only was she a victim, but she was one he’d failed to protect.

“I’m just impressed with your abilities, Miss Merrick.”

“Marise,” she corrected him.

He’d seen the name written down. It sounded like poetry on her lips. But that was none of his affair. He tried, instead, to concentrate on the business at hand.

“Was there anything, anything at all that struck you about the…attacker?”

“His odor,” she said. “I woke and smelled it.”

He remembered her mentioning that before. “You said it was almost sweet.”

Her nose twitched slightly as if she was trying to remember.

“Cologne?” he asked.

“If it was, it was very bad cologne,” she said. “It was more like…medicinal.”

“Cloying?”

“Sharper than that.”

He had been impressed by her before, and now that image was reenforced. She was reacting analytically, objectively weighing what must have been a terrifying experience.

“Any other impressions?”

“No,” she said. “The room was too dark.”

He was already cataloging facts in his mind. Hospital gloves. Location. Until her attack, no one realized that the proximity of the hospital was important. The area was not one of the city’s best, and the hospital had not been the center of the attacks, more on the edge of a perimeter of approximately two miles. Now it assumed new significance. The attacker knew where to find her and that the change of shifts would be the best time to enter unnoticed. And now the surgical mask and medicinal smell.

She hadn’t described the odor that way before. He’d been thinking that the attacker might be a hustler, a pimp, who got off on terrifying and killing women. He and Manny had been operating on that theory, especially since the deaths had involved prostitutes. The guy might even have been trying to start a protection racket among the working girls.

But Marise’s information introduced an entirely new possibility. Someone outside the world of prostitution. Someone involved in medicine. And now, he suspected, their perp would go into hiding for a while.

Unless he had another chance at Marise Merrick.

“What are you thinking, Detective?” Her soft voice broke through his stream of consciousness.

“I’m thinking that I want you to leave this hospital,” he said.

“What about the police artist?”

“What did you see that night?”

“A blur. An impression of heaviness. Bulk. Longish hair.”

“You know how a police artist works?”

“I do watch television occasionally.”

“He’ll flash part of faces—eyes, foreheads, chins, et cetera. If anything looks familiar, he’ll start constructing a face.”

“I didn’t see enough for that.”

Cassidy didn’t say anything for a moment, then wondered out loud. “But obviously he doesn’t know that.”

“Which is why…he returned tonight,” she finished.

“Yes.”

“You believe he might try again.” It was a statement, not a question. Her eyes were even bluer, if that were possible. Deeper. And inaccessible.

“It’s possible,” he said.

“And if I leave the city?”

“Not as likely, but possible.”

“What can I do?”

Her eyes were impossibly large. Fear was there. But so was reason. Again, he wondered about his first impression. Why had she seemed so compliant to those around her when now there didn’t seem a hesitant bone in her body. Two different women. Would it be different when her mother and partner returned? He was oddly pleased that she hadn’t asked him—or apparently anyone on the hospital staff—to call them.

He knew what she could do. Did he have the right to propose it? What if something happened to her?

“What is it?” she asked.

She also could read his mind. No one else had ever been able to do that. Not his former wife. Not Manny. It was uncanny.

“Detective?” she prompted again. She’d awakened to someone trying to kill her, had dived off the bed and kept her head—and she still looked like a princess. That image, though, was misleading. If she was like a princess, she was one laced with iron.

But she would have to be tough to get to where she was. He knew how much training it must have taken. How much discipline.

“He might have left something in this room,” he said. His hand was still around the hypodermic.

“He had gloves,” she said.

“Maybe not when he filled the hypodermic.” But that, he knew, was a pretty futile hope. This man had been very, very careful. It was too much to ask that he would make a mistake now. Still, Cassidy wanted it at the state crime lab. There might be something there.

She obviously saw the doubt in his face. And great circles shadowed those marvelous eyes.

He looked at his watch. “You should get some sleep,” he said. “I’ve asked for some officers to guard your room. I’ll stay out there until they arrive.”

“Do detectives usually do that?” she asked.

He resisted his first instinct to say, Only for pretty ladies. That would be crossing his personal line. “It’s just for a few moments,” he said more curtly than he’d intended.

She looked startled at his tone. A light seemed to die in her eyes. He girded himself against a reaction. He was there to solve a crime, to apprehend a serial killer. The worst thing he could do was allow himself any personal feelings. That was the best way to get someone killed.

And there was no place in his life for personal feelings. He’d had them once, and they were a mistake. He’d almost destroyed two people.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she persisted. “What can you do? What can I do? I won’t go through life being terrified.” Then, after several seconds, she added, “I want him caught. I want him punished. I don’t want him to do to anyone else what he tried to do to me.”

She was feeling anger mixed with loss. Loss of security. Loss of safety. He knew that from experience. Post-traumatic stress syndrome wasn’t limited to those in the military. He surprised himself by wanting to reach down and touch her hand, to reassure her.

“I’ll ask the nurse to see if you can’t have something to help you sleep,” he said, starting for the door.

“I don’t think I can sleep now,” she said. “Please…don’t go.”

He suspected it had taken some courage for her to make that request. He didn’t think she asked for much from others. Others, however, probably asked a great deal from her.

“Yes,” he said simply. He went to the door, opened it. No uniformed officers yet. With the red tape involved, it would probably be morning before they arrived. He turned out the light and went to a chair, settling down into it, his long legs dangling in front of him.

“Thank you,” she said.

Marise heard the soft snoring across the room. It was comforting. She had feigned sleep, knowing that he would probably stay awake until he thought her asleep.

He looked tired, his cheeks shadowed with dark stubble. But she felt safe with him in the room. She wondered whether a wife was missing him. A family? But she was profoundly grateful to whomever had relinquished him for the evening. She didn’t want her mother’s hysterics or Paul’s overprotectiveness. She didn’t want to deal with any of that at the moment.

She would have a battle to fight tomorrow. She had heard everything the detective said, and sensed what he had not. She didn’t know if she could offer any real help in apprehending the man, whether she would recall enough to provide any clues. But she had meant it when she said she would not live her life in fear. She would stay here as long as there was a chance she could help.

And the Sectional in less than three weeks? Her dream? No, not hers. Her mother’s. Paul’s. Did she have the right to destroy it for them? If she didn’t make the competition, they wouldn’t have the points to continue to the World Championship.

The lives of unknown women? Paul’s career? Her mother’s lifelong goal?

How to balance them all. She no longer wanted to be responsible for all of them. For once in her life, she wanted to be responsible only for herself.

She closed her eyes, started to drift…

“I’m sorry I’m late, Daddy. I don’t feel well.”

“Excuses. Always excuses. Why can’t you be more like your brother? Now, he’s going to be a star.”

Her brother turned and gave her a reassuring smile. He was eleven and had already won a regional championship. He was their parents’ real hope, she knew that. She was their second. But she tried. Hours of lessons. Of practicing. She was never good enough. And now came her first competition, and she’d thrown up in nervousness. That’s why she was late.

The car accelerated. She saw the amber light turn red. Late. They were late. Because of her. Because of her fear. Suddenly, she heard the squeal of brakes, felt the jolt of the car and then the crashing sound of metal against metal…

“Easy.” The voice was deep but the low drawl was comforting.

She opened her eyes. Light was filtering into the room. A warm hand was on her shoulder.

It moved away almost immediately. She felt the loss of it. More than she should have.

“You were having a nightmare,” the detective said. He looked worse than he had a few hours ago. His hair was sticking out in all directions, the stubble was darker, his eyes were bloodshot.

“The attack?”

She started to say no, then gave a nod. She didn’t want to tell him she’d killed her father. And her brother. Her mind knew it had been an accident; her heart said she was responsible.

Then a knock at the door, and the room filled with her mother, her partner, a nurse with a tray.

Her mother stared at the detective next to her bed. “What are you doing here?” she said. “And why are there policemen outside?”

MacKay—she thought of him that way now—stepped away from her. “Miss Merrick was attacked last night,” he said evenly.

“In the hospital?” her mother asked. “How could that…?”

Paul went immediately to her bed, crowding out the detective and leaning down to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Marise?” he asked, his voice breaking.

She felt the concern in his voice, and her heart ached. He really did care for her. She’d known that, though at times she’d wondered whether his interest wasn’t more in keeping her as a partner.

Now as she looked in his eyes, she realized she had been wrong. He did love her. She took his hand, feeling the strength that had allowed her to make nearly impossible lifts.

“I’m really all right,” she said, even though she knew she wasn’t. And that there would be explanations that would have to be made. She would have to explain why she was staying in Atlanta. And later—but not now—she would have to explain why she couldn’t marry Paul.

She saw the detective slip out the door.

The people who cared most about her were in the room. She wondered, then, why she felt so alone.

Chapter 3

“What happened?” her mother asked.

She shrugged. “I woke up last night, and there was an intruder in the room. I screamed, and he left.”

Paul’s brows furrowed. “Someone from the hospital?”

“I think it was the same man who attacked me outside the arena. There was the same odor about him.”

“He didn’t hurt you?” Her mother hurried to her side and clasped one of Marise’s hand in hers.

“No,” she reassured both of them. “I got away from him by rolling off the bed. All that falling served me well,” she said wryly. “I might have a bruise. Nothing more.”

“They should have given you protection.”

“I have it now,” she said. “Neither you nor I thought we would need it yesterday since we were using another name,” she pointed out.

Paul’s hand tightened around hers. “How could he have found you?”

“Detective…MacKay thinks it could be someone associated with the hospital.”

“That settles it,” Paul said. “We found a small jet that we can charter. We can leave this afternoon.”

“I’m not leaving,” she announced.

“Nonsense,” her mother said. “The plane is quite safe, even comfortable. And we can afford it with that last endorsement signing.”

“The police think that man killed other women,” Marise said. “They think I can help them.”

“Solving crimes is their problem,” Cara Merrick said. “They are detectives. You’re not.”

“There’s something else,” Marise said carefully. “If he believes I can recognize him, or something about him—and apparently he does or he wouldn’t have taken the risks he did last night—he might follow me if I leave. I’ll never feel safe again.”

“Nonsense,” Paul said. “Of course, he won’t follow us. He’ll just be relieved you’ve left.”

“Are you that familiar with the thinking of a serial killer?” she asked a bit too sharply.

Paul looked hurt.

“I can’t go,” she said. “Not as long as there’s a chance I can help the police.”

“Help the police?” her mother said as if it were a foreign concept. “How can you help the police?”

“A police artist will be here this morning.”

“I thought you said you didn’t see anything.”

“Detective MacKay seems to think that I might recall some things.”

“We can leave after that, then,” her mother said with relief.

“You didn’t listen,” Marise said. “He could follow me.”

“I can protect you,” Paul said.

At one time, she might have accepted that. Now protection took the form of a tall, lanky detective with mussed hair, intelligent dark eyes and a gentle touch. But she should know better than to depend on her own judgment.

She’d fallen in love once. Desperately. His name was Patrick Bennett, and he was a business executive with a sportswear company, older than her by fifteen years. Their relationship ended when she injured her ankle and no longer had the strength it took to be a singles champion with the increasing demand for higher and more complicated jumps and combinations. Her coach had suggested pairs skating. It took as much athletic ability but the strain wasn’t as consistent on her ankle, and Paul and her coach had always been careful to protect it as much as possible. She and Paul had been well-matched in height, technique and abilities.

Patrick had been concerned about her injury at first. Then the concern dissolved into coolness. Before long, he was dating another singles skater, and Marise realized he wanted a trophy companion, not part of a team. It had been bitter knowledge, and she’d guarded her heart ever since. That was also one reason she’d considered Paul’s offer. They were already friends with a lot in common. She didn’t have to worry about betrayal.

And she liked Paul. He had helped her through her heartbreak. He’d demanded her full attention, and the work had been a balm. Although he could be arrogant at times, he was also generous to her and hardworking. He seldom criticized or blamed when she made a mistake.

The only problem was that skating was all he really cared about. She wanted more. She’d always wanted more.

She wanted a home and family. She couldn’t imagine Paul as a homebody and father. He genuinely loved the spotlight and travel and glamor. He wouldn’t understand her compulsion to help capture someone who had almost killed her, who might well kill again.

Neither would her mother. To them, the gold medal was the only trophy worth pursuing.

As the two pressed her to take the flight, she wished MacKay hadn’t left. She wanted his support. Then she questioned whether he’d left because he was forcing her into making a decision.

“Marise?” her mother said, obviously believing the silence meant she was reconsidering.

“I’m going to stay,” Marise said. “It’s not just my safety. Nor other women he might attack. It’s me. He assaulted me. He tried to kill me. I…owe him. I want to help put him away. I want to look in his face when it happens.”

Paul and her mother stared at her as if in shock. But then, she had never been this angry before. She hadn’t realized how angry she was.

A knock came at the door, and the detective entered again, this time with a man with an overlarge briefcase.

“This is Alan Greene, our artist,” he said, as both her mother and Paul looked at him with disapproval.

Greene looked around. “Can we do this alone?” he asked.

Cara Merrick started to bristle.

“I think I should stay here with her,” Paul said, taking a defensive stand next to the bed. “She’s had a second shock in as many days.”

“She’ll be more helpful if she can concentrate,” the police artist said politely but firmly.

“Please wait outside, Paul,” Marise said.

“If that’s what you want…”

“It is, and you, too, Mom.”

Her mother frowned, obviously reluctant to leave. “If you need us…”

“I know,” Marise said. Her mother had been right outside for eighteen years, ever since she’d lost her husband and son. She’d accompanied Marise everywhere as her daughter won competition after competition, then became her business manager and agent.

Guilt about that accident so many years ago had kept Marise from suggesting another manager. And her mother did a good job. After she’d given up skating herself so many years ago, she and Marise’s father had run a skating school. Cara Merrick had been the business manager and deserved much of the credit for its financial success. She’d sold it years later and used the proceeds to finance Marise’s lessons and competitions and costumes.

Marise owed her.

She owed her—and her father—an Olympic Medal, the one shining goal neither of her parents had achieved. She and Paul actually had a shot at it. But first they needed a good showing in the Sectional and, hopefully, the U.S. Championships.

Her mother and Paul left reluctantly. Their coach had already flown ahead to Seattle with the costumes and equipment. One less mother hen with which to contend.

“Can the detective stay?” she asked.

The police artist nodded as he took out his computer and plugged in a modem.

Marise’s heart beat faster.

“Close your eyes,” the police artist said. “Think about impressions. Think about the night before last. What do you see?”

“Darkness. There was a street light, but he came from behind and dragged me into a dark corner. He wore a mask.” Her throat was dry. Her voice sounded scratchy.

“How big a man?”

“He seemed large.” She was picturing his bulk now. Her eyes were still closed, and she willed herself back to those moments. Back to the terror.

“His clothes?”

“Dark. Black, I think.”

“And the ski mask?”

“Black. Yes, black.”

“All right. Thin, fat?”

“Powerful,” she said. “Muscular. His arm was strong. I know muscles. I could feel them around my neck. I think he must work out.”

“Good. Very good,” the artist said.

“Height?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s between five-ten and five-eleven. I’m five-three, and he was about six inches taller than I am, about an inch shorter than Paul.”

He let out a surprised breath.

“I skate next to Paul every day. I know his height.”

“Good. Now his face. What did you see?”

“I didn’t exactly see it. It was too dark, and it happened so quickly.”

“Broad face?” he asked. “Narrow?”

“I don’t know,” she said desperately.

“Open your eyes,” he asked gently. His computer screen was turned toward her. He ran through several facial types. None of them brought any flash of recognition.

“Don’t try too hard,” he said. “Just watch and see if any ring a bell in your head.”

He had an easy way about him, and she found herself nodding and relaxing. Several more pages, then an impression…nothing more.

“Stop,” she said. “I’m not sure, but something about that face…”

It was a square face, heavy jowled. She stared at it for a moment, trying to remember more, to see more. Fear was crawling up her spine. What was it about that facial type?

The artist waited a few more moments, then suggested quietly, “Why don’t we try some eyes?”

A half-hour later, they had a picture. But she couldn’t say whether it was actually her assailant or a mishmash of memorable features that lingered in her mind. “I’m just not sure,” she admitted.

“You’ve done very well, Miss Merrick,” the artist said. “I’ll bet anything that when we find this man, there will be a resemblance.”

When we find him. If they found him.

Detective MacKay had not uttered a word during the entire time. Perhaps he had not wanted to break her concentration. But she had known he was there, and that had made her feel safe.

Now he came over to the bed. “Thank you,” he said in the rumbling deep voice that somehow gave her confidence in him. “That will be helpful.”

“I don’t know how,” she said.

“We have a lot of information we didn’t have before,” he said. “We know he’s familiar with hospital routine. He came in here during change of shifts when no one was likely to be in. He wears latex gloves. That’s probably where the smell came from. We finally have some leads. Thanks to you.”

“What now?” she asked.

“Perhaps you should go to Seattle.”

“You thought there was a chance he would come after me.”

His silence told her it was indeed a worry.

“If he came after me once, he’ll come again.”

Again a silence.

“What about using me as bait?” There. It was said. “That’s what you were thinking earlier.”

“You don’t know what I was thinking, Miss Merrick, and it’s a really lousy idea.”

“It’s the only way I can go on with my life.”

“It’ll be damn dangerous. I’m not sure I can get approval from my boss.”

She swallowed hard. The police artist was watching the exchange with interest. MacKay was frowning. He looked intimidating when he did that.

“Will you ask him?” she said.

“What about your mother and…partner?”

“I’ll manage that.”

“They could get hurt.”

“Not if they go on to Seattle.”

His face must have expressed his doubts. “They’ll leave? Without you?”

“Leave that to me,” she said. “Can you arrange it?”

He hesitated.

“I trust you,” she persisted.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know what I need to know. You went out of your way last night to make sure I was safe. You said you had a feeling and you came.”

His eyes measured her. “I’ll talk to the captain,” he said. “In the meantime, you should be safe enough. My partner, Manny, will stay in the room with you, and there are two uniforms outside. If you return to the hotel, Manny goes with you.”

“And you?”

“I’m going to talk to my superiors.”

“And get some sleep,” she said.

He rubbed his face with his hands. “Guess I could use a shave, too.”

A knock came, and the other detective entered, the one she remembered from yesterday. “Miss Merrick,” he said with concern. “Hoppy said someone came into your room last night, and—”

“Hoppy?” she interrupted.

He looked over at MacKay and his face turned red. Detective MacKay glared at him.

“Hoppy?” she asked again with a smile.

“His first name is Cassidy,” the detective named Manny said without looking at his partner, who was glowering.

The name didn’t mean anything to her.

“Hopalong Cassidy,” the detective prompted. “He was a cowboy on television in the fifties, a guy in a white hat.”

A guy in a white hat. She liked that image.

“Hoppy,” she tested again, and MacKay turned his glower on her.

“I prefer Cass,” he said.

She did, too, after thinking about it. Still, she tried to think of him as MacKay. That fit him, and it was far less personal.

The artist had packed up his equipment. “Gotta go,” he said. “A lot of business today. You were great, Miss Merrick.”

She felt a momentary pride. He had discovered more information that she thought she had. “You’re good at extracting information,” she said.

Detective MacKay was also inching toward the door. “Thank you, Miss Merrick,” he said. “I’ll be in touch later today.”

She watched him leave with the police artist.

The second detective looked at her with interest. “My wife is a big admirer of yours,” he said. “So am I.”

That surprised her. She hadn’t imagined a burly homicide detective would have an interest in figure skating. “Thank you,” she said.

“My wife, she loves figure skating,” he continued. “It sorta grew on me, too. And our kid.”

Just then, the door opened and her mother and Paul entered, eyeing the detective warily.

“I’ll be outside,” the detective said.

She wanted to ask him to stay, but this, she knew, was something she had to do alone.

“Thank you,” she said.

The two waited until the door closed.

“We talked to your doctor,” her mother said. “He said there’s no reason you can’t leave today. And you can start skating in several days.”

“We still have the plane on standby,” Paul added. “And now that you’ve talked to that police artist, you’ve done everything you can do.”

“Not exactly,” she said.

They both stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.

“I might remember more,” she said lamely. She wasn’t ready to tell them she’d offered herself as bait for a trap.

“You probably won’t,” Paul said sensibly. “If you do, you can contact them from Seattle.”

“I’m just not ready yet,” she said. “There are more questions…”

“We’ve lost days,” Paul said patiently. “We need practice.”

“You go ahead,” she said. “You and Mom. You can start practicing. I’ll be there in two or three days. I promise to be there for the competition.”

“If you insist on staying,” Paul said, “I’ll stay. We can practice here.”

“You said it would be several days before I can skate,” she said. “You need the time to get accustomed to the rink. And Mother needs to be there for publicity and to scout the competition. You two and David can make adjustments in the routine. And make sure the costumes are ready.” There was a different set of costumes for the Sectional. And a new program. It would have some of the elements they were perfecting here in Atlanta, but changes were always made.

“I’m not sure…”

Her mother was not often unsure of anything, but she was weakening. The costumes were her pride and joy. She’d designed them for the past six years.

“The detectives can’t properly protect me if they have to watch out for all of us,” Marise said. “Doing it this way will get me to Seattle much faster.”

“I don’t like it. You shouldn’t be alone,” her mother countered.

“I won’t be alone,” she said patiently. “I will be surrounded by the entire police department.”

“The publicity…”

“You can tell them I decided to stay and recuperate here,” she said. “Just think how bad the publicity would be if someone tracked me to Seattle and killed me.” She regretted the words almost immediately, when tears formed in her mother’s eyes. She went over to her and took her hands in her own. “I couldn’t be safer,” she said. “This really is for the best.”

“I want to stay here with you,” her mother said stubbornly.

Marise was surprised. She knew her mother well, and usually knew how to assuage her. “I need to do this, and I need to do it alone. I can’t help the police if I’m worrying about you.”

Paul looked rebellious, then resigned. “You’re determined?”

“Yes.”

Her mother looked horrified. “Paul?”

He shook his head. “If I’ve learned anything about Mare, it’s that when she makes up her mind, we might as well do as she wants.” He gave her a small grin. “She doesn’t do it often, but I’ve learned to heed her when she does.”

He looked back at Cara Merrick. “And I don’t like the idea of her living in terror for the rest of her life.” He turned to Marise. “When will you join us in Seattle?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “A few days. No later than the middle of next week.” She knew that was pushing it. But she could do their skating program in her sleep. Two weeks of practice should be sufficient. She was fully aware how important the Sectional was to Paul, and she would never, never ruin his chances.

“You’ll try to make it sooner?” he asked.

“Yes. I won’t let you down.”

He hesitated, then took her hand. “You never did answer me. The question I asked…before all this happened.”

She hesitated, then said, “Too much has happened in the past two days,” she said. “I…can’t make a decision now.”

But she had. And from the disappointed look in his eyes, he suspected it.

He said nothing. “We’ll stay with you until that detective returns and we know exactly what he plans to do,” he said. “We can stay at the hotel tonight and fly to Seattle in the morning.”

“You chartered the plane for this afternoon,” she reminded him.

“We can cancel that.”

She nodded. She couldn’t deny them that.

Her mother tried once more. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, after all…”

The familiar guilt surged through Marise again. But this time she wasn’t going to let it guide her. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Despite Paul’s seeming acquiescence, she knew they hadn’t given up. They were just going to give her time to reconsider on her own. She would surely see sense. She always did.

But she wouldn’t. Not this time. It was too important. Not only for her, but for others.

And MacKay would make sure she was safe.

She felt a rising excitement—and fear—as she thought of the days ahead. Perhaps, at last, she would have some influence on her own destiny.

Chapter 4

Cassidy paced restlessly, fielding questions from his boss as to manpower, risk and chances of success—with and without the figure skater.

“You sure she’s willing to go through with this?” Captain Haynes asked.

“Yes.”

“And you can protect her?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t believe I could.”

“There’s no other way?”

“She just didn’t see enough,” Cassidy said. “I’m pretty sure it’s someone connected to the hospital, but it could be one of their employees, ex-employees, people who go there often—med techs, police, ambulance drivers, even linen-truck drivers. That includes thousands of people.”

“Then, who do we get to protect her?”

“People I know,” Cassidy said. “I want to pick my team.”

“How long?”

“She has to leave next week.”

“And you feel the perp might go after her?”

“He took a tremendous chance in going to her room last night. There could have been cops inside. Hell, there should have been.”

“Maybe he had a cover story in case someone questioned him.”

Cassidy frowned. “I’m sure he did. He’s clever as hell. And if we don’t get him now, he’ll probably go underground for a while. What really worries me is that he might follow Marise Merrick to Seattle.”

“If we set a trap using her, and anything goes wrong, you know what will happen. We’ll both be busted to the streets—if not thrown off the force.”

Cassidy nodded.

“I’ll take this upstairs and give you an answer this afternoon. In the meantime, I would suggest you clean up. Get a few hours’ sleep. Someone with her now?”

“Two uniforms. And Manny.”

“What about your other cases?”

“They can wait for a few days.”

“Give them to Malcolm and Perry.”

Cassidy nodded. “Thanks.”

“Just make it work.”

Cassidy grabbed a couple of hours’ sleep, then washed and shaved. The phone rang. It was Manny.

“She’s being released,” he said.

“I think we’ll get the go-ahead. The captain signed off on it. Stick with her. Make sure there’s a uniform as well. Check their badge numbers with headquarters.”

“You don’t think…”

“I don’t think anything at the moment. I just don’t want to take any chances. Call me when you have the hotel and room number. Drive them over in your car.”

“My car isn’t very elegant.”

“Just do it.”

She was smaller and even shorter than he’d thought as she’d padded across the hotel suite barefoot, wearing a track suit. She had such a presence about her that he’d thought she would be taller. Five-three, he remembered her telling the artist. But it hadn’t really registered.

At six feet, he towered over her.

The bandage was gone. Her blond hair was damp and pulled back into a ponytail. She looked sixteen. She’s twenty-four. Nearly twenty-five, he told himself. He’d brought up the statistics on his computer. He’d wanted to know everything there was to know about her before taking that last step.

She was even prettier with a touch of lipstick and blush on her cheeks. Her blue eyes looked even more enormous and expressive.

She hadn’t opened the door. Manny had instructed them well. Paul Richards had opened it and stood aside. They had a small suite in a hotel near the auditorium where the competition had taken place.

Cassidy wondered whether Paul stayed in the same room, then told himself her sleeping arrangements were none of his business.

“I can’t talk either of you out of this, can I?” Paul Richards asked. He looked so miserable that Cassidy revised his original opinion of the man. He obviously did care about his partner.

“She can say no at any time.”

“She won’t. She’s set on this dangerous course. But you can stop it. You can refuse to go on with this plan.”

“If I thought she wouldn’t be in any more danger, I would,” he said. “But if we don’t catch him, he could follow you.” He hesitated, then added, “We’ll take every precaution.”

“She wants to help everyone,” Richards said. “Sometimes I even think she hates to win because someone else has to lose.”

Cassidy allowed that idea to sink in. A softhearted skater who could disable a bulky rapist. She was a far more complicated person than he’d first suspected.

Birthday: October 3O, 1977. College: B.A. degree mostly by correspondence courses. Major, English. Birthplace: San Diego, California.

The degree had encouraged him. That must have been difficult to obtain while staying on the road most of the year. She had determination as well as quick wits and an ability to defend herself.

“Where will I stay?” she said.

“With me,” he said.

Paul Richards started to say something.

“Don’t worry,” Cassidy broke in. “There will be plenty of chaperones. I live in a neighborhood of cops. At least two will be with her at all times, and there will be plenty of help within hollering distance.”

Richards stared at him for a long time, clearly trying to establish his possession.

Then Cara Merrick came into the room, her eyes red and her cheeks splotched with tears.

Cassidy looked at Marise Merrick. “You can still change your mind. No one would ever question it.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Detective. Where do we go from here?”

He looked at Mrs. Merrick in question.

“We are leaving in the morning for Seattle,” she said. “I’ll find a place for us for the next three weeks.” Then she stiffened and her eyes became steely. Formidable. “Take care of her.”

“She’s just going to be looking over photos,” he said. He didn’t like his own guilt at telling a half-truth. This was a really lousy idea.

He looked back to Marise. “Manny or I will be here, along with two uniformed officers. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

He looked around the suite. “Are there any other doors?”

“Only a connecting door to Paul’s room,” Marise said.

Well, that answered one question.

“And the only door from his room is into the hall?”

Richards nodded.

“I’ll leave you, then,” Cassidy said. “Manny or I will be outside. If you want any food, we will get it for you.”

He started to leave, then hesitated. “A reporter knows about the attack. Probably from someone at the hospital. We couldn’t stop it.”

“I know,” Mrs. Merrick said. “One reporter found us. We asked the desk not to put through any calls.”

“There will probably be television trucks as soon as the story breaks.”

“Maybe I should go with you now,” Marise said.

“You’ll be safer here,” he said. “I want to make sure everything is set.” Mainly he had to make sure his house was at least habitable. He was the epitome of the world’s view of a sloppy bachelor. What was really bad was that he was in the process of remodeling the house that he’d bought cheap because it was in such bad shape.

It was still the safest place for her, though.

He also needed final departmental approval before he took her anyplace.

“I’ll make sure that no reporters get up here,” he said. “I’ll tell the switchboard to allow my calls to go through, so if the phone does ring, pick it up.” He knew he sounded curt and officious, but he was also feeling an unusual sense of guilt and indecision that he didn’t like at all.

He also didn’t like the look of trust in Marise Merrick’s blue eyes.

“I’ll be here in the morning,” he said. “Eight.”

He left before he had any additional doubts.

Marise met him at the door the next morning. Her mother and Paul were tight-lipped but silent.

She gave them both a hug, then handed Cassidy her bag. There wasn’t much in it. A couple of track suits, a pair of slacks, a pair of jeans, a couple of blouses, a night shirt and robe. A pair of shoes in addition to the running shoes she was wearing now along with a shirt and slacks she was wearing. That was it. Her costumes would go with Paul and her mother.

She hoped she didn’t look as red-eyed as she felt. She’d gotten precious little sleep last night. She’d feared the nightmare would return and that if she woke her mother, there would be yet another battle to fight and more tears to stem.

Her head still ached slightly, and she had enough bruises to make moving uncomfortable. Most of all, she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. She and Paul did need practice time. Was she destroying his career because she didn’t care enough about her own?

Was this…idea simply a way to break away from an increasingly uncomfortable life, one that no longer satisfied her? Was it a selfish adventure that could destroy the hopes of people she cared about?

She only knew that despite the danger she was not foolish enough to ignore, she looked forward to a few days of freedom, away from routine and discipline and the feeling of being trapped.

Or was she just running into another kind of prison?

She was attracted to Cassidy MacKay. He was so different from any man she’d ever met. He exuded competence, and yet there was no arrogance about him, none of the constant anxiety that ran among many skaters.

“Quiet desperation,” she’d called it once.

Cassidy MacKay had none of that. He knew who and what he was.

He had that air of competence this morning. His usually unruly hair was combed, and he’d shaved; she caught a whiff of some masculine scent. Jeans hugged a body that was not the athletically sculptured form she’d grown accustomed to on the competition circuit, though he was obviously in good shape. His forearms were tanned, strong, but without the developed muscles that Paul had. His fingers were unusually long, even elegant, which didn’t go with anything else.

Her gaze met his. She’d noticed before that his eyes were dark, enigmatic. Guarded. They’d rarely shown any emotion. They didn’t now.

“We have a car in back,” he said. “I think we can avoid the reporters.”

She was relieved. She really had not wanted to cope with the media this morning. He opened the door for her, waited until she was out, then shut it gently behind him. Two uniformed policemen were seated in chairs outside her door, although that, she’d learned, had taken some negotiation with the hotel management. The manager had not relented until Cassidy had told the manager to simply explain to enquiring guests that they had an important celebrity they could not name.

They didn’t take the elevators but walked down four flights of stairs, the uniformed police at their heels. They went down to a parking garage, and as they stepped out of the elevator, they were met by Manny in his car.

She looked at both men, knowing she was putting her life in their hands, that she was stepping out of a world that had been safe, if not exactly secure. For a moment, she wanted to flee upstairs.

MacKay opened the back door of the car and held out his hand to help her in. The sudden warmth of it sent an electric shock through her. Her eyes met his, and this time they weren’t empty at all. He felt it, too. She could see it in the muscle that throbbed against his cheek.

This was another kind of danger. She knew it. She was also drawn to it.

Be careful, she warned herself, when his hand jerked away as if it had been burned. Be very, very careful.

Touching her was unwise. Very, very unwise. Cassidy had felt the sudden hesitancy in her, had seen her hand tremble for a moment.

But he didn’t want to lose her now.

He’d been able to get resources he’d only dreamed about before. The press on the killer was scaring the city. It had been bad enough when the victims were prostitutes, but now that an internationally known figure had been attacked, the public would be demanding results.

But he’d been warned that he had limited time, no more than a week. Any longer would be far too expensive in terms of both money and manpower. Which meant he had to bait the trap quickly.

His first concern, though, had been Marise’s safety. He would have additional detectives in the house at all times—ones he had chosen himself.

He also had asked to be told if any member of the department asked to be on the special squad. He still hadn’t dismissed the idea that the killer might be a cop. So he wasn’t taking any chances.

Once Cassidy had Marise inside Manny’s car, he threw his keys to one of the uniforms. “My car is the blue one over there,” he said, gesturing to where he’d parked in an emergency spot. “Do you have a squad car?”

The senior of the two officers nodded.

“Have someone pick it up. You two can take my car and follow us.”

The older one nodded. The younger one couldn’t take his eyes off Marise Merrick. For some reason, that annoyed Cassidy considerably. He put Marise’s bag in the front seat next to Manny, then got in the back seat with Marise.

He felt unusually large and awkward. Every movement Marise made was graceful. He felt like an elephant next to a gazelle. But then she smiled at him, and he didn’t feel awkward at all.

He felt something else altogether. And as he did, a knot of apprehension twisted his stomach. He didn’t need this. Any personal feelings interfered with what he needed to do: protect her and catch a killer.

He steeled himself against her appeal. She already treated him like a friend. She was that way with Manny, too. And that touch had been like a hot electrical wire, snaking across his body, sparking reactions he didn’t want to feel.

Cassidy knew he was glowering. Manny told him he did it better than anyone. But when he looked at Marise, he saw that she was unimpressed. Instead, she regarded him with bemusement.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For putting your life in danger?”

“For letting me do something about it.”

Something shifted inside him. She’d said the words with such simplicity. Even gratitude. He felt like a fraud. He was using her. Nothing more than that. And he wondered why she seemed to cater so much to her mother, and even to Paul, when there was so much strength and substance to her.

“Has your mother always been your manager?” he asked to dissipate the expectancy that was radiating between them.

She tensed slightly, then seemed to forcibly relax. “Yes,” she said. “She was a skater herself. She knows the business. She’s wonderful with the costumes.” Then she turned and looked out the window. “Are we really going to your house?”

“Don’t expect much,” he warned her. “I bought it at a bargain price because it needed so much work.”

“Are there really a lot of policemen in the neighborhood?”

“Manny lives half a block away. A captain in another division lives three houses down. Two other members of the Atlanta P.D. live within two blocks. A lieutenant in the sheriff’s department and a highway patrol major also live nearby. That’s how I found my house. It had been an eyesore, and Manny knew I like to work with my hands.”

She gazed up at him with those magnificent eyes. “You’re doing the work?”

“Some of it,” he said.

“All of it,” Manny interrupted. “My wife calls him when she needs something done. It’s humiliating.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. He didn’t see any other cars keeping pace with them, but then, they were not trying to hide. In fact, he was going to make sure her whereabouts were leaked.

They wanted the assailant to come after her. If all went according to plan, she wouldn’t be there then. A policewoman would be.

But there was something he’d learned long ago. Whatever could go wrong, would.

“What do we do next?” she asked.

“After you get settled, we’ll go back to the hospital and start going over personnel photos. He doesn’t know how little you really did see. We’re going to make him wonder a little more.”

“If he’s with the hospital.”

“My guess is he’s connected in some way.”

“What if he doesn’t find out I’m…helping to find him?”

“Then, I’ll leak a story to the media that we have a witness who can identify the killer and is going through personnel files. I’d rather he found out another way. It wouldn’t be as obvious.”

“If he’s as smart as you think he is, why would he walk into a trap?’

“Because doing nothing would be more dangerous. And serial killers usually think they are smarter than anyone else. He’ll know I’m protecting you. He won’t know about the others.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied.

As they drove into his driveway his stomach tightened. He’d tried to tidy up, but it was a man’s place. Still, it was probably the safest place for Marise. What neighbors were not law enforcement officers were sympathetic to them. All were friends. Manny planned to visit each house and ask that they keep an eye out for strangers.

It would be strange to have a woman in the house again. He’d dated since his marriage, but he’d never brought any of them home. Not since Laine left.

He’d not gotten around yet to painting the trim, and the house looked a little like an aging dowager without makeup. The exterior was a bungalow in an older neighborhood, a community where prices were spiraling because of their in-town location. After he and Laine had bought it, he’d spent the next two years fixing it up.

While he had thought the house would help the marriage, it hadn’t. He’d spent every waking moment away from the police department working on it. He hadn’t noticed her growing distance.

Marise was looking at the house with interest.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to apologize for it. Yet he knew she was used to much better. She probably had a large home somewhere.

Manny drove into the garage, which was one of the first things Cassidy had added. It was only a one-car garage—there wasn’t room for more—but he’d built it with a direct entrance into the house. Now he was grateful that he had; it made the place safer.

The exterior was brick with a screened front porch. There once had been a back porch but he’d closed that in and made a sunroom. For Laine. Now he seldom used it. He was seldom here, in fact.

He opened the car door and started to go around to the other side, but Marise let herself out. She didn’t act like a princess, but then, princesses didn’t agree to be bait. She didn’t say anything, but followed him toward the entrance to the house as the garage door closed behind the three of them. He opened the door leading to the kitchen.

It had undergone a frantic face-lift. Dishes in the sink had gone into the dishwasher, a five-day-old pizza had gone from the refrigerator into the garbage. There was nothing to brighten the room, however, but the yellow daisy curtains Laine had selected.

He led the way into the living room, which was furnished with what his male friends called “early bachelor.” Dark overstuffed sofa and chair, a large-screen television and bookcases. He’d put clothes away, but books and magazines, and even several newspapers, lay haphazardly on tables.

He saw Marise’s gaze go to the sunroom just beyond the living area. It had cheap patio furniture. But her eyes lit.

“What a wonderful room,” she said.

“Cass built it,” Manny said. “Cass can build anything. He’s building a sailboat up at his sister’s place.”

Cassidy noted that Manny did not call him Hoppy. Perversely, he was annoyed. Manny was obviously trying to play match-maker.

As if he and the princess had anything in common.

He was very aware of that as she stood awkwardly in the house of which he was so proud, the house he had remodeled, first with love and then with resignation. He was no longer building for the future. He was finished with that part of his life.

“You have my room,” he said. “We have detectives in the second. I’ll sleep in my office.”

“I’ll take the office,” she said.

“You haven’t seen it,” he said. “No one but me could find a way through it.”

She cocked her head. “That bad?”

“That bad,” he confirmed.

“All right, I’ll take the bedroom,” she agreed.

He took her suitcase into a bedroom and laid it down on a chair he’d brought in from the dining room. “There’s a bathroom right outside the room. It’s yours. We’ll use the one off the living room.”

“I feel like I’m dispossessing you,” she said with a hint of a smile.

“Believe me, as a stakeout, this is pure luxury,” he said.

“This is a stakeout?”

Her blue eyes were intense. He realized his error immediately. To him and the others, it might be a stakeout. To her, it was her life. But he wasn’t good at niceties. Never had been. He changed the subject. “Have you had any breakfast?”

“No.”

“What about some frozen waffles.”

She smiled. A genuine wide smile that made him want to do the same.

“It sounds wickedly wonderful,” she said.

“I doubt they’re wonderful,” he said. “Filling, yes.” But the anticipation didn’t leave her eyes, and he wondered about that. She was slim. How much had she sacrificed to stay that way?

Manny was taking care of the police officers. They would stay outside until the detectives arrived. Then the police officers would take the detectives’ vehicles back to the department. Cassidy didn’t want any extra cars in front of the house.

“I’ll unpack,” Marise said, and glided out of the room, leaving it very empty.

Manny returned and found Cassidy in the kitchen. “You got to be kidding,” he said as he eyed the package of frozen waffles.

“You have any better ideas?”

“Yeah. A lot of them. I’ll send Janie over to cook you all a good meal.”

“Maybe Janie will have something to say about that.”

“Nope. She’s dying to meet the princess.”

“She’s not a princess,” Cassidy growled.

“I think she is,” Manny said with offended dignity. “And she likes you.”

“She needs me. And you. There’s nothing more,” Cassidy said.

“You never fixed waffles for me.”

“They are frozen,” Cassidy said patiently.

“Those, either,” Manny said with a grin.

By the time the first popped up, Marise had returned to the kitchen. “I like your house,” she said.

“It’s not finished,” Cassidy said.

“I still like it. I always wanted to live in a home that looked like a real home.”

“Where do you live?”

“A condominium in California when we’re not traveling,” Marise said wistfully as she took a waffle on a plate. He’d already put a big dollop of butter on it, as well as real maple syrup.

He put another on a plate for Manny and popped one in the toaster for himself, then he leaned against the sink and watched her eat.

“A glass of milk?” he asked.

“Thank you.”

The milk was spoiled.

“Coffee?” he suggested.

“That would be good.”

He looked for the instant coffee jar. It was empty. Manny was shaking his head.

“Water would be fine,” she said.

He poured her a glass of water and sat down to discover that his own waffle was now cold.

This isn’t going to work.

But it had to.

It was going to be hell, though. Being in the same room with her disconcerted him. And it had been a long time since he’d felt so…inadequate.

Just a few days. Then he could reclaim his life. His instant coffee. His hot frozen waffles. A shirt thrown on the sofa.

A few days.

A very long few days.

And, he thought as he watched her enjoying those slightly over-toasted waffles, too few.

That last thought was more terrifying than any killer.

Chapter 5

Marise usually had a can of vegetable juice or some protein-laden drink for breakfast. A waffle, even this waffle, was a treat. Because weight was so crucial in pairs skating, she watched every bite of food. She rarely ate for pleasure.

But now she was hungry and she didn’t care. A cup of coffee would have been nice, but she was more than compensated for the lack by the look of chagrin on her host’s face.

She was intrigued with the house itself, particularly the sunroom that was all glass with unusual angles. If MacKay had designed it, he definitely had a bent for architecture. The rest of the house looked unfinished. There were few pieces of furniture in both the living area and her bedroom. What there was in the living room was worn, but looked comfortable.

Still, there was a warmth about it, a symmetry of color and space. Perhaps because of the books that crowded out everything else. For some reason, she hadn’t expected that of a police detective—and that, she realized, was snobbish. But the books included a potpourri of titles: histories, biographies, novels, shipbuilding, architecture. There was an appetite for knowledge revealed in their variety.

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