Unauthorised Passion/Intimate Knowledge Page 5

  Evelyn shuddered. Over her dead body!

  Still, the next few days promised to be…interesting. It was possible, of course, that the woman who had been in her suite earlier was, indeed, Celeste Fortune. Perhaps she’d pretended to remember the meeting in the elevator to spare Evelyn’s feelings. After all, it was always awkward when one party remembered a brief encounter that the other did not.

  And had that been the only incident, Evelyn might have been able to shrug it off in just that way.

  But her suspicions had already been aroused before this evening, hence, the test.

  Pleasantly buzzed from the vodka, Evelyn lay back against the sofa and smiled as she recalled the night she’d first seen Celeste Fortune in person. A little birdie had told her that the actress had booked herself into the Mirabelle, and so Evelyn had arrived ahead of her. She’d been waiting in the lobby behind a potted palm to get her first look.

  Celeste had arrived in a cab, completely alone, wearing a cap pulled low over her face much as she had been tonight. She’d thought it a clever disguise, no doubt, but Evelyn, who was something of a movie buff, especially when it came to Owen’s productions, would have recognized her even without being tipped off. Even without that infamous diamond sparkling on the woman’s hand.

  Evelyn had followed her up to the third floor and observed her from a discreet distance as the bellman let her into her room. A few minutes later, a maid carrying a stack of fresh towels got off the elevator and knocked on Celeste’s door.

  Evelyn remembered the incident vividly because there had been something a little strange about the maid’s appearance. For one thing, she’d worn a really bad wig.

  And she’d seemed nervous. She kept glancing over her shoulder until Celeste had let her in.

  Evelyn had watched in amazement as the woman came out a few minutes later and headed straight for the elevator. Again, Evelyn’s attention was drawn to the wig. It looked slightly askew, as if she’d pulled it on in a hurry, but the real giveaway was the Boucheron diamond glittering on the woman’s finger. No maid owned a rock like that.

  It was obvious to Evelyn that the two women had switched places, but why? And who was the imposter in Suite 3A pretending to be Celeste Fortune?

  Where was the real Celeste? Off somewhere romantic and exotic with Owen?

  It would be just like that bastard to plan such an elaborate scheme so that he could steal away for a few days with his mistress. And the real kick in the teeth? His devoted wife was probably picking up the tab for the whole affair.

  Hands trembling in outrage, Evelyn carefully removed her own wig. Setting it aside, she smoothed back white tufts of hair as she reached for the phone.

  Chapter Four

  Cassie could barely contain her excitement. Metro was one of the trendiest, not to mention priciest, restaurants in the Montrose-Westheimer area, and from what she’d seen so far, worth every penny.

  Easy to say, of course, considering her cousin was picking up the tab.

  Dinner at Metro was one of the outings Celeste had arranged, and despite lying awake half the night worrying about the conversations she’d had with Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard and Olivia D’Arby, Cassie had been looking forward all day to finally spending an evening away from the hotel.

  The restaurant catered primarily to the arts and theater crowd, and as she gazed around, Cassie still had a hard time believing that she was actually there, seated on the terrace and blending into the bohemian atmosphere as if she truly belonged.

  She sighed happily. This was the Houston she’d longed to discover since she’d arrived in town over a week ago. The museums, the bistros and art galleries, the colorful parade of people along the streets. She wanted to be a part of it all.

  Oh, my, she thought with a slight shock as she watched a chicly dressed transvestite sashay by in an exquisite pair of Manolo Blahniks. You would not see that in Manville.

  You wouldn’t see a lot of things in Cassie’s hometown, which was why she’d been hankering to get out ever since she’d graduated from high school. Her mother had gotten sick, though, during Cassie’s senior year, and she’d stayed home to take care of her and to watch from afar as her cousin had gone off to first Houston, and then Hollywood, to seek fame and fortune.

  Cassie hadn’t been jealous. Truly, she hadn’t. She was happy for Sissy’s success. And she didn’t begrudge the time she’d spent caring for her mother. The two of them had been very close, and Cassie still mourned her loss.

  But at the same time, she couldn’t help luxuriating in her newfound liberty. Her mother’s death had freed her in more ways than one. It had allowed her to take a long, hard look at her life and to decide once and for all which parts were worth keeping and which ones needed to be tossed away.

  Her schoolteacher’s wardrobe had been the first to go.

  Danny Cantrell had been the second.

  Even now, Cassie felt a prickle of guilt for the way she’d broken things off with him. She should have worked up her courage long before they’d arrived at the church, but it wasn’t like Danny had taken her decision all that hard. Mostly, he’d just been hungover from the night before.

  Only after his family had goaded him had he and his friends started harassing Cassie. All of a sudden, she’d had a rash of flat tires and threatening phone calls, and after Earl Cantrell had almost run her down one morning, she knew it was time for a change.

  So here she was.

  She placed her order with a very cute waiter and contentedly sipped her Grey Goose vodka—thank you, Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard—cocktail as she watched the street. A few minutes later, her attention was distracted by a man seated a few tables over from her. When she glanced in his direction, she caught him staring at her.

  Quickly, she averted her gaze, wondering if he was coming on to her.

  Maybe he simply found her attractive, she decided. After all, that wasn’t such a stretch, was it? She might not be in her cousin’s league, but she wasn’t exactly a carnival sideshow, either.

  And tonight she looked especially stylish, if she did say so herself, in her new Diesel jeans and Juicy Couture T-shirt—also compliments of Celeste. Of course, those jeans were undoubtedly a size or two—or three—larger than her cousin normally wore, but Cassie wouldn’t dwell on that evil. Instead, she glanced down at her feet, admiring the way her pink-polished toenails peeked out of her new Jimmy Choo slides.

  A girl could get used to this life, she thought with an inward sigh.

  And then in the next instant, as she stole another glance at the stranger, she wondered, Does he think I’m her? Not Celeste Fortune, necessarily, but a woman who could afford five-hundred-dollar shoes and Stella McCartney sunglasses and who knew which vodka to order and which sushi bar to frequent?

  Or could he see right through her? Did he know she was a fake?

  Cassie couldn’t tell from his expression since he also wore sunglasses, but she knew he was looking at her. He was the kind of man who had always intimidated her a little because he so obviously came from a world she coveted. His hair was very short and very bleached, his dark glasses, ultracool and high tech. He had the look of an artist or a musician or even an actor, someone for whom the bohemian lifestyle was as natural as breathing. And his attitude was that of a man who didn’t give a damn what the rest of the world thought of him.

  Cassie was instantly smitten.

  And wary. A man like that would undoubtedly be interested in Celeste Fortune, but plain old Cassie Boudreaux? Only when hell froze over.

  Still watching her, he slowly removed his sunglasses, and when Cassie saw his blue eyes, a thrill raced up her backbone. She found herself reaching up to take off her own glasses.

  And then their gazes met.

  Clung.

  It was like something from a movie, Cassie thought with another shiver. It was fate. Providence. Very good karma.

  Hardly aware of what she was doing, she scooped an ice chip from her drink, ran it over her lips and slid it
into her mouth.

  His gaze on her deepened. And then very deliberately, he ringed the edge of his glass with his fingertip. When his finger dipped inside, a shudder went through Cassie’s whole body.

  Oh, my God, she thought in alarm. What was she doing?

  HOLY—

  Jack cut himself off and drew a deep breath. Were they doing what he thought they were doing?

  So much for an inconspicuous surveillance, but hell, who cared? Celeste Fortune was hot.

  And way out of your league, Jackie, he could hear Cher warn him.

  Okay, okay, but she was hot. Her hair. Those eyes. Those…lips.

  He groaned inwardly when she slid the ice cube into her mouth yet again. If they kept this up, he wouldn’t be walking out of this place with his dignity intact, that was for damn sure. If they kept this up—

  A movement on the roof of the building across the street momentarily caught his attention and he glanced up with a frown. Something flashed in the deepening shadows, like light bouncing off glass. Or a rifle scope…

  No sooner had the thought formed in his head than a shot rang out, and all hell broke loose on the terrace. A waitress dropped a tray of drinks and someone screamed.

  Jack saw the terror in Celeste Fortune’s eyes a split second before he dove.

  CASSIE WAS MOMENTARILY frozen by shock and fear, and then it was she who screamed as the stranger hurled himself toward her. He slid across her table, tipping her chair backward, and they both went crashing to the floor.

  She was frozen again, this time without breath. The stranger lay sprawled on top of her, his lips only inches from hers, his blue gaze peering into hers.

  “Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.

  Cassie still couldn’t speak. All she could do was lie there gasping for air.

  “You’re not hurt, are you? Oh, God, you’re not—”

  “Can’t…breathe…” she managed.

  He rolled off her. “Stay down,” he warned, and then he got to his feet, vaulted over the wrought-iron fence surrounding the patio, and sprinted into the street. A horn sounded, tires squealed, but he didn’t seem to notice. In a matter of seconds, he’d disappeared into the traffic.

  Cassie glanced around. She was the only one on the floor. In fact, a number of people had hurried over and stood staring down at her.

  “It’s okay,” someone said. “It was just a car backfiring.”

  Nervous laughter erupted on the terrace.

  Now that Cassie’s initial fear had dissipated, mortification set in. “I thought it was a gunshot,” she muttered as she struggled to her feet.

  “So did I,” the waitress who’d dropped the glasses said sheepishly. She reached to give Cassie a hand up.

  “It was that old blue truck that just went by,” someone commented. “I thought it was part of the Art Car parade at first, but then I realized it hadn’t been painted to look that way. The metal was just all rusted. And it had Louisiana plates.”

  Cassie glanced up sharply. Danny’s uncle drove an old rusty blue pickup, and he and his nephew were as thick as thieves. What if they’d come to Houston looking for Cassie?

  But that was impossible. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going. That was part of her and Celeste’s agreement. In order for the plan to work, no one could know where she was, so she’d packed up and left town in the middle of the night.

  The rusty, blue truck had to be a coincidence. No way Danny and Earl could have found her so quickly and, besides, there wasn’t a Cantrell alive who’d be caught dead in Montrose.

  “Where’d your friend run off to?” the first waitress asked Cassie.

  She tore her attention from the street. “He’s…not my friend. I never saw him before.”

  “Maybe he was just embarrassed by the way he overreacted.”

  I think we both overreacted, Cassie thought, remembering the way his finger had slowly traced the edge of his glass. She felt that odd little shudder go through her again.

  The waitress cocked her head as she studied Cassie. “Say, do I know you? You seem familiar.” She snapped her fingers. “I know. You look like that actress. The one who was in—”

  Cassie was spared from having to answer by the maître d’ who pushed his way through the crowd. “Miss, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Nothing hurt but my pride,” Cassie tried to quip as she brushed off her two-hundred-dollar jeans.

  “We’ll get this mess cleaned up and have a new table ready for you in a matter of moments. In the meantime, if you would care to wait at the bar…”

  “Oh, I don’t think I could eat a bite after all that excitement,” Cassie said with a weak smile. “I’m still a little shaky. If I could just have my check?”

  He waved her off. “It’s on the house, of course. Please accept our sincerest apologies for the inconvenience.”

  As he escorted her from the terrace, Cassie heard the waitress say behind her, “She looks just like her! You know the one I mean. She was in that movie…damn, I can’t think of her name…”

  The maître d’ walked Cassie through the restaurant and even accompanied her out to the street after taking the time to personally call her a cab.

  “You don’t have to wait with me,” she assured him. “I’m perfectly fine.” She felt a bit of what Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard had experienced the night before with Lyle Lester. She wasn’t sure if the man’s solicitousness was truly out of concern for her safety or fear of an impending lawsuit.

  Apparently convinced that he’d done everything he could to ward off such a threat, he wished her a good night and went back into the restaurant.

  The cab showed up a few minutes later, and as Cassie climbed into the back, she glanced at the building across the street. For some reason, her gaze was drawn upward, and she saw someone standing on the roof looking down at her. In the split second before he disappeared, she could have sworn he was the stranger from the restaurant.

  But…what was he doing up there?

  JACK WATCHED Celeste’s cab drive off, then he turned his attention back to the roof. He hadn’t found anything yet, but he knew what he’d seen. Light reflecting off glass. Someone had been up there. He was still convinced of that even though he’d realized by the time he was halfway across the street earlier that the sound he’d heard was a backfire and not a gunshot.

  Besides, a professional hit man would have used a silencer.

  Professional hit man? Whoa, hold the phone. Jumping to a few wild conclusions there, aren’t you, buddy?

  Who would want Celeste Fortune dead?

  The cop in him silently began to list suspects. Owen Fleming’s wife. An old boyfriend. A jealous roommate.

  And that was just off the top of his head. He knew from experience the potential for animosity was endless when it came to women like Celeste Fortune.

  But if someone had really been watching her earlier, the culprit was probably just some sleazy tabloid reporter who’d followed her to Houston, hoping to catch Owen Fleming in a compromising position with his hot, young mistress. What Jack had seen on the roof could have been light reflecting off a camera lens.

  His theory made a lot of sense, and he might have been able to buy it if not for that nagging sensation in his gut telling him Celeste Fortune was in danger.

  A similar sensation had warned him that Casanova was still on the loose, and look where that premonition had gotten him.

  THE FRONT DESK was deserted when Cassie walked into the lobby a few minutes later. She wondered if Lyle Lester had come on duty yet, and if he might be lurking about somewhere. For some reason, the notion of him skulking about in the halls and stairwells made her shiver, and she hurried across the lobby into a waiting elevator.

  The car began to ascend, then jerked to a stop when the power went out. Cassie was plunged into pitch black for a moment before a dim emergency light came on. Trying to remain calm, she pressed the red button on the panel, but nothing happened. She couldn’t find a phone, either,
so what was she supposed to do?

  Panic! a little voice screamed in her head, but Cassie ignored it. No need for that. The power had simply gone off, and she was trapped somewhere between the first and second floor. It wasn’t like she was in danger of plunging hundreds of feet to her death. If worse came to worst, she could try to reach that little door in the ceiling, climb out, and—

  A soft thud sounded from somewhere above her, and then the elevator shimmied as if…someone…had…jumped…on top…

  Slowly, Cassie lifted her gaze.

  “Hello?” she called as her heart flailed against her chest. “Is someone up there?”

  No answer. Everything was silent except for the sound of her own breathing.

  She whirled back to the control panel and jammed the red emergency button with her thumb.

  Stay calm, she warned herself.

  To hell with that. Frantically, she began to push random buttons.

  A split second later, the power came back on and with a slight shudder, the elevator continued its ascent to the third floor.

  As Cassie got out, she turned and glanced at the panel in the ceiling. Had someone been up there? Was he still there?

  With a little shriek, she jumped back as the elevator doors slid closed.

  Letting herself into her suite, Cassie tried to convince herself that the whole thing had been her imagination, triggered by the incident at the restaurant. But when the phone rang, she jumped violently, and then scolding herself, rushed to answer it. She hoped it was Celeste. She had a few choice questions for her cousin, like why in the hell hadn’t she mentioned the fact that a hit man might be on her tail?

  “Did I scare you?” said an electronically altered voice in her ear.

  The blood in Cassie’s veins turned to ice as her hand squeezed the phone. “Who is this?”

  “Open the door and find out.”

  The line went dead then, and as Cassie slowly turned toward the door, someone knocked.

  Chapter Five