Unauthorised Passion/Intimate Knowledge Page 6

  Cassie’s gaze remained riveted on the door. There was no way she would answer it. No way in hell she would go anywhere near it—

  The dead bolt! Had she locked it when she came in? She couldn’t remember. The phone had started to ring. She’d been distracted—

  She flew across the room and twisted the lock, but it was already engaged, thank goodness.

  Was he still out there? Cassie wondered frantically.

  Pressing her ear to the door, she heard nothing. Then, her heart still pounding, she glanced through the peephole. She couldn’t see anything, either. Her tormentor might have cut and run or…he might be standing to the side of the door, out of sight, hoping to lure her into the hall.

  Cassie glanced over her shoulder at the phone, wondering if she should call the front desk or even the police. But what would she tell them? That someone had played a prank on her? Because that’s all it was, wasn’t it? She couldn’t actually be in danger, could she?

  What if she was? What if Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard was right, and Margo Fleming had called on her family to exact a little payback?

  But…wouldn’t a Mafia hit man be a little more subtle?

  Come to think of it, though, subtlety had never been the Cantrells’ strong suit.

  When Cassie put her eye back to the peephole, someone stared back at her.

  She gasped and jumped away from the door. Whoever was out there knocked again, more boldly this time, as if he didn’t care who might hear him.

  Cassie’s hand flew to her chest. Her heart was racing so fast she could hardly catch her breath. “Who’s there?” she called.

  A male voice said anxiously, “Miss Fortune? It’s Lyle…Lester. The night clerk said she saw you get on the elevator right before the power went off. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Then why hadn’t he simply called her suite? Cassie wondered.

  And how had the night clerk witnessed her getting onto the elevator? The girl hadn’t even been at the desk when Cassie had come in.

  “Miss Fortune?”

  Cassie bit her lip. Then drawing a deep breath, she said, “I’m fine. No harm done.”

  “I’m so relieved to hear it. I’ve brought you up a flashlight and some candles. I heard on the news earlier that these outages are happening all over town. Something about an overloaded power grid caused by the heat wave. Hopefully, it’ll just be temporary, but I thought it best to be prepared just in case.”

  Cassie stepped back up to the peephole. She couldn’t tell what Lyle held in his hand, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to open the door to find out.

  “I’m…indisposed at the moment,” she called. “Can you just leave the stuff outside the door?”

  A slight hesitation, then, “Of course. If you need anything else, please let us know.”

  “I will.”

  Cassie’s eye was still pressed to the peephole, and as Lyle Lester walked away, she saw him pause once and glance over his shoulder before he disappeared from her view.

  JACK PULLED a dark cap over his head and rubber boots onto his feet, then headed for the Dumpsters behind the Mirabelle. He’d bribed a maid to mark an X in red tape on the trash bags that came from Celeste’s suite, so he had high hopes that his job would go more smoothly tonight.

  He had to be careful, though. Now that Celeste had gotten a good look at him, he couldn’t chance running into her again. He was damn lucky she hadn’t recognized him from the night before, but he supposed he had Cher to thank for that.

  At any rate, it had been stupid and amateurish to follow her into that restaurant. The pricey menu and trendy decor were about as far out of his league as she was, and besides, it was never a good idea to get that close to a mark. It really wasn’t a good idea to get too close…to her.

  But Jack had conducted enough surveillance operations to recognize the symptoms. It was the Stockholm Syndrome in reverse. Spending so much time observing from afar, the watcher began to identify with the subject to the point of infatuation. Sometimes the temptation to see her up close and personal became irresistible. Sometimes he would even fantasize about getting to know her, about protecting her…

  That had to be it. How else to explain his feelings for Celeste Fortune? Love at first sight?

  There was a time when Jack would have been the first to scoff at such a notion, but not after the Casanova case. Not after he’d seen with his own two eyes how five sophisticated and successful women had been swept off their feet by a suave and sadistic killer.

  Love at first sight? Loneliness? The thrill of a stranger’s seduction? Who knew what had motivated those women to invite a killer into their homes after they’d taken the time to carefully set the stage for romance?

  The criminal psychologist called in to consult on the case had been convinced that Casanova stalked his victims for weeks, possibly months before he approached them. According to Dr. West, the killer had gotten to know his targets inside and out—their hopes and dreams, their deepest fears and darkest fantasies. And then he used those intimacies to seduce them.

  He’d probably even gone through their trash, Jack thought in disgust as he pulled out a plastic bag marked with a red X. He dropped the bag on the ground and grimaced.

  What was he doing?

  Just what the hell was he doing?

  He was a cop, for God’s sake. The fact that he’d been kicked off the force didn’t change who he was. What he was. A man who’d sworn not only to uphold the law, but to serve and protect.

  This wasn’t serving anybody but himself and some rich geek who couldn’t get a woman on his own merits. So he’d stooped to this level and so had Jack. He’d allowed his financial and professional setbacks to cloud his judgment. He’d used his desperation to catch a killer as an excuse to trade in his ethics.

  And in the process, he’d become someone he didn’t much like or respect.

  Well, it stopped now, he decided as he picked up the trash bag from Celeste’s room and slung it back into the Dumpster. As he turned away in self-loathing, he heard something rattle in the alley.

  He froze. For the longest moment, he listened to the darkness, but when he heard nothing else, he figured it must have been his imagination or a rat scurrying through the trash.

  Then he heard a bumping sound, and leaving the Dumpsters, he flattened himself against the wall of the hotel and peered down the alley. He saw nothing at first, but then farther down, near the street, something moved underneath a third-floor balcony.

  Hugging the wall, Jack slipped silently into the alley. As he drew closer, he recognized the sound he’d heard earlier. A grappling hook had been thrown over the balcony railing of Celeste’s suite, and a slender figure clad in black was now shimmying up the rope.

  Drawing his weapon, Jack sprinted from the shadows. “Police! Halt!”

  The suspect spun, saw him, then doubling his efforts, scurried the rest of the way up before Jack could reach him. Climbing over the railing, the intruder pulled the rope up behind him, then turned and tried the French doors.

  Jack took aim as he raced toward the balcony. “Freeze!”

  The suspect—his face covered by a ski mask—glanced back at Jack, then slung the grappling hook all the way to the roof. It caught on a drainpipe, and as nimble as an acrobat, he scampered up.

  A dozen scenarios flashed through Jack’s head, none of them good. If he fired his weapon, there would be hell to pay. Impersonating a police office carried a stiff sentence, and considering the animosity he’d left behind at police headquarters and city hall, he couldn’t imagine anyone coming down on his side.

  Still, it wasn’t hard to figure that a guy wearing a ski mask and wielding a grappling hook in the middle of the night was up to no good. It was obvious he’d meant to get in Celeste’s suite, but for what purpose, Jack could only imagine.

  The intruder had almost made it to the roof by this time. Grasping the edge, he hitched himself over, then scrambled to his feet. Pausing for a moment, he ga
zed over the edge.

  Jack had him in his sights. He could have easily taken him out, but he didn’t. Instead he slowly lowered his weapon.

  There was something familiar about him…her…

  Something that sent a shiver up Jack’s spine as their gazes met in the darkness.

  Then, with a mocking salute, the intruder turned and disappeared over the slope of the roof.

  JACK RANG THE BELL, then banged loudly on Max Tripp’s door until a light came on in the town house. A few minutes later, his ex-partner drew back the door.

  Max looked shocked when he saw the bandage wrapped around Jack’s hand. “What happened to you?”

  Jack brushed past him. “We need to talk.”

  “So you said on the phone.” Max closed the door and turned. He looked as if he’d dressed in a hurry and in the dark. He wore a pair of sweatpants and an old HPD T-shirt that might have served double duty as a cleaning rag. His disheveled appearance was a far cry from the slick image he presented at his posh offices on South Post Oak, and for a moment, Jack was relieved to see the man he’d known years ago. Maybe this Max would be willing to listen to reason.

  But his next words didn’t instill much hope. “This had better be good.” Reluctantly, he gestured toward the living room.

  “It is,” Jack said grimly as they both took seats. “She’s in danger, Max.”

  “Who’s in danger?”

  “Celeste Fortune.” Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not the only one tailing her. I’ve been getting a strange vibe ever since I started the surveillance, but tonight I actually saw someone try to break into her suite. You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Max’s frowned deepened. “What?”

  Restless, Jack got up and began to pace. “We have to warn her.”

  “Now hold on a minute.” Max’s gaze tracked him to and fro. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions here. Just calm down and tell me exactly what you saw.”

  “It started when I followed her to a restaurant on Montrose tonight.” Quickly, Jack explained about the flash of light on the building across the street.

  Max shrugged after he’d heard him out. “So? You said yourself you didn’t find anything. More than likely what you saw was light reflecting off a window in the building.”

  “No, I’m positive it came from the roof. And then when I went back to the hotel a little while later, I saw someone climb up to her balcony. He tried to get into her room, but the door was locked. If I hadn’t been there to scare him off, he probably would have broken the glass. God only knows what he meant to do once inside.” The images swirling around in Jack’s head made him feel sick. If he hadn’t been there—“The point is, she’s obviously in danger and we have to warn her.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

  Jack stopped pacing and glared down at Max. “What do you mean we can’t do that? If anything happens to her, it’ll be on our conscience.”

  Max shrugged again. “Then that’s a chance we’ll have to take. If we go to her now, it’ll blow the whole operation. We can’t do it. Our loyalty is to the client.”

  “Like hell it is,” Jack said angrily. “We’re cops, for God’s sake.”

  “Were cops. That’s the operative word,” Max reminded him. His expression hardened. “Look, I know you always took that ‘to serve and protect’ stuff to heart, but you’re not on the force anymore. You work for me now, and I thought we had an understanding.”

  Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A woman’s life is at stake. That supercedes any agreement we had.”

  Max calmly folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t know that her life is in danger. You’re jumping to conclusions. The guy you saw tonight was probably a run-of-the-mill burglar or a two-bit jewel thief after that huge rock Fleming bought her. Now that you’ve scared him off, I doubt he’ll be back.”

  Jack wasn’t so sure about that. The guy knew what he was doing. By the time Jack had found a way up to the roof, the suspect had disappeared without a trace. He couldn’t have escaped so easily unless he knew his way around that hotel backward and forward.

  Jack hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of him. All he’d gotten for his trouble was a bad scrape on a rusty nail. And just his luck, he didn’t remember when he’d had his last tetanus shot.

  “If you’re not going to do anything about this, then I’ll take care of it myself,” he said. “I’ve still got a few favors I can call in downtown.”

  Max gave him a shrewd appraisal. “And just what are you going to tell them? That the woman you’ve been stalking is being stalked by someone else? The way I hear it, you’ve already been making a nuisance of yourself downtown trying to get information about that homicide in Montrose. Next thing you know, you’ll be trying to convince them that Celeste Fortune is being stalked by Casanova.”

  Anger shot through Jack at the man’s cold assessment. Something had happened to Max since he’d left the police department. Something that Jack didn’t want to see when he looked at himself in the mirror every morning. “I’ll tell them whatever I have to,” he warned.

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ll tell them I work for you.”

  Max stood. “You seemed to have forgotten that little thing called a confidentiality agreement that you signed the other day. You go shooting off your mouth about our business arrangement, and I’ll deny ever having had this conversation with you. I’ll say I threw a few odd jobs your way because I felt sorry for you. What you did with Celeste Fortune you did on your own. I’ve never even heard of her. Who do you think they’re going to believe, Jack? Unlike you, I still have friends in high places.”

  Jack clenched his fists. “What the hell are you doing, Max? We were partners once.”

  “And we could be again, but you’ve got to forget about being a cop. That part of your life is over. I’m giving you a chance to make something of yourself, but the first thing you have to learn about our business is that protecting our client’s interests comes first.”

  Jack glanced at his ex-partner in disgust. “Sounds to me like covering your ass comes first.”

  Max walked over to the window and stared out for a moment, then turned. “Let me ask you something. Do you really think you were kicked off the force for ruffling too many feathers at city hall? Hell, you’d been doing that for years. But the brass put up with it because you were a good cop. They didn’t want to lose you. So what changed?”

  “You seem to have all the answers,” Jack said coldly. “You tell me.”

  “They got rid of you because you scared them. You became so obsessed with the Casanova case that even guys who’d known you for years began to worry about your stability. An unbalanced cop is a dangerous entity, as we both know. You go down there now with a cockamamy story about some actress being stalked, what do you think they’re going to do? Who do you think they’re going to put under surveillance? It won’t be Celeste Fortune.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Jack whirled and strode toward the door.

  Behind him, Max said, “Did it ever occur to you that the best way to protect her is to keep doing what you’re doing?” When Jack turned, Max continued grimly, “You’ve got a job to do, Jack. If someone wants to harm Celeste Fortune, it’s in our client’s best interest to find out who that person is.”

  FROM HIS POSITION across the street, Jack could see the southeast corner of the hotel, including Celeste’s balcony. The lights were off inside her suite so he assumed the earlier incident hadn’t awakened her.

  He hated to think of her up there sleeping peacefully in her bed with no inkling of the danger that could be lurking nearby.

  And Jack couldn’t tell her.

  Max was right about that. I know someone is stalking you because I’ve been stalking you myself. Yeah, that’d go over big—with her and the police. He couldn’t tell Celeste she was in danger any more than he could alert the cops because he’d be the one put under a microscope. So what th
e hell was he supposed to do?

  After he left Max’s place, Jack had toyed briefly with the idea of placing an anonymous call to the police, but he knew only too well how much good that would do. At the most, they’d send a patrol car to check out the alley and when they found nothing, the whole thing would be forgotten.

  So it was up to Jack to protect her. Max was right about that, too. Jack had to keep doing what he was doing in order to watch out for her, but would that be enough? He couldn’t spend twenty-four hours a day on surveillance. He couldn’t shadow her every move.

  Or…could he?

  An idea came to him suddenly, and yanking his wallet from his pocket, he pulled out the check Max had given him a few days ago. An advance, he’d said, to get some nice clothes and a decent haircut.

  Well, he had the haircut. And he knew that Cher, queen of resale shopping, could help him out with his wardrobe. Now all he had to do was book himself into the Mirabelle and strike up a friendship with Celeste. With any luck, he’d be able to catch her stalker in the act before his money ran out.

  Settling in for the night, Jack slid down in the car seat, folded his arms, and began to plan a “coincidental” meeting with the gorgeous actress.

  Chapter Six

  Cassie lay atop the padded sundeck of a thirty-five-foot cabin cruiser and hoped this second outing Celeste had arranged for her would go more smoothly than the first.

  So far everything had gone according to schedule. The rental car had arrived at the hotel that morning promptly at nine o’clock, and less than an hour later, Cassie had crossed the causeway on I-45 into Galveston.

  She’d spent another half hour looking for Ethan Gold’s house on Jamaica Beach, but she hadn’t minded the search. From her very first glimpse of the Gulf, the tension had steadily melted away.

  Now Cassie felt positively decadent, lying topless in the sun on her own boat. Well, okay, her own borrowed boat. The distinction didn’t bother her one bit because she had two whole days to loll about in the sun and surf and pretend that this life really did belong to her.