Cassidy and the Princess

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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