Cassidy and the Princess

“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.