“YOU’RE AN EMBARRASSMENT to bachelorhood, you know that, Mason?” Weston ragged on him the next morning when Sam shambled into the briefing room for roll call.
“What are you talking about?”
“I found out what it is that you really do on the weekend.” Weston shook his head. “And here I’d been pinning all my hopes on the fact that you were shagging a different hot babe every night.”
“Your fantasies have been disillusioned?”
“Yeah. You can quit faking like you’re walking funny from too much sex. The jig’s up. The whole precinct knows you’re not getting any. My wife and I saw your sister in the supermarket last week. She said you babysit her kids on the weekends. She said you don’t even have a girlfriend.” Weston drew in an indignant breath. “What’s wrong with you, man? You’re wasting valuable time. Once some woman finally lassoes you, you’ll be longing for these single days you threw away so casually.”
Sam laughed, amused at his colleague’s sad attitude. Beth had done him a favor, spilling his babysitting secret. “Think whatever you want, Weston. I know where I was this past weekend.”
“Yeah, babysitting.” The look on Weston’s face was one of sad disappointment.
Sam placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Even the mightiest heroes have feet of clay. This is what happens when you live vicariously through someone else. For God’s sake, go home and draw your wife a hot bath, make dinner for her, treat her right. Maybe then you’ll have a sex life of your own and you can stop wasting your time dreaming about mine.”
“Gone, all gone.” Weston looked as if he’d just been told the National Football League was going on strike next season.
During roll call, Sam learned there was nothing new in the Stanhope robbery. He also learned one of his former partners, Ron Barnaby, who’d recently been shot in the line of duty, was improving and had been to the same rehab hospital that Sam’s sister Janie had been in all those years ago. He made a mental note to drop by and see Ron and to make a donation to the hospital while he was at it.
After the briefing was finished, he dragged himself over to his desk. He was bruised and battered and bleary-eyed from his wild weekend but the crazy thing was, he’d never felt more alive.
He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Thirty-six hours—give or take a few—chained to Cass’s lovely wrist had changed his life in unimaginable ways.
Whenever he was around her Sam saw life through her eyes. It looked fun and fresh, exciting and new. Around her, he was more alive than he’d ever been, more involved, more his true self.
And, he had absolutely no right to feel this way about her. None at all. But feel it he did.
He’d lied to Cass. Granted, it was in the course of doing his job, but he didn’t feel any better about the deception. He’d behaved unprofessionally and to top it all off he wasn’t any closer to knowing whether she was a thief or not than he’d been before the weekend started.
His heart told him she wasn’t guilty. Weston would say, “Heart, hell—it’s your gonads, boy.”
But Sam was a trained police detective. You followed the evidence. Once in a while you might pay attention to your gut, but only as far as it was reasonable under the law. What you could never, ever do in the field was follow your heart.
Or for that matter, your gonads.
Your heart and your gonads would trip you up every damned time.
Stop thinking about Cass. Get to work.
But there was no escaping her. She was part of his investigation. Intricately entwined in his case.
And his mind.
Whenever he breathed, he smelled her perfume, vanilla as candy-floss on the upper layer but with a rich, sophisticated note of sassy, foreign spice underneath that drilled a hole of longing straight through his brain the minute he smelled her.
Whenever he shuttered his eyes closed, he saw her movements projected like a movie picture against the screen of his lids, lithe as a dove feather floating down from the sky, but with a steely, determined undercurrent to her walk that tweaked his stomach with an endless need to watch her sway.
Whenever he ran his tongue over his lips he tasted her kicky flavor bursting delightfully in his mouth, tangy as jalapeño salsa but with the satisfying buttery softness of fresh baked bread stroking childhood memories of warmth and comfort and home.
Whenever he pressed his palms together, he felt her smooth skin beneath his fingertips until his entire body pulsed.
Whenever he tilted his head, he heard her animated voice filled with details and humor echoing in his ears like fairy footsteps but with the dusky resonance of midnight moans raising the hairs on his forearms and drenching his collar with sweat.
He was a man consumed.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
He pulled his palms down the length of his face. How had he let this happen?
Better question, what was he going to do about it?
Nothing. He wasn’t going to do a damn thing. He wasn’t going to call her. He wasn’t going to drop by her apartment and see her. He wasn’t going to ask Bunnie about her.
He was going to stick to the facts and keep his emotions completely out of the fray because that’s what good cops did. Sam was a master at subjugating his needs for the good of the case. It gave him a sense of inner well being, a comfort zone he associated with autonomy and freedom.
At least nothing had gone missing from Bunnie’s house. Some small consolation. He clung to that tenuous life preserver, made it more monumental than it was. He’d set up a sting and he hadn’t caught Cass. But was that because his methodology was flawed? Or because she was sharp enough to recognize a trap when she saw one?
What if he could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt Cass was not the Blueblood Burglar?
Only way to do that was catch the real one.
And then?
Sam shook his head. Until this was settled, he wasn’t pinning his hopes on the future.
His extension rang and he snagged the receiver, grateful for the distraction. “Detective Mason.”
“Sam, this is Bunnie Bernaldo.”
“What’s up?”
“I was mistaken.”
“What do you mean, mistaken?” Sam inhaled sharply.
“The jade stone. From the bronze Buddha in my foyer. It’s gone.”
“SOMEONE GOT LAID THIS WEEKEND,” Cass’s best friend Marissa teased her over an early breakfast at Havana Eva de Cuba, one of Marissa’s favorite hangouts just a few blocks from her apartment.
“How did you guess?” Cass asked.
“The news had to be juicy for you to insist I meet you at this ungodly hour of the morning.” Even at 6:00 a.m. with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and no makeup on Marissa looked stunning. Cass envied her friend’s exotic ethnic beauty.
“I know it’s early,” Cass apologized. “But it’s the only time that would fit into both our schedules. Thanks for meeting me. I had to talk to someone about this and Morgan would make too big a deal of it.”
“Lay it on me. I’ll give you my honest opinion.”
“That’s what I love about you, You never mince words.”
Marissa stacked her hands on top of the table and leaned forward. “So tell all about Bunnie’s party.”
Leaving out only the most intimate details, Cass related what had happened over the weekend. When she’d finished, she bravely met Marissa’s eyes and told her the truth. “Mari, I’m scared.”
“Scared?” Marissa looked surprised. “What’s there to be scared of? You used protection, didn’t you?”
Cass waved a hand. “Don’t be so literal. That’s not what I’m scared of.”
“So you’re going to make me drag it out of you?”
“I like him.”
“And that’s a problem because…?”
“I like him too much.”
Marissa had raised a glass of water to her lips and stopped in mid-sip, sputtering as she swallowed the wrong way. She set the water glass down and pounded against her upper chest with the flat of her palm.
“Are you all right?” Cass asked, anxiously clasping her napkin, prepared to run for help if her friend needed it.
“Fine,” Marissa said, her eyes watering as her coughing fit passed. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Depends on what you think I’m saying.”
“Are you falling in love with Sam?”
“Don’t be absurd. I’ve only known him a little over a week. I’m not falling in love with him.”
“But by all accounts, it’s been a very intense week. Falling from a ledge together, almost getting killed by a lightning-felled tree. Being handcuffed to a person for thirty-six hours would take its toll on anyone’s defenses.”
“There’s no toll. No toll is being taken.”
“Oh, my God,” Marissa exclaimed, and slapped a hand over her mouth to hide a grin. “You are falling in love with him.”
“Shh. I am not.” Cass was getting irritated. “And please stop saying that.”
“Cass and Sam sitting in…”
“Don’t you dare.” Cass pointed a finger. “I mean it.”
“What’s wrong with falling in love?”
“You know me. I’m footloose and fancy free.”
Marissa shrugged. “People change.”
“Exactly. For instance you could change your modus operandi of picking arrogant jerks and go for a sweetie like your buddy Jamie.”
Marissa glared. “Point taken. Okay. You’re not falling in love with Sam. It’s just an exceptionally lusty affair. Screw your brains out. Have a great time.”
“Thank you. That’s all I wanted you to say.”
“What are friends for,” Marissa asked, one eyebrow cocked, “if not to tell us what we want to hear?”
FOLLOWING HER BREAKFAST with Marissa, Cass found herself roaming the streets of New York. She didn’t have to be at work until nine and she had nothing else to do but walk and think.
She wasn’t falling in love with Sam. Her friend was completely off base. She liked Sam. She respected him. She appreciated the way he’d taken care of her in the wilderness. That’s what she was feeling—admiration, respect and gratitude.
Not love. Certainly not love. Never love.
Never love?
It sounded so desolate. Did she honestly truly never want to fall head over heels in love? Cass bit her bottom lip and narrowly missed getting clipped by a bike messenger as she crossed Broadway, though she barely noticed.
Where had she gotten the idea that love was a bad thing? Her parents had a great marriage and even though Morgan and Adam were going through a rough patch right now, Cass felt certain they loved each other and would eventually work things out.
She had no cheating bastard boyfriends in her past who’d used her and broken her heart. In fact, if anything, she was the heartbreaker. Not that she’d ever led a guy on. She’d never pretended to be something she wasn’t. Even as a child, when her other friends planned for their wedding day, Cass found herself fascinated by stories of runaway brides.
The happily-ever-after chicks were boring. You got married and your adventure was over. What tugged at her interest were those women who turned away from the traditional path and embraced a life of numerous possibilities. Katherine Hepburn and Margaret Mead and Coco Chanel. You couldn’t do that if you promised forever and ever and ever to one guy.
She tried to analyze it rationally. Deep down, what did she really want out of life?
Well, what anyone else wanted, to be happy, satisfied, fulfilled. That wasn’t so strange. How had it translated into a fear of a committed, loving relationship?
Maybe it had something to do with Nikki, with her guilt over what had happened with her friend, and the realization that she wasn’t tough enough to hang in there when things went bad.
She wandered past an elementary school and an old childhood memory floated to mind.
Her parents had taken her to a fall carnival at Morgan’s school. The air had been crisp, the leaves turning colors, the afternoon filled with limitless possibilities and fun. She’d gone on rides and played games and watched Morgan garner theatrical kudos in the school play.
And then she’d won a cake on the cakewalk.
She could still feel the excitement she’d experienced as that lucky seven-year-old. The lady coordinating the cakewalk had escorted her to the table laden with cakes.
“Pick any cake you like,” the lady had said, “but you can only have one.”
Cass had stared wide-eyed.
They were all so beautiful, so incredibly crafted. There was a Barbie cake and a Hello Kitty cake and a Smiley face cake. There were cakes decorated with M&M’s and licorice whips and malted milk balls. There were chocolate cakes and strawberry cakes and banana cakes. There were cakes with cream cheese frosting and cakes with butter cream frosting and cakes iced with caramel and hot fudge.
Eeeny, meeny, miney, moe.
She reached for the pretty pink Barbie cake, but stopped.
“What flavor is it inside?” she’d asked the lady.
The lady looked at a printed card in front of the Barbie cake. “Yellow cake.”
Cass had made a face. She liked chocolate best. She backed up and went for a triple layer chocolate cake, but it didn’t have M&M’s on it. She pointed to the M&M’s cake, but when the lady picked it up, she shook her head.
Why couldn’t there be a chocolate Barbie cake with M&M’s sprinkled on top of it?
“Pick one,” the coordinator insisted. “Just pick one, already. It’s not that hard to do.”
She’d started crying.
“Don’t cry. No crying, you won. Just pick a cake.”
But she couldn’t.
Cass had turned and run away. Run away without her cake because she simply could not choose just one.
The memory took her breath. Was that what she was doing with men? Running away from commitment because she was afraid of making a mistake? But in her running, she was missing out on the glorious taste of cake.
What was she so afraid of?
Honestly?
She was afraid of losing her freedom, of losing her essential self in the shadow of a man. But in her fear was she also surrendering a great deal of potential joy?
Was Marissa right? Could people really change? Could she become a person who could eat Barbie cake every day for the rest of her life and love it?
Dazed, Cass stopped walking. She looked around to see where she was and was stunned to learn she was standing in front of the 39th Precinct.
Had this been her destination all along?
She wasn’t quite ready to eat cake, but maybe she was ready to think about someday cutting herself a slice to see how it tasted.
But not today.
She turned to go and in her haste to get as far away from this particular piece of cake as possible, she smacked into a man hurrying down the steps.
“Oops,” she said.
“Sorry.” He reached out a hand to steady her.
The sound of his voice squeezed her stomach. Good grief, it was Sam. What were the odds that she’d run into him?
Well, considering she was standing in front of his place of business, probably not all that astronomical.
“Cass? What are you doing here? Did you come to see me?”
“No, oh no. I was just passing by,” she said, knowing he did not believe her. She couldn’t blame him. She did not believe herself.
His posture was stiff, unwelcoming. His face expressionless. Had things changed since yesterday afternoon when he’d kissed her after dropping her off at her apartment?
“Okay,” she admitted. “That’s a lie. I came by to see if maybe you wanted to grab some dinner tonight, my treat.”
“I can’t.”
“Short notice, fair enough. How about tomorrow?” Was she really saying this? Cass wished for her Hermès so she could gag herself and execute the prattling.
A pained expression crossed his face and before he said the words she knew he was going to blow her off. Knew it because she’d used the same look on many a man, but none of them had ever used it on her. She’d never given them the chance.
“Look, Cass. Things got out of hand this weekend,” he said. “We did things we shouldn’t have done. Don’t get me wrong, it was great. Way better than great, even, it’s just that…”
She didn’t let him finish, couldn’t stand to hear him finish. She raised her palms and nodded her head. “Right, right. I understand. Not a problem. Don’t think twice about it. Good times had by all. Hope you break the Stanhope case. See ya.”
Then before the rock in her throat turned to tears, she spun on her heels and sprinted away from that triple layer chocolate, M&M’s-sprinkled Barbie cake as fast as her feet would carry her.
IT WAS RAINING IN THE EVENING following his encounter with Cass on the precinct steps. Sam didn’t go home. The thought of an empty house depressed him. Instead, he decided to drop by the rehab hospital and see his former partner, Ron Barnaby.
Sam had been thinking about Cass all day, knowing he’d handled the situation badly, wanting to call her but reasoning that it was better that he kept his distance. Especially after finding out the jade stone, valued at eighty thousand dollars, was missing from Bunnie Bernaldo’s Buddha.
Every cell in his body wanted to deny the truth, but the noose kept getting tighter. He’d gone to Southampton, dusted the Buddha for prints and discovered a dozen different fingerprints on the statue, including Cass’s. The more he investigated, the more she looked like the Blueblood Burglar.
The hospital looked the same as it had twenty years earlier; tall, broad, brown brick building hulking imposingly in the rain. Inside, the hallways still smelled the same; citrus scented antiseptic, bad cafeteria food and underneath something darker. The bitter odor of tragedy.
His shoulder muscles bunched under the weight of his coat and in an instant he was transported back in time. A gangly kid, pacing the hallways while his parents waited at his sister’s bedside, not knowing whether she was going to live or not.
He hated hospitals and the ugly memories that came with them. It was the reason he hadn’t already been to see Ron.
Sam wandered the corridor and passed the room where Janie had once been a patient. She was fine now. She’d learned to live with her disability. She married a great guy and had bravely moved away from her family to Madison, Wisconsin, to be with him because she loved Peter more than life itself. And Peter’s family had embraced her, welcoming her with open arms. They’d never treated her as if she had a handicap. Sam admired his sister’s courage and he was happy she’d found her place in the world.
Suddenly, he had the eeriest sensation that someone was staring at him. He turned around but saw no one except for nurses scuttling to and fro on their mercy missions.
A few minutes later, he found Ron’s room. He was heartened to see his buddy looking well, even though he was still having trouble with his speech. Ron’s wife was there, as were his two kids, so Sam only stayed a few minutes and he talked about work. He could tell from the sparkle in Ron’s eyes he was happy to see him, and when he left the room, Sam felt better than he had all day.
He stopped a nurse in the hallway and asked her who he should speak to about making a donation. She directed him to the public relations office and he immediately thought of Cass and his case.
Instead of taking the crowded elevator, he headed for the stairwell. He heard footsteps behind him, but initially thought nothing of it. Visiting hours at the hospital, there were a lot of people around. His mind was still on Cass.
His nose itched. The stairwell smelled like wet cardboard and pepperoni. A pizza delivery guy, carrying boxes wet from the rain was going up as Sam was coming down.
Sam stepped aside on the landing to let the pizza guy pass on through the door to the fifth floor. When Sam stopped, he noticed that the footsteps behind him stopped too.
Strange.
Turning, he then edged quietly forward on the balls of his feet back up the stairs. His head rounded the corner of the bottom of the steps that he had just descended and he spied a pair of men’s black highly polished patent leather shoes.
“Excuse me,” he called out. “Can I help you?”
The feet turned to run away. Sam flung himself up the stairs in hot pursuit of the fancy shoes. The man hit the stairwell door on the sixth floor before Sam could get a good look at him. Ten seconds later he burst through the door after the guy.
The elevator doors were just closing.
The nurses in the hallway turned to stare at him.
“Shh.” One frowned. “This is a hospital.”
“Did you see who just got in the elevator?” he asked the disapproving nurse.
She shook her head.
“Never mind.” He punched the elevator button. He was probably making a much bigger deal out of this than it was. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been following him.
Question was, why?
“SO HOW WAS BUNNIE’S PARTY?” Morgan asked, slicing tomatoes for a tossed salad.
“It was okay.” Cass shredded the heart of crispy romaine lettuce.
“Okay?” Morgan put down the paring knife and swiveled around and pinned her with a look. “Bunnie’s parties are never okay. They might be crass, they might be unruly, they might be fabulous fun, but they’re never just okay.”
Cass shrugged. “More of Bunnie’s usual antics.”
“Something’s wrong.” Morgan narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Don’t lie. For one thing you never come to Connecticut during the middle of the week and out of the blue, I might add. For another thing you’ve been exceptionally quiet ever since you arrived. Cough it up, what’s wrong?”
Damn but it was inconvenient having such a perceptive older sister.
“Did you ever find out what was up with that carved box you found?” Cass asked.
“I’m not going to let you change the subject, but yes, I did. One of my customers has a background in ancient artifacts and she believes the box could be more than a thousand years old.”
“No kidding? Tell me more.” Cass propped her chin in her upturned palm while sitting cross-legged on one of Morgan’s chic modern bar stools.
Odd that her sister, with her obvious love of antiques, would decorate her own house in a neoclassic style. Then again there was more to Morgan than met the eye. For instance no one in the family could fathom why she had quit her well-paying job in the city to buy the antique shop in Connecticut five minutes from where she lived, but no one cared what Morgan did as long as she was happy.
Morgan held up a finger. “You’re not distracting me. What happened at Bunnie’s party? And don’t fib. You’re a terrible liar. Your face turns all blotchy when you lie.”
Cass touched her cheek. “Does it really?”
“Why do you think I always beat the pants off you in poker?”
“I thought it was because you were a brilliant poker player.”
“Nope, you just have a bad poker face. So no monkeying around.”
Cass reached for one of the carrot sticks she’d just peeled and crunched contentedly. “When’s Adam going to be home?”
“He called earlier and said he couldn’t make it to dinner. I’ll see him when I see him.” She shrugged as if she didn’t care, but the gesture was too casual. Her sister was upset.
“I’m sorry, Morg.”
Morgan took a deep breath and smiled tightly. “Nothing to be sorry about. Can’t be helped. Business.”
Cass felt so badly for her sister she started gabbing about Bunnie’s party to get her mind off Adam’s absence. They ate at the bar, ignoring the pretty dining room table Morgan had set with china, a floral centerpiece and candles. Then her sister surprised her by opening a bottle of wine. It was unusual for Morgan to drink during the week.
“So go on. What happened with you and Sam while you were trapped in the laundry room?” Morgan poured herself a second glass of wine.
“You know, things heated up.”
“How hot?” Morgan winked.
“You’re tipsy.”
“That’s my prerogative.”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“So? I’m well past twenty-one. Very well past.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what’s going on with you and Adam?”
“There’s nothing going on with me and Adam. We’re a boring old married couple. Regale me with stories of your single adventures.”
Cass was concerned, but Morgan was her big sister and she clearly did not want to talk about what was happening between her and Adam. She launched in with a few carefully chosen details about her night with Sam.
“So when are you seeing him again?” Morgan asked after she’d finished her story.
“I’m not.”
“What? You’re not seeing him again? But you just said it was the best sex you’ve had in a long time, perhaps the best sex ever and that’s a direct quote. I can’t believe you’re dumping him already. He holds the record for your shortest relationship ever.”
“I didn’t dump Sam,” Cass said quietly, toying with a mushroom on her plate. “He dumped me.”
“What?” Morgan sat up straighter and blinked at her. “No one’s ever dumped you.”
Cass clenched her jaw. She had no idea talking about it would make her feel so bad. “I really liked him a lot, you know?”
“Cass?” Morgan sobered and reached out to rub a hand along her shoulder for comfort. “Are you okay?”
“Sure, fine.” She shrugged. “He’s just a guy.”
“A jackass if you ask me. Using my baby sister for sex and then dumping her.”
“He’s not a jackass and he didn’t use me any more than I used him.”
“You really do like him.”
“Yeah, I really do.”
“This is the first time you’ve ever had your heart broken, isn’t it?”
Cass made a derisive noise. “My heart’s not broken. Heavens, no. I was just hoping for some more of that great sex.”
“Well, if it’s not your heart, then it’s just a bruised ego. Sam Mason will forever be the one who got away and that’s why you’re feeling blue. Your pride took a ding. No biggie. You’ll bounce back.”
“Yeah,” Cass echoed. “I’ll bounce right back, no problem.”
And then she ducked her head.
Just in case her blotchy face gave her away.