hadn’t opened the door. Manny had instructed them well. Paul Richards had opened it and stood aside. They had a small suite in a hotel near the auditorium where the competition had taken place.
Cassidy wondered whether Paul stayed in the same room, then told himself her sleeping arrangements were none of his business.
“I can’t talk either of you out of this, can I?” Paul Richards asked. He looked so miserable that Cassidy revised his original opinion of the man. He obviously did care about his partner.
“She can say no at any time.”
“She won’t. She’s set on this dangerous course. But you can stop it. You can refuse to go on with this plan.”
“If I thought she wouldn’t be in any more danger, I would,” he said. “But if we don’t catch him, he could follow you.” He hesitated, then added, “We’ll take every precaution.”
“She wants to help everyone,” Richards said. “Sometimes I even think she hates to win because someone else has to lose.”
Cassidy allowed that idea to sink in. A softhearted skater who could disable a bulky rapist. She was a far more complicated person than he’d first suspected.
Birthday: October 3O, 1977. College: B.A. degree mostly by correspondence courses. Major, English. Birthplace: San Diego, California.
The degree had encouraged him. That must have been difficult to obtain while staying on the road most of the year. She had determination as well as quick wits and an ability to defend herself.
“Where will I stay?” she said.
“With me,” he said.
Paul Richards started to say something.
“Don’t worry,” Cassidy broke in. “There will be plenty of chaperones. I live in a neighborhood of cops. At least two will be with her at all times, and there will be plenty of help within hollering distance.”
Richards stared at him for a long time, clearly trying to establish his possession.
Then Cara Merrick came into the room, her eyes red and her cheeks splotched with tears.
Cassidy looked at Marise Merrick. “You can still change your mind. No one would ever question it.”
“I’ve made up my mind, Detective. Where do we go from here?”
He looked at Mrs. Merrick in question.
“We are leaving in the morning for Seattle,” she said. “I’ll find a place for us for the next three weeks.” Then she stiffened and her eyes became steely. Formidable. “Take care of her.”
“She’s just going to be looking over photos,” he said. He didn’t like his own guilt at telling a half-truth. This was a really lousy idea.
He looked back to Marise. “Manny or I will be here, along with two uniformed officers. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
He looked around the suite. “Are there any other doors?”
“Only a connecting door to Paul’s room,” Marise said.
Well, that answered one question.
“And the only door from his room is into the hall?”
Richards nodded.
“I’ll leave you, then,” Cassidy said. “Manny or I will be outside. If you want any food, we will get it for you.”
He started to leave, then hesitated. “A reporter knows about the attack. Probably from someone at the hospital. We couldn’t stop it.”
“I know,” Mrs. Merrick said. “One reporter found us. We asked the desk not to put through any calls.”
“There will probably be television trucks as soon as the story breaks.”
“Maybe I should go with you now,” Marise said.
“You’ll be safer here,” he said. “I want to make sure everything is set.” Mainly he had to make sure his house was at least habitable. He was the epitome of the world’s view of a sloppy bachelor. What was really bad was that he was in the process of remodeling the house that he’d bought cheap because it was in such bad shape.
It was still the safest place for her, though.
He also needed final departmental approval before he took her anyplace.
“I’ll make sure that no reporters get up here,” he said. “I’ll tell the switchboard to allow my calls to go through, so if the phone does ring, pick it up.” He knew he sounded curt and officious, but he was also feeling an unusual sense of guilt and indecision that he didn’t like at all.
He also didn’t like the look of trust in Marise Merrick’s blue eyes.
“I’ll be here in the morning,” he said. “Eight.”
He left before he had any additional doubts.
Marise met him at the door the next morning. Her mother and Paul were tight-lipped but silent.
She gave them both a hug, then handed Cassidy her bag. There wasn’t much in it. A couple of track suits, a pair of slacks, a pair of jeans, a couple of blouses, a night shirt and robe. A pair of shoes in addition to the running shoes she was wearing now along with a shirt and slacks she was wearing. That was it. Her costumes would go with Paul and her mother.
She hoped she didn’t look as red-eyed as she felt. She’d gotten precious little sleep last night. She’d feared the nightmare would return and that if she woke her mother, there would be yet another battle to fight and more tears to stem.
Her head still ached slightly, and she had enough bruises to make moving uncomfortable. Most of all, she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. She and Paul did need practice time. Was she destroying his career because she didn’t care enough about her own?
Was this…idea simply a way to break away from an increasingly uncomfortable life, one that no longer satisfied her? Was it a selfish adventure that could destroy the hopes of people she cared about?
She only knew that despite the danger she was not foolish enough to ignore, she looked forward to a few days of freedom, away from routine and discipline and the feeling of being trapped.
Or was she just running into another kind of prison?
She was attracted to Cassidy MacKay. He was so different from any man she’d ever met. He exuded competence, and yet there was no arrogance about him, none of the constant anxiety that ran among many skaters.
“Quiet desperation,” she’d called it once.
Cassidy MacKay had none of that. He knew who and what he was.
He had that air of competence this morning. His usually unruly hair was combed, and he’d shaved; she caught a whiff of some masculine scent. Jeans hugged a body that was not the athletically
