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
