Cassie blinked slowly, the faces of the associates blurring.
"What do you want from me?" her voice echoed from the elegant walls of the conference room. The stenographer looked up with a start. Juliet reached over to grab Cassie's wrist with a warning squeeze.
"We're all tired," Juliet said in her calm, lawyer's voice. "I suggest we finish this later."
King shrugged. "I'm finished."
He nodded to the stenographer and camera operator and they quietly left, followed by the associates who were all smiling as if they'd achieved some huge victory on a battlefield.
Cassie sat frozen, hands fisted on the sleek mahogany tabletop. Juliet packed her case, occasionally sliding her gaze over to where King stood at the other end of the table, waiting for a sneak attack. King moved to the doors as if to usher them out.
"Could we have the room for a moment?" he asked graciously as Juliet went through the door.
Juliet stopped and turned to Cassie who still sat at the table. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Cassie welcomed the opportunity to give King a piece of her mind. "It's all right," she told Juliet. "I'll see you Monday."
King shut the door before Juliet could protest.
Now it was just him and Cassie in the enormous room–but it felt very crowded. As if an unseen audience had joined them.
Cassie stood. She refused to allow King to see how wobbly she was. Black spots raced across her vision until she took a few breaths to banish them. King escorted her through an interior door to another large room, this one furnished with leather couches, an elegantly appointed bar, fireplace and club chairs.
"It's almost one." King reached for a baccarat decanter. Part of the churning in Cassie's gut was hunger. A small part. "I seem to recall you prefer Irish. Black Bush neat, correct?"
A genial host, King poured several fingers of liquid gold into a glass and placed it on the table between the two leather club chairs. "Sit down," he directed as he poured himself a generous helping of Johnny Walker Blue.
Cassie would rather stand. He came out from behind the bar, placing him all too close for comfort, so she slid into the seat behind her and ignored the drink at her side.
Instead of moving to the other chair, King set his glass on the mantle. He leaned against the marble, directly in front of Cassie, staring down at her with a leer.
As she realized the disadvantage her position placed her in, she wished she'd kept to her feet.
"You were the only thing Richard ever had that I was jealous of." King surprised her with his nostalgic tone. He shrugged. "You grow up in a house like ours, you learn to be competitive in everything. As the eldest, I made certain one way or the other I always won. Poor Richard," he gave a mock sigh, "always with big brother's castoffs. I don't think there was a woman he slept with that I didn't," he paused, searching for a word, "conquer first. Until you came along. And you were the ruin of him." He shook his head as if disappointed in her. And Richard.
Cassie finally understood how Richard came to be the way he was. It was more than just being spoiled by the power and money he had his entire life. Growing up in the shadow of his brother had also warped him.
"So," King continued with a smile, "what'll you give me to save your precious Liberty Center?"
Cassie stared up at him, confused. She bit her lip, certain he was setting her up for something. What was with all this quiet talk? She wanted to vent and rage at him, not discuss things calmly.
"C'mon now, Cassandra, I'm negotiating in good faith here. I'll make sure the Center gets all the funding it needs. Or I can save your medical license, let you be a doctor again. Which will it be?" His gaze raked her body, a master surveying his possession.
This discussion had nothing to do with being civilized.
She fought to still the surge of panic that came when she looked into those predator eyes, so similar to Richard's.
"Of course, you'll need to go back to Richard. After all, that's the point of all this, isn't it? We have to give my little brother something in exchange for his pain and suffering." He waved his hand at the sumptuously appointed room. "The only question is how much you lose beforehand. If you agree to my terms, here and now, you can save the Liberty Center or your medical license. Your choice."
Cassie took a deep breath and met his eyes. In her mind she was far away, on Drake's roof, roses perfuming the air, Drake's arm curled around her. King noted her attention wavering and sweetened the pot.
"What about your boyfriend, Drake? Our firm has been in contact with Pamela Reynolds' family. What if I took care of that problem as well? Saved the Liberty Center and Drake? What would that be worth?"
Cassie yanked her attention back to the here and now. King was behind Pamela's sister stalking Drake? It made sense. His firm had the resources to do surveillance, to give her everything she needed to make Drake's life a living hell.
King's gaze narrowed. He had her now.
"What would you do to save everything important to you, Cassandra?" His voice was a seductive croon. "Would you leave Drake in order to protect him, to guarantee his future? Does he mean that much to you?"
Cassie sucked her breath in and bit her lip against her answer. But she saw from the gleam in his eyes he knew. If that was all it took to keep Drake safe, then yes, she'd walk away.
But she knew better. Knew the lawyer wanted more.
"So that's the deal then. Drake in exchange for your future." He took a sip of his drink, his gaze glowing with avarice. "Of course, before you return to Richard, you'll need to seal the deal. Give me a chance to see why my little brother is so very fascinated with you." His voice trailed off and the room filled with a heavy silence. "Do we have an agreement?"
Cassie took a deep breath. She couldn't–-wouldn't—hurt Drake that way. And she couldn't trust the lawyer to keep his word even if she did. Alan loved toying with people. Shocking them into a reaction he could hold against them. She shook her head. "No deal."
His eyes flared with fury. Crossing the two steps needed to reach her, he leaned over her, his hands circling her wrists, trapping them against the wooden arms of the chair. His grip was bruising. The delicate bones of her wrists ground together bringing tears to her eyes. She choked them back. Any revelation of pain or fear and he'd pounce like a hungry wolf. Just like his brother.
It took all her strength to meet his gaze. But she lasted almost three years with Richard and he couldn't break her. No way in hell Alan could do it in three minutes.
Abruptly he released her. He stalked back to the mantle where his drink waited. "Fine. Just remember this is a one-time offer. You walk out that door and everything is gone. Your career, your house, Drake's building, the clinic, his career, both your lives over."
Anger sped her to her feet but she held it in check. Turning her back on him, showing no fear, she stalked to the door. His voice caught her just as she placed her hand on the doorknob.
"What about Ronald Brickner?" he asked, his voice low and ominous. "What would you give to make certain he goes to jail before he rapes and kills another three-year-old?"
She paused. He was bluffing. There was no way he could influence a homicide trial. Was there? She dared a glance and saw his face held the same smug expression it had during her deposition.
"Could you bear that, Cassandra? To be responsible for letting a murderer, the man who raped and killed poor Mary Eamon, go free? That's what will happen if you don't agree to my deal. What will you do when he kills again? How many little girls will go through that hell because of you?"
A shudder ran through her body, fierce enough to rattle the doorknob in her hand.
"You can't be serious," she told him. His bland mask of indifference never wavered. He moved to the bar to freshen his drink, waving her out as if she were an inconsequential.
"See you Monday, Cassandra," he said as she fled from the room.
CHAPTER 18
Blinded by tears of anger and frustration, Cassie fled the law office. She swiped at her face with fisted hands. Rosa always said she cried too easily, felt too much.
Nothing wrong with feeling,
Rosa would say,
as long as it doesn't get in the way of your doing.
What was she going to do? Cassie asked herself as she approached the law firm's lobby. What the hell was she going to do?
The elevator's doors stood open, waiting for her. She had the sudden fantasy that Drake would be waiting inside, ready to wrap his arms around her, give her the comfort and strength she so desperately needed. The thought frightened her…It came too easily, without any hint of anger that she'd grown to depend on him to that extent.
As if part of her had accepted he was a permanent part of her life, had surrendered to the fact that she wasn't strong enough to do this on her own.
She struggled with the realization, shoving it down, drowning it with a surge of fury. She could handle this. She wasn't going crying to Drake. This was her fight and by God she'd finish it herself!
This time it was the words of her grandfather, Padraic, that echoed through her mind.
Never start a fight, gal, but always, always finish it.
She stepped into the elevator, head high, shoulders straight. She had no idea what she would do, but felt confident she could save the Liberty Center. And Drake. If Richard and his brother were behind Drake's stalker, maybe Jimmy and Drake could use that information. The doors slid shut, finally allowing her to drop her guard.
They immediately opened once more, revealing a man in a sleek black wheelchair. Richard.
"We need to talk." He wheeled inside the small box, blocking her escape.
Cassie whirled on her ex. "Did you come to gloat? To see me beg for mercy? Forget it, Richard. It isn't happening. I don't care what game you and Alan think you're playing, you're not going to win."
She pounded the button for the parking garage and turned away from him. The elevator lurched to a halt. He'd hit the emergency stop. Trying to control her, like old times. She spun to face him, fists balled at her sides.
"Tell me one thing, Richard. How many innocent people need to suffer before you get your revenge?" She faltered when she saw the look on his face. None of the smug satisfaction of his brother, none of the sadistic delight in her pain she expected to see.
Instead he hung his head in shame. When he looked up to meet her gaze she was surprised to see tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't want revenge."
"What do you want?" she snapped, her patience with the King family long since spent.
"Forgiveness."
She backed away as far as she could. This wasn't Richard. Forgiveness? How could he possibly—
"Cassandra–" His voice was low, pleading. "I can't remember the difference between the fibula and the humerus, not anymore, but I remember a beautiful woman who loved me with all her heart. I remember dancing on the deck of a ship in the moonlight. I dream of–" He broke off. "Do you really want to know what I dream of, Cassandra?"
He was as lost in this as she was. She once loved this man. She was responsible for his life being stolen from him. Listening was the least she could do. She nodded, slowly, cautiously.
"I dream," his voice grew wistful, his eyes never leaving hers as he spoke. "I dream of surgery. I see myself performing marvelous, technically complex operations–things I could have never done," his voice caught, "before. Things I don't even have the words to describe, but in my mind I watch as my fingers dissect and probe and reattach muscle and ligaments and vessels. It's a wonder of precision and boldness that gives me this rush of adrenalin, of power and confidence I never had before–not even in the real operating room. But the best part, the very best part," he reached across to take her hand in his, "is when I come out of the OR, exhausted but triumphant, you're there, Cassandra. You're waiting for me. You tell me how brilliant I was, how no one else could have saved the patient. And I'm the happiest man in the world."
His voice trailed off and he looked away. "Pretty sappy isn't it?" he muttered.
Cassie leaned back on her heels, surprised. Before his coma, Richard wanted only to own her, control her, warp her into his idea of the perfect love.
Afterward he'd woken to his new life of disability, he'd been angry and bitter, wanting to take everything away from her, bring her down to his level. He'd been obsessed with her. Unable to accept the fact that they were no longer married, that she didn't belong to him.
But this…she didn't know what to say. Maybe he truly was a different man now. The old Richard would have never confessed such vulnerability to her. He would have gnawed on it, twisted it into something painful he could use on her like a weapon.
Instead of sharing it with her as a gift.
"Thank you," she finally said.
He cleared his throat. "I didn't–I never intended to tell you that." His words slurred a bit as he fought for control over his wayward muscles. "But we do need to talk." He straightened in his chair, looking at her once more, his hand tightening on hers. "Alan won't listen to me. He thinks I'm incompetent, weak, infatuated by you." He gave a small shrug. "I guess he's right. But I can't let him take everything away from you–your house, medicine, the clinic."
"I won't let him. I'll fight him. I'll quit the clinic, sell the house, use my savings, whatever it takes."
"You'll still lose," he said quietly. "Believe me, I know these people, I've fought them all my life. And lost. Even you can't win against them, Cassandra."
"What do you propose?"
He surprised her by smiling. "Just that. I'm proposing to you, Cassandra."
She watched in amazement as he slid his fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out a delicate diamond ring. Her old engagement ring. Left behind with her wedding band that last horrible night when she'd fled his house, their house, beaten and bloody, running for her life.