minutes to…”
“I’m not going to work,” he interrupted. “You forgot. No reason you should remember, but today is Lauren’s funeral.”
He’d told her last night. It’s why he’d asked her to make things easy for him. Cass felt small to have forgotten it. She was so tied up in what was happening to her that she’d neglected to realize that he was still hurting. Still grieving.
“I’ll call a cab and I’ll go.” Pushing the covers back from the bed, she rolled smoothly until her feet touched the floor. Her sides still ached, but it was easier to stand straight today.
She watched his eyes fall to her bare feet, her painted toes barely visible below the overly long pajama bottoms. She wasn’t sure if they had captured his attention or if he was merely avoiding looking at her.
“I want you to come.”
“I don’t understand.”
Malcolm moved toward her and stopped. Deliberately, he put his hands on her arms and seemed to pause as if waiting for her to shrug him off. Since Cass felt no strange energy, she didn’t see the point.
“I think it might be a good idea,” he began, his eyes pinned to hers, hoping, she guessed, that she would see his sincerity. “I saw what that…thing…did to you last night. I know what you suffered. And I wouldn’t want you to risk that again. Certainly not for me.”
There was a “but” coming. She could practically already hear it. Then Cass was able to figure out what he wanted before he had to say it. “You think the killer might show up at her funeral.”
He shrugged. “It happens, doesn’t it? They want to see what they’ve done. Revel in it. He or she, whoever that was in the sweatshirt, might try to lurk in the background and watch, but if you were there…”
“I would know that he was there. Because the monster would come back.” Cass pulled herself out of his reach until his hands fell to his sides. He crossed them over his chest and grimaced.
“I did it, didn’t I? Crossed that fragile threshold in your brain that signals ‘user.’ But if you would hear me out-”
“What you’re asking makes sense,” she cut in, deliberately ignoring the roiling lurch in her stomach. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I don’t have anything to wear, obviously, but if you take me back to my place I can change quickly.”
“Cass…”
“No.” She stopped him with a raised hand when he made a motion to move closer. “It’s all right. You want to find the person who killed your sister. I get that.”
“Did it also occur to you that I might want to find the person who is responsible for that thing that attacked you? Find him so we can stop it from happening again.”
“Should it have occurred to me?”
“Yes, it should,” he answered tightly.
“You’re not making sense.” Cass turned away from him to get her clothes that she’d left on the chair.
“There’s something there, Cass. Between us. And it sure as hell doesn’t have anything to do with your gift. You can ignore it if you want, you can pretend I’m only using you to get after Lauren’s killer, but it’s not going to change anything.”
“Yes. Pretend. I’m not going to lie and tell you that your being at the funeral isn’t a possible advantage. I’m also not going to tell you that finding Lauren’s killer isn’t my number one priority. But I meant what I said before. I saw what happened to you. I know how that thing hurt you. So the second thing topping my current agenda is finding out who or what is doing that to you. Why? I don’t know. I like you. You’re stubborn and five foot nothing, but you seem to handle all these burdens. My dad would say you had grit. But you’re so damn closed I want to shake you sometimes until you admit that you need people. That you’re not as freaking okay with being alone as you seem to be.”
“I’m closed?” Cass laughed, waving her hand around the room filled with beautiful objects. “I’m alone? Malcolm, look at this house. If you packed it full of any more things, you would never have to see another person again. Some people surround themselves with things because it makes them feel better. Others do it because they’re shallow. Why do you do it? Why the car, and the watch, and the clothes, and the memorabilia all tucked into this massive, lonely house? It’s not who you are. Don’t try to convince me that it is.”
“I enjoy these things. I have them. It’s not to suggest that they are all I have.”
“Really? Then where are the damn casseroles? Where’s the pie and the cookies and all that comes with it. Your sister died! You’re connected to all sorts of people through your job. Hell, you know the mayor. Every homemaker within a thousand-mile radius should be bringing you something to eat, but you said there’s nothing. When my grandmother died, we ate for months from what people had brought. Here there’s nothing.” Cass took a breath because she needed it. “Don’t tell me you’re not just as closed as I am,” she insisted. “Don’t be that hypocritical.”
There was a startled silence between them. Malcolm looked over his shoulder toward the door, maybe all the way down to the kitchen, as if to verify that there were in fact no casseroles waiting for him.
“No. No one did bring over any casseroles. A few people sent cards.”
Instantly, Cass felt contrite. She rubbed her hands over her face as if she could somehow erase that moment of brutal truth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I imagine you were just trying to defend yourself. It wasn’t my intent to put you on the spot.”
He stepped away from her, and that was even worse than the cold timbre of his tone. If only he hadn’t pushed her, she wouldn’t have had to push back. She wouldn’t have been forced to show him that despite what he had, he had nothing.
Of course, then she may not have also realized that for all her pretensions about not needing anything, the result was that she also had nothing. They were so different, yet in this they were remarkably the same.
“I’ll go to the funeral,” she offered. “It does make sense. And you’re right. It’s not just about finding Lauren’s killer. I have to know who is bringing this monster to me. I have to find a way to stop it. I survived the last time, but I don’t know what would happen next time. I have to figure it out before it really hurts me…or worse. You need to take me back to my apartment.”
“I was up early this morning. I couldn’t sleep. I went to your place. Yes, I took the keys,” he said in answer to her shocked expression. “I fed your cats, gave them fresh water and food. They seem fine. I found a dress in your closet. It was black. It was appropriate. Also shoes and some other things I thought you might need.”
The audacity of his actions was more than enough to start another argument, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to bother. She figured if the monster did show up today, she was going to need all of her strength to survive it.
“Okay,” she said.
“I’ll get them.”
He left but quickly returned with her standard black dress and a pair of old shoes she recognized that matched. Carefully, he laid them out over the ottoman as if they were recently purchased from DKNY. They weren’t. He set another bag down beside the ottoman, and she could see it contained her toiletries and a hint of lace, which suggested he hadn’t forgotten underwear. The man was nothing if not thorough.
“We need to leave in about an hour.”
Cass calculated her preparation time. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“If this person, the sweatshirt, is there, run. Don’t think, don’t hesitate, just run. The farther you get away from it, the better. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Run? From something that was inside her head? Cass didn’t try to point out the obvious snags in that strategy. Instead, she nudged her chin in the direction of the ottoman. “You should go. I only have an hour. You know us girls,” she added as a lame attempt at levity.
He didn’t smile or make the obvious jokes. It would have been easier for them both if he had.
“You can’t let it continue to attack you,” he pressed. “There has to be a way to stop it.”
“It’s not your problem.”
“I think we already established that it is,” he declared solemnly. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs. After it’s…the funeral…is over, we’ll talk more. I want to talk.”
The door closed behind him and Cass shook her head.
