French Silk(64)

He said nothing for a moment, then asked, "Have you had any more protesters outside your door?"

"No," she said, smiling for the first time in twenty-four hours. "I think Mama cured them of that."

"Speaking of your mother, is Harry there to watch her?"

"She's spending the night. Why?"

"I'll tell you when I get there. Meet me downstairs."

"Cassidy, I'm already in bed. I'm tired."

But she was talking to a dead line. She slammed down the phone. If he wanted to see her, he could have made an appointment for the next day. She should let him stand downstairs ringing the bell to no avail.

But, she swung her legs over the side of her bed and went into the bathroom. It looked the same as before, yet she knew she'd never enter it again without thinking of him, disheveled and dripping blood on his shirt. He'd looked roguish and rowdy, and her feminine instincts had responded then as they did now with the memory of his strong hands resting on her waist.

She had threatened him with exposure, citing how a romantic dalliance with her might hurt his cause. She had failed to tell him how damaging such a dalliance could also be to her.

She dressed in a pair of jeans and a white cotton pullover, not wanting him to think she had primped in anticipation of seeing him. She took the elevator down to the first floor. He was ringing the buzzer by the time she reached the door.

"You're right on time," she said when she opened it.

"One of my virtues."

He hadn't dressed up either. She'd never seen him in anything except a suit. Tonight he wore jeans, a casual shirt, an ancient Levi's jacket, and jogging shoes. "Why did you want to see me?"

"Come out here."

"Why?"

"I can think more clearly out here." She looked at him quizzically. "There's too much damn ambience in there," he added brusquely.

The commercial district several blocks away was in full swing, but within two blocks on either side of French Silk the street was dark and still. When she turned after securing the door, Cassidy was at the curb, pacing the pavement where the protesters had marched.

"You look upset," she remarked.

"You could say that." He stopped and faced her. "This offering business—"

"I explained that."

"Yeah. So did Yasmine. But it doesn't seem plausible."

"That's your problem."

"Temporarily," he said shortly. "What time did you tell me you went to the Fairmont that night to pick up your mother?"

Claire hadn't expected the sudden shift in topic. The question made her throat constrict. "I … I told you I wasn't sure, but I guessed around midnight."

"What took you so long?"

"Pardon?"

"Andre Philippi says he called you at eleven. At that time of night, it takes about five minutes to drive from here to the Fairmont. I know because I drove it tonight. Your trip took an hour longer than it should have. What delayed you?"

"Cassidy, I said I got there around midnight. It might have been eleven or eleven-thirty. I told you I wasn't sure."

"You're lying!" He slammed his fist into his opposite palm. Claire fell back a step. "You didn't leave for the Fairmont Hotel to collect Mary Catherine until almost midnight because you didn't speak directly to Andre until then. When he called at eleven, he spoke to your answering machine, didn't he? You had to call him back."

He came toe to toe with her. "You weren't here when he called at eleven. You said tonight that you answer your phone if you're here, right? Andre left a message on your machine, so you'd know where Mary Catherine was when you came in and discovered her gone."

Claire's heart was hammering. "I can explain that."

"Save it. I'm sick of your lies. I'm right, aren't I?" He grabbed her arm and hauled her close to him. "Aren't I?"

Coming into contact with the solid strength of his body startled her, but she resented his high-handedness and wriggled free of his grasp.

"Yes, you're right," she flung up at him. "I have a habit of checking Mama's room when I come in. That night, her bed was empty and her suitcase was gone, so I knew what had happened. I was about to go out and look for her when I noticed the message light. I called Andre back immediately. He told me he had spotted Mama in the lobby of the Fairmont, taken her to his office, and given her some sherry. She was groggy and disoriented when I got there, as she often is after the worst of her spells. I drove her home and put her to bed. That's the truth."

"Oh, I believe you, Claire," he said. "I just want to know where the hell you were between the conclusion of the crusade and midnight. Did you make two trips to the Fairmont? One to murder Wilde and another to pick up your mother?"

She said nothing.

"You could drive a barge through the space of time you've got to account for," he said, raising his voice.

"I went for a walk."

Obviously he'd been expecting a more elaborate lie. The simplicity of her explanation caught him off guard. "A walk?"

"That's right. A long walk. Alone. Through the Quarter."

"At that time of night?" he asked skeptically.