on the ground, watching as a pigeon darted toward her.
He stood at the edge of the path for a moment, watching her as she fed the
pigeons. Squirrels with ratty, moth-eaten tails joined battle, and eventually
Cassie resorted to throwing vast handfuls out.
"You have a soft heart."
He sat down next to her. She turned to look at him, hoping the sudden tension wasn't as transparent as she feared it was. "I have a passion for justice."
"So do I."
"Justice?" she asked. "Or revenge?"
Retired General Amberson Scott nodded approvingly. "You're smart as well as pretty. I like that in a woman. In this case justice and revenge are the same thing."
He was a distinguished-looking man, Richard Tiernan's father-in-law. He
didn't look all that different from the media darling who'd fielded questions on the Gulf war, giving even Norman Schwarzkopf a run for his money. Despite the tailored British suit, he still exuded a military fairness, a decency, an intelligence mixed with equal parts determination and compassion. It was little wonder he'd been such a damning witness for the prosecution.
"Your father's a fool," he added abruptly.
"No, he's not."
"Then he's playing a very dangerous game, and he's old enough to know better. Richard Tiernan is a sociopath, totally without conscience. Any man who could slaughter his pregnant wife and children and still sleep at night must be some kind of monster."
"What makes you think he sleeps at night?" she asked, knowing it was a stupid, inconsequential question, unable to banish the memory of his hands on the glass of warm milk, handing it to her.
Scott shook his head. "I've talked to your father, any number of times, and he refused to listen. I kept out of it—Richard's been convicted, and I have a strong faith in the justice system of this country. It's not going to let a man like him go free. He'll pay for the murder of my daughter and her babies, and I intend to be there and watch."
It was spoken with calm determination, and Cassidy had no doubt whatsoever that Scott meant every word he said. "But what if you're wrong? What if my father is able to prove he didn't do it?"
Scott shook his head. "Not as smart as I thought," he murmured. "Your father had no qualms about admitting the truth to me—why don't you ask him yourself what his new book is about?"
"I know what it's about. He's going to tell Richard's side of the story. He's going to prove he couldn't have done it." Even as she said it, the words sounded hollow.
General Scott shook his head. "No, he's not. He's going to tell Richard's story, all right. He's going to illuminate the mind of a murderer."
"I don't believe you," Cassie said hotly. Too afraid that she did.
"Sean O'Rourke wouldn't be interested in anything as tame as a true crime story. He's expecting this to be a masterpiece, and he doesn't care what kind of price he has to pay."
"And what kind of price do you anticipate?" Cassidy asked in a frosty voice.
"If Richard runs true to form, it will be the same price I paid. The life of a daughter."
The wind stiffened, catching a piece of torn newspaper and scudding it down the winding pathway. In the distance Cassidy could see the blurred image of Richard Tiernan, and one word of the headline. Murderer.
It would have been simple enough to go with the fear that had been teasing and taunting her for the last twenty-four hours. Ever since she'd arrived in New York. But if she started running, she didn't know when she'd be able to stop. And she wasn't quite ready to run yet.
She rose, tall, graceful, and he rose with her, polite, distinguished, a few inches shorter than she was. "I understand how you must be feeling, General Scott," she murmured. "And I wish there was some way I could help, but I think…"
"There is a way you can help," he said, and she braced herself, knowing what would come next. He'd ask her to spy on Richard, to intervene with her father, he'd ask her to…
"Stay alive," he said. "He's already
He stood at the edge of the path for a moment, watching her as she fed the
pigeons. Squirrels with ratty, moth-eaten tails joined battle, and eventually
Cassie resorted to throwing vast handfuls out.
"You have a soft heart."
He sat down next to her. She turned to look at him, hoping the sudden tension wasn't as transparent as she feared it was. "I have a passion for justice."
"So do I."
"Justice?" she asked. "Or revenge?"
Retired General Amberson Scott nodded approvingly. "You're smart as well as pretty. I like that in a woman. In this case justice and revenge are the same thing."
He was a distinguished-looking man, Richard Tiernan's father-in-law. He
didn't look all that different from the media darling who'd fielded questions on the Gulf war, giving even Norman Schwarzkopf a run for his money. Despite the tailored British suit, he still exuded a military fairness, a decency, an intelligence mixed with equal parts determination and compassion. It was little wonder he'd been such a damning witness for the prosecution.
"Your father's a fool," he added abruptly.
"No, he's not."
"Then he's playing a very dangerous game, and he's old enough to know better. Richard Tiernan is a sociopath, totally without conscience. Any man who could slaughter his pregnant wife and children and still sleep at night must be some kind of monster."
"What makes you think he sleeps at night?" she asked, knowing it was a stupid, inconsequential question, unable to banish the memory of his hands on the glass of warm milk, handing it to her.
Scott shook his head. "I've talked to your father, any number of times, and he refused to listen. I kept out of it—Richard's been convicted, and I have a strong faith in the justice system of this country. It's not going to let a man like him go free. He'll pay for the murder of my daughter and her babies, and I intend to be there and watch."
It was spoken with calm determination, and Cassidy had no doubt whatsoever that Scott meant every word he said. "But what if you're wrong? What if my father is able to prove he didn't do it?"
Scott shook his head. "Not as smart as I thought," he murmured. "Your father had no qualms about admitting the truth to me—why don't you ask him yourself what his new book is about?"
"I know what it's about. He's going to tell Richard's side of the story. He's going to prove he couldn't have done it." Even as she said it, the words sounded hollow.
General Scott shook his head. "No, he's not. He's going to tell Richard's story, all right. He's going to illuminate the mind of a murderer."
"I don't believe you," Cassie said hotly. Too afraid that she did.
"Sean O'Rourke wouldn't be interested in anything as tame as a true crime story. He's expecting this to be a masterpiece, and he doesn't care what kind of price he has to pay."
"And what kind of price do you anticipate?" Cassidy asked in a frosty voice.
"If Richard runs true to form, it will be the same price I paid. The life of a daughter."
The wind stiffened, catching a piece of torn newspaper and scudding it down the winding pathway. In the distance Cassidy could see the blurred image of Richard Tiernan, and one word of the headline. Murderer.
It would have been simple enough to go with the fear that had been teasing and taunting her for the last twenty-four hours. Ever since she'd arrived in New York. But if she started running, she didn't know when she'd be able to stop. And she wasn't quite ready to run yet.
She rose, tall, graceful, and he rose with her, polite, distinguished, a few inches shorter than she was. "I understand how you must be feeling, General Scott," she murmured. "And I wish there was some way I could help, but I think…"
"There is a way you can help," he said, and she braced herself, knowing what would come next. He'd ask her to spy on Richard, to intervene with her father, he'd ask her to…
"Stay alive," he said. "He's already
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