Page 85 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“Hallelujah and amen.”

“I’m not ready to celebrate quite yet.” Marla Cahill was still on the loose. A silver car and a videotape didn’t ensure her capture. He’d wait before he cracked out the champagne.

“What do you mean, Cherise is dead?” Cissy said, the pit of her stomach suddenly like ice. She’d been wiping the remains of B.J.’s lunch, a combination of macaroni and cheese and vegetables, from his face when Jack had walked in. Coco, momentarily distracted from patrolling the floor for pieces of Beej’s lunch that had accidentally or purposely fallen to the floor, started barking, but stopped when Cissy reprimanded the dog with a sharp “Oh, Coco, hush! Give it up, would you?”

Today she was taking care of her son. Tanya had called in sick, but Cissy thought she w

as probably on a job interview. Not that she cared. Now that she was over the surprise of it all, she was glad the decision had been made and the nanny was leaving.

As for her and Jack, they were basically living together ever since Cissy had told him about her “encounter” with Marla. He’d been camped out on the sofa, and sometimes he slipped into the master bedroom. Neither of them was addressing the issue. Neither wanted to break the fragile truce.

Now Jack’s face was pale, his lips compressed. “Cherise was killed, Cissy,” he revealed. “Shot.”

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

For an answer, Jack clicked on the television, turning to an all-news station, and, sure enough, within five minutes a picture of the front lawn and porch of the Favier house came into view.

Cissy sank into a chair, feeling detached from reality. What was going on?

The reporter was telling a story about an intruder, a gunshot, and a husband who was out of town, apparently with his mistress.

“They’re saying Cherise’s husband was involved with Heather?” Cissy whispered, disbelieving, as she saw a camera shot of her friend scuttling away from reporters, heading out the back door of the police station while Donald Favier held court on the front steps. She listened in stunned silence. Coco settled onto the couch beside her. B.J., unaware, babbled to himself as he tried to put a series of plastic, rainbow-colored rings onto a spindle.

Cherise was dead.

Murdered.

Like Gran and Rory.

“Who’s next?” Cissy asked.

“I’m moving back in for good,” Jack stated flatly. “Permanently. As your husband.”

Cissy didn’t have the strength to argue. She wouldn’t have if she did. Whatever was wrong with her and Jack’s relationship would have to be set aside. This was a matter of safety.

“This killer seems to be knocking off every member of your extended family. I’m moving back, and we’re getting an updated security system that we’re going to use.”

“Okay…you’re right. Of course.”

“And you have to trust me, Cissy,” he insisted. “I’m going to tell you this one last time, and then I don’t want to hear about it again. I never slept with Larissa. I never made love to her. That’s not to say that it didn’t cross my mind that night. I was tempted, because I thought it was over between us, but even so,” he said, shoving his face nose-to-nose with hers, “even so, I couldn’t go through with it. Because I fell in love with you, Cissy Cahill Holt, the first time I saw you in that hot little red dress; and even now, when you’re driving me out of my head with your insecurities, your doubts, and your accusations, I still love you.” He said it all without touching her, but that took nothing away from its power.

“I love you too, Jack,” Cissy said around a lump in her throat.

“Are you willing to try again? Do you believe me?”

The honesty and pain were so evident on his face. “Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “I do.”

He wrapped himself around her and kissed her so hard her breath was lost somewhere in her soul. It felt so right to be in his arms again. She held him tightly, her arms wound around his neck.

The phone jangled, and Cissy jumped.

Jack said urgently, “Let’s not answer it.” He kissed her again.

“With everything that’s going on…you know we have to,” Cissy said, extricating herself.

Muttering under his breath, Jack walked into the kitchen and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” he answered.

She picked up B.J. and carried him into the dining area. She saw Jack’s expression turn from exasperation to something darker. The brackets near the corners of his mouth tightened, and his gaze slid to hers.

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