Amanda Stevens - Unauthorized Passion

“I’m…indisposed at the moment,” she called. “Can you just leave the stuff outside the door?”

A slight hesitation, then, “Of course. If you need anything else, please let us know.”

“I will.”

Cassie’s eye was still pressed to the peephole, and as Lyle Lester walked away, she saw him pause once and glance over his shoulder before he disappeared from her view.

* * *

JACK PULLED A dark cap over his head and rubber boots onto his feet, then headed for the Dumpsters behind the Mirabelle. He’d bribed a maid to mark an X in red tape on the trash bags that came from Celeste’s suite, so he had high hopes that his job would go more smoothly tonight.

He had to be careful, though. Now that Celeste had gotten a good look at him, he couldn’t chance running into her again. He was damn lucky she hadn’t recognized him from the night before, but he supposed he had Cher to thank for that.

At any rate, it had been stupid and amateurish to follow her into that restaurant. The pricey menu and trendy decor were about as far out of his league as she was, and besides, it was never a good idea to get that close to a mark. It really wasn’t a good idea to get too close…to her.

But Jack had conducted enough surveillance operations to recognize the symptoms. It was the Stockholm Syndrome in reverse. Spending so much time observing from afar, the watcher began to identify with the subject to the point of infatuation. Sometimes the temptation to see her up close and personal became irresistible. Sometimes he would even fantasize about getting to know her, about protecting her…

That had to be it. How else to explain his feelings for Celeste Fortune? Love at first sight?

There was a time when Jack would have been the first to scoff at such a notion, but not after the Casanova case. Not after he’d seen with his own two eyes how five sophisticated and successful women had been swept off their feet by a suave and sadistic killer.

Love at first sight? Loneliness? The thrill of a stranger’s seduction? Who knew what had motivated those women to invite a killer into their homes after they’d taken the time to carefully set the stage for romance?

The criminal psychologist called in to consult on the case had been convinced that Casanova stalked his victims for weeks, possibly months before he approached them. According to Dr. West, the killer had gotten to know his targets inside and out—their hopes and dreams, their deepest fears and darkest fantasies. And then he used those intimacies to seduce them.

He’d probably even gone through their trash, Jack thought in disgust as he pulled out a plastic bag marked with a red X. He dropped the bag on the ground and grimaced.

What was he doing?

Just what the hell was he doing?

He was a cop, for God’s sake. The fact that he’d been kicked off the force didn’t change who he was. What he was. A man who’d sworn not only to uphold the law, but to serve and protect.

This wasn’t serving anybody but himself and some rich geek who couldn’t get a woman on his own merits. So he’d stooped to this level and so had Jack. He’d allowed his financial and professional setbacks to cloud his judgment. He’d used his desperation to catch a killer as an excuse to trade in his ethics.

And in the process, he’d become someone he didn’t much like or respect.

Well, it stopped now, he decided as he picked up the trash bag from Celeste’s room and slung it back into the Dumpster. As he turned away in self-loathing, he heard something rattle in the alley.

He froze. For the longest moment, he listened to the darkness, but when he heard nothing else, he figured it must have been his imagination or a rat scurrying through the trash.

Then he heard a bumping sound, and leaving the Dumpsters, he flattened himself against the wall of the hotel and peered down the alley. He saw nothing at first, but then farther down, near the street, something moved underneath a third-floor balcony.

Hugging the wall, Jack slipped silently into the alley. As he drew closer, he recognized the sound he’d heard earlier. A grappling hook had been thrown over the balcony railing of Celeste’s suite, and a slender figure clad in black was now shimmying up the rope.

Drawing his weapon, Jack sprinted from the shadows. “Police! Halt!”

The suspect spun, saw him, then doubling his efforts, scurried the rest of the way up before Jack could reach him. Climbing over the railing, the intruder pulled the rope up behind him, then turned and tried the French doors.

Jack took aim as he raced toward the balcony. “Freeze!”

The suspect—his face covered by a ski mask—glanced back at Jack, then slung the grappling hook all the way to the roof. It caught on a drainpipe, and as nimble as an acrobat, he scampered up.

A dozen scenarios flashed through Jack’s head, none of them good. If he fired his weapon, there would be hell to pay. Impersonating a police office carried a stiff sentence, and considering the animosity he’d left behind at police headquarters and city hall, he couldn’t imagine anyone coming down on his side.

Still, it wasn’t hard to figure that a guy wearing a ski mask and wielding a grappling hook in the middle of the night was up to no good. It was obvious he’d meant to get in Celeste’s suite, but for what purpose, Jack could only imagine.

The intruder had almost made it to the roof by this time. Grasping the edge, he hitched himself over, then scrambled to his feet. Pausing for a moment, he gazed over the edge.

Jack had him in his sights. He could have easily taken him out, but he didn’t. Instead he slowly lowered his weapon.

There was something familiar about him…her…

Something that sent a shiver up Jack’s spine as their gazes met in the darkness.

Then, with a mocking salute, the intruder turned and disappeared over the slope of the roof.

* * *

JACK RANG THE BELL, then banged loudly on Max Tripp’s door until a light came on in the town house. A few minutes later, his ex-partner drew back the door.

Max looked shocked when he saw the bandage wrapped around Jack’s hand. “What happened to you?”

Jack brushed past him. “We need to talk.”

“So you said on the phone.” Max closed the door and turned. He looked as if he’d dressed in a hurry and in the dark. He wore a pair of sweatpants and an old HPD T-shirt that might have served double duty as a cleaning rag. His disheveled appearance was a far cry from the slick image he presented at his posh offices on South Post Oak, and for a moment, Jack was relieved to see the man he’d known years ago. Maybe this Max would be willing to listen to reason.

But his next words didn’t instill much hope. “This had better be good.” Reluctantly, he gestured toward the living room.

“It is,” Jack said grimly as they both took seats. “She’s in danger, Max.”

“Who’s in danger?”

“Celeste Fortune.” Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not the only one tailing her. I’ve been getting a strange vibe ever since I started the surveillance, but tonight I actually saw someone try to break into her suite. You know what this means, don’t you?”

Max’s frowned deepened. “What?”

Restless, Jack got up and began to pace. “We have to warn her.”

“Now hold on a minute.” Max’s gaze tracked him to and fro. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions here. Just calm down and tell me exactly what you saw.”

“It started when I followed her to a restaurant on Montrose tonight.” Quickly, Jack explained about the flash of light on the building across the street.

Max shrugged after he’d heard him out. “So? You said yourself you didn’t find anything. More than likely what you saw was light reflecting off a window in the building.”