Amanda Stevens - Unauthorized Passion

But there were some who believed in his innocence. And another woman had been murdered just a few blocks from where Cassie stood. What if that police detective was right? What if the real Casanova was still out there somewhere? What if she’d come face-to-face with him earlier?

Below, the figure moved out of the shadows and was caught for one brief moment in a glimmer of light from the street. As he turned his head toward the balcony, Cassie caught her breath.

She knew him.

CHAPTER TWO

JACK TRIED TO let himself into his apartment as quietly as he could, but before he could get inside the door across the hall opened, and his neighbor, Cher Maynard, popped her head out.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said in that low, husky voice of hers. The woman could read a phone book and make it sound pornographic.

Jack winced, then plastered a smile on his face as he turned. “Yeah? I figured you’d given up on me by now.”

Her gaze slipped over him. “On you? Never.”

He walked over and handed her a set of keys. “Thanks for the use of your car, by the way. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I didn’t exactly do it out of the goodness of my heart, now did I? We have a deal, remember? I scratch your back…you scratch mine.” She stepped back and motioned with her head for him to join her in her apartment.

Jack hesitated, trying to buy himself some time. “Are you sure? It’s late. Maybe we should do this some other time—”

“Oh no you don’t.” She curled a hand around his arm and yanked him inside the apartment, then slammed the door with her foot. Reaching behind her, she turned the dead bolt.

“Look, Cher, it’s been a long day. I’m wiped. If I could just crash for a few hours”

“Now, Jackie, don’t you worry.” Her smile worried him a great deal. “I’ll do all the work. All you have to do is relax and enjoy.”

Easier said than done, Jack thought as he glanced warily around her apartment. The one-bedroom unit was a veritable treasure trove of garage sale and secondhand finds. The red silk pillows and beaded lamp shades were charming, eccentric and a little overpowering, not unlike the woman who lived there.

His gaze moved back to Cher. They’d been neighbors for nearly two years, but her appearance still provoked a double take now and then. Her dark, glossy hair hung to her waist, and her eyes were heavily lined to resemble the seventies version of her famous namesake. She favored rhinestone-studded jeans, cropped tops and four-inch stilettos that put her just a smidgen over Jack’s six feet.

He’d never been sure which had come first, the name or the look. She’d told him once after a few too many margaritas that her real name was Charlene. He couldn’t exactly remember what he’d told her that night.

She walked over now and ran a long, tapered nail down the front of his shirt. “You might want to take that off. Things are apt to get a little messy before we’re through.”

“It’s chilly in here,” he said nervously. “I think I’ll leave it on if you don’t mind.”

She slanted him a look through her false lashes. “What’s the matter, Jackie? You’re not getting cold feet, are you? It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

She pushed him toward the old, flea market barber’s chair that she’d pulled up next to the kitchen sink. “Have a seat and we’ll get started. Are you sure you don’t want to remove your shirt?”

He sank into the chair and sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear.” She whipped out a plastic cape and gave it a good snap.

“So…what exactly are you planning to do?” Jack eyed the bottles and mixing bowls on the counter beside the sink.

Cher tied the cape around him, then patted his shoulder. “All you need to know is that you’re in good hands.”

“Famous last words,” he muttered.

“No grumbling. We had a deal, remember? I lend you my car and in return, I get to practice on your hair until I graduate from beauty school.”

Which couldn’t come soon enough for Jack. He’d had four haircuts in a three-week span. At this rate, he’d be bald by the time Cher got her diploma.

“Look at you. You’re all knotted up.” She began to massage his shoulders and the back of his neck. “I bet all this tension has something to do with that murder in Montrose earlier tonight. When I heard about it on the news, I immediately thought of you and what you always say about Casanova—that he’s still out there somewhere. Jackie…you don’t think it was him tonight, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. He hadn’t been able to get much from his contacts at HPD. For whatever reason, the brass was keeping a tight lid on the flow of information about the latest homicide. Which made Jack all the more suspicious. Were they trying to cover up a connection to Casanova?

Cher shuddered. “Let’s talk about something else. It gives me the creeps just thinking about that monster roaming around out there.” Her knuckles kneaded Jack’s shoulders. “So tell me about your day. Are you still following that actress around?”

He frowned. “I’m not exactly following her around. She never leaves the hotel.” Until tonight. Tonight, he’d seen her up close and personal, and the meeting had left him oddly unsettled. Maybe it was because he’d bought in to her Hollywood image, had begun to think of her as some celluloid goddess, and then seeing her in person had made him realize that she was a real flesh-and-blood woman. She could be hurt by what he was doing.

Cher’s fingers continued to work their magic, and he sighed as the tension finally began to seep away.

“Hey, Jack?”

The massage was so relaxing, he’d almost drifted off. “Yeah?”

“What else have you learned about Celeste Fortune?”

“You know I don’t like to talk about my work.” It had been a mistake to say anything to Cher about the assignment. He hadn’t meant to, but she’d overheard him on the phone with Max the other day, and since he’d needed to borrow her car, he couldn’t exactly tell her to kiss off when she started asking questions.

Besides, he also didn’t want her to think—and blab around the complex—that he was some freak who kept pictures of a relatively obscure actress in his apartment.

“Come on. Don’t be so coy.” Cher’s hands moved back to his neck, and she deepened the massage. “Just admit it, why don’t you? You have a little crush on her.”

“That’s crazy.”

“No, what’s crazy is that you think she won’t be pissed when she finds out what you’re doing. Besides, a woman like her is way out of your league, Jackie.”

“I realize that. But I don’t have a crush on her, anyway. Boys get crushes. Men get—”

“Obsessions? First Casanova and now Celeste Fortune. Anyone ever tell you you’re a little on the neurotic side?” Cher plowed a knuckle into a knot at the back of Jack’s neck and he jumped.

“Ouch! Anyone ever tell you you’re a little on the sadistic side?”

“Oh, shut up and take it,” she muttered. “You deserve it.”

“What the hell did I do?”

“You’re a man.”

So that was it. The latest Mr. Right had evidently turned out to be another dud. At least by Cher’s standards. Jack wondered what had been the matter with this one. The previous guy had parted his hair on the wrong side, and the one before that had preferred boxers instead of briefs. Or briefs instead of boxers. Jack couldn’t keep up. The point was, Cher was picky when it came to romance.

But her love life was something she’d have to sort out on her own. Jack had his own problems. Slumping down in the chair, he closed his eyes and thought about Celeste Fortune.