Dead by Midnight Part 22

"Oh, Sh.e.l.ley, that's terrible," Lorie said.

"Ironic, huh? A Powell Agency employee murdered. I saw her only a couple of weeks ago. She was showing me her engagement ring."

"Is there anything-?" Lorie asked.

"No, thanks," Sh.e.l.ley replied instantly, not allowing Lorie to finish her sentence. "I'm okay. Really."

She wasn't and they all knew it, but Lorie didn't press the matter. And before either she or Cathy could think of anything to say, Jack entered the kitchen.

"Everybody's asking about you, honey," he said and then suddenly picked up on the strained atmosphere. "Is everything okay in here?"

"Everything's fine." Cathy slipped her arm through his. "I'm ready to go tell our guests all about our honeymoon."

"You don't want to tell them everything." Jack chuckled.

"None of the X-rated stuff, I promise."

As soon as Lorie and Sh.e.l.ley were alone in the kitchen, Lorie said, "We can leave whenever you're ready."

"I don't want you to cut your evening short because I got bad news about a fellow Powell employee."

"I don't mind," Lorie told her. "I wouldn't have come if Cathy wasn't my best friend."

"I'll let Sheriff Birkett know that we're ready to go," Sh.e.l.ley said.

"No, don't do that. Let him stay and enjoy the party. His mother and children and girlfriend are here. I'll tell Cathy and she can let him know later. You and I can just slip out the back door and go home."

Listening to the moans and groans, the cries and sighs of the men and women in the throes of s.e.xual pleasure, he m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed in a frenzy of excitement. When he sensed that he was on the verge of coming, he closed his eyes, blotting out the laptop screen, and imagined himself as one of the partic.i.p.ants. As he climaxed, his e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n squirted onto the towel he had placed beneath him. His body trembled with release. He lay there on the hotel bed for several minutes as the aftershocks danced along his nerve endings. And then he got up, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Naked and beginning to feel ashamed of what he'd done, he stood under the shower and washed himself thoroughly from head to toe.

This time, just as every time in the past, he had been unable to stop himself from being s.e.xually stimulated when he watched Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade. He always jerked off, always had a mind-blowing o.r.g.a.s.m, and always felt guilty as h.e.l.l afterward. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself. He was addicted to this movie, its power over him stronger than booze or drugs.

He had lost track of how many old video copies he had destroyed. If only he could have bought every copy in the world. But now the movie had been rereleased-this past fall-on DVD. There was no way that he could escape from the sins of the past. Other people's sins as well as his own. Their wickedness had not only destroyed their own lives, but had brought such unthinkable misery into the lives of the people who loved them. They deserved to die. All of them. Once they were dead, each actor whose evil had tormented him and tempted him all these years, he would be free, wouldn't he? And she would be free, too, her sins atoned for.

After scrubbing himself until his flesh was cleansed, he dried off and dressed hurriedly. He had work to do, important work. That's why he was in Atlanta, why he'd been here for two days, plotting and planning in preparation for tonight's kill.

If she thought her bodyguard could protect her, she was wrong. Killing someone who wasn't on his list had not been a part of his original plan. But in order to follow through and eliminate all of the actors, he now knew he would be forced to kill their protectors. People who guarded the wicked against their rightful judgment were not innocents. They were tainted by a.s.sociation. He felt no qualms about doing whatever was necessary to rid the world of such evil.

He lifted the suitcase, set it on the bed, unzipped it, and flipped it open. There nestled inside was the mask that Ebony O had worn in the movie. She had been the only African American in the film, so she had stood out, her dark beauty a stark contrast to the paler flesh of her costars. Where Dewey Flowers, Lacey b.u.t.ts, and Puff Raven had looked on film like the s.l.u.ts they were in real life and Candy Ruff had somehow maintained a look of angelic blond innocence, Ebony O and Cherry Sweets had oozed a raw, earthy sensuality that somehow seemed natural and, oddly enough, even cla.s.sy.

He knew these actors inside and out because he knew the film inside and out. Years ago he had memorized every line of dialogue and knew by heart every movement and every sound. He had studied their bios, investing time and money into digging deeply into their present-day lives. They had become not only his hobby, but his pa.s.sion.

And when they're all dead? What then?

I'll be free of my obsession.

Will you? an inner voice taunted him. an inner voice taunted him.

Chapter 17.

Mike called her at 10:05 P.M P.M. "We need to talk."

"Go ahead. Talk," she said.

"We need to talk face-to-face."

"Fine. Come by sometime tomorrow."

"It won't wait. We need to talk tonight."

"Has something happened?" she asked.

"Look, we're fixing to leave the party. I have to take Abby home first and then I'll come by."

He hung up before she was able to respond.

At 10:35 P.M P.M., he drove up in the driveway and got out of his truck. Sh.e.l.ley unlocked the front door and let him in, then excused herself and went to the guest bedroom.

The width of the living room separated Mike from Lorie. He stood at the threshold in the foyer and she on the opposite side near the fireplace. They stared at each other, but neither of them spoke for several minutes.

"You left the party without telling me," he finally said.

"I gave Cathy a message for you. I didn't want to disturb you."

"I could have brought you and Sh.e.l.ley home. You didn't have to borrow a car from Cathy."

"Why are you making such a big deal about this?"

He huffed and shook his head. "You're right. I shouldn't have been worried about you. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't have left my girlfriend at her front door with just a kiss on the cheek. And I sure as h.e.l.l shouldn't be here right now."

Lorie stared at Mike. He was furious. Furious with her? Or with himself?

"Whatever's wrong, whatever has you so p.i.s.sed off, I'm sure it's my fault, isn't it? It's always my fault." She practically shouted the accusation.

He stomped across the room, his gaze focused on her, his dark blue eyes turning obsidian with anger. She stood her ground, her shoulders squared, meeting him face-to-face or as close as her five feet and one inch could bring her to his face level. If only she hadn't kicked off her three-inch heels when she and Sh.e.l.ley first arrived home.

"It's half your fault," he told her. He was breathing hard, his nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "h.e.l.l, it's not even half your fault. You can't help being beautiful and s.e.xy. And it's not your fault the way my body reacts when I think about you."

Her eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief.

"I thought I could do this-keep things strictly impersonal. I'm the sheriff. You're a citizen of my county whose life has been threatened. It's my duty to protect you."

Speechless, she simply stood there gaping at him.

"But I don't have to personally protect you," he told her. "I have deputies who can do that."

"Yes, you do," she finally managed to say.

"I've got a good life, a job I like, two great kids, a nice, respectable girlfriend."

"Yes, I know."

"Any man would be lucky to have a woman like Abby Sherman care about him."

"Yes, you're right. She's a fine woman."

Live wire tension pulsed between them. Throbbing. Intense. A millisecond from exploding.

"But G.o.d help us all, she's not you."

Mike grabbed her shoulders so quickly that she didn't have time to react before his big hands tightened almost painfully on her upper arms. She held her breath. Wanting. Needing. Uncertain what was going to happen. And afraid, afraid for both of them.

She recognized the anguish on his face and sensed the battle of wills going on inside him.

"It's all right," she told him. "If you want to kiss me, kiss me. I know that afterward, you'll walk out that door and nothing between us will have changed."

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. She suspected he was praying for the strength to overcome temptation. But G.o.d help her, G.o.d help both of them, because she didn't want to resist. She wanted him to kiss her, to touch her, to hold her in his arms. One last time.

He yanked her closer, cradled her face with his hands and lowered his head. Every nerve in her body rioted and every cell came vividly alive the moment his mouth touched hers. Tenderly, hesitantly, in direct contrast to the raging pa.s.sion they both felt, he kissed her. Their mouths mated with gentle longing.

He lifted his head, kissed each cheek and then her forehead before he released his hold on her face and took a couple of steps back and away from her. Breathing heavily, their faces flushed, their bodies hot with arousal, they stood there and looked at each other for an endless moment. And then Mike turned and walked away. She didn't move from the spot until after he'd left her house. Only when she heard his truck pull out of her driveway did she draw a deep, aching breath.

He had parked on a back road that led into the woods behind Lorie's house and carefully crept up to one of the side windows. He often came here in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her naked, but that had happened only once. But once had been enough to show him that her body was still as perfect as the day she had posed for her Playboy Playboy centerfold. centerfold.

What he hadn't expected tonight was to find Mike Birkett's truck parked in the drive. Mike shouldn't be here. He had no rights where Lorie was concerned. He didn't deserve a second chance with her, not after the way he'd treated her all these years.

If she'd been his girl, he would have forgiven her for everything she'd ever done wrong. He loved her. He appreciated her for the woman she was. No other man could take care of her the way he could.

She's mine!

He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, wanted everyone in Dunmore to know that Lorie belonged to him.

He would never let Mike have her. And he would never let the Midnight Killer claim her for his own.

Shontee had insisted on going to the club with Tony that evening, overruling all of his objections.

"The security here at the house is practically foolproof. You're safer here than anywhere else."

"What can happen?" she had whined. "You've got bouncers at the club, along with your own security team, and Tyrell follows me every step I take, except when I go to the bathroom. Please, Tony, please. I want to go out and have a little fun with you tonight."

"You know I can never say no to you, baby."

She had been going crazy cooped up at home, with no one to keep her company but Tyrell, the big, scowling brute who never said a word to her unless she asked him a question. No doubt Tony had warned him not to get friendly with Shontee. Tony was the jealous type. But Tyrell had taken his job as her vigilant but silent bodyguard to the extreme. He was like a gigantic stone statue hovering over her.

At least here at the Rough Diamond in Atlanta, Tony's first nightclub, she felt free, even with the tight security. Although he'd had to attend to business part of the evening, Tony had spent a lot of time with her. They had shared dinner in his upstairs office suite and then he'd taken her back down to the club and they had danced. He knew that she loved to dance.

They had been on the dance floor for quite a while when one of his flunkies came up to Tony and whispered something in his ear. He nodded to the guy, then let his hands drift down her back until they reached her hips. He caressed her b.u.t.t as he leaned in and spoke softly into her ear.

"I love the way you feel, baby, and I hate to leave you, but we've got a situation that needs my attention." He motioned for Tyrell, who stood on the edge of the dance floor, a dark shadow keeping watch over her.

Tony escorted her off the dance floor where Tyrell met them. "Take her upstairs." He kissed her cheek. "I'll straighten out this problem and come get you soon. I promise."

Doing her best not to pout-after all, Tony had to take care of business-Shontee went quietly with Tyrell. They took the elevator to the top floor instead of using the stairs. Rough Diamond was housed in a three-story plus bas.e.m.e.nt building that Tony had completely renovated from top to bottom. Although she'd never been in the bas.e.m.e.nt, she knew most of the s.p.a.ce was used for storage, a climate-controlled wine cellar, and the center of the club's state-of-the-art surveillance equipment. The club itself covered the entire main level, including two bars, a stage, a dance floor, and the kitchen in the back. The second floor contained small suites used by select clientele for intimate dinners and whatever other pleasures that required privacy. Tony's office and a deluxe apartment took up the entire third floor.

Coc.o.o.ned inside the elevator, Shontee looked up at the six-six Tyrell. "Do you have any idea what situation Tony had to take care of?"

"No."

Tyrell punched the level three b.u.t.ton and the elevator began its ascent.

"Do you think it'll take him very long?" she asked.

"Don't know."

Shontee tapped Tyrell in the center of his chest. He tensed. "Are you sure you're human? I'm beginning to think you're a robot."

He glared at her, but didn't respond.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped at level two. Tyrell stepped in front of Shontee as the doors opened. She had to lean her head to the side in order to see around his wide body. A man and woman, all wrapped up in each other, her kissing him and him pawing her, got on the elevator.

"This elevator is going up," Tyrell said in his deep, no-nonsense voice.

"We don't mind riding up and down, do we, doll baby," the guy said, laughter in his voice.

The redheaded woman's shrill giggles grated on Shontee's nerves. She was long, leggy and bosomy, and no doubt a high-price prost.i.tute. Judging the man from his tailored dress slacks, expensive white s.h.i.+rt, neatly trimmed dark mustache, and the Rolex around his wrist, he was a wealthy businessman.

"I mind," Tyrell said. "Please, get off and wait for the elevator to come back down."

Disregarding Tyrell's request, the man reached around his "date" and hit the Close b.u.t.ton. "Sorry, I can't do that."

Several things happened all at once, the events unfolding so quickly that Shontee had no time to react. Tyrell shoved back his jacket to expose his shoulder holster and reached for his pistol. The redhead shrieked at the sight of the gun. The businessman shoved the woman straight into Tyrell and by the time Tyrell pushed her out of the way, the man aimed his own weapon at Tyrell and then fired repeatedly. The redhead screamed. The man turned the gun on her and shot her between the eyes.