Carolina Rain (6 page)

A sudden thought occurred to her. She struggled off the velour sofa and rushed to the bathroom. She stood in front of the
silver
-trimmed mirror and watched the smile spread across her pleasant face
.
Lily reveled in it. The smile was real. True. Genuine.
All of
her
other smiles had been egregious facsimiles
,
except
this one.

Imagine that. Killing a man just to elicit a response, any response from the part of her brain that was supposed to be automatic, had worked. She’d actually felt something. Not environmental, not learned, but from
deep
inside.

After a few more minutes, she watched her smile fade and felt her state of mind revert to her more normal degree of numb
ness
.

Moving slowly back to the couch, she tapped the enter
button
on her computer and watched the video screen appear, asking her if she wanted to watch the previous play again.

Of course she did.

Immediately after hitting the button again, Lance Morgan’s face sprang into clear view, eyes wide open.
Was there a glint of pleading reflected there? The camera panned his body and then pulled away to the perfect distance and angle. And it was perfect, wasn’t it? After all, she'd practiced for hours to get it right.

The
unique, pristine feeling spark
ed
anew from a place deep down in her gut. The more she watched, the more the video unfurled, the more her excitement built. Each turn of the corkscrew allowed small rushes of blood to escape his rippled chest. Each trail of the scalpel was like cutting a
piece of exquisite dessert
. Each time she saw herself dribble the sea salt from her tongue to his bleeding wounds, she came a step closer to the elusive euphoria she’d been trying to recapture since she'd left Lance's house. She eagerly watched, knowing what was to come. Could hardly wait for it. After her drilling and slicing and salting, she’d managed to stuff the adolescent coral snake into his mouth, closing it with a few stiches, then adding her own sense of mystery by hooking the symbol to the last sti
t
ch.

All of the serial killers she’d read about—her kind—had thrown something into the mix to mess with the investigators. For no other reason than to be known for their own exclusive mark on the world. It had to be something they could call their own. Some said it was about narcissism, ego, or about doing their mothers—or the all-time classic analysis that perhaps the signature was a challenge and clue to facilitate a desperate cry for help so they wouldn’t do what they did again.

“Idiots, none of
them had gotten
it right,” she said out loud.

She had to admit that she hadn’t truly understood it either, until now. It was about expressing something that she’d never been able to before. An exploit, a creative action that set her apart from the
rest of the
world. Creative expressions and her life had never kissed until she’d enter
ed
the door of a billionaire's home and did what no one ever expected she could do. She was starting to get it, and
it
was
extraordinary
.

Lily
switched
off the screen. Taking another sip of wine, she suddenly felt deflated, disappointed.
S
ending Lance
Morgan
to the world of the dead was already losing luster. She’d watched the video three times and
,
in
each
instance
, she felt less
and craved more.

But she knew the cure for the blues
.
Lying on the floor, she stretched out and began working her damaged hand and arm along with her weakened legs. Each painful repetition caused her to perspire just a little more. But, in the end, she knew her hard work would give her more strength.
She’d need it for her next “date.” And the next.

One thing was certain: there were enough sick bastards in the Carolinas to service ten like her and her newfound appetite.

CHAPTER-8

“Sophie? Sophie? Hey, Princess, wake up. Come on
, girl
. Wake up.”

Sophie’s body jerked as her eyes flew open. She wrenched Dean’s hand from her shoulder and jumped from the hospital couch taking a
L
otus
stance, determined not to let Garity surprise her again.

“Whoa. Easy, girl.
Don’t hit me
. W
ere you dreaming?
”

She turned toward the voice and recognition replaced her fears. Dean
sat
in the chair next to where she’d been
lying
, hands in the air, surprise on his face.

“What the hell’s going on? I thought I saw
. . .
heard
. . .
”

Standing, Dean moved closer and touched her arm. “You can relax. I had your back
—
and the rest of you
—
so you could take a nap, remember?
There’s no
ass to kick just now.” He grinned. “Unless you wanted to help me practice some wrestling moves I learned from the professionals on TV.”

Slowly she dropped her hands
and then
hung her head. So this is what it had come to? Nightmares for dreams
, hell for hope
. How could she actually have fallen asleep in o
ne of these
God-forsaken
rooms? It l
ooked like Manny was right again: exhaustion,
upon occasion
, could be an ally.
But tonight it served as an enemy
and
an ally.

Clucking her tongue, she shook her head, going over the nightmare in her mind. To her surprise, she remembered it vividly. Not like those dreams that faded quickly upon awakening. She touched her neck just to make perfectly sure Garity’s hand wasn’t still there. It wasn’t. And what about Manny? His look. His voice. What the hell did that mean?
Sophie sighed.
What did anything mean when the good folks of this world did all of the suffering?

Dean moved closer and wrapped his long, furry arm around her shoulder. “Bad one, huh?”

She nodded. “One of the worst. Maybe I need to get out of this business. I remember once
,
when we were all on an excursion on that ugly-ass cruise we took a couple of years ago, that the guide talked about buying an island. I think it was about fourteen million. That would be a nice place to get away from this shit.”

“Only fourteen mil? I’ve got a few bucks in my retirement account but you
’d be about thirteen nine short.
”

Her gaze lingered for an extra moment on Dean’s face. She couldn’t help thinking about her attraction to him, paisley
beanie
and all. It was growing, no question. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he worshipped her
. H
ow many women had that going for them?

“I’ll keep that in mind. And what the hell are you grinning about? Manny could be dead in that operating room right now.”

“He could be, but he’s—”

“I still don’t know why they waited
seven
weeks to do this freaking surgery. I’m tired of dumbass medical double-talk.
Manny would
be
too
. If he could, he would tell them to go right in, and if God wanted him to stay here, he would
;
and if not, he’d see us later. Am I right?”

“Hey. None of us wanted to wait this thing out. But the doctors know what they’re doing. At least they thought he was stable enough to fly to Lansing, coma and all. And besides, Sophie. He’s—”

He stopped
talking
as she quickly turned her head. Signal:
Ignoring you now.
She didn’t care for what Dean might be trying to tell her.

“And another thing,” she said.
“
They need to have showers in this place. I smell like road kill.”

Dean clutched her close to his chest, his face two inches from hers. She took in the faint aroma of mint on his breath. Better yet, the other scent. The one that was him.

“I must be sicker than I thought because I like how you smell. But listen to me, okay?” said Dean.

“That grabbing
, pushy
approach doesn’t usually work for me but
,
maybe, in your case
. . .
uh, you didn’t grope me when I was sleeping, did you?”

“Only once, when you asked me to
.
But
listen to me.”

“Damn it. How thick are you? I don’t want to hear what—”

“Manny’s out of surgery.”

His eyes sparkled as her mouth dropped open. “What? When did that happen?”

“About two hours ago. I didn’t want to wake you. I mean, you’re borderline crazy because of the sleep deprivation
. . .
well, not just because of that, but it pushed you close to a padded cell.”

“So?”

Dean bowed his head. “Well, ah, he’s—”

Putting her hand over his lips, she shook her head. “Don’t tell me. I want to see for myself, either way.”

Releasing his bear hug, Dean stepped back. “Makes
perfect
sense. Let’s get this over with.”

She nodded, feeling more than uneasy. A glance around the waiting room led to a scowl. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re already saying their
. .
. well
,
they’re
all
in the room where they took him after surgery.”

More and more, she hated how this was feeling. But what else was new?

He led her through two white-washed doors and then they were standing in front of a brushed aluminum door that had no label. She felt like Dorothy in Oz.

“Ready?” asked Dean.

“No, but let’s do it.”

He thumped the automatic door opener, clutched her hand, and led her through.

CHAPTER-9

His eyes followed Sophie as she shuffled to the foot of the steel bed. She turned her head to one side and then the other. A
n instant
later, her tears
—
flowing liked he’d never imagined they could
—
ran in tiny rivulets down her tired
face. Sophie’s eyes were focused
. H
e knew that she was trying to gain control over the thrashing in her chest. He was doing the same. But he bet his hurt more.

“Hey, Sophie. Good to see you, girl,” whispered Manny.

“Manny? Is that really you?”

Manny listened to Sophie’s voice, quivering ever so slightly, and smiled. It sounded like a song, one of the best he’d heard. And that was a hell of a question she’d just asked, wasn’t it?
Was he himself? Would he ever be?

He glanced around the room. Chloe and Jen were on his right, both clutching his arm. Alex Downs and Josh Corner flanked his left, their tears nearly dry now. “Well, if it’s not me, how do we have the same friends and family
?
”

His diminutive partner walked unsteadily across the floor, never taking her eyes from his face, brushed past Chloe, then bent down and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m the smartass in this crew and don’t forget it,” she said
.
“
S
o just answer the question.”

“Yes ma’am. It’s me. Manfred Robert Williams. At least that’s what my ID says.”

Sophie wiped at her cheeks. “Close enough for me. And don’t be doing this again. I WILL smack you around if you ever scare me, us, like that again. It ain’t right.”

“Deal. Not that much fun anyway. Especially the whole
let’s take the broken knife out of your chest
game.”

She smiled and started to step away, hurried back and hugged him, moving the wires and tubes aside to get a better grip. He clutched her with his right hand. “I guess God wants me to
keep
your ass in line a while longer,” he whispered.

“Smart God,” she choked, hugging him again before she moved back beside Dean.

Manny closed his eyes, took in a labored breath and
then
opened them. “Hey Dean. The tuque says your sense of style’s still intact. And I trust you kept her
together
while I was
. . .
away.”

Dean’s
expression
answered his question.

“Right, I forgot this is Sophie we’re talking about,” said Manny softly.