Closer by Morning (24 page)

He followed the side of the house, around the garage.

There were lights in the kitchen window. Clint moved closer.

And there they were. Such a cozy sight. Matt Blyth and Dale Zachary, having dinner at the kitchen table. Look at them in their matching outfits. The perfect fucking couple.

How cute.

How pathetic.

There was wine on the table and they looked at eat other as they ate. Laughing, smiling, obviously in love.

He couldn't stand it. He wanted to destroy it.

He'd wasted enough time.

Silently, stealthily, he moved closer to the house.

****

W
hatever shit the world chucked at him tomorrow, Dale would remember how happy he felt right now.

It was perfect. The food. The wine. The man he loved. It took his breath almost every time he looked at Matt. Having him here tonight, in the only place he had to call home, well, it was everything he wanted. Life couldn't get better.

This was what he'd been searching for. All those years of covert affairs and one-night stands, so much wasted time. Except it wasn't wasted, because without everything in life happening as it had done, he wouldn't have taken the job in Durham and wouldn't be here now, sitting across from this handsome, clever, warm-hearted man.

Did he believe in soul mates? Not until now. Not until he found his.

“What are you smiling at?” Matt asked. “It can't be the empty glass.”

Dale's grin was a mile across. “If I told you, you'd only say I was quoting lines from one my awful movies again.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Another rom-com moment?”

“There's nothing wrong with romantic comedies,” he said, feigning offense.

“You would know. Seeing how you're the undisputed king of them.”

“Don't forget the direct-to-DVD horror. I'm no slouch when it comes to that territory either.”

Now it was Matt's turn to fake offense. “As if I would forget those. But you know what? I'm not in the mood for horror tonight. We've had more than enough of
that
. Let's stick with romance, shall we? Cheesy or otherwise.”

“Got no complaints about that.” Dale experience a rush of euphoria. He was the happiest man alive. “I want to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” Matt asked.

“
Everything
. You. Me. Us. Coming out. I've never been happier than I am right now. If that's not worth another bottle of champagne, I don't know what is.”

Matt raised both hands in mock surrender. “You twisted my arm.”

Dale slapped the tabletop. “Let's do it.” He shoved back his chair and hurried round the table, kissing Matt fully on the lips. “There's a fridge in the garage. I'll grab us another bottle. Stay right where you are, sexy.”

Matt tapped his butt. “Not going anywhere.”

“I love you.” The words came easily now.

There was an interior door at the back of the kitchen, leading directly to the garage. He didn't use it for anything other than storage. It was too much hassle to bring the car in and out every time he wanted to use it, so he left it parked outside.

Scrambling in the dark, he located the light switch and turned it on. He was already pretty loaded, but what the hell. There was nothing in this second fridge besides booze. Now that he had Matt, he'd have a lot of reasons to drink champagne and celebrate.

He sang
Can't Get You Out Of My Head
as he crossed the floor.

The figure behind him was so fast and silent, Dale knew nothing until an arm wrapped around his throat and squeezed tight.

****

Dale had told him to wait, but Matt's bladder had other ideas. A bottle of champagne, wine and now more champagne on the way—he had to make space for that.

He rose from the table. A little unsteady. The booze was already affecting him, but in a good way—a great way—enriching the mood. He felt wonderful. He could get used to nights like this.

After locating the downstairs bathroom, he released a long stream. That was better.

This was some place Dale had found. His own little house was a shed in comparison. The downstairs toilet was double the size of his main bathroom at home. It was all finished to the highest standard. Kind of impersonal, like a five-star hotel, but impressive nonetheless. He couldn't imagine ever feeling at home in a place like this, not without massive changes, but he was grateful that Dale had decided to stay on.

He doubted Dale would want to move into his place either. But if things worked out, maybe, just maybe, when the lease on this place expired, they could look for a house together.

He was getting
way
ahead of himself.

Still, it was nice to dream.

He finished off and washed his hands. There was Molton Brown hand soap on the vanity unit, his favorite. So, they shared the same taste in bathroom products. That was a good start.

He smiled at his reflection in the mirror. His face was glowing from the collective effect of sex, alcohol and happiness. He looked goofy and yet he couldn't wipe away the smile. Not when he felt this good.

Swaying slightly, he headed back to the kitchen.

Dale still hadn't returned with the wine.

“Hey,” he called, “what's keeping you? Are you brewing the stuff yourself?”

There was no reply.

He approached the connecting door. There was really no need for extra champagne. Dale didn't have to go to trouble on his account. He didn't need expensive alcohol to celebrate what they had going. He felt pretty fabulous as it was.

He didn't see the step down into the garage and tripped slightly as he went over.

“Whoa.” He laughed. “I'm drunker than I thought. Maybe we should save the booze for tomorrow.”

The sight that greeted him stopped him cold. The sobering effect was immediate.

To hit upon Clint Dexter was a shock in itself. What was he doing in the garage? It took another moment for his brain to register exactly what was happening.

Clint's bulging arm was wrapped around Dale's throat. Dale clutched it, trying to loosen the grip. His face was red, teeth bared and eyes bulging. Dale caught sight of Matt and managed to gasp one desperate word.

“
Run
.”

There was no possibility of him running. “What the hell is going on? Clint, let him go.” He stepped forward.

“Stay where you are,” Clint said coldly. Tightening his grip on Dale's throat, he raised his other hand, giving Matt a good look at what it held—the dangerous curve of a knife.

“Clint?”

“Just so you don't get any ideas, this is how serious I am.”

With the speed of an attacking snake, Clint flicked the lethal blade against Dale's face.

A wound opened in his cheek. Strangely bloodless for a moment, before the red fluid oozed from the cut.

Matt's own blood turned cold. He didn't know why this was happening. Only one thing was certain, they were in trouble. Big trouble.

Chapter Twenty-Two

He had experienced fear before. He'd looked into another's eyes and seen anger, fury, even hatred, but none of that prepared Matt for what he saw in Clint's eyes. Nothing.

They were empty. Devoid of any soul.

Blood poured from the wound on Dale's face. A crimson stain that covered his chin.

“Dale, are you all right?”

Clint tightened his hold around Dale's neck and moved the knife back toward his face. “Unless you want to say goodbye to these pretty looks, keep your mouth shut until I tell you,” he threatened. “This is a paper cut compared to what I'll do.”

Dale looked directly into Matt's eyes, flashing a warning to do what Clint said. He didn't have to speak. A look said everything.

Matt tried to assess the situation and make rapid sense of what was happening. There was no sense. Clint had his lover by the throat and a knife to his face. He'd already shown what he was capable of. The cut on Dale's cheek was evidence of that. What the hell was this all about? He was crazed, that much was obvious, but what had brought it on? What did it have to do with them?

There was only one thing he could do. Go along with him. For now.

“We'll do what you want,” he said, raising his open hands. “Just don't hurt him.”

Cold eyes regarded him for twenty seconds, thirty—it seemed like hours. What was going on behind those eyes? Impossible to know. There was no emotion. Looking into those blank holes, a question suddenly came into his head—was Clint the Durham Strangler?

He couldn't be. That was impossible. This was not the strangler's MO. And yet, he had his arm around Dale's throat, and the emptiness of those eyes spoke of nothing but madness.

The Durham Strangler?

Matt was more afraid than ever. He had to get that sick bastard away from the man he loved.

Clint inclined his head toward the door. “Back through to the kitchen.”

Matt did what he was told, keeping his hands raised where Clint could see them.
Don't do anything to startle the fucker.

He stepped into the kitchen. Clint followed, arm still around Dale's throat, knife at his face, a slow shuffling two-step.

“Don't try anything stupid,” he said. “Or I'll take one of his eyes out.”

Matt raised his hands higher. “I'm not doing anything, Clint. You know I wouldn't.” With supreme effort, he kept his voice level and calm. He'd dealt with enough angry dickheads to know the slightest thing could unbalance them. Something as small as a perceived change in tone. He couldn't afford to do anything that might provoke him.

“Far enough,” he said as Matt drew level with the table. He loosened his hold on Dale's throat.

Dale sucked in a huge lungful of air. Clint shoved him toward the table.

“Sit,” he barked.

Dale's eyes met Matt's again.
Keep it together
, they were saying. Matt could properly see the cut on Dale's face—a two-inch wound from the cheekbone down into his beard. At least it looked clean. The amount of blood made it look worse than it was. If they got out of this soon, it should stitch together without much trouble. It was a big ‘if'.

Clint took something from his jacket pocket and threw it on the table toward Matt. Cable ties.

“Bind him to the chair,” Clint said, waving the knife. “Wrists and ankles. And make it tight. Try anything brave and I'll take that eye. This is the only warning you'll get.”

Clint and the knife were too close to Dale. Matt couldn't risk it. Tying him up might be suicide for both of them, but in that moment, he had no other option. He took the cable ties and set about Dale's first wrist.

“Tight,” Clint barked. “I'm watching. If there's as much as a millimeter slack, I'm gonna do some cutting.”

Hands shaking, Matt struggled with the fiddly ties, trying to thread them the wrong way before figuring out how they worked. At last he had fixed his lover to the chair by hand and foot.

Had he also signed his death warrant?

Clint gestured with the knife for him to step away before moving in to check the fastenings. Satisfied, he straightened up, finally lowering his weapon.

“Clint,” Matt said, trying to inject a tone of calm reason to his voice. “Why are you doing this? We haven't done anything against you. Whatever you think is wrong, this is not the answer. Talk to me, please.”

“
Fucking
, weren't you?”

“What?”

“You were fucking. You said you would come to the gym tonight but instead you came here to fuck him.”

A fresh wave of horror hit him. The cool manner he'd tried hard to uphold crumpled. “Where's Conrad? What have you done to him?”

Clint's face betrayed no emotion. “What I wanted to do to you. I
fucked
him. Only I didn't go so easy as I might have done with you. He was useless. Couldn't even make me come.”

Matt felt the world shrivel around him. His best friend—what hell had he sent him into?
No. No. No.

“You bastard,” Dale roared, spitting blood across the table.

Clint struck a blunt fist against the side of Dale's head. “You'll get your turn, Yankee, but not until I'm ready. Like I gave it to your friend from work, little Aaron. He was nice. A real sugar butt. He put up a struggle too. I like it when they do that.” He laughed. It was a humorless sound.

“Aaron?”

There it was. Matt's worst fear confirmed and a nightmare descent to a deeper level of hell. Clint Dexter
was
the Durham Strangler.

They were dead men.

“Clint,” he said, grasping for any desperate line of hope. “You said you wanted me tonight. Let Dale go and you can have me. I'll do anything you want.”

“No,” Dale cried.

“That's not how this works,” Clint said. “You're not in your courtroom now, big man.
I
call the shots. No bargaining. No negotiation. This goes my way.”

The calm tone of his voice was terrifying. There was a sickly white pallor to his skin. His face glistened with sweat. Everything about him was at odds. He was clearly out of his mind.

“I will kill you,” Dale said, straining hopelessly at his restraints.

“That sounds like something you would say in one of your movies.” Clint laughed. “Only much less convincing. The only thing you're going to do tonight is die. Maybe you'll get a fuck, maybe not. It depends how generous I feel once I'm finished with your boyfriend.”

“Don't touch him. Don't you dare.”

“Or what?” Clint said calmly. “You're tied to a chair, big man. And even if you weren't, I could break your neck before you laid a finger on me. I'm the real killer, Yankee. You only play at it.”

Matt fought to think rationally. Dale was tied up. He wasn't. For whatever reason, Clint had decided not to restrain him too. If they were to have any hope of survival, he had to make sure it stayed that way. He could arm up later, right now he had to focus on staying free.

“You,” Clint said, pointing the knife at him. “Strip.”

It made little difference now. He was only wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Better to be naked than chained. He took everything off and stood in front of Clint, defiantly meeting his icy gaze.

“You could have been so much better, without the distraction of this,” Clint shoved Dale's shoulder. “Missing sessions. Eating garbage. Drinking fucking champagne. You could have been perfect.
I
could have made you perfect.”

“He is perfect, you asshole.”

Clint delivered a back hander to Dale's face. “I wasn't talking to you.”

“You're a psycho!” Dale spat.

Clint hit him again, harder. Dale's head jerked sideways, spraying blood across Matt's chest.

“Stop it,” Matt begged. “Please.”

Clint looked straight at him, mouth curling cruelly at the corners. “Seeing how I like you so much, I'm going to afford you a favor. Something I didn't do for all those other men. Aaron and…Conrad, was it? I'm going to let you know what happens next. I was going to kill you both, but on the way over here, I had a change of plan. Sweet, huh? Once we're done here, Matt and I are going to take a journey. North. To Scotland. One of the islands, some place we can lie low till all this Durham Strangler shit dies down. Not much for two men to do up there to pass the time, except fuck. We'll be doing a lot of that.”

“You crazy bastard,” Dale snarled.

Clint smacked him around the head and continued. “Once the heat is off, we'll take a fishing boat out of the country.” He smiled. “Now, I'm saying
we
, that's supposing I haven't grown tired of you by then. I guess it's up to you to make sure I don't.”

“You won't get one second of pleasure out of me,” Matt said defiantly. He would sacrifice himself to prevent Clint from taking out his twisted desires, but Dale's survival depended on him pulling through. He couldn't give up now.

“That's where you're wrong,” Clint said. “I like a man who fights back. Now I'm going to see how much fight you've got in you. Let's go upstairs.”

Was he kidding?
“Upstairs?”

“That's right. As much as I'd enjoy Dale watching me fuck you right here on this table, I figure what he can't see will torture him a whole lot more. I reckon he'll go out of his mind, imaging what we're doing on his bed. Besides, I've wanted you a long time, Matt. I want the first time to be special. Just the two of us.” He laughed again. “Romantic, like the two of you before I arrived.”

“You're out of your mind.”

Clint stroked the obscene bulge in his pants. “If you'd rather your boyfriend
did
watch this first time, I could go for that too.”

The pain in Dale's eyes was too much to bear. With tears burning his eyes, Matt turned toward the hall.

“It's this way.”

Dale's howl of rage and frustration tore through the house.

“That's a nice arse,” Clint said, walking up the stairs behind him. “I knew it would be. I've got an eye for these things.”

Naked, Matt felt exposed enough already without Clint's lecherous eyes on his behind. But modesty was the least of his problems. He was seconds away from going into the bedroom with a serial sex killer. What the fuck could he do now?

“You can walk as slowly as you like,” Clint quipped. “We've got all night. Besides, those nice slow steps you're taking give me an opportunity to admire your ass and think about all the ways I can destroy it. I have a lot of experience in that area.” A low chuckle. “And I've been thinking about you and your body for longer than most.”

Every word caused his flesh to crawl, but Matt didn't show it. He had too much experience, fronting things out in court, to betray his fear to a madman like Clint. Except he was frightened. Terrified.

They reached the turn in the stairs. Ten more steps to the top. Time was running out.

Think, Matt. Come on man, think
.

What could he use as a defense up here? He hadn't set foot in the house until tonight. It wasn't enough time to get to know the place.

There was an en suite bathroom off from the bedroom. If he was quick enough he could lock himself in there. But then what? There was no phone. No way of raising the alarm. He would be safe, for now at least, but leave Dale to the mercy of Clint and his knife. That was not an option. Clint could do what he wanted to him if it would spare Dale.

Clint had already told them he wasn't going to kill Matt tonight. Whatever happened, he still had hope of saving Dale. Hope was all he needed.

They entered the bedroom.

“Nice,” Clint said, regarding the rumpled sheets.

Less than an hour before they had been in ecstasy upon that bed. Their own little heaven. Now it was a living hell.

“Is that why you stood me up?” Clint asked. “So you could be with him, in there?”

“Clint,” Matt said, turning to face him, open arms, his expression wide. “I didn't know you wanted me in that way. How could I? You never gave any indication that you…liked me, until tonight.”

It was a long shot trying to reason with a psycho, as if it were nothing more serious than a co-worker with an inappropriate crush.

Clint's knuckles whitened around the handle of the knife. Matt took a careful step backward, closer to the bedside cabinet.

“Don't try stalling me with that crap,” Clint said. “I'm the Durham Strangler, remember. Not one of your no-hope clients. I don't want to buy you dinner and roses. You're
my
fucking dinner.”

In two long steps, Clint covered the room and was upon him. Adrenaline took over.

Clint's arms came around his torso.

Snake-fast, Matt's arm went behind his back, his hand gripped the neck of the empty champagne bottle. Whipping back around, he smacked the bottle over the crown of Clint's head. He heard a sickening
thunk
and the force caused the bottle to shatter.

Fragments of glass rained over both of them. Matt backed into the cabinet.

Clint staggered. Stunned. His face was blank for a second, until he shook the pieces of glass from his head. His eyes came back into hateful focus.

“Boy, you're gonna regret that in every way.”

He came at Matt with the force of a crazed bull.

****

Dale attempted to move. The plastic cable ties cut deep and had drawn blood from all four limbs, but there was no give in any of them. Clint had chosen well.

That bastard. Dale's rage threatened to consume him but he had to keep a lid on it. Blind fury would not get him out of this.

He
had
to get upstairs. God knows what that sick fuck was doing. He'd heard the broken glass moments before, then a heavy thud.
Matt. Poor Matt, what is he doing to you?