If Looks Could Kill (28 page)

He picked her up, paid her.

In a cheap downtown motel room, which he made her pay for so that he wouldn't be seen, he beat her up.

And slit her throat.

It turned out that the funky hair was a wig. He started to laugh. He'd made a mistake.

No.
She'd
made a mistake.

He decided just to leave her. He didn't allow himself to leave his signature on her body or anywhere near her. Let the cops think that this one had gotten it from a greedy pimp.

Killer drove away, laughing.

A wig. A damned wig. Her mistake.

 

The dream seemed to sneak up on Madison. First there was mist, then the mist began to settle, and she heard talking. Arguing.

She thought at first that she was a little girl again, back in Roger Montgomery's big house in the Grove, where her mother had died. It sounded like Lainie's voice, arguing. Then she realized that this voice was very different. Husky. She could also hear a male voice. Deep. Throaty. She knew it.

She didn't know it.

“Love me. Do it, just love me. You promised, you bitch. You smiled, you said that—”

“No, no, I didn't—”

“You will. Now stand still. You stand still, and you whisper that you love me, and you make love to me. Now. You don't want to upset the children, do you?”

There was silence. A long silence. Then a moan of anguish. “I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt the children. Please…”

“I just want you to love me!”

 

Madison awoke with a start. Once again, she was shaking. Once again, the dream meant nothing. She was drenched in sweat, and she was tired, so sick and tired of dreaming. She burst into tears.

“Madison?”

She opened her eyes. Kyle was coming into the room, in his robe.

“Yeah?”

He sat on the edge of her bed. “You're not crying because I didn't demand sex, are you?” he teased gently.

She couldn't help laughing. “No.”

“Then…”

“Oh, Kyle!” she said, and slipped her arms around him. “I'm so tired of the dreams! I don't know what they mean, I don't know how to help. I feel like someone close to me is in serious danger, but I don't know who, and I don't know what to do, how to help anyone….”

“It will end, Madison. It will all end. We
will
get this guy,” Kyle promised her. He held her, rocking with her. Then he eased her back to her pillows. “Want me to stay?” he asked huskily. Her arms were still around him; his eyes were locked with hers. “I
will
demand sex,” he admitted.

“Well, you know, sometimes you've just got to pay the price,” Madison murmured.

“Sometimes you do.”

He took hold of her hand and kissed her palm, then drew it against his chest, where the robe gaped open. He drew her hand downward, closing her fingers over the growing length of his erection. “I think we were just about here the other night,” he murmured, smiling. Then he rose, rising, sloughing off the robe and reaching for her and drawing her upright so he could strip away her cotton nightgown. His eyes on hers, he lifted her, caught her knees, parting them, as he settled her on the bed. Still watching her, he rubbed his engorged member intimately against her. She was amazed by the instant rise of mercurial excitement within her. Heat flooded her body, even before he forcefully pressed hard, all the way into her, deeper, deeper, deeper, his eyes on hers all the while.

When she thought she was about to die from the agonizing ecstasy of his hard, penetrating thrusts, he withdrew. He kissed her lips. He kissed her everywhere. Except where she burned.

Then he kissed her there, and she shrieked, called his name, and went wild, but he didn't come back to her until she was shaking with raw sensation. Then he reentered her, moving with hard, electric force, and when he ejaculated, she found herself crying out with the violent force of her own climax. She lay beside him for a very long time, overwhelmed by the way he could make her feel. Then she realized that he was leaning on one elbow, watching her in the shadows of the night.

“What went wrong with you and Darryl. What—what did he do wrong?” he asked quietly.

She bit her lip for a moment. “Nothing. He didn't do anything wrong. He just wasn't you,” she told him.

He cradled her against him, and she fell asleep. And when he was with her, the nightmares stayed at bay.

 

When Madison awoke in the morning, he was gone. Peggy, however, was moving about the house, singing, “Danny Boy.”

Madison stayed in bed, feeling the sheets where he had been sleeping, luxuriating in the subtle musky scent of lovemaking that remained.

She got up at last, showered and walked out in a terry robe.

Peggy smiled broadly at her. “God be praised!” she said, looking heavenward. Then she opened her arms and hugged Madison. “So, you've married the boy! A fine lad, I say. It's so wonderful. A real joining of the families, eh, love? All your assorted siblings will be in-laws now, eh?”

“Umm, I guess,” Madison murmured.

“But what matters is you. And I've been given strict instructions not to leave this house today.”

“Oh?”

“You're not to be left alone in it.”

“Really? In my own house?”

“It never hurts for others to know there's an eagle eye about,” Peggy said solemnly. “Your new husband says that he'll be back before dinnertime, so you and I can go pick up Carrie Anne together, and then you should do what you think is right about her—you go ahead and tell her that you're married if you want, or you can wait, and the two of you can tell her together. To tell you the truth, she likes him very much. I think she'll be very happy—like me. I'm delighted! Everything will be fine now!”

“Will it?” Madison murmured dryly.

“And your father is on his way, love.”

“
What?
Dad is coming here?”

“He called just a few minutes ago. He's heading home to Key West, but he wanted to see you before he left. I said as how you were still sleeping, but he's on his way. I can keep breakfast warm for you both, if you want to get dressed.”

“I'll do that. Tell Dad I'll be right out when he comes, will you?”

“That I will.”

Madison nodded and returned to her room to dress, wondering just what her father was going to say about her sudden marriage.

 

Kyle sat in an unmarked police car on the side of a road in Key Largo, going over the list of restaurants he'd just been given. Jake Ramone, the young rookie officer at his side, cleared his throat. “Sorry there are so many.”

“Yeah, well…who would have thought this many restaurants would have had a shrimp étouffée special on the same weekend, hmm?” Kyle murmured.

“Must have had a good catch of shrimp that day.”

“Yeah, and a bumper crop of brown sauce. It looks like this Rusty Rumhouse is next. Let's try her.”

“Yes, sir. I'm right with you, sir.”

The rookie revved the car into gear, and they moved forward.

God, it was a tedious morning! Despite the fact that a young desk sergeant had “let her fingers do the walking” to find out which restaurants in the Keys offered the menu Holly Tyler had last eaten, they'd come up with a longer list than anyone had imagined. He'd already been in ten restaurants, asking questions, showing Holly Tyler's picture.

He didn't have to do this. He could have sent out a half-dozen rookies to do the job. But he'd done everything else he could think of, and he was itching for action.

He'd even gone over to Kaila's tennis club and interviewed the waiter who had brought her the package with the edible undies. The man said he'd found the package on his tray and assumed his manager or the hostess had put it there. Questioning revealed that neither the manager nor the hostess had ever seen the box. Kyle left with a list of employees and club members.

His whole family—and Madison's—belonged to the club. He'd faxed the lists up to Ricky at the main office to see what the big computer could turn up.

Now he needed to move. Hands on. He needed to find this killer, and that meant getting out to look for him himself.

Even when he wanted to be…home.

Home had meant an apartment in Virginia for a long time now. It was odd to realize how quickly this place had become home again. How quickly Madison's place had become home, the place where he wanted to be. He didn't dare think about it too much right now. Not after last night. Not after she had looked at him and told him that Darryl had done nothing wrong, except that he wasn't
him.

His blood quickened. Hell, he had just gotten married. He should be on a honeymoon. He'd been expected back to work, though; they'd sent him down here to help crack a case. And no matter how much he wanted to spend time with Madison, to guard her with his sheer presence, he knew that this case had to be solved if they were ever going to have a life.

And despite the fact that he was seriously considering resigning, he'd said he was reporting back to work. Well, hell, here he was—working.

Kyle thought about Jimmy Gates, back at his office that morning, awaiting forensic results. In spite of the condition of Holly's dismembered body, the coroner's office had been able to establish that she had engaged in sexual relations prior to her murder. Whether they had been forced or not was impossible for the medical examiners to say, but they had been able to come up with a sperm sample for DNA comparison.

There had been other developments, too. Harry Nore had killed himself in his cell. An insane, pathetic ending to an insane, pathetic life. Kyle had known it on the island, because he'd read about it in the papers. But Harry's death didn't get him any closer to solving the recent rash of murders.

The dispatcher called in just as Jake Ramone stepped from the car to join Kyle. He paused to take the call, then turned to Kyle. “Sir, it's your Washington office, patched in on the radio.”

Kyle took the radio. It was Ricky Haines.

“What's up, Ricky?”

“Nothing much. I heard you got married.”

Kyle exhaled. Naturally. He'd reported in to his superiors, and word had filtered down.

“Yeah.”

“You married your
sister?
” Ricky said.

“She was once my
step
sister,” Kyle said patiently.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry. Things just seem a little weird from this distance, you know?”

“Sure. Ricky, did you call to torment me, or is there a purpose to this?”

“Yep, there's a purpose. You remember how you told me to look for any connection between these murders and Lainie Adair's? I think you were on to something. I've been browsing through some old records. I wondered if you knew that one of Lainie Adair's last movies was called
A Rose among Thorns.
”

“I remember it vaguely. She plays a woman in the mountains of West Virginia, right?”

“Yep. It's a Cinderella story about a young woman who grows up with a pack of thieves. She's too ashamed of what she is to fall for the hero, until he discovers that she isn't who she thinks she is at all. She was kidnapped by the evil thieves from a rich New York family.”

“I remember.”

“Well, it gives credence to your theory that these murders are related to your stepmother's murder, what with the killer's ‘signature' being a rose with thorns. You're talking classic-case here. A man with a grudge against Lainie Adair, killing her, controlling his urge to kill for a while, then killing again. Women who look just Lainie, this time.”

“Thanks, Ricky. Call me with anything, no matter how small.”

“Will do. Oh, and congratulations. On marrying your sister.”

“Ricky, get a life,” Kyle said, breaking the connection. “Okay, Jake, let's try the Rusty Rumhouse.”

It was dark inside. Smoky, and dark. There was a central bar, with tables scattered into the four corners of the room. Kyle found the manager, a pleasant fellow by the name of Brad Maxwell, and when Kyle produced a picture of Holly Tyler, one of the waitresses let out a little squeal.

“Yes. Yes! I waited on her. It wasn't this weekend, but the, umm…Thursday or Friday before,” the girl volunteered excitedly. She was young, petite, no more than five-foot-one, with a headful of bouncing blond curls.

“What's your name, miss?” Kyle asked her.

“Bitsy. Bitsy Larkin.”

“Well, Bitsy, thanks for remembering, and for being so helpful. It's incredibly important. She must have eaten here on Friday,” Kyle said.

“You're right! It had to be Friday, because she ordered the Friday special, the shrimp étouffée.”