Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2) (4 page)

Sarah jerked her hand away and turned to flee.

Marisa grabbed her arm and pulled Sarah back to face her.

Surprised by the sheen of tears in the dancer’s eyes, Marisa let go of her arm.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Trinity.” Without thinking, Sarah used the name Marisa had assumed when she was still drinking and visiting the strip club where Sarah. “You’re educated, you have a high-powered job, and you probably have a boyfriend who would never slap you around. What do I have? A job taking off my clothes and using my body to part dollars from leering men. Going home to my boyfriend who disrespects me. In this group, Trinity, do you know who I am?”

Marisa shook her head.

Sarah’s light blue eyes were fierce. “This group accepts me as a high school drama teacher and cheerleading coach. I told the group I joined because I’d heard some of my students had joined, and I wanted to check out what they were doing. Sounds plausible, since I don’t think your friend Tara checks IDs online.”

“Sarah—”

“Would you please call me Taylor?” With angry jerks of her hands, Sarah indicated her body. “I met a guy through the group who doesn’t stare at my tits. He actually looks into my eyes.”

Hmmm,
thought Marisa
, couldn’t be the short man who’d been standing near them earlier. His eyes never rose higher than a woman’s chest.

At the sight of Tara careening back their way, Sarah pulled Marisa away. “You want to know what’s really funny? I found this group in my boyfriend’s browser. I joined the group and attended meetings in disguise to catch him, I thought, cheating on me. But he never came to the meetings, if he has an online ID I haven’t found it, and I stayed in the group.”

“Marisa,” Tara called, “you need to come over and meet the Royal Bloodhound. He’s sharp as a tack and funny as hell. In real life, he’s actually a financial advisor.”

“I think I heard him barking a minute ago.” As she watched Tara’s golden curls bounce back to the group, Marisa accidentally caught the funeral director’s eyes. She wondered if mourners found Steve’s predatory professional smile comforting or disquieting.

Sarah put her arm around Marisa’s waist and pulled her close. To the crowd of clubbers, it probably appeared to be confidential girl talk. “Are you going to bust me?”

“No, Sarah,” Marisa shook her head. “It’s not my place to tell.”

Sarah sagged against Marisa. “Thank God.”

“I’m not going to tell them, Sarah, because you’re going to tell them the truth.” Marisa pulled away from the grasping hands.

When she turned away into a solid figure, Marisa stifled a screech.

“Melissa,” intoned the High Priest of Death.

Not particularly wanting him to know her real name, Marisa did not correct him.

He took her hand, and jerked her against him. “Oh, your hands are deliciously cold. Did you know I love cold skin on a woman?” He loomed over her, his face inches from hers. His breathing was labored. “I can’t wait to get your body stretched out on my shining, aluminum table, your pale skin faintly glowing in the dangling, naked light. When I bend over you with my instruments—”

“If you’re trying to scare her, you’re wasting your time. Marisa has unflappable composure, courage to the point of foolhardiness, and an indestructible sense of optimism.”

Tugging at her trapped hand, Marisa slowly turned.

The black pants blended in with the shadows. The dark t-shirt, emphasizing the muscles of his chest and shoulders, tapered down his flat stomach. Above the shirt, the smooth, handsome face was kept from being beautiful by the large pointer of a nose. While the angles of his thin face were sharp and predatory, subtle humor softened his mouth. With his short hair freshly respiked on top and his eyes the color of a summer sky at dusk, he looked attractive and dangerous.

“Alex.” Marisa’s heart jumped in her chest. “I see you found another shirt.”

Alex nodded slightly to the High Priest. “Hi, I’m Alex, aka the King of the Ledgers. And if you don’t let go of my friend, I’ll have the perfect opportunity to change my name to Zombie Funeral Director Neutralizer.”

Steve loomed over Alex, trying to intimidate him with his height. “Too bad it wasn’t real blood on your shirt earlier. You know, I love the sight of freshly shed blood, and yours would have been a special treat.”

Alex smiled and stepped into Steve’s personal space.

With a snarl of defeat, Steve dropped Marisa’s hand and stalked away.

Overcome by vertigo, Marisa closed her eyes. First, they’d discovered Lieutenant Camden in disguise.
Why is he here?
Then, Alex Caldwell, the chief financial officer of the trauma hospital where they both worked and the ubiquitous shadow from her childhood, had appeared. And Linda Borders, the snarly, prickly social worker least likely to nurture or save those less fortunate than herself, made her cameo appearance. Last but not least, Sarah, a hard-core stripper pretending to be a high school teacher, had sashayed into the group.
Dear God, is this a crazed episode of a kooky reality show? Where are the hidden cameras?

The faint scent of Alex’s aftershave rolled over Marisa’s surreal reverie and snapped her eyes open. “Why did you throw yourself between me and the crazed Brianna?”

“Not just you, Marisa. You and Tara.”

“You didn’t know that was a paintball gun. You thought you were saving my life. Most of the time, you don’t even like me. You love to harangue me over my budget variances. A bit of red ink to you is like a red flag to a bull.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, Marisa. At work, perhaps it’s merely the basic finance and human resources conflict.”

Marisa tried to prevent her lips from twitching. “Do you mean the conflict of two polar opposites facing off in the wild corporate world? You, the chief financial officer, and I, the human resources director. In that case, shouldn’t we be biting, hissing, and scratching?”

Alex smiled, his even white teeth flashing in the dim light. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of acting like a pissed-off kitten.”

“You’re trying to distract me from the fact you didn’t answer my question.”

“When I nearly lost my life a few months ago at the hands of a crazed murderer, it made me take a good, hard look at myself.” Alex shrugged. “I decided I needed to be a better man. One way to meet that goal is to stop thinking of myself.”

“You are coming off the website as soon as I can get to a computer and delete your ass!”

Her best friend’s high-pitched screech snapped Marisa’s head up.

Cowed by Tara’s pointing finger, a man was backed into a corner. The fountain of dark hair sticking straight up from his forehead was shaking back and forth and one placating hand was raised in defense.

The wall-sized screen flashed with text and pictures. In the flickering glow, Tara’s perky chest rose in outrage.

The invisible strings flew from Tara’s chest like sticky silk shooting from a gigantic spider.

The Dork of Death strode toward Tara.

The bartender nimbly hopped out from behind the bar.

The Royal Bloodhound stopped barking at the cringing DJ at the bar, and swung toward Tara.

A Court Jester dropped the balls he’d been juggling.

Carla, patting her exploding hairdo with one hand and grasping at her sliding tube top with the other, stalked through a cluster of laughing women toward Tara.

Males Marisa didn’t recognize edged toward Tara, some pretending to scrutinize the profile on the big screen.

Alex...simply stood there, looking at Marisa. In her flat black shoes, her eyes were exactly even with his dark blue ones. As she stared at him in amazement, his quizzical smile flashed white in the darkness.

“Immune to the string theory?”

Marisa wasn’t aware she’d spoken aloud until Alex answered, “What, an attack of physics rather than teeth and claws?”

Marisa’s brows rose in amazement.
Is Alex an unheard of anomaly or blazingly gay?
She cleared her throat, glad she hadn’t voiced that particular thought.

“What on earth is Tara doing? She’s normally the calm, composed director of marketing, her professional smile firmly in place.” Alex’s amazed eyes met hers. “I’m not sure if we should rescue her, or the poor, helpless man she has cornered.”

“Poor, helpless man, my ass.” Marisa clenched her fists. “You, Tara, and I successfully fought blackmail, murder, and a crazed killer. Unfortunately, none of the events of four months ago prepared me for dealing with a stalker. Although, it appears, Tara is taking a stab at it.”

Alex craned his neck. “What’s that in his hands?”

As she followed his gaze to a glittering object in the cowering man’s hands, Marisa plunged through the crowd toward her friend.   

“Marisa, how wonderful to see you.” Dark hair buzzed short on the sides and the long spray of hair in front flapping against his high, slightly sweaty forehead, Kevin smiled at her. One hand nervously smoothed down his jeans and then back up his pressed, button-down shirt. His other hand moved his phone from Tara to her. The flash was blinding.

“Kevin the Stalker.” Grinding her teeth when he looked surprised at his moniker, Marisa’s mind raced. She had met Kevin months before at a support group meeting. As she did any new member, she had welcomed him with warmth and compassion.

Kevin, on the other hand, had seemed to misunderstand her gesture of friendliness.

It had begun so gradually. Kevin’s intent brown eyes, staring at her. Going out of his way to sit next to her. Ignoring the counting off system for the smaller groups so that he could join Marisa in her small group.

At the time, Marisa had a disquieting sensation, rather like the feeling when a harmless lizard ran across her bare feet. Unpleasant, but not frightening.

When Kevin had asked Marisa for help with his resume so that he could find a management position in marketing, she had cautiously agreed to do so by email.

According to Kevin’s resume, he’d graduated from a prestigious university twenty years ago, with honors and a master’s degree.

Between his graduation and the current time, he had not worked. Anywhere. In any capacity.

The email correspondence, which began with Kevin’s resume, grew into several long, daily letters to Marisa. In the emails, Kevin wrote that his mother financially supported him. His mother’s money even paid for his weekly visits to massage parlors. She paid his legal fees and fines to extricate him from each of his minor brushes with the law, including stalking a massage parlor worker. Finally, tired of her son living with her, she actually paid the price for her independence. She signed the lease on a small apartment, purchased an old car for him, and piled all of his things into a large moving van.

Kevin started waiting in the parking lot for Marisa, before each support group meeting. On several occasions, she was positive she’d seen the lights of his car behind her, following her when she’d left the meetings.

The disquieting sensation had escalated from creepy to alarming.

She had finally sent him an email, stating if he didn’t leave her alone, she’d contact the police.

When that didn’t work, she threatened to call his mother.

That threat had the desired effect, at least to the extent he had not talked to her or approached her. However, a member of their support group had seen Kevin lurking in the bushes, taking photos of Marisa.

While Marisa was considering and rejecting several approaches (Call the manager? Grab Tara, run, and put some distance between them and Kevin? Scream? Throw up?), Alex grabbed Kevin by the scruff of his shocked neck.

“Hi, I’m Kevin. You must be a friend of Marisa’s. Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake, he was introducing himself to Alex.

Alex lifted him off the floor, and shook him.

Kevin’s protruding brown eyes wheeled to Marisa. “My love,” Kevin simpered, swinging in Alex’s surprisingly strong grip.

The fury started in Marisa’s gut, catching her by surprise as it swept up her body in a hot wave. The rage propelled her across the short distance separating them. Ignoring the interested gazes of Tara’s group members, Marisa thrust her face in Kevin’s smiling one. With her nose a fraction of an inch from Kevin’s and her teeth clenched so tightly she could hardly speak, she gritted, “Kevin. Get the hell away from me. Or I swear I will scream so loud and so long, the entire police force will be here to drag your sorry ass to jail.”

In the face of Marisa’s raw anger, the smile finally faded from Kevin’s face.

His face set and ignoring Kevin’s mewling distress, Alex dragged him toward the door.

The bartender, who had been drawn by Tara’s invisible bosom strings, stood with his mouth open. He stepped back out of Alex’s path.

“She actually hates confrontation,” confided Tara to the bartender.

Pulling nervously on his ponytail, the bartender shuddered. “If that’s a sign of hating confrontation, I don’t want to be around when she decides to confront.” Shaking his head, sending the ponytail flying, he waved the bouncer away and headed back to the safety of his bar.

Dusting his hands in satisfaction, Alex rejoined Marisa and Tara. He asked, “Marisa, what was up with that guy?”

Shivering, Marisa told Alex the whole story.

“I think you should go to the police, Marisa.”

Alex seemed oblivious to Marisa and Tara’s significant glances.

“And I know just who you should call,” Alex continued. “Dreamus Camden, who investigated the killings last spring. I know stalking is minor compared to murder, but the lieutenant can help keep Kevin away from you.”

Glancing toward the corner in which the disguised lawman lurked, Tara cleared her throat.

“That whole thing seems so fantastic now,” Alex mused. “Killings, hidden pasts, assumed identities...and now, it could almost be a dream.” He paused. “Or a nightmare.”

Tara leaned forward and hissed in Alex’s ear.

He started to turn his head toward the disguised homicide lieutenant.

“No, don’t look!” Marisa hissed in his other ear.

“Maybe he’s here undercover because of Caleb’s murder,” announced Tara.

Alex’s bewildered look cleared. “The same Caleb so lamented by Brianna! He was part of this group!”

Marisa and Tara quickly filled Alex in on the little they knew about the murder.

Alex whistled. “I wonder if the Knight was extinguished by one of the Round Ladies?”

Tara said, “We need more information. I have an idea.”

“Tara!” Marisa hissed.

Too late. She was sauntering with deceptive casualness toward the disguised lieutenant.

Mentally throwing up her hands, Marisa turned to Alex. “Thank you for rescuing us. But what on earth are you doing here, Alex? I didn’t think nightclubs matched your conservative, accountant-type image.”

“I’m here to support Brandon...” he peered around the club. “Oh, there he is, heading toward Tara.”

Marisa rolled her eyes. The pervasive effect of Tara’s bosom. Of course he was heading toward Tara, along with the majority of the males in the club. She frowned. “Brandon Proctor, the trauma hospital’s director of guest relations?”

“Mmmm. He dragged me along with him for his face-to-face meeting with the new love of his life.”

Brandon, deflected by the crowd around Tara, veered toward Sarah, aka Taylor. His thin hands were waving in agitation, and his normally smooth gait was jerky. Sketching along the edges of both jaws and converging at the cleft in his chin, the charcoal line of precisely trimmed stubble highlighted Brandon’s oval face. In his lightly tanned face, Marisa could see a hint of vulnerability, even tenderness.

Marisa sputtered. “He has a crush on...um...Taylor? What happened to the torrid romance between him and the agile Widow Cranston?”

Alex desperately clamped his hands over his ears. “For God’s sake, don’t remind me of that horrifying moment when we caught Brandon playing horse to Mrs. Cranston’s disciplinary cowgirl!”

Marisa’s eyes narrowed as Brandon’s tall figure bent solicitously over the giggling Sarah. “I would have thought those two lovers would have stayed together, if only to irritate Brandon’s lividly disapproving mother.”

Alex shrugged. “Brandon says Taylor is educated, smart, and funny. She teaches high school and she’s also a cheerleading coach. She’s not only insightful and sensitive, according to Brandon, but she’s also athletic.”

With a quick vision of Sarah, wearing only a g-string as she executed a back flip across the stage, Marisa mentally agreed the object of Brandon’s affection was very athletic.

“And Brandon raves about her cute dimples,” Alex added. “Have you seen her dimples?”

“Yes, I’ve seen her dimples.”
On her face and on her naked ass. In the strip club.

A sturdy man with thinning blonde wisps of hair sidled up to her and panted, his tongue hanging out. “Can you guess who I am?”

“Umm...” His short, muscular legs were accented by cut off jeans. His body was slightly rotund, like an overfed basset hound. He was practically wagging his tail, his face was as eager as a dog anticipating a long-awaited walk. “The Blue-Blooded Beagle?” hazarded Marisa.

Alex snorted softly as the other man slunk away, his dejected metaphorical tail between his legs. “I think that was the Royal Bloodhound. Instead of pricking up his ears and laying his nose to the scent, he looks as if he’s been whacked on the nose with a newspaper.”

Pricking? Laying? Whacked? Marisa narrowed her eyes. Alex’s smooth face was the picture of shining innocence.

In a flash of color, an athletic figure in a fluttering tunic and fawn tights executed handsprings, swiped Marina Poole’s huge patchwork purse from her shoulder, and landed right between Alex and Marisa.

Marina Poole screeched. “Hey, that’s my purse!”

As Alex and Marisa moved back in surprise, he giggled. “Hi, I’m Amos, aka the Court Jester. I’m not only funny, but also acrobatic.” He bowed low, sweeping the floor with Marina Poole’s bag. As he rose, he shook hair the color and consistency of a tiny chick’s down out of his laughing, baby-smooth face.

Her face as black as a thundercloud, Marina Poole grabbed for her purse. “Give me that!”

The Jester laughed. Poised on the tips of his toes, he held the bag just out of her desperate reach. “I want to go outside and smoke, and I need to borrow your lighter.” Turning his back on the enraged woman, he calmly rooted in her purse.

When Marina Poole leaped up and grabbed her bag, the Jester jerked it toward him. Objects fell from the purse and scattered across the dim floor.

Marina Poole fell to her knees. With a growl, she frantically scooped the contents into the trailing folds of her lacy black top.

When various papers landed at her feet, Marisa bent over to help retrieve them. She glanced down at the bundle in her hand as she passed them to Marina Poole. “How cute, little kids in the tub.”

Snatching the papers from Marisa, she pushed them into her blouse. With a visible effort to control her anger, she tried to smile. “My nieces playing in the tub. Aren’t they sweet?”

Amos the Jester rolled his eyes as he tossed Marina Poole’s purse to the floor next to her scrabbling hands. “We don’t have time to look at your family photos, Marina Poole. If you didn’t have a lighter to loan me, then you could have said so in the first place.” Hopeful, he turned to Marisa.

“Do you have a lighter?” The Jester’s eyes roamed up and down Marisa’s less than twiggy figure, and then moved to Alex. “You must be the Knight of the Round Ladies.”

Marisa’s hands clenched. She opened her mouth to scorch him into backward flips.

“Actually, I’m Alex, aka the Royal Executioner of Snide Smart Asses.” Alex’s biceps bunched into impressive definition. He slid into the younger man’s personal space to smile terrifyingly into his alarmed face. “Don’t you know insults can be as bad for your health as smoking?”

The Jester’s wide eyes rolled from Alex’s clenched fists and hard glare to Marisa’s face. With more haste than finesse, he scooted away into the crowd.

Marisa watched the chastened man melt into the growing crowd.

Carla turned from her conversation with a group behind them to face Marisa. “I’ve never seen a Court Jester scuttle away in fear, until now. I heard his Round Ladies crack. Don’t listen to him, you’re just perfect.” Carla’s eyes flicked to Marisa’s chest.

Marisa wondered if she could just handspring away.

“Are you with him?” Carla jerked her head toward Alex.

“Yes,” said Alex.

“No,” denied Marisa.

“We drove separately, but we’re together now,” Alex smoothly clarified.

Carla was disappointed. “Oh. Well, I think I see Marina Poole waving at me.”

Her bag securely hooked on her shoulder, Marina Poole was indeed waving frantically to Carla. With her other hand, she reached down, vainly trying to disengage the Royal Bloodhound. The Royal Dog was on his knees and had his teeth in her jeans near her ankle. Marina Poole scooted a bit on the smooth floor when he growled and pulled on the material.

Marisa put her hands on her hips. “Why did you say that, Alex?”

“Because I didn’t want her hitting on me.”

“She wasn’t hitting on you, Alex, she was hitting on Marisa.”

Both Marisa and Alex jumped.

“Tara, if you don’t stop sneaking up on people, I’m going to put a cowbell on you!” Marisa patted her heart, and then took a bracing sip of her watery drink.

“She was flirting with Marisa?” Alex laughed. “That’s what I get for being so conceited. If my head starts to swell, you two are always right there with a sharp pin.” His eyes danced with laughter.

Marisa laughed and choked. “Hey, I got Coke up my nose!”

Alex pretended to cringe. “Be careful, or you’ll have the Drug Overlord Kingpin slinking over here to score you some cocaine!”