Drop Dead Gorgeous (5 page)

Lori had always been there, a friend. A ray of light, a streak of chemistry. Passion promising to happen. He’d never wanted to push anything, thinking there was something special there and the timing just wasn’t right.

Bad, bad timing.

But then, Lori had been with him when he was in pain. She’d eased the worst night of his life, despite Brad, her folks, and anything else that might have stood in the way.

But she hadn’t really stayed with him long enough, and she hadn’t fought hard enough. He had left, but she could have found him, written, called. Instead she had fled as well, and they had gone their separate ways.

“To you, Lori Kelly!” he said softly, lifting his glass. So long ago. So many women in between. Yet he wondered suddenly if there had been so many simply because of Lori, and maybe Mandy as well, and a determination
not
to get involved in relationships that mattered.

He drank. Great. Miami was going to turn him into an alcoholic.

But things here were strange. No, life was so damned strange. Mandy had been dead a long, long time. Now Ellie was dead as well, and Lori had suddenly—literally—walked into him.

A chill assailed him, unlike anything he had ever known, and he finished the last of the scotch in his glass. Stupid, foolish. Bad things happened. Lots of bad things in a metropolis this size.

Don’t go getting paranoid. There’s nothing you can do, and there’s no conspiracy, none whatsoever. Ellie
was living a wild life, night-
clubbing it, going out, looking for men
…

Right. And why wouldn’t Lori be doing the same things now that she was back? There was no reason a widow shouldn’t spend a few nights out, dancing, having a drink with friends, enjoying some music and dancing.

He swore impatiently, rose, fixed himself another scotch. What the hell was the matter with him? Ellie had been murdered, and nearly fifteen years ago Mandy had been murdered. Well, he had supposedly been the murderer, so where was the correlation?

He knew, of course, that he hadn’t even been near Mandy until Andrew had pulled her from the water.

He shouldn’t have come home.
You can never come home.
Everyone know the old adage.

Still, he found himself walking to the phone on the desk and dialing Ricky’s home number.

“Hello?” Ricky answered.

“It’s Sean. Lori Kelly’s in town.”

“Oh, yeah! I heard. Her brother Andrew said that she was coming back because her grandfather wasn’t doing so well.”

“Do you have a number for her?”

“No, but I can get it. Jan married Brad, you know. They’re
divorced,
but still friends, and Jan kept up with Lori, found her a house. I’ll get back with you.”

“Great.”

Sean set the receiver back in its cradle. The newscaster had finally moved on to other stories, recounted with similar dramatics. Over the weekend there had also been two shootings and a fatal car crash.

Tragedy was a fact of life. He heard horrible stories every day. But he had known Ellie. Known her as a kid, seen her laugh, flirt, play, study—seen her hurt, confused, smiling and in pain. And when you knew someone, and then saw that someone dead and naked on a stainless steel gurney
…

And Lori Kelly was back in town.

They were all together again. It seemed. The survivors.

R
icky Garcia held the receiver in his hands for a long time. Ellie was dead, and Lori Kelly was back in town, and Sean Black was here as well. What a homecoming.

He shook his head, aware again of the newswoman talking away on the television. Pretty woman, but melodramatic as all get out. What had happened to the simple facts?

He hesitated, then turned up the volume. Just what were they saying about the murder? The media had a penchant for screwing up law enforcement here. As if it wasn’t a tough enough place already. Crack heads all over, pushers, dopers, gangs, mafia in half a dozen nationalities
…
and half the population whining all the time that the cops were bad as well. On the take. Bullshit. They didn’t begin to know the meaning of bad.

He stared at the newswoman, so intense, going over and over the terror of what had happened, trying to make a name for herself.

Poor Ellie. All right, so she had been something of a prick tease. Still
…

How strange. How damned strange. If Ellie were alive, they’d all be back now. All of them who had been there that day.

He remembered that Sean had asked him to get Lori Kelly’s phone number. He dialed Brad Jackson.

J
ust what would they say on the news?

The killer watched the television, feeling a rush of pleasure that was almost as good as the chase
…

As the act itself.

The media. What fools! They spilled everything. Absolutely everything.

Now a half dozen psychos would confess to the crime, and the dumb cops wouldn’t know the difference.

At last the newswoman went off the screen, and a white-haired man appeared. Some retired stiff
from the FBI. He described the murder as a typical sex crime, and warned women that they should be very careful, think carefully, act carefully.
When such a murder
occurred, people tended to think
that it had to be
carried out by a monster, a devil
with visible horns.

Sex crimes
were usually carried
out
by
men of the same race
as their victims, men who were
most often in their
mid-twenties to
late
thirties.
Younger than that,
and they
usually hadn’t yet reached a level of
such
overt savagery. Older than that, and
they’d
usually trip themselves up somehow.

I’ll drink to that! he mused.
Except he wouldn’t do so.

The man on the television went on.

Such killers were often men women trusted on sight.

The average Joe.

Average!

He smiled tautly.

Average, hell!

He lifted his drink.

And drank to himself again, terribly pleased. They’d soon know that there
wasn’t
anything average about him at all.

He heard a knocking at his door, his name was called, and he smiled. She was here. He did know how to
play at
being
the average Joe.

But only a man way above average could begin to do it half so damned well.

J
an Hunt stood on Brad’s doorstep, looking around as she waited. It was dark. Despite the lights out on the street, it was dark. In the
residential area of Coconut Grove, it could be dark as a black hole at night. One of the prime attractions of the area was the tremendous amount of foliage around, and she usually loved it. Trees, vines, bushes, flowers—she’d lived around the general area all her life, didn’t know the names of half of it, but loved it just the same. Except for tonight. Reading about Ellie had really disturbed her. Then, when she’d picked up the signed contract for the new condo for the old geezer, she’d seen nothing but the murder on the news. Unnerved, she’d called home, found that Tina was safely in with the doors locked and the alarm armed, and she’d headed for Brad’s.

Dumb move. They had an agreement. They always called one another. She hadn’t called him tonight. He might be with someone. And here she was, goose bumps rising on her flesh because she was afraid to be standing here, in the dark. There was a breeze, and every time it ruffled a leaf, she felt certain that a homicidal maniac was crawling around her, watching her, waiting to pounce, already beginning to hunger for a taste of blood
…

The door opened.

“Jan!”

“Hey!” she said nervously.

Brad was dressed—that was good, she reasoned. He hadn’t just come popping out of bed. He was casual, in jeans and T-shirt, barefoot, blond hair neatly combed, looking good.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure.” He backed away from the door, and she stepped in.

His place was nicely, simply decorated. It was a contemporary house, no more than fifteen years old, and he had some modern art on the walls, with most
of his
furniture being leather, chrome,
and glass. The floors
were cool tile, the kitchen
was state-of-the-art
—sporting far more
utensils than
Brad would
ever
use, but they
were
there if needed. His bedroom was huge, complete with a big bath that held a whirlpool encircled by glass walls that looked out
over
the lush foliage in back, enclosed by a redwood privacy fence. It was the perfect place fo
r a prime-of-life, divorced, up-
and-coming attorney. A great place to bring women. Absurd, too, because she had sold it to him. “I should have called—” she began.

“It’s okay,” he told her. He shrugged, and grinned. “I’m kind of glad to see you. There’s no one i
mportant in my life right now…
and I guess you heard about Ellie. I’ve been drinking since I heard about her.”

Jan arched a brow. “Had you seen her lately?”

He shook his head. “No
…
I’ve run into her now and then over the past few years. She dated a guy from my office about five years ago. It’s just that it’s so
…
awful. When something like that happens, something so horrible,
even to a casual acquaintance…
”

“I know. It’s scary. I couldn’t help wondering what happened, how s
he met the guy, how she felt…
” She shivered fiercely.

“So you came to see me?”

“Yeah.”

“Because you’re scared.”

“Maybe.”

“Ah. You want some action, but you’re afraid of the exciting new guys you might meet, so you’re going for the humdrum but safe?”

Jan placed her hands on her hips. “Fuck you.”

He grinned. “If that’s what you want.”

She started to get mad, then threw up her hands. She looked down unhappily before staring at him again. “I never said that you were humdrum, Brad. Just the opposite. I never knew where you were.”

He looked at her and nodded after a moment, then smiled. “I’m glad to see you,” he admitted. “But do you remember that you were mad at me last week?”

“You didn’t want to help me pay for Tina’s field trip, and that day they’ve got planned for her art class is nearly a hundred bucks!”

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted my thirteen-year-old going on a weekend field trip!” he said. “Where is my thirteen-year-old?”

“Home, locked in tight. I should be home with her. I can’t stay long—”

“Yes, ma’am, stud service on demand. Fast, too, if that’s what you want.”

She shed her clothing as she walked into the bedroom. It was dark, but she was familiar with the layout of the furniture. Brad didn’t turn on a light. He was naked when he tackled
her from behind, already aroused when they crashed down on the bed together.

She was glad of the darkness, confused by the rush of emotions that assailed her as they coupled. It was odd to discover that the awful news of a murder had made her need Brad, not just to talk to, but to be with in a sexual way. And it was somehow even more disturbing tonight to realize again that he was an exceptional lover. Tears stung her eyes as she climaxed, because she’d had such dreams once upon a time, when she’d been young, and things just hadn’t worked out the way she had wanted. Sometimes she could pretend
…

He started making love to her once again. He was needy, but not quite ready.

“Talk to me,” he whispered.

And she knew what he wanted. His fantasy was two women. He liked to hear what she’d be doing to someone else while he was doing what he was doing to her
…

Sometimes she could play the game. Sometimes she couldn’t.

She suddenly wished that she could see her watch. He was a good lover, and she was in the middle of this, but she was suddenly worried as well. She should be home. She couldn’t be rude enough just to say so. She’d gotten what she’d come for
…
he hadn’t quite. So she began to talk, saying what he wanted to hear.

And it was all right. His growing state of arousal turned her on more than she’d imagined possible, and they exploded together
into a deliciously erotic climax. Moments later, lying at her side, he stroked her hair.

“Too bad you didn’t agree to do it for me. Just once,” he told her. “All kinds of awful things could have been avoided.”