Evil to the Max (21 page)

She laughed. It was Tiffany’s laughter. “I don’t think I need to plant evidence, Bud.”

How the hell did he know she had an interest in Tiffany? Someone at the shop must have talked. And why the hell
wasn’t
he searching her? He acted like a man with a lot of things to hide, but nothing to fear.

He crossed the thick carpet. Max fought the urge to step back, and won. She also fought Tiffany’s desire to rub herself against him. Even in death, the woman was a monumental sexual force—and a gigantic pain in the ass.

This time, his smile was soft, cajoling, seemingly harmless. “So you think I killed her, too, just like you think I killed my daughter? Max, you really ought to see a psychiatrist about these delusions of yours.”

Another step closer. He was now less than a foot away. She could smell his expensive cologne and imported cigars. Max stood her ground. “Do you visit her grave, Bud?”

“Tiffany’s?”

She’d meant his daughter, Wendy’s, but allowed him the mistake. She might learn more that way.

“I attended her funeral,” he said. “It’s too bad you weren’t there. I missed you. We have unfinished business, you and I.”

Yes, they did. She hadn’t forgotten her midnight vow to kill him.

“Did you murder Tiffany?” she asked bluntly.

He trailed a cold finger down her cheek like some nighttime ghoul. Max’s blood froze. Her breath stuck in her throat. Inside her, Tiffany moaned.

“As much as you’d like it to be me, I didn’t kill her.”

Max’s mouth was desert dry, but her voice was strong, her stance firm. “Then you had someone else do it for you.”

He had the blackest eyes. Heartless. Devoid of all emotion except greed. Evil eyes. “I didn’t have to. There were plenty of men waiting in line to take care of that little chore. It was only a matter of time. She was a whore through and through. She deserved what she got.”

“Nobody deserves to die like that.”

“Then maybe you don’t know enough about her. Shall I tell you?”

“Please do.” She wasn’t sure he could reveal anything about Tiffany she didn’t already know.

“Shall I tell you about the times she pulled me into the laundry room at Miles’s delightful little shop and went down on me?” His eyelids lowered. He licked his lips, as if savoring the memory. Inside her, Tiffany quivered with anticipation. “There’s nothing quite like the scent of fresh laundry in your nose and the feel of a woman’s mouth around your cock.”

“Since I
don’t
have one, the nuances are lost on me.” If he wanted to shock her, it wouldn’t work. She already knew the sexual feats of which Tiffany was capable. She also knew Nadine had been wrong. There was one older man her sister hadn’t been able to resist.

He smiled. “Well, look at this. I’m turning you on.” His gaze swept over her, singling out her peaked nipples, outlined starkly against her sweatshirt, and the sheen of perspiration on her upper lip.

Tiffany’s doing, all Tiffany. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You’re such a delicious liar. Tell me, the truth now, do you want it right here, Max—on the carpet? Or maybe upstairs?” He raised a hand and brushed her hair back from her forehead, then whispered close to her ear, “How about Wendy’s room?”

She almost screamed out loud and shoved him away. It was what he expected, but she wasn’t about to give in to him. Not now. Not ever. Not until she proved to everyone what he was capable of.

She stepped back deliberately and looked him in the eye. “Be careful how far you push me, Traynor. On your territory, you have the upper hand, but we won’t always be on your turf. You’re going down. For Tiffany. For Wendy. For all the little girls you’ve destroyed.”

He chuckled. “Your sense of melodrama is delightful. But the only thing I plan to go down on is you, my sweet Max. I love a challenge. Tiffany was never much of one. The game with her was seeing just how far she’d be willing to go.”

“And how far was that?” she asked.

“Shall I tell you about the evening she fucked me? I sat in her chair, with full light behind us and the blinds open to the street.”

Jesus. Tiffany squirmed. Oh yes, Tiffany had loved that one. Max felt her control slipping away in the wake of his words, in the crest of the new ones he murmured so intimately.

She fought Tiffany for dominance even as Traynor leaned closer to whisper insistently in her ear.

“Shall I tell you how she screamed and came when she saw Miles watching us in the mirror?”

God, the watcher. Tiffany had loved being watched. Someone had watched her the night she’d died. Max closed her eyes, stretched within the vision, and strained to see the face just beyond her reach.

Then Traynor moved in for the final blow, close enough to touch his tongue to her ear. His words were feather soft as if they were part of a dream. “I want you, Max. We both know you’re here because
you
want
me
. I can smell how wet I make you.”

Her knees weakened with alarm. She couldn’t breathe. Her nipples ached. Her thighs were on fire. The only sound in the room was the roaring in her ears.

He cupped her throat, tilted her chin with his thumb, then licked her cheek, from the corner of her mouth to her eye. “Fuck me, Max,” he murmured.

His hand slid down the side of her throat and cupped her breast. He kneaded the flesh, then pinched her tight, hard nipple. Max opened her eyes.

A spark of triumph lit his black gaze. “Oh, you’re ready, aren’t you? You want it. You need it. Beg me, and I’ll put you out of your misery. Beg me to fuck you, Max. Beg me to bury my tongue in your cunt.”

For just a moment, she thought Tiffany might actually come to life, take over, and force her to do what he wanted.

But something in his voice, something in those dead eyes of his, something in the obscene pleasure he got from manipulating her set her free of Tiffany’s lust for sexual power.

Max looked down at Bud’s fingers squeezing her, then slowly raised her eyes to meet his penetrating gaze. “Get your fucking hand off my breast.”

His lips curled in another of his masterful smiles. This one said that he didn’t believe her, that he could have her when, where, and how he wanted. “You don’t need the token resistance, Max. Just give in to yourself.”

She raised the Mag-Lite. Her voice didn’t shake. Her arm held steady. “Take your hand off me, or I’ll bash your goddamn skull in.”

A light flickered in those dark eyes. A corner of his mouth lifted. He dropped his hand to his side.

Just like that.

Why? It must be a trick, a ploy to catch her off guard. Another one of his manipulations. But to what end? The frightening possibilities made her lightheaded.

“You win this round, my lovely Max.” His next words chilled her. “But we both know how close you came. We both know how badly you want it. Don’t we?”

Close but no cigar, buster.

Close didn’t count. Close meant she’d won, but her heart skipped several beats. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth and the only hope of saving the human race.”

Traynor smiled, stepped back, then moved around the coffee table to sit on the sofa, his arm extended along the back. The casual posture didn’t speak of a man who’d just lost a major skirmish in their war. “By the way, I love your shampoo. It’s one of Miles’s specialties, isn’t it?”

Damn. She remembered the way he’d stood in the doorway sniffing the air, like an animal on the hunt. He’d known she hid in the room. Was it a plan he’d concocted with Miles? But they couldn’t have known what
she’d
planned.

He interrupted her speculations. “Take off your gloves, Max. Stay awhile.”

She’d forgotten she had them on. So much for leaving fingerprints. He’d caught her in the act. She tugged them off, shoved them in her back pocket, then stood legs slightly spread, hands folded in front of her, one still grasping the Mag-Lite and effectively disguising the disk still hidden beneath her clothing.

“Have a seat.” He offered the sofa with a sweep of his arm.

She’d tired of his game. Plus, she wanted to run. She stayed only because there was so much more to learn from him, so many answers she needed.

“I’ll stand right here,” she said defiantly.

A satisfied half-smile crossed his face, one that said he saw right through her tough act. “So tell me, Max, why are you here? Besides the feeble attempt to prove I killed my darling stylist.”

He didn’t give a damn why she’d come. Her actions had somehow fallen right in with some nefarious plan of his. Whatever card he’d tucked up his sleeve, it wouldn’t work. “I will bring you down. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even for Tiffany’s murder, but I will get you.”

He lifted a hand and wagged a finger at her. “Brave words, little girl. Very challenging. You’re doing quite well despite the vulnerable position you’re in. Don’t forget, I can still call the police and report you for breaking and entering.”

“Go for it. I have friends on the force.”

He laughed. Worse than nails on a chalkboard, it was the sound of dirt falling on your coffin when you don’t have the voice to scream that you’re still alive. “I just had dinner with the Mayor, Max. Who will they believe?”

“They’ll believe the truth.” If only she could figure out what the hell it was.

He cocked his head. “You are refreshingly naive. I’ll have such pleasure breaking you in.” Her skin crawled with a million imaginary bugs. He continued, obviously enjoying himself. “Back to Tiffany. I could have killed her. I’m capable, don’t you think?” He shrugged and didn’t wait for her to agree. “Or I could have paid someone to do it. I do have several acquaintances who’d be more than willing to accommodate me.”

He was silent, forcing Max to prompt him. “But?”

“It’s so much more rewarding to have someone else think it was all their own idea. They do it with such precision and pleasure. That’s the secret, Max. To get exactly what you want while the other party thinks they’re the brains behind the operation.”

His words shut her down. They were a confession. Certainly for the death of Tiffany Lloyd. Most likely for the death of his own daughter, also.

“And do you have any clue what the
piece de resistance
is?” He waved a hand in the air, negating the need for an answer. “The best thing is that my name will never come up. No one will ever know.” He smiled. “Except you.”

In the end, a killer always has to brag. It would be Bud Traynor’s downfall. She would gather every piece of evidence, dissect the most minute clues, and remember each incriminating word he ever said. “One day. When you’re not expecting it. I’ll make you pay for what you did to both of them.”

His brow went up. “Why, Max? This is what I find so fascinating about you. Your irrational need for revenge. Why do you care so much about some whoring slut you never laid eyes on?”

He could have been talking about his daughter or his hairdresser. He probably meant both.

“That’s the difference between us.” She jabbed the air with her index finger. “I care about justice for dead whores. You care about nothing.”

He placed a hand on his chest. “You wound me deeply. I care about you.”

“You care about bringing me to my knees.”

“Quite literally, Max. And when you’re down there, I’m going to shove my cock down your throat, and you’ll love swallowing every last drop of come.” His eyes shone, and he made no effort to hide the bulge in his pants.

“I never touched her,” he said, his voice so low she had to strain to hear the words, “except to place her head exactly where I wanted it. I didn’t beat her to death. I wasn’t there when it happened.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, kept his tone low, mesmerizing. “But I know how it was done. When. Where. Every detail you’d sell your soul to know. I can tell you, Max.”

“Who?” she whispered.

“What’s it worth to you?”

God, yes, she wanted, needed, had to know who killed Tiffany. The dead woman would never rest, never leave her alone, never get out of her mind and her body, not until her murderer was found.

But could she bear Traynor’s price?

“I see your mind working. You’re asking yourself if I’d tell you if you fucked me. Would you, Max? If you were sure I’d tell you everything, would you fuck me? Would you take it up the ass? What exactly would you do?”

If she knew for sure? If she could trust him? Her mind whirled with her thoughts.

One fuck, Max. One short, mindless fuck. You’ve done it so many times before to gain so little. What have you got to lose?

What had she got to lose? Her soul.

Bud had admitted it. He had every detail she’d sell her soul to know.

“I won’t fuck you for it, Traynor. Because
you
aren’t worth it.” The game ended with those words.

His laughter followed her out the front door.

She started running when her tennies hit the dewy grass. She slipped, slid a foot or two, then fell to her knees, losing the DVD and her flashlight on the lawn. She grabbed both, scrambled to her feet, and ran again.

She wouldn’t fuck him because she didn’t trust him to tell her what she needed to know. But neither she nor Tiffany could rest until she knew the whole truth.

At the door of her car, she fumbled in her pockets for the keys. Then she was safe inside. Windows up. Doors locked tight, she could finally breathe again. Dropping the flashlight and the disk on the seat beside her, she noticed it wasn’t a prerecorded DVD. Picking it up, she brushed the dew and grass off against her sweatshirt, turned it over, then back up. There were no markings on it, just a DVD +R. Traynor must have recorded something, but what?

She started the engine. Shoving the stick into gear, she yanked the wheel to the left and took off without even looking over her shoulder. Nor did she look back, as if she were afraid he was a demon with wings and could follow her.

“You’re gonna kill yourself driving this way,” Cameron murmured in the darkened car.

The tires squealed as she entered the freeway ramp too fast. “Just where the hell were you when I needed you back there?”

“I was with you.”