Hot Blooded (44 page)

Unless…no…her last visitor wouldn’t have put anything into the bottle of Absolut. Of course not. Not that it mattered. Not now. Her toes curled over the warm tile lip. She teetered, held steady a second, her mind blurry. Her unsteady gaze fastened on the statue of Mary—Holy Mother—Blessed Virgin. “Forgive me,” Estelle whispered, then closed her eyes and fell forward.

“What do you mean, Melanie’s not showing up?” Sam demanded as she made her way to the booth later that same night. She’d spent the day going over the minutiae of Annie Seger’s life and had found no further clues to figure out who John was. Aside from the police department, Ty’s associate, the never-seen Andre Navarrone, was also trying to piece together the puzzle. Before the killer struck again.

“Just what I told ya,” Tiny said, with a shrug. “Melanie’s not coming back. Ever. She got real mad today and stormed into Eleanor’s office and quit. Eleanor’s fit to be tied because Melanie didn’t even give her two weeks’ notice.” He offered a sloppy smile. “Go figure.”

“What about the policewoman?”

“She’ll be here, I think, but until then, it’s just you and me, babe.”

“Babe?” Sam repeated, her nerves already past the fraying point. She whirled on Tiny, and it was all she could do to keep her voice level. “Did you call me babe? Listen,
Tiny, I want you to do me a favor, okay? Don’t ever call me ‘babe’ or ‘chick’ or “broad’ or any other of those derogatory male terms again.”

“Geez, I meant it as a compliment.”

“Well, geez, it’s not one, okay?” she snapped, then noticed the wounded look in his eyes and felt immediate remorse. “Oooh, guess I’m a little more stressed-out than I realized. Sorry. You just hit a hot button with me.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t do it again,” he said, obviously still smarting as he headed into the booth beside hers. Sam glanced at her watch and figured she had just enough time to call Melanie and point out that she was needed before she was on the air. Rather than disturb the setup in her booth, she found a free phone at Melba’s desk, dialed and waited, looking over the various and grotesque objets d’art backlit by wavering neon.

“Come on, come on,” she said, glancing at her watch again. Melanie’s answering machine picked up. “Hi, I’m out…you know the drill, leave a message after the tone.”

The machine beeped.

“Melanie? Melanie…are you there? It’s Sam. Come on and pick up, would ya? We could use some help down here. Please. Melanie? Melanie…” The receiver was picked up.

“Mel—”

Then it was slammed down.

Samantha jumped and decided it was no use. Melanie was ticked, and there was no changing her mind. Not tonight. Obviously she had a point to make. Hurrying back to the booth, Sam nearly collided with the policewoman, Dorothy, carrying a paper cup of coffee as she rounded a corner.

“Oops…” She managed not to slosh. “Years of practice,” she explained, then added, “I heard we’re on our own tonight.”

“So I’ve been told.” Sam had reached her booth and was
opening the door. She glanced into the neighboring area and saw Tiny already at his desk, headphones in place.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dorothy said as she held her cup in one hand and opened the door to the booth with the other. “I know the drill, and between you, me and Tiny, we’ll do fine.”

“I hope so,” Sam said, wishing Melanie weren’t so mercurial and stubborn. Despite her flaws, Melanie was always interesting, usually upbeat, and forever hatching one ambitious plan after another. That was her problem, Sam thought, the girl was too ambitious for her own good.

As soon as she closed the door of her booth behind her, Sam shoved all lingering thoughts of Melanie aside. She had work to do. And a plan. One she hadn’t shared with Ty or Eleanor or the police, one she wouldn’t try unless she felt safe. But she was convinced that nothing could happen to her. Ty drove her to and from the station, the house was locked, the alarm in place, and here at work, the security guard and police were everywhere.

But she had to reach John, to help the police catch him before he found his next victim.

Adjusting the mike and headset, she double-checked the sound levels and made sure the computer display was working properly. At a signal from Tiny in the adjoining booth, she heard the intro music and waited until the last words faded. Then she leaned into the microphone. “Good evening, New Orleans, this is Dr. Sam with
Midnight Confessions,
a talk show as good for the heart as it is for the soul. Tonight we’re going to talk about sacrifices,” she said, the topic she thought would most compel John to call. “We all make them. Every day. Usually for a person we love, or the boss, or for something we want. It’s all a part of life. But sometimes we feel that we sacrifice too much, that we give and give and give, and it’s not appreciated, never enough.” Already the lights on the console were flashing. One, two,
three and four, blinking as she talked. From the corner of her eye she saw Tiny and the policewoman, talking, nodding, screening the calls. The first name appeared on the screen. Arlene.

Sam punched the line. “This is Dr. Sam,” she said. “Who’s this?”

“Hi. I’m Arlene.”

“Welcome to the show, Arlene. I assume you called in because you have some personal experience with or an observation about sacrifice.”

“Yes, yes. That I do. I’m a mother of three children…” Arlene started expounding about giving everything for her kids and unconditional love while Sam read the other names leaping on the screen. Mandy was on two, Alan on three, Jennifer on four. The show was half over. So far John hadn’t taken the bait.

Sam hoped it was only a matter of time.

“You want me to pretend to be Dr. Sam?” Melanie asked and rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. Still angry over what had happened at the station, she’d already downed two glasses of wine in rapid succession and now was standing in the kitchen alcove of her studio apartment, slicing limes and mixing drinks. Her boyfriend, dressed in black jeans, matching T-shirt and bulky leather jacket was pacing from one end of the room to the other. He seemed nervous tonight and that same little tingle of excitement that she always experienced around him was heightened tonight. She didn’t know a lot about him but considered him the ultimate bad-boy, an irreverent man who didn’t give a damn about what people thought or social convention.

The Chardonnay was having some effect. She was less tense, her muscles melting a bit, the knife a little awkward in her usually deft fingers.

“I think it would be an interesting game,” he said, looking through her window and adjusting the shades for more privacy.

“Oh, I forgot you’re into games.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“No…not really.” She squeezed some lime juice into a couple of old-fashioned glasses already swimming with gin and tonic water. “You know, you can ditch the shades. It’s night.”

“My eyes are giving me trouble again.” “Oh.” She kept forgetting that he had some condition that didn’t allow his pupils to dilate properly and he was always trying to filter out excessive light. But here, in the apartment, she’d turned down all the lamps and only a few candles burned. “Whatever you want.” She was in no mood to argue. In fact she was starting to mellow out and she thought what might really help was a long night of lovemaking. Sneaking a surreptitious glance at her daybed, she imagined him naked with her, driving into her in that same furious way he had in Sam’s bed weeks ago.

“‘Whatever you want,’” he repeated. “Now those are interesting words.” He grinned that killer smile of his. Her heart raced as he looked at her. Definitely a bad boy. Not the kind to bring home to Mom and Dad. Not suitable marriage material, but she didn’t care.

“As far as I’m concerned everyone at WSLJ including their resident radio shrink can go screw themselves. I’m done with them. There are plenty of jobs in this city. I don’t have to put up with the shit they shovel down there.”

“Of course you don’t.” He crossed to the stereo system where he flipped a switch and Samantha’s voice immediately came through the surround-sound theater system she’d installed herself.

“So is sacrifice a good thing? Is it necessary?” Dr. Sam was asking the audience.

Melanie thought she might puke. How had she put up with that self-righteous bitch for as long as she had?

“She’s still trying to lure John into calling,” Melanie said.

“I’ll bet he bites.” He flipped the blinds shut.

“Serve her right if he did. He freaks her out, you know?”

“I suppose.”

“Oh, yeah.” She carried the drinks across the small room. “Maybe I should call in—no, no, better yet,
you
call in. You do a wicked impersonation of John. Sometimes I think…I mean, I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes I wonder if you are him?”

“Wouldn’t you be scared if I was?” He was staring at her intently.

“Spitless. That guy’s weird and now…now they’re linking him to some murders. But it’s just kinda coincidental that he started calling about the same time that we started pranking Dr. Sam and dredging up all that stuff on Annie Seger.” She handed him one of the drinks. “It just makes me think.”

“Not bad thoughts I hope.” Sipping from his glass, he looked at her through those darned glasses, the same kind that were drawn on the composite drawing of the killer. Was it possible? No way.

“Sometimes I think you play head games with me,” she said, taking a big gulp of the gin and tonic. “You
like
to scare me. It turns you on. You
want
me to think you might be that nutcase that calls in.”

“Didn’t I just say we all play games?”

She giggled. Took another long swallow, started to feel a little more tipsy. Free. Unbound. Maybe leaving WSLJ was a good thing. She waggled a finger at his nose. “You always turn the tables on me.”

“And you like it.”

“Yes,” she said, wrapping one arm around his neck and staring up at him. “Yes, I do.”

“So do I.” His voice was so low and sexy, a soft Texan drawl she found titillating. “So, indulge me…just sit here and pretend that you’re Dr. Sam, doing the show.” He motioned toward her daybed.

“And who will you be?” she asked as she heard some whiny voiced woman through the speakers. The caller was complaining about taking care of her elderly parents.
Oh, can it,
Melanie thought.

“Who will I be? John, of course.” “Of course,” she said dryly, then muttered under her breath. “I guess I shoulda seen that one comin’.”

“So—is that what she’d be wearing?” he asked, pointing toward her shorts and halter top.

“This? The snooty-nosed doctor from LA? No way.”

“Then change.”

“What?”

“Complete the fantasy.”

“I don’t want—”

“Come on, Melanie. Indulge me. Indulge yourself.” She liked the thought of that and with only a few niggling doubts, she walked to the closet alcove and pulled out a khaki wrap-around skirt and white sleeveless blouse—it was sooo Dr. Sam. Stepping into the dressing area by the bathroom she tore off her clothes, hesitated at her underwear, then stripped it off. If she wanted to get laid tonight, she figured she’d better grab his attention. Fluffing her hair, she walked around the divider and found him holding both drinks.

“I freshened yours,” he explained handing her the glass, then clinking the rim of his to hers. “To leaving the past behind,” he said.

“Especially WSLJ.” She took a long swallow and wrinkled her nose. The drink tasted a little off.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“It’s…it’s a little strong.”

“I thought you were in a party mood.”

“I am,” she said, her head spinning slightly, her lips mushy. She was getting drunk and fast, but then she hadn’t eaten much and she’d had two…or was it three glasses of wine before her first hard drink and now…“Maybe I should sit down.”

He smiled. “Whatever you want. Now…how about pretending you’re Dr. Sam.”

Boy, he just wouldn’t give up tonight. But what did she care. Melanie gave him a naughty look, then lifted the receiver of her cordless phone and lowered her voice to a deep, heavy, whisper, “Good evening, New Orleans, this is
Midnight Confessions,
and I’m your host, Dr. Sam. Tell me whatever you want to, pour your heart out, confess all your sins and—”

“Wait a minute,” he cut in.

“Why?” Boy, her head was spinning. “Isn’t…isn’t this wha…what you wanted?”

“Just about. But it could be better.”

“Better?” she said and her tongue was thick. Too thick. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t really think straight.

“You need this.”

“Wha—?” she said but saw him reach inside his jacket and pull out a long red wig. “Oh…” she thought of Samantha Leeds’s dark red hair. “Do I really need to…?”

“Yes, Samantha, you do.”

“But my name’s Melanie…” He was reaching over, pulling her hair up to the top of her head and he was pushing a little too hard. “Ouch. Wait…I’ll do it…” she said but couldn’t get her hands to obey her mind. This was so weird. She was drunk…no beyond drunk…as if…as
if she’d taken something…as if someone had slipped her a mickey…as if…

“There,” he said and she saw that his face was flushed, sweat was dripping down beneath the edges of his dark lenses. “That’s more like it.” He looked at her appraisingly with a cold leer that sent a shiver through her heart. “Now…listen…”

He’d turned his head toward the speakers as if mesmerized. “But I thought you wanted me to—”

“Shut up! What I want is for you to shut up!”

“Wait a minute.” Why was he being so mean to her? Unbidden, tears filled her eyes.

“Hey…shhh…” he said, more kindly and he leaned over her, kissed her. She felt better though her head was whirling. “Why don’t you strip, Sam.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s all a game.”

Oh yeah. Now she remembered. She fumbled with the buttons of the blouse and felt his hands take over.

“You have to repent.”

“Wha—?”

“For your sins.”

Her blouse was open, exposing her bare breasts.

“See…you’re a slut, Samantha.”

“But I’m not—”

She was vaguely aware of something being draped over her head, hard, cool stones—a necklace surrounding her throat. In the background over the buzz in her brain she heard Dr. Sam talking about sins and sacrifice and—

The necklace tightened, cut into her skin. “Hey!” Her mind was foggy but this seemed wrong. “You’re hurting me.”

He cinched the noose tighter and she couldn’t speak,
couldn’t scream. This…this was going too far.
Stop it! I can’t breathe!
She tried to scream but no words came and her fingers scrabbled at her throat, trying to pull the horrid necklace away. This was no game, she realized. She caught a glimpse of John’s face, his teeth bared, his lips pulled back like a horrid beast, his eyes hidden by black glass.