No Chance in Hell (21 page)

Chris crossed to him. God, she wanted to wrap her arms around his waist. She refrained, not knowing how he’d react now that their personal time was over. Instead, she rubbed the heel of her hand over her chest, hoping to ease the dull ache in her heart.

“We’ll meet you at the office.” Marcus disconnected and shoved the cell into his pocket.

“What happened?”

“The bastard left a message for us on the office phone. Kay found it when she and Nate opened this morning.”

“More signs of aggression.”

“Yeah. They’re becoming more frequent. We’ll give Kay back her car, and then I’ll call that rental place that brings your ride to you.”

A loud knock sent Chris reaching for her purse. It surprised her that she’d completely forgotten her gun, because for a long time, it had never been far away. Her fingers wrapped around the grip, its cool handle giving her comfort.

“I ordered breakfast. It’s room service.” Marcus checked the peephole, opened the door, and directed the young man to put the tray on the bar. He signed the check and locked up after the guy left. “Come eat before these eggs get any colder.”

“I’m not sure I can keep food down.”
 

He uncovered the plates, filling the room with the scent of bacon. Chris’s stomach rolled, but he extended his hand, and she couldn’t refuse. She joined him and perched on a barstool.

“You strike me as an orange juice kind of girl.” He set a glass in front of her. “Am I right?”

“Yes.” She took a bite of toast, and it tasted surprisingly good. So she took another. And another. Pausing to take a drink of juice, she discovered her plate was almost empty.

“Good thing you weren’t hungry.” Humor danced at the corners of his sensuous mouth.

“You’re humoring me. What did the guy say in the phone message that made you angry?”

“I was trying not to worry you, at least not until you’d had a chance to eat.” Marcus leaned back in his chair. “The call came in around midnight. Nate said the guy was either drunk, stoned, or so pissed he couldn’t talk straight.”

“What did he say?” She sighed, and he instantly picked up on her impatience.

“His message was that people who break promises deserve to suffer and then die.”

“Promises?”

“Whether real or perceived, he believes you’ve broken one.”

“What about the women he’s killed? Did they break a promise, too?”

“I think we need to separate you and your sister’s case from the other victims. We have no idea if they’d been stalked, but he’s damn sure stalking you. Maybe he stalked Chelsea, too. Nate and Kay will locate some of her friends. They’ll ask different questions than the police did during their investigation.”

Marcus’s words were like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. “You really believe he’s someone we know.”

“It’s one possibility. If we operate under that assumption, we try to figure out where you came in contact with him.”

“How do we do that?”

“We dig into your past.”

“That’s already been done.”

“We’ll redo it and dig deeper. If necessary, we’ll go all the way back to the time you were in an orphanage.”

His logic escaped her. Chris couldn’t think that opening those files could help. Still, if he wanted to take a look, there was nothing in there to hide.

“I was seven. How could this be remotely related to back then?”

“I understand. It’s like trying to catch smoke. What have we got to lose?”

“Nothing. Texas adoption records are sealed, but since my parents and biological mother are dead, there shouldn’t be a problem getting the court to release them. I can call the law firm my dad used.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got one we use.”

“Then I’d like to go listen to the entire message.” Not waiting for his answer, she rose and went to the bedroom.

In the bottom of the closet sat the suitcases. She understood why Marcus had bought two. Inevitably, they’d go their separate ways. This way there’d be no sorting or dividing. They’d each just grab their bag and go. That thought wrapped a blanket of sadness around her shoulders. Had she fooled around and become attached to a man she’d known only a few days? So they’d made love. She had to remember that this was nothing more than two people who were sexually attracted to each other.
 

Chris quickly folded her belongings, filling maybe half the suitcase. She scooped the toiletries into her arms and dumped them next to her new pair of tennis shoes. If she could keep it together until they checked out, she’d be fine. It was just the next few minutes that she had to pretend nothing more than sex had happened between them.

“Chris,” Marcus said, using that husky tone.
 

If he was expecting female theatrics, he was in for a surprise.

“I’m ready when you are.” She popped the handle up and pulled her belongings past him. “I’ll wait in here.”
 

His hand shot out, catching her and spinning her around.

“Chris,” he said again.

She really needed him to stop saying her name that way. “Don’t give me the speech. Okay? I’m a big girl. We had a good time, but now it’s time for Alice to leave Wonderland.”

He tilted his head and stared at her. “You call it whatever you want. Truth is, a lot more happened here than a ‘good’ time.”

Before she could react, he jerked her against his chest, cupped the back of her head, and covered her lips with his. She sighed and leaned into him. Hard and unrelenting, he ravaged her mouth with his tongue. Chris’s knees wobbled, and she surrendered, matching his passion with a strength she hadn’t known she had.

His hands moved to her shoulders, and he stepped back, separating them. Dark, stormy, brown eyes pinned her in place. She should walk away, but try as she might, her feet would not respond.

“If it wasn’t important that we get moving, I’d—”

She stopped him by placing her fingers on his lips. “You’re right. We have work to do.” She prayed her rubbery legs would hold up as she shouldered her purse and walked to the door.

****

DaVinci turned his head away from the brain-piercing bright light. That simple movement set off explosions inside his brain. Maybe he’d keep his eyes closed and go back to sleep.

A stench assaulted his senses and made lying dormant impossible. Now that he was awake, he not only needed to take a leak, he had to figure out what smelled so horrible.
 

He forced his eyes open, moaning at the sensation of dragging his eyelids across sandpaper. Last night slowly came into focus. At least part of it. He remembered the owner of the restaurant insisting he and Michelangelo take a cab home. God, it hurt to move. How much wine had they consumed after they’d returned to his place? Had he and his mentor actually gone out again?
 

Fuck! He’d called that private dick’s number. What had he said? Between the liquor and anger, he was sure he’d gone off the deep end. He sucked in a breath and sat up on the side of the bed. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. A scream gurgled in the back of his throat. His knuckles were raw and swollen. The skin was actually busted open. His hands, shirt, and pants were covered in dried blood. A quick scan determined it wasn’t his, so where’d it come from? Whose was it?

He had no memory of killing anyone. Think. They’d drank a little more, but the rest was a blank. He forced himself to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom, passing on the way his six-hundred-dollar shoes that were spattered with blood. He flushed the toilet, stripped off the filthy clothes, and then crawled into the shower. Pain shot from his fingers as he held them under the warm water. He gagged at the sight of red swirling around his feet.
 

He had to remember. Had he killed someone? Had Michelangelo been with him? Many times they’d talked about working together again, but had never actually done it.

Too many unanswered questions rattled around in his aching head. After he’d carefully cleaned the shower, he dried off, dressed and went to the kitchen. Once a cup of coffee was brewing, he located his cell and dialed his friend.

“It’s too early to talk,” Michelangelo mumbled.

“Wake up. This is important. Besides, it’s almost noon.”

“Shit. I have things to do. I’ll call you later.”

“No,” DaVinci insisted. “Why did I wake up covered in blood? What happened?”

A muffled laugh sent shivers up his spine. “You don’t remember. Do you?”

“No. I tried, but it won’t come.”

“It will. Relax. We had great fun.”

“Who was she?”

“A hooker we picked up off a street corner.”

DaVinci’s knees gave way, and he slid down the wall. “Where is she?”

“Sleazy motel down on Trellet Avenue. Shitty, roach-infested dump where she had a working arrangement with the manager.”

“You should have stopped me.” Panic had moved into the driver’s seat, allowing his imagination to run wild.

“Stop you? I wasn’t about to interrupt you. I thought we’d do her together, but you were out of control. My biggest disappointment was I didn’t get to fuck her.”

“What? We never sexually touched any of those whores.”

“People change. I discovered many ways to use sex as a punishment. You should try it.”

“The very idea is repulsive.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing. Taking them by force is almost as much fun as killing them. I never thought of you as gay, but if you are, you should have said something. I don’t care one way or the other.”

Darkness circled DaVinci. He gripped the top of the breakfast bar as his vision faded until he saw only a faint light. Memories of his youth pulled him toward madness. Images of being held down and violated flipped through his brain in slide-show fashion. The pain of being beaten into submission and forced to do unspeakable things sent scalding hot tears flowing down his cheeks. He stopped himself right before he slipped into the abyss.

“Hello? Did we get disconnected?”

“I’m here.” He found it difficult to speak. The question had almost silenced him. In all their time together, sexual orientation had never come up. In fact, he’d been leery of Michelangelo when they’d first met. More men than women had hit on him when he’d lived on the streets. That he’d had to submit to them to have money to eat still made him sick to his stomach. “No. I’m not gay. But never in a million years would I have sex with one of those filthy creatures.”

“Well,” Michelangelo said with a chuckle. “That explains why you flipped out on me when I suggested we get naked and have a three-way. You kicked her to the floor and started pounding with your fists. If I hadn’t given you my knife, you’d have beaten her to death.”

 
“You should have stopped me.” DaVinci stared at the proof. His knuckles, part of his most-precious hands, looked as if he’d put them through a meat grinder.

“I see no need for you to be upset.” Michelangelo hissed out the words. “I guess you don’t want to hear that you referred to the whore as Christine while you were pummeling her face.”

“No,” he moaned.

“Oh, yes. Her mother wouldn’t recognize her.”

“We are so fucked. My DNA is everywhere on her. What if somebody spotted me walking into this building with bloody hands?” He was screeching, out of control, and completely unable to calm himself.

“Now you’re insulting me. I took care of everything before we left. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to take a picture before I put her on the bed and set fire to the mattress. And it was late when we got to your place. Nobody saw you.”

“What about the security cameras?”

“I’ve taken care of that. They were out of commission for a few hours last night.”

“You paid somebody, but that person saw the tapes.”

“And he’s dead.”

A chill raced across DaVinci’s back. Just how many people did Michelangelo have on his payroll? “This could ruin everything.” He shouldn’t have called Christine yesterday. Shouldn’t have let that private detective get under his skin. Shouldn’t have made the second call... DaVinci dropped his head in his hands. Had he? Or had he dreamed it?
 

“I just told you, we have nothing to worry about. I have an appointment in Fort Worth, but we’ll meet later today. Over coffee,” he said, with an emphasis on the word coffee.

“Fine.” DaVinci had no argument left in him. All he wanted to do was crawl back to bed and forget how stupid he’d been last night.

“I have people on my payroll who, for a price, will do anything I ask. You and I will work out an acceptable plan that allows you to deal with your Christine. Whatever you have planned, forget it. I have the perfect place for you to take her.”

“Fine. But first I’ve got to destroy these clothes.”

“Cut them to shreds, soak them in bleach, and then pack them in small trash bags. Casually toss them in dozens of dumpsters. Hit the far corners of the city. Oh, remove the buttons.”

“Dallas is a big town. Maybe I’ll burn them.”

Michelangelo’s sigh was audible even over the phone. “And where will you do that without drawing attention? Pull yourself together. More than your feelings are at stake here. You fuck up, and we’ll be on death row together.”