Pretenses (24 page)

That would explain why the FBI hadn't arrived. They had to know something was wrong when they couldn't contact me. And wouldn't they have followed me here? Just then, I saw the intruder who had watched my battle with Coco Nimburu. The nightmare wasn't over after all. I eased the shuriken out of my pocket and readied myself to throw it if necessary. The figure stepped out of the shadows, and pointed a gun at me.

“I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, Agent Perry,” St. Clair said.

I was staring down the barrel of a Smith & Wesson .38-caliber pistol.

“Why, sir? Why would you throw away your career?”

“I can think of ten million reasons. I was almost there. I was so close,” he babbled.

“Money?” I heard myself say. “Is that what this is about?”

“It's always about money, Phoenix. You know that.”

“Director St. Clair, are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have to, Phoenix. I'm too old to go to prison, and I'm not ready to die. I'm sorry. I always liked you.”

I could sense that he was about to shoot. I dived and rolled on the ground just before he squeezed off a couple of rounds. The bullets whistled past me. I threw the shuriken from a kneeling position when I regained my balance. The eight-sided blade ripped into his forehead, and St. Clair died instantly.

My mind was made up. I was going to keep as much of this out of the papers as I could. I had killed Coco Nimburu. I was going to make the most of her death. I would blame it all on her. There would be no explanation for the murders. No one had to know what had really happened. Adrienne Bellamy and Winston Keyes would become two more victims on her list of casualties. With Coco, Michelson, and St. Clair dead, who could contradict me? No one knew about Coco's letters except me and Kelly, and I knew she could be trusted with that secret. Yes. Coco Nimburu would become another John Wilkes Booth or James Earl Ray. If Sean Bellamy decided to run for the presidency, I wasn't going to be the one to ruin his chances. After all, he had had nothing to do with any of this.

T
HE LIMOUSINE DRIVER
had been paid handsomely to take me wherever I needed to go. After I had explained everything to the Manhattan field office and NYPD, the driver drove me to the hospital to get my jaw wired. When that was completed, I was driven back to Washington. I walked into my house at 9:30
A.M
.

When I opened the door, my daughter ran across the room and leaped into my arms. “Mommy!” she cried out. “I missed you, Mommy!”

“I missed you too, precious,” I said through clenched teeth.

My bundle of joy pulled back and looked at my bruised jaw. “What happened to your face?”

“I wasn't ready, and a man hit me.”

“That's not fair,” she said, consoling me. “Did ya get 'em, Mommy? Did ya give it to 'em good?”

I nodded.

“How many was it?” I heard my husband ask me. He was standing in the doorway of the dining room. I stood up and looked at him. Images of him and Coco flooded my mind.

“A lot. Maybe twenty or so.”

The doorbell rang, and I opened the door.

“Package for Phoenix Perry,” the Federal Express driver said.

“That's you, Mommy,” my daughter reminded me.

“Sign here,” the woman said. “There's another box in my van. I'll get it.”

After I signed, she gave me a long tubular package. While I waited for the driver to return, I opened it. Inside was an ivory-handled sword with yin and yang symbols on it. I slid the blade out of its sheath and read the words on it, which were written in Mandarin. Coco Nimburu's name was engraved on one side and my name on the other. It was her way of telling me that we were two sides of the same coin.

The sword was beautiful and, in spite of myself, I was touched by the gesture. There was also a letter inside the tube. I opened it.

Dear Phoenix
,

Thanks to you, I was able to leave this world on my own terms. As a token of my appreciation, I'm leaving you my sword and my personal journals. The journals may be worth something in the literary world. Read them and do what you think is best. As for my remains, cremate me and empty my ashes on the Paramount Studios lot. I think I would have made a great actress. What do you think?

You're probably wondering why I chose you to handle the arrangements. I want you to remember me. Remember that I wasn't all bad. There was some good in me. As long as you're alive and remember me, I will live, too. Enjoy life, Phoenix. You only have one. Live it to the fullest.

Your sister in life and in death,

Coco Nimburu

P.S. I didn't have sex with Keyth. I just needed you to think I did. You know, incentive. HA-HA-HA! It worked, didn't it? I left you enough money to take a leave of absence and open a new dojo. But do with it what you will.

A
FTER READING THE LETTER
, I ran to my husband and threw my arms around him. Tears ran down my cheeks. I had had many teachers in my life, but none of them had taught me more about myself than the Assassin who had terrorized the D.C. area this past June. Ying Ming Lo had told me a willing student could learn from anyone. Pushed to the limit, I was a killer, too.

I was due for an extended vacation, so Keyth and I decided to take Savannah to San Francisco. We took her to all the sights in that international city. We ate lunch at Mister Big Stuff's World Famous Barbecue every day. As I looked out at the bay, I could see Alcatraz, and I thought of the woman whom I had killed without mercy, just as she had asked. In a strange way, I missed her laugh and the games she had played with me. I still didn't know if I was ready to leave the bureau, but I had been giving it a lot of thought.

After spending a week in San Francisco, we flew down to the City of Angels. I was going to do as Coco Nimburu had asked and deliver her remains to the Paramount Studios lot. She may have been a vicious killer, but she was right about one thing: Nobody's innocent.

A native of Toledo, Ohio, Keith Lee Johnson began writing purely by accident when a literature professor unwittingly challenged his ability to tell a credible story in class one day. He picked up a pen that very day and has been writing ever since. Upon graduating from high school in June, Keith joined the United States Air Force the following September and attained a Top Secret security clearance. He served his country in Texas, Mississippi, Nevada, California, Turkey and various other places during his four years of service. Keith has written four books and is currently working on his fifth. His next release will be
Fate's Redemption
(Summer 2005).

BY
KEITH LEE JOHNSON

AVAILABLE NOW

(ISBN I - 59309-013-7)

T
his fast-paced thriller twists and turns its way through the perplexing investigation of several mysterious murders that will have readers at the edge of their seats.

When a set of twins is released from prison they have one thing on their minds: to settle the score against the people who put them there in the first place. The revenge killings begin in the District of Columbia with the murder of the prison warden and his wife—both found viciously beaten and brutally dismembered—and continue on the opposite coast where a socialite is found dead in Malibu. Baffled by the gruesome murders, Detective Phoenix Perry ends her vacation early to conduct an unauthorized investigation and embarks upon a thrilling adventure to unravel the mystery and put an end to the violence.

Sugar & Spice
is a gripping race to discover who is behind all of the murder, corruption and revenge, sure to keep readers guessing up to the stunning climax. From a promising new voice in fiction, this novel will keep spines tingling and pages turning.

E
XCERPT FROM
Sugar & Spice

BY
KEITH LEE JOHNSON

A
SEQUEL TO
Pretenses

L
oud music blared from the Connelly mansion, awakening the twins who had fallen asleep in the guesthouse. After a few seconds, they recognized the tune. It was Levert's “Casanova.” Evidently, the party was underway. According to the digital clock resting on the fireplace mantle, it was a little after eleven. Alex picked up the high-powered binoculars and looked through the lenses toward the mansion. It looked like every light in the house was on. Alex could see Heather, Sandra, and Paula in the recreation room on the first floor.

The man that Heather had had sex with earlier was sitting in a chair, watching Paula peel off her clothing. Sandra, the natural blonde, was leaning against the eight-foot pool table watching the show. She was wearing a leopard jacket and a short black skirt that barely covered her derriere.

“You ready, Sam?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, let's go.”

They grabbed their backpacks, put on a pair of surgical gloves, and walked out the door. It was dark outside, but they found their way back easily by following the paved trail past the tennis courts, past the swimming pool, and up the stairs. Suddenly the music stopped. By the time the twins finished climbing the stairs, Heather and Sandra were locked in a vise-like kiss near the pool table, ripping at each other's clothes. Paula, completely nude, was on her knees in front of the man
sitting in the chair. Her head bobbed up and down rapidly like a crack whore who had been promised a vial full of the addicting drug.

The twins walked around to the front of the house. They wanted the element of surprise. When they reached the front of the mansion, they saw the red Diablo and the black Carrera GT parked in the circular driveway. Alex turned off the alarm and they entered the house undetected again. Their hearts began to pound the moment they entered the residence.

“This is going to be absolutely delicious,” Alex whispered.

“I know,” Sam whispered.

S
lowly, so as not to draw attention to themselves, the twins unzipped the backpacks and pulled out an Omega stun baton that was guaranteed to make even the fiercest assailant behave. The baton had one hundred fifty-thousand volts running up and down the entire unit above the handle. Any part of the baton would render an assailant unconscious. They tiptoed down the hallway past the living room, through the kitchen, and past the formal dining room.

As they approached the recreation room, they could hear the sound of raw sex emanating from the room. The sound was so distinct-so animalistic—so erotic that it aroused the twins. With their backs against the wall, they peered around the opening and saw Heather Connelly's face buried in Sandra Rhodes' blonde crotch. Sandra's black skirt was pushed up over her butt, her feet flat on the table with her legs at a fortyfivedegree angle. Her surgically enlarged breasts were exposed and her leopard panties dangled on her right ankle.

The man and Paula were on the floor facing the pool in a doggy-style position. He was thrusting in what looked like an angry fury. Paula's sighs were high-pitched and rhythmic. She twisted her long neck so that she could look back at the man. Paula was a very pretty brunette with dimples and thick black arched eyebrows. Her hair was short and curled to the back.

The twins waited until Paula faced the pool again before entering the room. The couples were so absorbed in their eroticism that they had no
idea the twins were there. They walked over to the bar and poured a glass of chilled chardonnay. They sat down, ate a few shrimp, some cheese and crackers, and watched the show. After a few more voyeuristic minutes, they walked over to the man and Paula.

“Having fun, kids?” Alex laughed, and lifted a champagne glass as if a toast was being offered.

The scene immediately switched from one of rampant sexual abandon to that of a deer being caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. The moaning ceased and the man pulled out of Paula. With the exception of Heather, they all scrambled to find their clothes.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.

“Don't worry about it,” Alex told him and zapped him with the baton. Paula was about to say something and Alex zapped her also. Both of them were unconscious.

Alex walked over to the bar, picked up a towel and then walked over to Heather and threw it in her face.

“Wipe her juice off your mouth!” Alex demanded.

E
XCERPT FROM

Fate's Redemption

BY
KEITH LEE JOHNSON

S
UMMER
2005

Westin St. Francis Hotel
San Francisco, California
The Wise Wedding Reception

T
he bridesmaid blasted through the reception hall doors and ran to the groom. She was so gripped by fear that her entire body shook uncontrollably and the loud music made it difficult for the groom to hear what she was saying. The groom leaned over and the woman screamed something into his ear. Then he ran out of the hall.

The groom practically knocked the doors off their hinges when he entered the nursery, where his year-old babies wailed loudly as if they knew the gravity of the situation. He saw his wife, who was bound and gagged—her eyes bulging out of her head. Her face revealed the unimaginable fear that must have filled her mind. But the wife wasn't as afraid for herself or her husband as she was for her two children, who lay in their crib, screaming for the affection they could only get from their mother.

A man was standing next to the wife with a silenced 9mm to her head. The hired nanny was lying in a pool of her own blood near the twin infants. The man had shot her in the face and chest when she tried to protect the children.

For a brief moment, the groom could hear the beating of his heart, which pounded in his chest like a jackhammer, threatening to explode. Having committed one murder, he knew the man had nothing to lose. He kept telling himself to stay calm, when everything in him wanted to
wrestle the gun away from him, put it in his mouth, and fire until there were no bullets left.