And Fortier, don’t go doing anything heroic. I mean it.”
“This isn’t the time for a pissing contest, Spider!”
“You forget. I know who you are, Fortier. Stay put. See you in ten.”
Spider swiped his face with his palm. The bristles lining his jaw made a rustling sound. His stomach groaned. He picked up the phone. “Kathy, honey, it’s me. Hold dinner for me would you, baby? It’s gonna be a long night.” He paused to listen. “Yeah, baby. Love you too.” Spider hung up the phone, grabbed his bullet-proof vest and called his men. “Listen up….
* * *
Jess unbuttoned Grace’s jacket. He carefully removed one arm, then the other. At one point, she sat up voluntarily so he could free her of the garment.
“What are you doing at my house?” She slurred.
“You invited me here,” he lied.
“Oh.” Her eyes closed. She remained sitting up.
He laid her back down and began undoing her jeans. She moaned and spread her legs. Jess grew hard and impatient. “I want you so bad,” he whispered in her ear.
“Oh, Paul,” she murmured.
Jess froze. He stared at his limp princess, her eyelids fluttering with images of that man. He wanted to scream in her face and shake her senseless. “It’s the drugs, idiot. What did you expect?” his mother’s voice echoed in his head. He closed his eyes to picture the small boy, clawing at the blankets and trying to cover his nakedness. A man whined about the boy’s unwillingness to “play.” Mommy set him straight. “Wait till the drugs wear off. He’ll snap out of it.” Jess opened his eyes and nuzzled Grace’ neck. “Take all the time you need, babe. You’re mine now. All mine.”
* * *
Paul sent Spider the photo of the man wanted in Buenos Aires and dialed Skip. “He’s here. Bartell, he’s got a new look…and more.” Paul sucked air into his lungs, but his voice still quivered,
“He’s got Grace.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” said Skip. “How?”
“Grace and I had words. Long story. She took off. How he found her, I don’t know, Skip. Right now I’d give my left nut to know where he took her.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“The waitress in the bar said they left more than an hour
ago. She said Grace was pretty wasted.”
“Doesn’t sound like Grace. Think he drugged her?”
Paul kicked her car’s tire. Heat rose and pooled in his cheeks. She drank when she was distraught, and it didn’t take much alcohol to send her over the edge. “Not sure.”
“Okay. No judgment. What’s your plan?”
“I called Spider. He’s on his way.”
“Let’s think about this, buddy. Our boy doesn’t just pick women up and kill them randomly. He gets to know them. He gains their trust.”
Paul remembered the first time he and Grace met, how demurely she sat having lunch with Sal at the restaurant where he worked. Days later, he found her drunk on her ass at the Park Lounge. If he was able to take her home, so was Jess. But, would she have gone with him if she hadn’t met him first? “You may be onto something, Skip. Talk to me.”
“Have you talked to Sal?”
“No, I don’t want to alarm her.”
“She may know something we don’t.”
“Damn,” he muttered, “I shouldn’t have let her go.”
“Hey, you’re human,” Skip paused, blew air into the phone, and added, “We’ll find her, buddy, don’t you worry.”
“Thanks, man. Keep you posted.” Paul checked his messages again and then went inside the bar.
He sat down on a barstool and ordered a beer. He scrolled through the photos on his phone and presented his selection to the waitress behind the bar. “Is this the man you saw in here tonight?
The man that left with the blond woman?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Ever see him in here before?”
“You a cop?” she asked, cocking her hip.
“No, but they’re on their way. Thought I could save some time.”
The waitress studied his face. Perhaps his sad eyes made her reconsider her tight lip.
“Yeah, he’s been in here before. Said he’s a film director. Calls himself Derrick or something like that. He gives me the creeps. Has a girlfriend he usually hangs out with. She’s kind of a Charlize Theron look-alike. She’s even creepier.”
“They ever mention living nearby?”
“No.”
“Pay with a credit card?”
“Nope. Strictly cash.”
“Happen to see what they drive?”
“Nope.”
“Any chance those surveillance cameras work?”
“Huh, never noticed ’em before. You’d have to ask George, the owner. He’s gone for the night.”
“Do you have a number for George?”
“I think I’ll wait for the police to get here if you don’t mind. No offense, but we get all kinds in here, and I think I’ve said enough.”
CHAPTER 22
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH
S imone dressed in Bordeaux leather pants and a red, cashmere, turtleneck sweater. A chill settled in her bones. Revenge clouded her vision. She brushed her hair with brisk strokes. The floor felt cold beneath bare feet. She studied the eyes of the woman she no longer knew. Love. A useless word, a word that destroyed people and made them weak. She was fine before she met Sheppard. She did what she pleased, killed when she felt the need. She had hot sex with hot women on 1500-thread count sheets. She lived life uncomplicated. Free.
She slipped into the Manolo Blahnik boots she picked up in London last year. When I was happy. She shuffled through her passport collection for a new identity: Gerta Trudeaux of Vienna Austria. Her father’s words, a haunting reminder, twitched her mouth into a smirk. Always leave the scene before the blood dries. She checked herself in the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door. She wondered how many times Grace had done the same thing. Am I beautiful? Did she wonder? Or did Sheppard’s love for her eliminate that need? Simone smoothed long, manicured fingers down her flat stomach. I’m done. He no longer deserves me, she thought, assessing her slim figure.
She pulled her phone from her bag and booked herself a flight to Chicago. From there, she would connect to Frankfort, then on to Vienna. By this time tomorrow, she would be drinking champagne and Stolichnaya vodka at Barkarte des Planter Clubs in the First District of Vienna. One final detail, she thought dipping her hand into her purse and palming cold steel. A line from an American movie came to mind, one Sheppard the director would appreciate,
“Lock and load.”
* * *
Paul slapped a ten-dollar bill on the bar and scrambled for the door to greet the parade of flashing lights spraying gravel in the parking lot.
Halfway out of the squad car, Spider shouted to Paul, “Is that Grace’s vehicle over there?” He waved his men to come closer.
“Yes. It’s locked.” Paul fell in step with the group.
Spider peered inside the abandoned car, flashlight in hand. “Talk to anyone inside?”
“Waitress said Grace left with a dark-haired man like I said on the phone. She said I’d have to speak with the owner about getting the surveillance tape. She said the guy Grace left with usually comes in with a Charlize Theron clone. Except Jess never struck me as the accomplice type.”
“Unless he’s using her as a cover-up.” Spider’s solemn tone brightened, “Is that a phone?”
Paul moved closer and peered through the side window. “Yes.”
“Break the lock,” Spider demanded. A husky officer with a gritty voice barked orders down the chain of command. A slight man with glasses stepped forward, carrying a black leather case. From the case, he pulled a flat tool. He inserted the tool between the glass and the door frame, jiggled it a few times until he felt a connection, and then lifted the tool straight up. When Spider heard >pop<, he opened the door. With one gloved hand, he rea
ched for the cell phone. “Come to Papa,” he said, holding the rectangular item dangling from a black chord. He turned to Paul. “You wouldn’t happen to know Grace’s password, would you?”
Paul’s stomach pitched. “Of course. We’re engaged to be married.”
Spider handed Paul the phone, his eyes penetrating Paul’s defense. “Let’s just pray the wedding’s still on.”
Paul’s fingers fumbled the keyboard. He punched in Grace’s password three times before he got it right. He scrolled through her messages, bile rising to his throat. Seven calls from Darren Sheppard. The last one came in while they were driving home. He turned to Spider, his face ghostly, and said, “She doesn’t know it’s him.”
* * *
John clicked through the remote. Sal snuggled up at his side. He could hear Buns upstairs moving furniture around his room. The boy had rearranged his room several times that week, an outlet for his frustration. A loud >clunk< shook the house rousing Sal.
“Wha—” she whispered through dry lips. John wrapped his arm tighter around her dwindling frame.
“Shhh. Rest, baby,” he kissed the top of her head. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Just then the phone rang.
“Hello,” John muttered, his voice strained.
“John, it’s Paul. Can I speak with Sal? It’s urgent.”
“Sorry, pal. She’s not up to it.”
“John, it’s about Grace. I need to speak with her…now.”
“Not gonna happen. She’s in no condi—”
“Gimme the phone, John. I’m not dead.” John held the phone to his chest.
“It’s Paul. He can call back tomorrow.”
“If he’s callin’ at this time of night, something’s wrong.
Gimme the damn phone!”
John reluctantly handed Sal the phone. “Here.” He rose, releasing her from his embrace.
“What’s up, French fry?”
“What do you know about Darren Sheppard?”
“That you shouldn’t be asking about him, why?”
“This is no time for questions, Sal. What do you know?”
“He’s paranoid. I think he has an appointment scheduled for tomorrow. Why? What’s going on?”
“How long has he been seeing Grace?”
“I don’t know, a month or so, I guess. Why?”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Not off hand. I’m sure it’s on his chart. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to sic John on you?”
“He’s called her several times tonight, just wondered if he’s a loose cannon.”
“Bullshit!”
Paul’s sigh was audible.
“You know you can’t fool me, French fry. Out with it.”
Paul’s voice cracked. “Grace and I had an argument earlier tonight. She left.”
“And you think she’s with a client? She wouldn’t be caught dead—” It was Sal’s turn to break.
* * *
Jess removed his coat and covered Grace’s upper torso. He admired the way her hair spilled across the cushion like spun gold. Her lips parted, soft petals of a blooming rose. Her eyelashes were the fluttering wings of a butterfly. Beautiful. Mine.
He could hear the racket upstairs: Simone pacing. Dragging things about, being distracting. He wanted to stop the racket and quiet her altogether. Kill her. But how? His eyes darted to the block of knives next to the stove. If he slit her throat, there would be a mess to clean. He didn’t want to spend this precious evening scrubbing. No. He had better things to do. Strangulation? She’d shit her pants. Not much better. “Fuck ’im in the ass, Harry. Fuck ’im hard,” his mother’s voice piped in. He shook his head like a dog with fleas. “Shut up,” he seethed.
Grace stirred.
“Go to sleep, my darling. I’m here with you,” his words tender and consoling. Her eyes opened wide.
“Where am I?” She tried to sit up, but Jess pressed her back down.
“You’re where you belong, babe. With me.”
Jess waited for Grace to comprehend and settle back down. The Ambien seemed to be wearing off. Giving her more could prove dangerous. Maybe half of a dose. He needed to keep her calm and sedated until he could rid himself of Simone. He reached into his breast pocket and pinched a foil packet between his fingers. “Here, babe. Open.” He popped half a pill into her mouth. “Swallow.” He watched her wince as the pill caught in her throat. He got up and went into the kitchen for a glass of water, never taking his eyes off of her. When he returned, he sat her up. She seemed relieved.
“Small sips, babe. There, that’s it. Good girl.”
Grace smiled and pulled him close. “I’m sorry, Paul. I know you didn’t mean it.”
Jess burned inside as her eyes rolled and flickered. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, he assured himself. “Careful you don’t kill the little twit,” his mother’s voice hissed inside his head. Jess saw the rush of images come from behind as if they followed him around, waiting for the right moment to strike. “Stop,” he said, shaking off the assault. He had everything he wanted before him. Finally. Why did he feel like crying like a baby? It feels wrong. Terribly wrong.
* * *
Paul listened to Grace’s phone messages from Sheppard again and again. The Southern drawl didn’t fool him. How did she not see past this guy? he wondered. And where would he take her? Long drive to Mexico. That’s where he planned to take her when he tried to snatch her from the hospital when she donated bone marrow last year. No. He wouldn’t take her too far. She was vulnerable while she was drunk. Motel? Paul scanned the area. Not many motels around. He spotted two in the immediate vicinity, both with no-vacancy signs lit up.
Spider put out an APB, spreading Sheppard’s face all over the broadcast system from Sacramento to San Francisco, up to the foothills and Tahoe region. “We’ll find her,” he said, giving Paul a reassuring pat on the back. “Tell me more about the argument,” he added, opening the passenger door to his vehicle. “Go on, get in. Let’s talk.”
Paul didn’t hedge. He climbed into the car and shut the door. Once Spider was behind the wheel, and his door was closed, Paul let go.
“I lied to her. Or should I say, I didn’t tell her everything about me, about my past.”
“No shit.”
“C’mon, Spider. You know damn well I can’t divulge that side of me. Operative stuff isn’t meant to be shared.”
“So what set her off? How and what did she find out?”
“I kept a box of photos at the beach house. When she saw the photos of my folks, she flipped out. At first, she thought Jess and I were related. When I told her that Jess hired them to play the role of his parents, it didn’t faze her. She was upset because I didn’t tell her I knew him, that he killed my parents eight years ago. She thinks I was using her all along to get to him.”
“Were you?” Spider’s dark eyes went flat.
“No. I didn’t know she knew him when I first met her. My trail to him went cold after the first few years. I was shocked when I saw him at her place.”
“That’s where you met Jess, at her place?”
Both men lit up at the same time. Spider spoke first. “Do you think—”
“The place is rented out.” Paul slapped his thigh. “To a couple.”
Spider started the engine and rolled alongside another police car. “We’re checking out the Simms place. Follow me.” Men scrambled into their vehicles. Spider led the brigade.
* * *
Jess placed Grace’s hand on his face. “It’s me, babe. The man who fell in love with you the first time we met in the No Exit Café.”
Grace’s lids squeezed tight as if remembering was more than she could bear. Her mouth quivered, her face screwed into a bunch. “Nooo,” she moaned. She struggled to sit up. Jess held her down, his breath close to her ear.
“Shhhh. Just listen,” he said, his weight holding her down. “This is our chance to be happy. You and me
. We’ll go away, someplace far where no one can find us. We can make up for lost time. I was such a fool.”
“Nooo,” she shook her head. “Nooo.” Her legs, jelly from the drugs, searched for a foothold. One shoe slipped off in the struggle.
“Looks like dolly doesn’t want to play.” Simone stood in the doorway, legs apart, and arms akimbo.
Jess gestured to the bags beside her. “Going somewhere, darling? Don’t let me stop you.”
“Didn’t expect you would.”
“Well, be gone then. I’m busy here as you can very well see.”
“Yes. I can see. And do you see what I have in my hand?” Simone pointed the pistol at his head.
“Tsk, tsk. I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”
“I should have killed her this morning when I had the chance. But then again, watching you cringe will be more fun.”
“Don’t be stupid, Simone. You’re not going to kill anyone. Put the gun back in your Gucci purse and run along like a good little dyke. I’m sure you can find a friend of your own to play with.”
“Oh, I plan to. Not to worry. But first, I am going to heed my daddy’s warning: always clean up your mess before you leave the scene. And you my dear Mr. Sheppard, or whatever your name is, are collateral damage.”
Jess rose to his feet, shielding Grace from Simone’s contemptuous glare. “I think we both know you are making the wrong assumption. I will be gone as of this evening, never to be found. You are free to hop the next plane to Hong Kong if you wish, but for now, get that goddam gun out of my face. You know how short my fuse can be, and I certainly don’t want to spend the evening cleaning up a mess.”
“So sure of yourself, aren’t you? You Americans, big talkers.” She raised the gun.
>bam<
A bullet grazed his left ear.
“You’re fucking crazy! Put the gun down before I shove it up your—”
>bam<
A bullet grazed his right ear.
Guttural laughter spewed from Simone’s twisted lips. Maniacal. Crazy.
The Black Dress Page 29