by Robyn Nyx
Madison shook her head and laughed. “Maybe it isn’t, but I haven’t enjoyed someone’s company this much for a long time. If I promise not to record all our conversations to further my career, would you trust me enough to give it a go?”
“If an honest friendship is what you’re offering, I’ll take it.” Even though I want more than that.
Madison extended her hand across the table. “Deal?”
Elodie shook it gently, and then bent her head to kiss her knuckles. “Deal, m’lady.” As Madison pulled her hand back, Elodie was sure she saw something in Madison’s eyes that gave her a glimmer of hope. Then again, maybe she just wanted to see something there. The waiter brought their food to the table and disturbed the moment, though Elodie wasn’t sure what she might’ve said even if he hadn’t. Madison had made it clear she was only looking for friendship, and Elodie wanted to respect that, but there was something about Madison that made her want so much more. Settling for friendship had to be better than losing her altogether if she was pushing too hard for something Madison didn’t want.
“Where’d you go?” Madison asked as she scooped quinoa onto her fork.
“Nowhere.”
Madison laughed and shook her head. “That might work for most people, but I see a look in your eyes when you’re not being completely honest. I think you’re too used to Hollywood types who ask the questions but aren’t really interested in the answers.”
She paused and looked so serious it made Elodie smile. Do you even know how beautiful you are?
Madison touched Elodie’s hand gently and said, “I’m interested.”
Elodie tried to smile though she was already playing the conversation she’d have with Ice when she found out she chose not to make a move. Not interested enough.
Chapter Sixteen
“Patrick Powell called us earlier today. He said a woman came to see him at his office and knew all about his operation.”
Therese looked at Nat questioningly. “Who the fuck is Patrick Powell?”
“He had a kidney op about six months ago. Paid over the odds to have a white donor because he’s a racist cunt.”
Nat’s sweet description recalled the client to Therese’s mind. “Ah yes, I remember that little fuck. He was an attorney with a big law firm in L.A., wasn’t he?”
“That’s him.”
“He was a cock. There was a small part of me hoping he’d die on the table.”
Nat laughed. “But the remaining seven hundred thousand was a bigger pull.”
“Of course.” Therese smiled and then remembered how the conversation started. “So what does he want?”
“He says a woman came into his office this morning wanting your contact details because her sister was sick and needed two kidneys. She offered to pay him a fee to introduce her to you.”
Therese narrowed her eyes. “Did Gillian’s package contain Powell’s details?”
Nat nodded. “It did. He was one of the five clients whose information was compromised.”
“And they’re all L.A. based, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“Call Reed right now. I want to know where that second package was sent, and I want to know now. Someone out there is starting to lift rocks, and I don’t like not knowing my enemy.”
*
Nat had been convincing when she called Powell to discuss the possibilities of helping the woman who’d come to his office that morning. From his experience, he knew the importance of Therese’s operation being kept secret and obviously thought nothing of the remote spot in East L.A. where she’d arranged to meet him. As they waited for his arrival, his lack of punctuality irritated Therese and forced her to consider the more creative ways she might end his life. She despised being made to wait for anything or anyone. Waiting for people was a particular bugbear—as if their time was of more importance. It’d be a waste of time to teach him some manners since he’d soon be dead, but his disrespect would make killing him even more pleasurable.
She saw the nose of his Jaguar pull into the chop shop. It was such an old man’s car. And it wasn’t American. Her crew would be more than happy to tear it into pieces after she’d finished with him. He pulled up, and Nat opened the car door for him. Therese saw his lascivious smile and the way he looked her up and down. She’d cut his mouth open and chop off his lips for that disrespect. He knew Nat belonged to her. Thanks to Therese, she no longer had to endure the stench of a man’s sweat as he labored to his objectionable orgasm. The thought brought back foul childhood memories and almost made her gag.
“Thank you for taking this meeting,” he began as he walked around to the front of his car.
Five words from his mouth, and he was already sickening her with his servility. Nat activated the door, and its corrugated iron rattled aggressively as it hit the ground. Powell looked at the shutters, and Therese saw a hint of fear in his eyes when he turned back to her.
“I know that I broke your protocol in contacting you, but in my opinion, this constitutes as a medical emergency, even though it’s not my own.”
She clamped her teeth together and clenched her jaw. She didn’t give a rent boy’s ass about his opinion. “Tell me more about the woman who came to you.”
“Her name is Meghan—”
“I don’t care what her fucking name is. Describe her to me.” Therese closed in on him and he backed away until the back of his knees touched the hood of his car. Nat stood to his left, blocking his path to the driver’s side.
“She was average height, about five foot five, I should think. And she had a curvaceous, sensual figure. Her hair was long blond and her eyes were a beautiful blue.”
“Did you call us because of a medical emergency or because you have a hard-on for the woman?” She watched Powell’s brow furrow as he began to understand he’d misjudged the reason for Therese’s willingness to meet.
“I’m a married man.”
Therese laughed. “That means nothing. You don’t think I know all about your philandering?” She addressed Nat. “I love that word. Philandering. So British.” She pushed him in the chest. He lost balance and fell against the hood of his car. “Like your car. Given that you’re so racist, it surprises me you’d buy a foreign car. Or does your prejudice only extend as far as skin color?”
Powell steadied himself and placed his hands on the hood in an effort to appear casual. He didn’t fool Therese. He was terrified and rightly so.
“I’m sorry to have upset you, Ms. Hunt. I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to make some money. She’s prepared to pay more because she’s so desperate—”
“And I expect she offered to pay you too?” He didn’t need to speak. His eyes answered her question. Therese shook her head. “Men. You’re so easily manipulated, it’s pathetic. Did she give you contact details?”
“Yes. Yes, she did.”
He moved to take something from the inner breast pocket of his jacket, but Therese caught hold of his wrist. “Allow me.” She released his hand, took the lapels of his jacket, and pulled it over his shoulders to his elbows. Nat reached over him, pulled out his cell, and handed it to Therese. “Code?”
“419031.”
She tapped in the code and quickly found Meghan’s contact details. “Let’s see who this mysterious Meghan is, shall we?”
It rang three times before someone answered. “Patrick?”
It was a local accent. “I hear your sister needs our help?”
“Therese?”
Therese pressed mute. “Did you give her my name?”
Powell nodded. Therese lifted her chin toward Nat and watched her drive her fist into the side of Powell’s head, knocking him unconscious.
“I meet all my prospective clients. Where and when can I meet your sister, Meghan?” Therese noted the hesitation on the other end of the line.
“She’s very ill in the hospital. She couldn’t possibly meet you…but I can.”
Therese smiled. This woman has some mettle. “If I
decide to give you what you need, we’ll have to move your sister to my facility, or is she too ill for that?”
“If you can help us, I’ll move my sister anywhere you want her.”
Therese bit her lip, already becoming excited at the potential hunt. Nat dragged Powell across the concrete floor to the hydraulic station used for chemical dipping to strip cars of their paint. She snaked the chain under his right arm, behind his neck, and back under his left arm before snapping the carabiner into a link to tightly connect the loop.
“Do you know the South Coast Plaza?”
“I do.”
“Meet me at Marché Modern tomorrow at one p.m. There’ll be a reservation in your name. We’ll discuss your sister in more detail then. I’ll need to know her blood type and medical history. If you’re not bringing your sister, make sure you come alone. I can’t risk overexposure in my line of work. I’m sure you understand.”
Nat looked at her, obviously puzzled, before she opened the ground-level hatch doors on the dipping station.
“I do, and I will. I look forward to meeting you, Therese, and thank you so much for being willing to meet me.”
“It’ll be my pleasure, Meghan.” And eventually, your pain.
“Is it possible to speak to Patrick, please?”
“I’m afraid not, Meghan. He’s just about to take a bath.” Therese ended the call without further conversation and threw the phone into the vat of acid Nat had revealed. Therese smiled as she felt the familiar rush of imminent satisfaction. This method of killing was a new one, and she wondered how it would compare to the intimacy of a knife. She hoped he would stay alive as he was submerged to his shoulders. She needed to see the excruciating pain of the acid eating him from the outside in.
“You know it’s a trap. There’ll be cops all over the mall ready to take you down.”
“I’m not stupid, Nat. Of course I won’t be going.” She pulled her in and kissed her hard, biting her lower lip just enough to make her cry out quietly. “Pull him up.”
Nat pressed the green button on the hanging remote, and the electric pulleys began to take up the slack of the chain. As Powell was hauled to his feet, he stirred from his forced unconsciousness. Therese tilted her head to watch him intently as he became aware of his situation. She loved to see the recognition dawn on her victims as they slowly realized they weren’t dreaming and their horrific nightmare was a reality.
“What’s happening? What are you doing?”
His panicked voice was even more irritating.
“You were told the conditions of our business interaction, Powell, and you agreed to them. You were only to contact me in the event of a medical emergency.”
Nat operated the hydraulic arm to position Powell directly above the acid dip but close enough to Therese so that she could reach him. Therese withdrew her caping knife from the sheath on her belt and closed her left hand around his bottom jaw, forcing his mouth open.
“Not only did you disregard that condition, you had the indecency to eyeball my property.” She tilted her chin toward Nat, who smiled at the compliment. Belonging to Therese was as close as she would ever get to being loved by her. “The woman who came into your office isn’t Meghan Jacks. She doesn’t have a sister who needs two kidneys. And you should never have looked at Nat the way you did when you arrived.” Without warning, she pushed her knife into his mouth and sliced his right cheek open, exposing his teeth. Therese held him tight as she repeated the action with his left cheek, his wet scream an unusual but welcome sound to her. He thrashed ineffectively in his bondage while she sliced his top and bottom lips off and tossed them into the vat like a butcher would discard the fat from a sirloin steak. She reached into his mouth and pulled out his tongue before effortlessly cutting through it. She mocked pitched it at Nat, who dodged and squealed like a ten-year-old girl. Therese dropped it into the acid and wiped her bloody hand on his expensive white shirt. She took two steps back and nodded to Nat, who clicked the go button on the remote. Nat came around the vat and slipped into Therese’s arms as they watched Powell slowly descend into the dipping tub. His eyes bulged wide in agonized suffering as the acid ate away at his flesh. He was dead before it reached his chest.
“That’s disappointing.”
Nat turned in Therese’s arms and kissed her neck. “I won’t be,” she promised.
Therese traced the tip of her still bloody knife along Nat’s cheek. “That’s because you know better.”
Chapter Seventeen
“She’s not going to show at the restaurant, Madison.”
“Hello to you too.” She thought Ash would be more optimistic about the opportunity to snare Therese Hunt.
“Uh, yeah, hi. But anyway, Hunt won’t be showing at the restaurant and neither will you.”
Madison didn’t like his matter-of-fact tone or where the conversation was heading. Everything seemed to be set up perfectly, and she’d handled her surprise phone call with Therese well enough. She didn’t seem to suspect anything, though Madison thought the bath reference was slightly strange. All evidence pointed to Therese being gay—why would she be anywhere near a slime bag like Powell when he was getting naked?
“What are you talking about? Says who?”
Ash motioned to the comfortable-looking sofa in the corner of the coffee shop. It was one of Madison’s favorite places, and she frequented it so much that her regular soy latte was at the table just as she sat down.
Ash huffed. “I’d like straight black coffee, please.”
It was clear from the barista’s expression that Ash’s request was unusual…and unwanted. “Certainly, sir.”
Madison smiled apologetically at the barista and by way of explanation said, “He’s a cop.” The barista returned a look with sympathy, knowing she was such a coffee buff. “You were saying why I won’t be meeting with Therese…”
Ash took off his light jacket, threw it onto the back of the sofa, and sat beside Madison. “Around six forty-five last night, Powell’s PA said Powell headed to a meeting that he didn’t give him details of. At seven fourteen, his cell records show him making a phone call to your burner cell. A few minutes later, the signal was lost and now it’s going straight to voice mail. His PA hasn’t been able to get hold of him since, and he didn’t show at the office this morning. The tracker signal on his car is lost. The front desk at his apartment building says he didn’t come home last night, and his wife says he always comes home even when he’s been fucking around. I think it’s safe to say Hunt is on to you and Powell is dead.”
Madison sipped her latte and took a moment to let Ash’s information dump settle. “Maybe she’ll show up to see who I am.”
“You want to be bait?”
“You’d be there, wouldn’t you? I’d be safe.”
Ash shook his head. “Didn’t your daddy tell you that’s just something cops say? We promise we’ll keep you safe. But we can’t really make that kind of promise. Not really. We can’t fully control the outcome of a live situation like that. So no, you probably wouldn’t be safe.”
Hard to hear what Daddy says when he’s burst your eardrums with his fist. “At least you’re honest.” Madison was disappointed. Surely this couldn’t be the end of the story for her? She’d never ducked out on an assignment, and she had a contract with Time magazine to honor. She couldn’t let them down. She hated to let anyone down. That was something she had learned at her father’s hand. “So, what’s next?”
“You need to toss that burner cell, and be careful. The last thing you want is for a woman like her to be on the hunt for you. Pun intended. And don’t go after any more of the people on her client list—as much for their sake as well as yours. I’ll shake a few of them down and see what they’re willing to tell me. If I tell them she’s already killed Powell because he talked, maybe they’ll be prepared to cut a deal with me, and we’ll see what other information they can give us.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Ash shook his head
. “No, you won’t. I can’t have a journalist spooking them out.”
“Then we don’t tell them I’m a journalist.” Madison persisted but pulled herself back from an all-out plea.
“You’re asking a police officer to lie? Something that simple could get any case we bring against her thrown out of court.”
“But you’re not going as an official police officer, Ash. You still don’t know who you can trust in your own station, but you know you can trust me.”
Ash leaned back in his seat and looked toward the counter in anticipation of his coffee. “Your dad would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”
How he’d managed to keep his lack of affection for his own daughter a secret from so many was beyond her. “Nothing will happen to me. I’ll be fine.”
The barista placed Ash’s coffee in front of him, and he took a big swallow of the dark nectar.
“No. I don’t think so. I’ve got some leave coming up in a couple of weeks. I’ll pick it up then. You should just steer clear of it all.”
Madison gave him her best sad smile. “Okay, but you have to tell me everything. I need this story.” And I’m going to get it by myself. Like always. She wouldn’t go to the restaurant meeting; she knew that’d be suicide without Ash. But she would follow up on the other four “donor” recipients that were in Gillian’s file. She just wouldn’t ask for an introduction this time. She’d have to come up with a different story instead. One that doesn’t lead to another murder. No matter how much death she saw, it didn’t get easier. There was no desensitization. Each loss of life was as hard for her as the first one. If anything, these were worse than in a war zone because she knew she was responsible for them. She was trying hard to convince herself it was for the greater good and that the people dying weren’t the “good guys.” It wasn’t working.
“I’ll give you whatever I can, Mads. Always. Just promise me you’ll let it lie for a few weeks. She’s got nothing to trace to you right now, and I want to keep it that way.”