“Did you cheat him?”
Kirby hesitated. Nodded. “He was easy pickings in those end days. Too wrapped in Alyssa’s pussy to see that I was robbing him blind. Sin number one--greed.”
“Maybe Layton did see you were robbing him,” Vince tossed out there. “Maybe that’s why you killed him.”
He sat, went back to playing his game on the computer. “I didn’t kill him. If I was going to kill anyone, it would have been Alyssa. Her pussy fried Layton’s mind. He sucked as a businessman after they started fucking.”
It twisted him a little to hear this man talk of the dead that way. Or maybe his objection was really just about Alyssa.
“Alyssa was murdered, too,” Vince reminded him.
“Not by me.”
“Then, who?”
Kirby looked up from game. “That’s what you want to know?” Again, he didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve been given Layton’s looks. Probably his brains, too. That magical charisma that makes women lust after you and men want to be you. Everything you need to make a shit-hot success of whatever you attempt. But what do you do with your dream-team DNA? You dig up old bones.” He gave him a dismissive wave of his hand. “What a waste.”
Vince went closer, hovered over him, until he was dead certain he’d violated the man’s personal space and then some. “Who killed Layton and Alyssa?” he repeated.
“Why is that so important now?” Kirby grumbled. “They’re dust.”
“Yeah. Now, someone wants to do turn me into the same thing. I’m thinking that might be you.”
Kirby shook his head, but he also didn’t look Vince in the eye. “Eric Hartwell killed them,” he said. “Then, he offed himself.”
“So I’ve heard. But there’s a problem with that theory. If Eric killed them, and now he’s dead, then who’s trying to kill me?” Vince motioned to his face. “Because you see, I think it’s this dream-team DNA that’s got someone riding my ass.” He leaned in even closer. “Who killed Layton and Alyssa?”
“Eric.” But this time, his voice was a little different. “Did you get a look at the person you say is trying to kill you?”
“No.”
Kirby picked up the pace of his game and nailed his attention to the computer. “There were times Eric was insane,” he said seemingly out of the blue. “The old biddie tried to hide it, but there was buzz about it. Layton knew, of course.”
Of course. Because Layton was one of Dr. Hartwell’s lab experiments. Vince hadn’t decided yet if that meant he’d been cloned, hatched or put together like a genetic Frankenstein. Honestly, it didn’t matter what he was or how he came into this world. He just wanted to stop a killer.
“What other buzz was there about Eric?” Vince pressed.
Because there wasn’t a damn thing about him in the internet searches. Only the nearly thirty year old articles about Eric’s connection to the murders and his suicide, and they’d been very short on details. Heck, even some of the police records into the murder investigation were missing.
“Eric had a thing for Alyssa,” Kirby continued. “She wouldn’t have given him a second look because of the scar.” He tipped his head to Vince’s own. “Not like yours. Yours has a certain je ne sais quoi that adds some character. Eric was in a car accident when he was just three years old. No seatbelt. The impact broke nearly every bone in his face. The doctors put him back together, but he was always off. Like one of those burn victims who gets skin grafts. Plus, the accident caused some brain damage.”
“So, he wasn’t pretty or cool,” Vince commented.
“Not as pretty and cool as Layton. Or you.”
No one living had ever called him pretty or said that his scar gave him French-laced character, and Vince didn’t take it as a compliment.
“How did the brain damage affect him?” Vince asked.
“How didn’t it? Temper tantrums. Drug use. Manic-depressive. There were plenty of times he was just a pain in the ass, very high maintenance.”
That must have disappointed his mom. Her perfect baby quest had bombed big time. “How’d Eric take it when Alyssa rejected him?”
“Not sure rejection was the right word. She just didn’t see any man other than Layton.”
“You know this from personal experience?” Vince asked.
“Hardly.”
“Not into Alyssa?”
“Not into wanting Layton to kill me. He would have forgiven being robbed blind, maybe, but Alyssa was his.”
Yeah. Vince had some knowledge of how that felt, and he pushed aside the image of Grace.
“Alyssa was an attractive woman,” Vince reminded the man. “You’re positive you didn’t make a move on her and then get pissed when she rejected you?”
Vince expected a zinger, but Kirby stayed quiet a moment. “Alyssa was beautiful, that’s for sure. It was her smile. It could light up a room. People were always asking her to smile for them.”
“With a body like hers, I think men wanted more than a smile.”
“Yes.” And Kirby was somewhere else, in deep thought when he mumbled that. “Still, I’m lowlife scum, but I’m not stupid. If I’d made a move on her, she would have sliced and diced my ego. Maybe my balls, too. And then she would have told Layton.” He met Vince’s gaze again. “I’d rather have Layton’s money than Alyssa’s pussy.”
Vince doubted that was true. Well, it was in Grace and Dana cases anyway, and he figured it’d be pretty much the same with Alyssa.
“What’d Dr. Hartwell think of Alyssa and Layton’s relationship?” Vince asked.
Using his fingers he traced the shape of a light bulb over his head. “Oh, I see. You think the biddy wanted Eric to be the one fucking Alyssa.” Kirby shook his head. “She just wanted more eugenics babies, and she no doubt figured Layton was her best shot at that, especially considering Eric’s delicate mental health.”
“Satisfied now?” Kirby asked. It had an unspoken dismissal at the end of it.
“Not even close. Talk about Eric and how Layton felt about the doctor’s son lusting after his soul mate.”
“Soul mate,” Kirby repeated. “I suppose they were that. Or at least they thought they were. Layton didn’t see Eric as a threat. He dismissed him. A bad mistake. Because Eric was obsessed with Alyssa. I think one night when he missed a dose of meds, he drugged them and then strangled them both. And I think the old biddy covered it up. I think she faked Eric’s suicide, too.”
Now, they were getting somewhere. “Any proof of that?”
“None, other than the fact she would have done anything to protect her insane offspring. I believe she hid him away so he wouldn’t be arrested.”
Vince followed that through to a very bad conclusion. If Dr. Hartwell had a leash on her murderous son, then that leash might have been broken with her death.
“Eric’s killing Layton and Alyssa again,” Vince mumbled.
“Now, that’s an interesting theory.” Kirby looked chipper about that. “Any proof?”
“No. But I guess the first step is to prove that Eric’s still alive.”
“Good luck with that. I’m betting the biddy did all sorts of things to make sure her baby was safe. Probably even plastic surgery.”
Well, Dr. Hartwell certainly had the money and connections to manage that. Still, there were experts in the FBI at Quantico who could analyze the original face and try to match it to a new surgically altered one in the databases. Of course, that would only happen if the new faced Eric had done something to get himself into law enforcement files.
“There are no pictures of Eric in the police files,” Vince said. According to the cops, some of the records had been accidentally destroyed. Probably because Cornelia had paid someone off to do that. “Where can I get a photo of him?”
Kirby frowned. “You’re not going to let his go, are you?”
Vince shook his head. “No, I tend to dig in my heels when someone’s trying to kill me.”
An eye roll accompanied the frown. �
��What I meant was if Eric’s managed to stay out of your sights all this time, then I doubt you’ll find him now.”
“With a picture, I will.”
“Just like Layton,” Kirby mumbled. He minimized the solitaire deck and clicked on a computer file. “I had all my pictures digitized, sorted by year.” He scrolled down, down, down. And then he started to look.
Shit.
There were hundreds of him. For such an unattractive man, Kirby certainly liked to have his picture taken.
“I have just one,” he finally announced. “It was taken pre-Alyssa, maybe thirty-two years ago. When I still had hair and a waistline.” He swiveled the screen in Vince’s direction. “Layton is on the left, me in the middle. Eric’s on the right.”
Vince’s attention zoomed right in on the trio, but then it fired right back to Kirby. “What the hell kind of game are you playing, asshole?”
Chapter Fifteen
“According to the initial test results, Vince’s and my DNA are an identical match,” Jack relayed to Dana and Grace when he finished his call with the lab. He shucked off his coat and tossed it over the back of the sofa. “And you two are an identical match to each other. Not just similar but identical.”
Dana nodded. Nodded again. “So, that brings us back to the same question. What are we--clones or identical siblings?”
“We won’t know that until we have more information from Dr. Hartwell’s research. I have people in the house now going through everything.”
They’d found those sex pictures of Layton and Alyssa so maybe the doctor had kept other things, too. Maybe research documents, spelling out exactly what had happened all those years ago.
“What about surrogates?” Grace asked. She stood, went to the window and looked out. “Because either way, the doctor would have had to use someone to carry us to term.”
“I’ve got someone working on that, too,” Jack assured her. In fact, every employee he had was working on some aspect of this investigation.
Grace kept looking around the yard and street.
“Did Vince happen to say when he’d be coming back?” Jack came out and asked.
She shook her head, and Jack cursed the worry he saw in her eyes. He was worried as well but for a different reason. He wasn’t sure he could trust Vince.
“I think I’ll get another cup of coffee and call the insurance company about the gallery,” Grace said. But Jack caught onto her arm when she started to walk out. “I need some time alone,” she amended. “Alone, as in away from you so I can clear my head.”
That stung a little, but Jack could empathize with that need for a clear head. “You’re not leaving the house to find Vince,” he insisted.
“No,” she agreed, and he hoped it wasn’t a lie. Just in case it was, the moment that Grace left the room, Jack called Rusty to make sure all the door and window alarms had been set.
“If it were you out there, I’d go,” Dana admitted. “No matter how many warnings you gave me.”
Jack cursed, called Rusty back. “Watch Grace,” he told the man. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Because by God, Grace might want to put some space between him and her for head clearing purposes, but he didn’t want her dead from making the stupid mistake to go after a pig-headed man who might have put them all in even greater danger.
“There’s a killer after us.” Jack knew the reminder was unnecessary. Dana was well aware of their situation and his frustration over Grace’s need to make sure Vince was okay.
But Jack came to a mental stop.
“If I were out there, you’d go?” he repeated.
She frowned. “Don’t think for one second it pleases me to feel that way. Or admit it to you.” Dana groaned. “I’d hoped a good night’s sleep would make me sane again. But no. Still crazy.”
Jack went closer, slipped his arm around her. “Since you’re talking about your feelings for me, I’d rather not label them in the category as crazy.”
“But they are,” she argued. “We barely know each other, and yet I slept rather soundly in the same bed with you. I haven’t slept soundly in my own bed in two and a half years.” She lifted her eyes, met his. “And I’m going to have sex with you, and I can’t stop that, either.”
Jack couldn’t help it. He smiled. God knows why. They didn’t have time for sex, and it could be a really bad distraction.
A really good distraction, too, he amended.
Of course, that was his dick talking. Ideally, it would be best to catch the killer first, then have sex. But Jack wasn’t sure either of them could hold out that long.
“You said if I were out there somewhere, you’d go,” he repeated. Again. “But Vince is out there, and you’re here.”
“He’s not you,” she repeated as well. “Satisfied now?” And she didn’t exactly sound pleased about that. “We’ve paired up. Us not fully trusting them and vice versa.”
“But you’re still attracted to him,” Jack tossed out there.
“And you’re still attracted to her,” she tossed right back.
Jack leaned in, touched his mouth to hers. “She’s not you.”
Another frown. Dana cursed. And then she slapped her hand around his neck and yanked him down to her for a kiss.
He felt that immediate kick, both below and above the waist. Every kiss with Dana felt not just like foreplay but the start of a guaranteed fuck. And more. It always felt like more than just a fuck when it came to Dana.
Jack let the kiss burn him. He dragged her closer until her body slid against his. The adjustment was automatic as if they’d done this so many times that they knew exactly how and where to move. Part of him hated that because these might be Layton’s memories, and Jack wanted to learn every part of Dana’s body on his own. The old fashioned way--
By kissing every inch of her.
Still, Layton and Alyssa’s memories had broken down barriers and gotten them past Dana's and his old baggage. And besides, the memories allowed him to anticipate just how good all of this would be, but Jack figured the real thing would blow those memories right out of the proverbial water.
It was that thought that had Jack pushing this kiss. He should be doing a dozen things related to the investigation, but instead he reached down and caught onto the back of Dana’s knee. He lifted it, anchoring it against the side of his own leg so that the angle of her sex would slide right against his erection.
Yeah. Memories couldn’t beat this.
Dana did her part to make this newly memorable. She caught onto his butt, shoving him closer until they were officially groping each other.
Jack did have enough sense left to remember that Grace or Rusty could come walking in at any minute so he caught onto Dana and pulled her toward the bar and into the wine storage room behind it.
“We’ve lost our minds,” she mumbled.
They had.
The room was small, probably no more than eight feet by eight, but it had a huge advantage. It was close. And they were already there.
He worked fast. Not ideal but necessary. Jack wasn’t so out of his mind that he had forgotten that he needed to keep watch. He needed his eyes and ears. But that meant his hand was free. He kissed Dana’s mouth and her neck while he shoved up that nondescript black dress and put his hand in her panties.
Oh, man.
She was hot, wet and ready.
“Let’s fix that,” he mumbled. But not with his dick, which was really upset about this decision. His dick would have to back off because Jack didn’t have a condom and there was that whole part about him needing to stay somewhat focused.
Jack dragged off her panties and used his fingers. He pressed his thumb against her clit and thrust his index and middle fingers into her.
Dana made a sound so perfect, so feminine that it made his erection beg. Jack ignored it and stroked her with his fingers. It was a special kind of torture for him, but Dana’s reaction was worth any price. Her eyelids fluttered down, half closed. Her m
outh slightly opened.
She said his name. Not Layton, thank God.
“Jack,” she purred.
And she opened herself to him. She latched onto the shelves behind her, pushing her hips forward so that he could go deeper, harder and faster.
Jack figured he could finish her off this way. It wouldn’t have taken much. But he had to taste her. Yeah, it was beyond crazy, but he slid down her body and replaced his fingers with his mouth.
He thought maybe his head exploded.
And he no longer cared a flying fuck if this was Layton’s memories or not. The only thing that mattered was that it was him, Jack. He had his tongue inside Dana. He had the taste of her in his mouth. And he had her pussy pressed against his lips. Her hand gripped in his hair. And those sounds. Each of those sounds urged him on to finish this.
So, he did.
He flicked his tongue over her clit, and he felt her shatter. Tasted that, too.
Jack caught onto her, keeping her close so that he could get every ripple of her climax. Every last aftershock. And as quickly as those subsided, he wished he could start it all over again.
“Your turn,” Dana said.
That slapped him back to reality. Well, as much reality as a man could have with a hard-on and a beautiful woman without her panties in front of him. She unzipped him and dropped to her knees for what would no doubt--no doubt--be the best blow job Jack had ever gotten. But with every ounce of strength that he could muster, he stopped her and lifted her back up to face him.
“You don’t want a turn?” she asked, sliding her hand over the front of his pants.
“More than my next breath,” he said when he got his eyes uncrossed. He was about to try to explain about needing to stay aware and focused, but no explanation was necessary. Jack heard the footsteps.
“Boss?” Rusty called out to him.
Jack wasn’t sure who mumbled more profanity--him or her.
“In here,” Jack let him know.
“Grace might have sneaked out,” Dana whispered.
That got Jack moving faster, though it was damn hard to walk with an erection. He came out of the wine room, thankful that the bar hid the lower half of his body. But what he saw had his dick going soft and his brain going on full alert.
Dead Ringers Page 13