Don't Go Home

by Janelle Taylor

  Matthew took her hands and caressed them on the tabletop, whispering into her ear with a lascivious expression. He was actually saying, “We’re gonna get him, Mia. We’re gonna get him.” But Norman didn’t know that.

  A waitress came by to take Matthew’s order, and the moment she left, he resumed his role. Gazing at her. Whispering in her ear. Caressing her hand. He was almost too good, though. Too affected by her slinky red outfit and her sexy makeup. He hardly seemed like he was acting at all. But it was-n’t love that Mia saw reflected in his eyes; it was lust.

  Because he wants you and doesn’t love you, she reminded herself. He doesn’t have to act at all. Just play your part, Mia. Do what you need to do.

  And so she did. She giggled, flipped her hair, winked, and blew into Matthew’s ear. She was making herself sick.

  How did Margot do this? she wondered. How could she stand it?

  “I think I had a little too much to drink,” Matthew said, slurring his words for, she was sure, Norman’s benefit. A drunk target was an easy target. “You’re show boot-a-ful.” He caressed her shoulder. “And your hair smells like wildshowers.” He laughed. “Upps, I mean wildflowers. Guess I did have a little too much gin tonight, baby doll.”

  “That’s okay, honey,” she cooed. “I can be the designated driver.”

  “Hmmm, I would definitely like a ride from you, babe,” Matthew said.

  Mia was a little taken aback at how blatantly sexual that was. Okay, he’s acting a little, she reminded herself. You can’t take anything he says here tonight personally. It’s all show for Norman’s benefit. Just remember that.

  Mia glanced at Norman, and they locked gazes for a moment. A vein was pulsating on his forehead. He looked as though he was literally going to explode at any second.

  “I think he’s good and worked up,” Mia whispered to Matthew.

  Matthew leaned back in his chair and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I am so ready for a showdown.”

  Mia’s stomach rolled.

  “So, babe,” Matthew said more loudly. “I know a boot-ee-ful hotel just a wee drive from shere—here, I mean,” he said. “Wery, wery romantic. We could check out their nightslub—I mean nightclub.” Matthew downed the rest of his club soda, which Mia was sure Norman thought was vodka or gin straight up.

  Mia smiled at Matthew and caressed him under his chin with a fingertip. “Maybe, sweetie. Just maybe.”

  “C’mon,” he pressed, slipping his elbow off the edge of the table as though he were too drunk to sit up by himself. “It’s Saturday night. We’ll dance, ship ... I mean sip some champlagne, and see what else the night holds for us ...”

  “Okay,” she said on a giggle. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait a minute,” Matthew whispered so only she could hear. “I just realized that we shouldn’t leave together. It might deter him from following us. It’s me he wants to hurt, not you. If he thinks we’re both out there, he might not come after me.”

  “You’re right,” she whispered back. “Sweetheart,” she said loud enough for Norman, “why don’t you go rev up the car and get the air-conditioning all cranked up for me. I’ll just go powder my nose in the ladies’ room.”

  “You got it, darlin’,” Matthew replied. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight without a kissie-wissie.”

  She looked into his eyes, hoping to see that he really meant it, that he wanted one last kiss before they had to separate—for the showdown and forever. But all she saw in his gaze was lust.

  Why do you keep expecting more? she asked herself. Just let him go.

  If only it were that easy.

  Mia stood and forced a smile. “See you soon, sweetie,” she said, and turned toward the women’s bathroom. With her peripheral vision, she could see Norman watching her. And she felt his gaze boring a hole into her back.

  At the bathroom door, she dared a glance at Norman. He was watching Matthew. Matthew threw a few bills onto the table, then got up, and Norman practically jumped out of his seat. Matthew walked out the door of MacDougal’s, and Norman stood by his stool at the bar, frantically waving a ten-dollar bill.

  “Service!” he shouted to the bartender. “I need to settle my bill.”

  But the bartender was ignoring him while he filled two mugs of beer at once. Norman was turning beet red.

  Now, she told herself. Slip out the door while he’s waiting to pay! Mia ducked behind a large party that was leaving and got herself in the middle of them. Norman was still at the bar, waving his ten, shouting at the bartender to give him his bill.

  Mia slipped out the door and let out the breath she was holding. She saw Matthew up ahead, walking to his car very slowly. She ducked down behind a minivan midway between the door to MacDougal’s and where Matthew had parked his car way in the back. She slung her purse across the front of her body and grabbed the cell phone, gripping it in her fist. Okay. Everything was going to be okay. The minute Norman comes out and heads toward Matthew, I’m calling the police. They’re just a block from here. They’ll come in two seconds.

  Please let this go down okay, she prayed again.

  Please.

  Matthew leaned against his car, breathing in the warm summer air. In, out. In, out. In, out. He was calmer than he expected. Perfectly calm actually.

  Because he was ready. So damned ready to beat the hell out of Norman.

  His brother’s murderer.

  The murderer of three other men—and who knew who else.

  And the psycho who’d tried to hurt Mia.

  He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that psychotic, creepy twerp. What a sicko. Matthew had no doubt that Norman would come after him. If the wedding ring wasn’t enough bait, the taunting he’d received from both Matthew and Mia surely had put Norman over the edge.

  Not that Norman was appropriately dressed for murder. He wore an ill-fitting tan suit with a wide navy-and-cream-striped tie. Perhaps Norman liked to dress up for such occasions, Matthew thought darkly.

  It had taken all Matthew could do at the table earlier not to shove his fist in Newman’s doughy stomach and pummel him.

  And it seemed that it had taken all Mia could do not to throw up all over Newman’s suit. Truth be told, Matthew knew Mia well enough to recognize the subtleties of her facial expressions, and it had been clear to him that he’d gone a little too far at the table. She was sensitive about his coming on to her when she was all decked out in her Margot look. He needed to respect that, yes, but he also needed her to realize that no matter what she looked like, she was Mia. Not Margot. Not a fantasy woman her ex-husband wanted. Just Mia. He’d put on quite a show of desire back there in MacDougal’s, but it had been for Newman’s benefit. Matthew hoped Mia knew that. The more jealous Newman became, the angrier he’d get.

  Matthew wanted to make damned sure Newman was in the mood for murder. Because tonight was Matthew’s only opportunity to nail the bastard.

  Mia, he’s married, for God’s sake ... Is nothing sacred? Newman’s words echoed in his mind, and he wondered what motivated the sicko to murder married men who tried to pick up the decoy he himself hired. From the moment he’d first spotted Norman inside, he’d been wondering about motive. He couldn’t figure out the connection between hiring Mia in secret as a decoy and then killing the men who were enticed by her. Why target married men? If it was the idea of Mia as a decoy or as a woman he wanted and couldn’t have that motivated him to kill, why not kill any man who tried to pick her up? Why married men? Why, why, why, why?

  Perhaps the fact that the victims were married gave the sicko some sort of weird justification in his mind. They’re committing adultery, so they’re no good, anyway. Was that Newman’s way of thinking?

  It’s yours, Matthew realized, a knot forming in his stomach. It’s you who think adulterers are among the worst forms of humanity. But weren’t they?

  People make mistakes, Matthew, he’d heard his brother say over and over.
People sometimes choose wrong when they marry. People fall out of love. Sometimes innocent people get hurt because of it. Yes, it’s “wrong,” but so is denying yourself what you really want.

  Denying yourself what you really want. Perhaps that was the only thing his brother had ever said that made sense. But there was right and wrong. And denying yourself wrong was right. Which was what Matthew was doing. He had a cheater’s blood in his veins; his father had proven it, and his brother had corroborated that by his own actions. Denying himself a wife, a family, so as not to hurt them, was right.

  The only kink in that line of thinking was that Matthew couldn’t imagine himself cheating. Cheat on Mia? Not in a million years.

  So if you wouldn’t cheat on her, why would you have to deny yourself the pleasure of her company in your life?

  You could go slowly, see how it feels.

  It didn’t feel comfortable already, and he was just thinking about it.

  God, he was frustrated. Frustrated by his feelings for Mia, frustrated by the case. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced up at the night sky. The moon was a crescent—

  The moon!

  Suddenly Matthew realized why Norman had hired Margot once a month: for the new moon, which rendered it invisible. The lack of moonlight would have provided a cloak of darkness in a parking lot that might be lit by streetlamps. But tonight, only three weeks after the last murder, the moon shone brightly overhead.

  Why didn’t Norman wait until next week for the phases of the moon to complete themselves? Why risk being seen?

  He shook his head. Again, question after question after question, and no answers.

  Except for the killer’s identity. Matthew’s hands itched. He wanted them around Norman Newman’s neck so bad—

  He heard the door to MacDougal’s open, and he forced himself not to look. He wanted to appear as though he wasn’t the least bit interested in who was coming and going, and he wanted Norman to think creeping up on him was possible. But he was positioned so that he could see out of his peripheral vision once someone got just a bit farther in the parking lot.

  Dammit. The person who’d left MacDougal’s wasn’t Newman. It was that perky brunette with the freckles, the one who’d asked him to dance twice. Damn. Was she the one he’d promised a dance to, or had it been the redhead?

  He turned slightly away so that she couldn’t see his face. The last thing he needed was for Newman to see him talking to another woman. He might go berserk on Mia’s behalf and try to kill both him and the brunette.

  He dared a glance out of the corner of his eye. No one was in the parking lot. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. The brunette had either gone back inside or she’d headed to the other side of Mac-Dougal’s for the pass-through to Bridge Avenue.

  Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Where the hell was that cretin?

  The door opened again, and a couple came out and quickly turned the corner for the avenue.

  Where the hell was Newman? Had he decided to forgo a chance to kill Matthew to have some time alone with Mia? Holy hell. Did he have her cornered in the back of the bar? Matthew’s heart suddenly palpitated—did he have her trapped in the men’s room? The bathroom seemed to be Newman’s favorite place for his idea of romancing a woman.

  Stop letting your imagination run away with you, he told himself. Newman wouldn’t miss the opportunity to come after you. It’s you he wants dead, not Mia. If he wanted Mia dead, he would have made his move at least four times already. Newman wanted him six feet under. Matthew had seen it in his eyes. Still, he wanted to check on Mia, make sure she was safely inside.

  There weren’t any windows on the front of the building. Not that Matthew could risk running up toward the nightclub to sneak a peek for Mia anyway. If he and Norman met along the way, Matthew’s plan could be ruined.

  He’d just have to wait for the cretin.

  Come out, you spineless weasel. I’m right here.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Her heart thumping in her chest, Mia glanced at her watch. Five minutes had passed since Matthew had left MacDougal’s and Mia had ducked between the minivan and the sports car, but Norman still hadn’t come out.

  What was he waiting for? Wasn’t he worried he’d miss his opportunity to murder the married man who’d failed his test with the decoy?

  Cell phone in her fist and tape recorder on in her purse, Mia took a gulp of the hot, sticky night air, barely able to breathe as it was, and darted on her haunches to the front of the minivan. She peeked around the huge tire at the door to MacDougal’s. Not a soul was around. She glanced in the opposite direction at the far end of the dark parking lot for Matthew. She caught a glimpse of his wavy blond wig and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Mia darted back out of view and sagged against the tire. Her thighs were killing her from crouching, but it was either that or skin her knees against the hot, rough pavement. She looked at her watch. Only another minute had passed since the last time she looked, but she didn’t understand why Norman hadn’t come running out after Matthew. Was he still trying to pay his bar tab?

  Damn. Where was that psycho?

  She wouldn’t be able to keep poking her head around the tire to see if Norman was coming; that was too risky. If Norman spotted her... . But she could hear the door to MacDougal’s open and close, and she could quickly take a peek to see if it was Norman coming out. Then she could call the police.

  Deep breath. Everything was going to be all right.

  So far, only a couple holding hands had left MacDougal’s, preceded by a petite brunette wearing espadrille sandals that tied halfway up her leg. Since Mia didn’t hear them coming her way, she assumed the couple and the woman had gone the other way, toward the Bridge Avenue pass-through on the other side of the nightclub.

  The door whooshed open. That must be him! Mia thought, her heart racing a mile a minute. She darted over by the edge of the tire, then craned her neck to see if it was Norman.

  But it wasn’t. Only another couple, hand in hand, turning to the right for the Bridge Avenue pass-through.

  “La, la, la—ye-ah, ye-ah,” came the drunken voices of young women singing at the top of their lungs. The cacophony was coming from over the fence, on Bridge Avenue. “Ye-ah ... ye-ah, ba-by.”

  Please stop singing, she sent telepathically. Please! I need to be able to hear the door open and footsteps!

  Panic gripped her by the throat, and she dared to peer around the tire one more time. And suddenly everything went black.

  Strong hands had clamped around her neck and were squeezing, squeezing. Squeezing harder. The cell phone fell from her fist and barely made a sound as it hit the ground.

  Mia saw white dots in the black, then all white, then black.

  Fight! she told herself. Fight anyway you can.

  She jabbed her elbow back as hard as she could, and the hands loosened for just a second, enough for Mia to gulp in some sticky air.

  It’s me he wants to kill, she thought. Me.

  Matthew! she screamed in her head. Help me!

  But she had no voice. No air.

  Get an arm out of his grip and elbow him in the face, anywhere! Mia told herself. Save yourself so that you can save Matthew when he goes after him. He sneaked up on you—he’ll sneak up on Matthew.

  Mia wrested her arm out of his grasp long enough to jab it back in his stomach, and the hands around her neck released. She quickly turned over and prepared to kick Norman in the face.

  “Ye-ah, ye-ah, baby. La, la, la ...” sang the women on the other side of the fence.

  But it wasn’t Norman Newman who was staring at her with a murderous glint.

  It was a woman.

  A woman she’d never seen before in her life.

  No, wait a minute. The espadrilles! It was the woman who’d come out of MacDougal’s five minutes ago.

  The woman pulled out a gun and pointed it at her.

  Mia went completely still.

  “What are you doing, hiding out here,
you slut!” the woman hissed.

  “What... What?” Mia managed to croak as the woman lowered to inches above Mia’s face.

  The woman narrowed her eyes and sneered, the gun inching closer and closer to Mia’s forehead. “What is that damned racket?” The woman lifted her head and seemed to be training her ears for the direction of the singing.

  “Ye-ah, baby ...”

  The woman spit on Mia’s cheek. “Planning on going home with that blond man when I’m not looking, Margot? You’re such a dirty whore!”

  Sickened, her heart pounding in her chest, Mia stared at the angelic-faced woman before her. The woman was all of five feet four with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, pretty green eyes, like a cat’s, and bouncy, shiny brown hair. She was petite, yet strong, compactly built, like a gymnast or a bodybuilder, even. Mia was at least three inches taller, yet the woman was much stronger.

  “He wasn’t even the one I wanted to go after you! You’ve ruined everything, you stupid bitch!” The woman cocked the trigger and put it to Mia’s temple.

  For a moment, she saw black, then stars, then black; then everything came into focus again. Her head was spinning.

  “But today’s your lucky day, Margot,” the woman continued, “because he’ll do. What a pig, trying to pick you up when he’s clearly married. I saw his wedding ring! He’s a pig!”

  “Yes,” Mia said, hoping agreement would calm the woman down enough for Mia to try to reason with her. “He is a pig.”

  The woman backhanded Mia hard across the face. “But you were going to have sex with him anyway, you filthy whore! I don’t pay you to sleep with anyone. I pay you to test them.”

  The force of the woman’s slap slammed Mia’s head against the pavement. “No,” she croaked. “No. I wasn’t going to sleep with him. I swear. I was leading him out here for you! Why do you think I was hiding here?”

  “What are you talking about?” the woman asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “I know what you do,” Mia said. “I know that you stop those bad men from ever cheating on their wives again. I know that’s why you send me the pictures.”