Death's Door
Page 1
“It’s possible your life is in danger.” “It’s possible your life is in danger.” Paul took one of her hands in both Paul took one of her hands in both of his. of his.
She didn’t believe it, but the intensity in his eyes told her that he was dead serious. Madison liked to think she could take care of herself, and she could, but something cracked inside her. Knowing Paul cared appealed to her softer feminine side—the side she liked to deny having.
His expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. “So much is going on, a perfect storm of events, and you’re at the center. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
His look was so galvanizing it sent a tremor through her. The concern reflected in his eyes became smoldering desire. She was gathered against a warm, rock-solid body and he covered her mouth with his. He kissed her urgently, hungrily, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She eased her arms around his shoulders and returned the kiss.
In a heartbeat her blood thickened to warm honey. Kissing him was even better than she’d imagined….
Praise for the work of
MERYL SAWYER
“Sawyer’s gift for building great and believable characters makes the danger they face all the more intense. Outstanding!”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Kiss of Death (41/2 stars, Top Pick)
“Sawyer spins a tale to captivate and entertain.…Wonderfully crafty and extremely entertaining.”
—Romance Reader’s Connection on Half Past Dead
“Nail-biting suspense punctuates this thrilling romantic adventure. The name Meryl Sawyer is synonymous with exceptional romantic suspense.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Better Off Dead
“A riveting work of romantic suspense…near perfection.”
—Publishers Weekly on Tempting Fate
“Meryl Sawyer has become a brand name known for taut, sexy and very intriguing romantic suspense.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Closer Than She Thinks
“A page-turner…glamour, romance and adventure on a grand scale.”
—Publishers Weekly on Promise Me Anything
“Count on Meryl Sawyer to deliver a fast-paced thriller filled with sizzling romance.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jill Marie Landis
MERYL SAWYER
DEATH’S DOOR
Also by
MERYL SAWYER
Kiss of Death
Half Past Dead
Better Off Dead
Lady Killer
Tempting Fate
Every Waking Moment
Unforgettable
Closer Than She Thinks
Trust No One
Thunder Island
Half Moon Bay
The Hideaway
Play Dead
This book is dedicated to Dave Wells
and to my close friends, Pamela and Ricki.
Where would I be without your friendship?
A special thank-you also
to the real Keith Brooks Smith
for his humor and his inspiration.
The best way to love anything is as if it might be lost.
—G. K. Chesterton
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
“THERE’LL NEVER BE another you.”
The killer’s words were spoken softly, almost lost in the darkness. The dead were lucky. Death stopped time and their mistakes were ended. They were forever young and unchanged in the minds of those left behind. They were immortalized. Especially beauties like the woman slumped across the floor nearby.
What might she have become?
That unfulfilled promise would be seared into the memories of her loved ones. So young. So sad. So tragic.
So necessary.
Death meant life everlasting. Didn’t it?
“Don’t look at her body. Don’t allow this to become personal,” whispered the killer.
Death divides time like nothing else. Closing doors irreversibly. Before and after. No doubt her family, friends, a lover—if she had one—would always say her name accompanied by those words. Never, ever would “before” return.
Silent as a shadow, the killer moved toward the door, unable to resist a quick look back. Inhaling deeply, the killer absorbed the sweet perfume of death.
Take it in. Make it last until the next time.
This murder had been much harder and messier than the others, but in a way the difficulty of the task—the challenge—made the kill more satisfying. Life did not go smoothly. Why should death?
Had the dead woman seen this coming? the killer wondered. People believed terrible things happened to others—not them. Still, humans did retain remnants of their ancestors’ primitive instincts. Fear—first among those vestiges of survival. She must have sensed…something.
THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES earlier, at almost three in the morning, the victim had driven up the short, narrow driveway. Her front porch light must have burned out. She had turned it on before leaving, hadn’t she?
It was difficult to remember just what she’d done when she’d raced out of the house to meet the others. She’d been too keyed up to pay much attention to anything but what she had been instructed to wear. A black stocking cap to go with her black pants and T-shirt and black soft-soled shoes. They promised to provide the night-vision goggles and latex gloves.
She idled in the driveway, gazing at the burned-out light, and almost put the car in Park before remembering she’d had the garage door opener replaced last week. Thank heavens. She didn’t know if she had the strength left to hoist the heavy old door. The job tonight had been much more physical than anything they’d attempted in the past. Her body was in great shape, but working so strenuously against the clock consumed more energy than she’d imagined.
She pressed the remote control and the garage door creaked upward. “We’re home, big guy,” she told the dog on the seat beside her.
The retriever cocked his head slightly as if he understood every word. She gave him a quick pat as the Toyota rolled into the garage. His golden fur was matted and he smelled as if he needed a bath. Not your show-quality golden retriever, but he was precious just the same.
“Home sweet home,” she said to the dog when she stepped out of the small car and held her door open for him. The retriever hesitated, again tilting his head toward her as if expecting another command. “Here, boy. Come on.”
The dog lumbered across the driver’s seat, sniffed the humid air, then cautiously lowered himself to the garage floor. The single-car g
arage dated back to the twenties and had a dank, musty smell. The heat of the day was still trapped inside, making it like breathing through wet wool.
She turned and punched the button beside the door leading into the house. Behind her, the garage door groaned shut as she stepped into the laundry room and hurried through the small space into the kitchen. The dog hesitantly followed, sniffing at her heels.
“Thirsty?” She put the manila envelope she was carrying on the counter before filling a cereal bowl with water. She set it on the floor, but the dog didn’t move toward it. “You feeling okay?”
The golden retriever hitched one ear. He couldn’t have to go to the bathroom, she decided. She’d stopped at a park on the way home. He’d relieved himself while she’d pitched the outer layer of her clothes and gloves into a nearby trash can before using the pay phone. She’d been warned numerous times to never—under any circumstances—use her home phone or cell to make a call that could be traced back to the others.
“You stay right here,” she instructed as she walked out of the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
The rest of the small house was dark, the air only slightly cooler than it was outside thanks to the window air conditioner. She flicked the switch that lit the tiny lamp across the room. Suddenly the hair on her arms prickled. Something didn’t seem…right. She refused to allow the tidal pull of memories to interfere with rational thought. Her unease was just the residual effect of the past few hours, she decided. She was safe now. No one could link her to the job. But if she’d been caught in the act—
“Don’t go there,” she whispered to herself. The reward was worth the risk.
Feeling silly for being so jumpy, she walked into her bedroom. And stood still. Something slightly ominous seemed to hover in the air like an unseen ghost. She looked around at the drifts of clothes tossed over a chair and underwear slung onto the bed. She had the housekeeping habits of a frat boy. She really ought to make an effort to be neater, she thought, still battling her nerves.
What was giving her the willies?
It was ridiculous for a grown woman to be afraid, but she tiptoed over to the closet and put her hand on the knob. For a moment she merely stared at the door. Stop being an idiot, she told herself, and jerked open the closet.
Nothing. Just clothes haphazardly shoved into the small space. On the floor was a jumble of shoes and a few purses too large for the overhead rack. No one was hiding in here.
In the small bathroom off her bedroom, she ran a bath and filled the tub with magnolia-scented bubble bath, then lit lavender-infused candles, known for their calming fragrance. Even though she’d showered before she’d left, the adrenaline rush had left her sheathed in sweat that had since dried and made her skin itch. She peeled off the short shorts, tank top and underwear she’d worn beneath her dark clothes, then swung her leg over the side of the tub.
She had the unsettling sensation that someone was watching her. Of course, that was impossible. It was merely her mind playing tricks. She’d purchased new locks and dead bolts when she’d had the garage door opener replaced. This was a safe neighborhood, considering it was Miami. Still, you couldn’t be too careful. The others in the group believed they were under surveillance. It came with the territory. If the authorities were spying on her, they were outside the house, monitoring her comings and goings to build a court case. They were not hiding in the house.
The bathroom door was open. She pushed it and the door would have shut, except the tangled cord from her blow-dryer on the counter got in the way. Hadn’t she returned it to the drawer? Obviously, she’d been in such a rush to meet the others that she’d forgotten.
She eased into the tub and turned off the taps. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and let the warm water and fragrant air soothe her taut nerves. This was it, she told herself. The last job. From now on, she would lead a normal life. It might even be time to settle down, she silently admitted. That meant a steady, down-to-earth guy, not one of the club rats she usually met in South Beach.
A faint, muffled noise outside the bathroom made her eyes fly open. Her pinched throat kept air from entering her lungs and she trembled. Then she remembered the dog. Aspen. A great name for a honey-colored golden retriever. She’d given it to the dog even before she’d seen him. She had it put on the collar she’d bought. She’d chosen “Aspen” because when the leaves on Aspen trees changed color each fall, they were the same golden shades she associated with golden retrievers. Aspen wasn’t trying to get out of the kitchen, was he?
She kept listening, straining to hear another noise, but the only sound was the muted whir of the air conditioner in the living room. What was throwing her world out of whack? She’d never been this disturbed before, and the group had engaged in missions that had been just as dangerous as the one tonight.
Closing her eyes again, she settled back, allowing the warm water and the fragrant candles to do their magic. She was bone weary and soon almost nodded off. She forced her eyes open so she wouldn’t fall asleep in the tub.
Hadn’t the bathroom door been almost closed a few moments ago? She stared hard at its reflection in the mirror partially fogged by steam, then looked over her shoulder directly at the door. Her red robe hung from a hook on the back. Maybe the door wasn’t quite balanced and the weight of her robe had caused it to open several inches. What was going on? She was more jittery than she ought to be.
She settled back, closed her eyes once more and inhaled deeply to take the calming scent of the candles into her lungs. Her tense muscles relaxed and her mind almost purged itself of the sight of all those forlorn, pleading eyes riveted on her.
Almost.
Don’t drift off, she warned herself. She needed to scrub away the sweat, crawl into bed and set the alarm for seven-thirty. She struggled not to close her eyes, but gave in for just a moment.
A mechanical whir jerked her upright, the sound reverberating against the ceramic tile. Her eyes flashed across the short distance to the counter. Her blow-dryer was on. How had that happened? She grabbed the towel bar and heaved herself upright in one quick jerk. Instinct told her to get out of the tub NOW!
“Wh-what?” The serrated blade of fear shredded each syllable. The vapor from the candles scorched her throat as if she’d been suddenly transported to the desert. She attempted to make sense of what her eyes told her, but the dark glaze of panic blacked out the edges of her vision. Hot, white noise rumbled through her head, awakening a terror unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
A gloved hand appeared from behind the door and grabbed the blow-dryer off the counter. The next instant the dryer was hurtling through the air at her. It splashed into the bubble-filled water at her knees with a serpent’s lethal hiss and an eruption of sparks. Instantly, little popping sounds battered her skull like fireworks exploding in her brain.
CHAPTER ONE
Before becoming a world-famous photographer, what did Ansel Adams aspire to be?
MADISON CONNELLY STARED out the window from the largest enclosure in the cube farm at the shimmering waters of Biscayne Bay visible over the rooftops of nearby buildings. As copresident of Total Trivia, she was entitled to a large private office, but she and Aiden had agreed long ago that doors encouraged isolation. Togetherness inspired innovation—the healthy exchange of ideas that led to creativity.
Maybe, she thought, but right now she wished she could slam her office door shut and make the world go away. She was burned out by what her father would have called “premature success.” Her company was barely three years old and it was already being touted as a triumph. If only her personal life was as glorious.
Get a grip, Madison told herself. There’s no reason to feel sorry for yourself. Concentrate on what you’re doing and forget past mistakes.
Madison forced herself to stare at her computer screen as she waited for inspiration. The software program she’d invented culled obscure facts from numerous sources for their online game, but every so often she liked t
o throw in a zinger. Her favorite was “what if.” What if Ansel Adams had his wish? He would have become a concert pianist. Lucky for the world, he hadn’t.
If she’d had her wish, she would have pursued a doctorate and—
“Madison, there’s a man here to see you. How cool is that?”
She swiveled around in her chair to face Jade, Total Trivia’s receptionist. Short blue-black hair gelled up like a rooster’s comb and deep red lipstick combined with Cleopatra eyes gave the girl an unfashionable Goth look that was rarely seen in South Beach these days. Jade could easily have told Madison she had a visitor with the interoffice telephone, but the girl never lost an opportunity to sashay by the cluster of cubicles the programmers used, just as she never failed to add how “cool” something was, even when delivering bad news.
“Who is it? I’m not expecting anyone.”
Jade consulted a business card she held between bloodred nails that could have doubled as letter openers. “Paul Tanner. He’s with Tanner Security Solutions, Inc.”
Another geek trying to sell them software that was supposed to prevent other online trivia sites from hacking into their database. Online protection. What a joke.
“Tell him we take care of our own security.” She was about to give Jade another lecture on how to screen people, but she spotted Aiden Larsen coming toward her office.
“Hey, Madison,” her ex-husband called in his usual upbeat voice. “Got a minute?”