I'll Find You Part 32

"Yeah?"

"He's just kind of loose and breezy. Like a salesman, maybe. Trying to charm people. Talking a little too much."

"And Andre? What's he like?"

"Intense . . . can't see the humor in stuff . . . p.r.i.c.kly. He's definitely got a hidden agenda, and I'm betting it's your family's money."

He released her to meet her eyes. "You got quite a bit for only one meeting."

She nodded several times. "I fell for my husband because I didn't trust my first impression, even though I knew he wasn't really the way he came off. He was like Teddy, hard to pin down to the truth. If I sound like a shrink, it's because I've been on the other side of that."

"Yeah?"

"You might as well know, I was a basket case after Sean's death. Couldn't remember anything, couldn't do anything, so at one point I checked myself into a mental facility and I stayed for . . . thirty days."

He felt her brace herself for his response and understood how sensitive she felt about it. All he asked was, "Did it help?"

"Saved my life," she said promptly.

"Then it was worth it."

"Thank you." Her voice was small.

Hooking his arm through hers, he led them both through the house to the stairway that led upstairs to the west wing that held the bedrooms.

"Sometimes I still get the creeping fog when things are really bad," Callie admitted, "but less and less."

"Creeping fog?"

"I'll tell you about it sometime." They'd stopped at the base of the stairs, and she said, "Tucker's room's up to the right. I'm on the left, and then Talia's in the next room. . . ."

"There are more bedrooms though, right?"

"One more. Just past Talia's."

"Think I could talk you into joining me for a while?"

"You couldn't talk me out of it."

"Good."

They reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall toward the room on the end. "I got stuff in the Explorer but I'm gonna get it tomorrow," West said. "Never thought I'd be spending a night in this house." She felt him slide a hand around her waist, beneath the hem of her s.h.i.+rt, caressing her skin. "I warn you. I'm going to pa.s.s out like the dead."

"Maybe I should let you sleep, then . . . ?"

"Like h.e.l.l," he muttered, kissing her hard as they moved into his bedroom together.

Jerrilyn Stiles cooed in Aaron Mittenberger's ear as he struggled to climax beneath her. She was straddling him, but she was going to have to work on him some more, which made her want to sigh. Though she was good at getting the job done, sometimes s.e.x was just one big bore. Not when people were watching . . . there was nothing more satisfying than seeing those stupid cows, the handmaidens, try to hide their horror when Andre decided to take her in front of them. Yep, that was fun. Got her juices flowing. Especially when that prig Clarice and angry-girl Daniella were forced to watch. Jerrilyn had really whooped it up a time or two when they were her audience. Ha! She'd even made stone-faced Naomi uncomfortable a time or two, she could tell.

But Andre himself . . . holy G.o.d, what a crazy man. Not a bad lover, all things considered. He could certainly perform when his blood was high. If she thought he was really in control of himself, she might have stuck around, but the truth was the guy was sick. Like brain-sick. Something truly off there, and she'd heard Naomi on the telephone to a doctor or nurse, or somebody who knew something about health, and there was talk of a tumor. Naomi hadn't apparently broken the news to Andre 'cause he seemed to think he was fine.

Anyway, it was time for her to leave. She'd picked Andre up in Vegas with the original thought of hanging with him a while and seeing what came out of it. The handmaidens had been a surprise, but Jerrilyn had seen she could be the queen bee of those drones with no effort whatsoever. But, like all good things, it had to come to an end. Andre was worsening with the whole "Messiah" gig, which was really old, and let's face it, he just wasn't right.

"C'mon, baby," she whispered, licking the side of Mittenberger's face. He wasn't bad-looking for a guy in his fifties, and he was wealthy as sin. No, he wasn't going to leave his wife, but then they hardly ever did, did they? And honestly, what was she going to do with him anyway? Marry the douche bag? C'mon.

Naomi had told Andre that it was over between Jerrilyn and Mittenberger, just like Jerrilyn had planned. Jerrilyn had purposely given this bit of news to Naomi with a shrug and a sigh, like it was sad, but, oh well. Naomi, of course, had hoped Andre would come down on her hard. Jerrilyn had kinda hoped for it herself. Maybe he'd want a little rough s.e.x in front of their shocked faces, but no, he already had his plans in motion, whatever the h.e.l.l they were. Jerrilyn didn't give a d.a.m.n. She was done. Outta there. Ready for the next adventure.

It took ten minutes more of coaxing and cooing and rubbing and d.a.m.n near making her want to scream before he managed to hold an erection long enough to climax.

"Oh, baby," he exhaled, flopping on his back as she slipped away into the bathroom where she'd left her clothes when she'd donned the hotel bathrobe. Now, she freshened up and s.h.i.+mmied back into her short black dress. Her Christian Louboutins were neatly placed by the tub, their red soles gleaming. Man, she loved those shoes. Expensive, but worth it. She'd seen Clarice eyeing them with envy and had thought the little wh.o.r.e might actually steal them, but Jerrilyn had made sure she couldn't by locking them inside a small suitcase when she wasn't wearing them.

Slipping into the heels, she examined her reflection in the mirror. Her shoulder-length hair was dark brown, glossy, and somewhat wild now after her calisthenics in the sack. Her lipstick was scarlet and wet-looking. Beautiful. If she had a complaint about her appearance it was her eyes. A little on the small side. A little calculating, she'd been told more than once, but whatcha gonna do. The right makeup made them pop and sparkle a violent green color, and right now they were popping, all right.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she d.a.m.n near ran smack into the slab of hairy flesh that was Mittenberger's chest. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"What are you doing?" he asked back at her. "Leaving?"

"Lover, you told me you had to go home. I got places to be too."

His mouth turned down. He absolutely hated to be reminded that he had no real hold on her. "I told her I had a dinner meeting that would last late."

"It is late," Jerrilyn pointed out.

"What about this weekend?"

"That's still on. Don't worry." She air-kissed him on the cheek. Didn't want to mess up the lipstick. "I'll call you."

"Where are you going?"

This was the question he always asked. Normally, she sidestepped it. Didn't want to give away the nest she shared with Andre and the handmaidens. But now, since she had no intention of going back, she said, "I've got a new place in Venice."

"Where?"

She wagged her finger at him, then blew him a last kiss and stepped out into the hallway. She took the elevator to the lobby. The Peninsula Hotel was expensive and a haven for Hollywood stars. Sometimes, when she crossed the lobby, she got a double take, people wondering if she was "somebody." She had that look about her, she knew.

Tonight she cruised out the door and under the portico. She s.h.i.+vered a little as she asked the bellman for a taxi. Cold in LA tonight. She wished she had a fur. Wouldn't that be something. Draped over her shoulder.

Someone b.u.mped into her from behind and she felt a sharp p.r.i.c.k. "Hey." She turned around, but there was no one there. A blond woman was hurrying away from the hotel, but she had lifted her arm as if hailing someone or something. Wait a minute. She was hailing her cab, d.a.m.n it. "Hey!" she called.

The blonde looked over. Must be a wig, she thought, thinking the blond bob looked kind of fake. She took two steps toward the woman and felt light-headed. Holy s.h.i.+t, what was wrong?

The blonde hurried back to her. "You okay? Sorry, I didn't realize that was your cab. . . ."

Jerrilyn thought, Wait a minute. I know you. This is a setup. She tried to say, "What the h.e.l.l?" but couldn't get her thick tongue to utter the words.

The blonde was wiry tough and hustled Jerrilyn to the cab. She climbed in with her and said, "Too G.o.dd.a.m.ned much to drink," to the driver in a mock angry voice.

"Where to?" he asked.

"My car's just a couple blocks," she said in a voice that now sounded to Jerrilyn as if it were coming through water.

The cabbie dropped them off and the blonde stuck Jerrilyn's arm over her shoulder, half-dragging her to the compact. Jerrilyn was tossed in the backseat like a rag doll.

She was unable to talk and may have actually pa.s.sed out for a bit. Then she awakened and tried to talk, but she couldn't form words.

When the car finally turned into a drive, she knew where she was. Andre's house . . . she was back at Andre's house!

So, this was Andre's idea. He wasn't going to let her go. Just like Teresa, he'd sent the handmaidens to do his bidding . . . and he meant to kill her!

She struggled to rise but was unable. The blonde opened the back door and hauled her out. Jerrilyn's head hit the concrete drive with a crack and she saw stars.

As she was dragged inside, she prayed one of the neighbors would notice, but the street was completely dark and quiet, as ever. A bomb could go off and the neighbors would just quiver behind their walls.

Where was Daniella? She was supposed to be here. Could the blonde be her with a wig? Jerrilyn couldn't even remember her abductor's face now. Where was Clarice? Naomi? Please let them come home from their jobs . . . please!

She was dragged down the hall and into the prayer room and laid beside another body. To her shock, she could clearly see it was Clarice, but her eyes were open and staring, her tongue lolling out. There was something smudgy on Clarice's face, and an ugly chain mark circled her neck, breaking through the skin.

Through whirling vision, she saw a gold ankh swinging in front of her eyes.

Words burbled around her . . . nearly indistinct . . . the blonde was talking.

"Teresa . . . to get away . . . smacked her head against . . . killed her. But she wore . . . ankh . . . one Andre gave her . . . gave me . . . idea . . ."

She felt the ankh pulled over her head and draped around her own neck. Then the pressure of the chain against her flesh, tightening . . . tightening! The blonde was twisting and twisting. Choking her. Jerrilyn tried to reach up with her hands but couldn't. She wanted to scream, but only gurgled in her throat.

No air . . . no air!

Through a s.h.i.+mmer of fading vision, she realized there was no escape and she would die. The final image imprinted on her retinae was Clarice's bulging eyes and long, limp tongue, and her last regretful thought was, That's what I'll look like, too.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Daniella sat outside Ray's, her thoughts dark. Lumpkin was here. Again. Just sitting around waiting for his hottie to return. And Andre was gone. She knew it in the deep, black depths of her core. They all thought she was plain and uninteresting, and maybe she was, on the outside. Inside she pulsed with heat, gleamed with brilliant light, and she could do anything.

She got out of the car and walked into the bar. She'd always been glad Andre had found her, lifted her up, kept her from wallowing in the wasted life that she'd once lived with her boyfriend, Ty. Well, "boyfriend" was a euphemism because he was a lying, cheating, f.u.c.king weasel, but then weren't they all?

Andre had shown her a life within the bosom of his family, such as it was: she'd initially thought she could live with the other handmaidens, had embraced communal living in the beginning. Why not? It was better than being treated like a stick of furniture.

But was it? She'd really just traded one kind of life for another and now with Andre gone, what did she have?

Lumpkin was seated on his same stool at the bar. For a moment she almost turned on her heel and walked out. Why should she do as Andre had bidden, when it just didn't feel like it was going to matter? Why should she care?

Because she desperately wanted to be the one he turned to in the end, and completing a big task like this one would go a long way toward getting her there.

At that precise moment Lumpkin looked over and saw her. The faint disgust on his face led her to decide once and for all. f.u.c.k him and the other handmaidens. She was going to get rid of him for her own sake, and the world as a whole. He deserved to die. She sashayed up to him, throwing her hips in an exaggerated walk. "Wanna come home with me?"

Lumpkin's eyes narrowed. "Like the way you played me last time?"

"I couldn't go to that apartment. You were right. We should have gone to my place."

"What about your fiance?"

"You think he's faithful to me?" she asked, her voice catching a little of its own accord. It really did hurt that Andre cared so little about her.

Lumpkin thought it over a moment, then said harshly, "No."

She really didn't like the man. Really didn't like him. "Meet me at the house. You know the way," she said, turning around and sashaying back, making sure he got a perfect view of her swinging a.s.s, the one he thought he was going to be able to grab and squeeze. Stupid, little c.o.c.kroach.

Callie re-dressed in the dark and tiptoed out of West's room, glancing back at him as she softly closed his door behind her. She walked quickly past Talia's room. She really didn't want to have to explain what she was doing up in the middle of the night. Thinking she would check in on Tucker, she moved past hers and gently opened the door to his. His room was nearest to the stairway that opened above the entire great room. After peeking in on him and a.s.suring herself that he was asleep, she turned back. Glancing to the floor below, she had a view across the entire great room and through the ma.s.sive windows that looked onto the backyard and rolling fields beyond.

The moon came out from behind a cloud at that moment and sent a strip of white light onto the yard, silhouetting a man's figure, pressed against the back window.

The scream that rose in Callie's throat nearly choked her as she held it in, hands over her mouth as she stumbled backward, away from the rail, heart jumping madly in her chest.

It took a minute before she dared to look again, cautiously easing forward to the edge of the rail. The clouds had obscured the moon again, but she was pretty sure there was no figure there.

She thought about waking up West, or Talia, but hesitated. Maybe it just was someone checking on the house, like Cal. Making certain everything was secure with Victoria at the hospital.

No. She didn't believe that for a moment.

Andre . . .

Something about his shape and the way he seemed to hunger to be inside convinced her it was the man claiming to be West's cousin. And it made sense that he was the one outside looking in. The question was: Should she do something about it? The house was locked. Andre had been gone when Talia told her the code. And what would he be doing anyway?

She hurried back down the hall to West's room, eased open the door. He was sound asleep and she hated to wake him. But should she? Was Andre a threat tonight? A threat to Tucker?

She hurried on her tiptoes back to Tucker's room. She needed to get him away from Laughlin Ranch. It wasn't safe. She felt it in her bones, and though she knew she would sound a little crazy when she told West and Talia what she believed, she didn't care.

And as for tonight . . . In her clothes, she climbed into bed with Tucker. She knew she wasn't going to sleep anyway, so she wanted to be right next to him if anything should happen.

The house was completely dark when Daniella pulled into the drive. Didn't I leave a light on in the prayer room? she thought, yanking on the emergency brake. Couldn't have the d.a.m.n Malibu sliding down the drive to the street and then rolling down the hill. She needed to think of everything if she was really going through with this.

But the house . . . shouldn't she see some illumination filtering out? Unless Naomi or Clarice had switched off everything . . . ?

Lumpkin pulled up to the curb in front of the house and turned off the ignition. Daniella looked over at him and thought what a toad he was. She wasn't quite sure how she was going to kill him yet, but she was d.a.m.n well going to do it. There were knives in the kitchen. Better yet, maybe she could knock him out and suffocate him. The thought of being close to him, having him touch her suddenly, sent the heebie-jeebies running through her. It was a sad, sad truth that she still just wanted Andre.

Ah, well . . .

She positioned herself against her car, leaning on her elbows and pus.h.i.+ng her b.r.e.a.s.t.s forward, watching him approach. "I don't really want you to come in," she said.

He stopped short and inhaled a sharp breath. "That's not what you said at Ray's."