The Next To Die Part 38

Sean stepped toward him. The wind suddenly kicked up, and she swept back her hair. For a moment, she was once again on that ocean-view bluff, snuggled in his jacket, wanting so much to kiss him. She put aside those feelings now-just as she'd tried to ignore them back then. Crossing her arms to keep warm, Sean managed to smile at him. "Thanks for coming, Avery."

He nodded. "How are-you holding up?"

She shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I miss him. I miss the sound of his respirator. I-"

"Sean?" a woman interrupted, pa.s.sing behind her. "We'll see you at the house. All right, dear?"

She glanced over her shoulder and nodded. "You bet, Lisa. Thanks." Sean waited until her friend moved on; then she turned to Avery again. "How's your wife? How's Joanne?"

"She's doing much better. In fact, I'm on my way to see her now."

"That's nice," was all Sean could think to say. "Um, since you quit the movie, I guess I won't be seeing you for a while." She took another step toward him. "Avery, I don't mean to pry. But if Joanne's showing signs of improvement, and they're shooting most of the picture around here, why did you quit? All these actors are fighting for that part now. Why would you give that up?"

He glanced down at the ground and sighed. "You know why."

"Because of me?"

"We'd be working together-sometimes very closely. I couldn't handle that, Sean. You know how I feel about you. But I still love my wife too. I can't leave her-no more than you could have left Dan while he was sick. I wouldn't like myself very much if I did that. I don't think you'd like me very much either."

Sean let out a tiny, grateful laugh. She took hold of his hand. "Thank you, Avery Cooper."

He shook her hand and smiled. "Take care, Sean."

She forced herself to turn away from him. Walking toward her car, Sean imagined him tonight in that place-at his wife's bedside.

From a couple of weeks ago, when she'd been so sick and feverish in the intensive care unit, she remembered Avery in the room with her, a constant, comforting presence. He would be there for his wife tonight-and for as long as she needed him.

Glancing over her shoulder, Sean saw him walking alone down a gra.s.sy slope toward his car. He was still hobbling a bit.

Sean figured it was all right to cry. She wouldn't have to explain her tears to anyone right now.

She turned and spotted Dayle, waiting for her. Dayle pulled a Kleenex from her purse and offered it to her. Sean blew her nose with the tissue. "Thanks," she muttered, her voice a little raspy. "Aren't you going to be late for your publicity thing?"

"The h.e.l.l with it," Dayle said. "I think you need me around today. And that's more important than some lousy magazine cover story."

Sean wiped the tears from her eyes. She hadn't expected Dayle to come to her rescue. Yet n.o.body else really understood what she was dealing with today-except for Dayle. At a time when she felt all alone with her pain, she had Dayle Sutton coming through for her. "You're giving up a shot at some major publicity?" Sean said. "That doesn't sound like a movie star to me. Sounds more like a true friend."

"I hope that's what I am," Dayle said. She took her hand and squeezed it. "Your kids are going back with your in-laws, right?"

Sean nodded. "I thought I'd want to go back alone, but-not anymore."

"Well, then I'll send my driver home, and ride with you." Dayle glanced down toward where the cars were parked. She nudged Sean. "Only first we have to make it down this d.a.m.n hill in our high heels."

Sean smiled and put her arm around her friend's waist. "We'll make it, Dayle," she said. "We'll just lean on each other."

A KILLER'S MASTERPIECE At first, Bridget Corrigan's work with her twin brother's senatorial campaign is an exciting distraction from the trauma of her messy divorce. But everything changes when Bridget is reminded of the secret she and Brad had been keeping since high school, a secret that could destroy the campaign-and their lives. Someone else knows what they did. Someone who's been picking off the members of their little group one by one...

WILL BE PAINTED.

His job keeps him busy, but he loves every moment of it. Following them, photographing them, and immortalizing them on canvas. He knows exactly how they'll look when the last breath is drawn, because he has planned out their deaths with perfect precision. And the best is yet to come: Bridget Corrigan. He has very special plans for her portrait-she just doesn't know it yet...

IN COLD BLOOD.

With every "accident" that befalls the members of her old clique, Bridget feels danger edging closer to home. Yet uncovering the truth about the killer would mean revealing what really happened that horrible night years ago. She'll have to find someone to trust-the question is, whom? Because turning to the wrong person could be the last mistake she ever makes...

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek at Kevin O'Brien's newest thriller THE LAST VICTIM now available!

One.

Desperation time.

The singer-pianist had just wrapped for the night, and the bartender announced last call. The bar would be closed within the hour. Not good.

Olivia Rankin didn't want to go home alone tonight, and the way things were looking, that was just what would happen.

The c.o.c.ktail lounge at the top of Seattle's Grand Towers Hotel was all sleek metal and polished mahogany-with a sweeping view of the city and harbor lights. Very ritzy. Eleven-fifty for one stinking cosmopolitan. But at least it came with a fancy little silver bowl of mustard-flavored pretzels.

Sitting at the bar in a s.e.xy wraparound pale green dress, Olivia once again scanned the Crown Room and decided the pickings were pretty puny.

Olivia was thirty-eight, with short-cropped, platinum blond hair and a perpetual tan-thanks to regular sessions at a tanning salon. Though attractive, she figured there was room for improvement and planned to lose twenty pounds by December. Once meeting that goal, she'd reward herself with a Botox session. Lately, her face was looking like a road map-especially around the eyes. Years of partying had caught up with her. On her birthday, a friend had sent her a card, which hit a little too close to home. On the front of the card was a cartoon of a woman holding a champagne gla.s.s. It said: Happy birthday! The years have been good to you Happy birthday! The years have been good to you." Inside was the punchline: "But those weekends have really taken a toll!"

Olivia ordered a third cosmopolitan. She'd come to the Crown Room alone, hoping she would meet a better cla.s.s of guy there. If she were lucky, she would end up with some guest at the hotel, and he'd let her spend the night. She wouldn't turn her nose up at a room service breakfast in the morning either. The Grand Towers was pretty d.a.m.n sw.a.n.ky. And it beat spending the night at home-alone.

It wasn't so much that she was lonely. She was scared.

During the last week, some strange, disturbing things had happened to her. While undressing for bed Wednesday night, she'd caught a man peeking through her window. Olivia didn't get a good look at his face. By the time she'd thrown on her robe and come to the window, all she saw was a tall, shadowy figure sprinting away from the townhouse. The next night, Olivia saw someone dart by her kitchen window. It scared the h.e.l.l out of her. She immediately called the police. Two cops came by, asked a lot of questions, and then gave her some tops on home security and how to start up a neighborhood watch. Useless.

Then, two nights ago, she woke up from a sound sleep and immediately knew someone was in the house. She reached for the light on her nightstand, but hesitated. She didn't want him to know she was awake. So she lay there in the darkness, afraid to move. She listened to the floorboards creak and told herself it was the house settling or the wind or something else totally harmless. After a while, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She focused on the bedroom door, which she'd left open a crack. If she stared at it too long, the shadows played tricks, and the door seemed to move on its own, ever so slightly. Still, she couldn't close her eyes or look away.

Olivia remained paralyzed under the covers until dawn, when she heard the Seattle Times Seattle Times delivery person tossing the newspaper on her front stoop. She crawled out of bed, then checked the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and even the closets. Nothing unusual, nothing out of place. delivery person tossing the newspaper on her front stoop. She crawled out of bed, then checked the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and even the closets. Nothing unusual, nothing out of place.

She desperately needed some coffee and put some water on to boil. When she wandered back to the living room, she noticed something. Her photo alb.u.m was in its usual spot on the coffee table, but it was open. She'd had a couple of drinks before going to bed, and couldn't remember whether or not she'd looked at any pictures.

The kettle's shrill whistle sounded, and she hurried back into the kitchen. It wasn't until after she'd had a few sips of coffee that Olivia thought to glance through the alb.u.m. Three photos were missing, pulled out of their clear plastic sleeves. If someone had actually broken into her home last night, it didn't make sense that he'd steal a few photographs of her and nothing else. She thought about calling the police again, but what good would that do?

Olivia wondered if she might actually know this stalker. Was he someone from the gym or the supermarket? Maybe he was a customer at the chiropractor's office where she worked. A lot of creeps came through there.

Whoever he was, she had a feeling he'd just gotten started in some kind of weird courts.h.i.+p of her. And it would only get worse.

That afternoon, Olivia bought a package of bullets for an empty gun, which she'd been keeping in the back of her closet for years.

The loaded gun was now in the glove compartment of her car, parked in the underground garage at the Grand Towers Hotel. She liked having it around for insurance.

Funny, it took this stalker to make her realize how alone she was. She'd lived with several different men over the years, but since moving to Seattle a year ago, there hadn't been anyone who lasted beyond a few dates. It had been pretty lonely. h.e.l.l, she couldn't even keep a cat; she was allergic.

If she went home alone tonight, she probably wouldn't sleep a wink. Her prospects didn't look so hot either. The bar would be closing within the hour. Frowning, Olivia planted an elbow on the bar and sipped her cosmopolitan.

"Hey there, honey. Why so glum?"

Olivia stared own at her drink for another moment. Part of her clung to the impossible hope that the smoky-whiskey voice belonged to a tall, handsome hunk. Maybe he'd spend the night with her and this would be the start of something terrific.

When Olivia looked up from her near-empty gla.s.s, she couldn't hide her disappointment. He was a short, balding ape of a man. He wore a red Izod short-sleeve s.h.i.+rt that looked painted on. He was very muscular, with a coat of black hair on his arms. He had hair coming out of his ears, too. In fact, he looked as if he had hair everywhere except on the top of his head.

He leaned against the bar and gave her a smug smile. "Whaddya say, honey? Can I buy you a drink?"

"I'm not your honey honey," Olivia muttered. "Besides, you're out of luck. It's past last call."

"There's no last call at my place," he said. "I have a bottle of scotch there."

"Well, go home and drink it," she replied, fis.h.i.+ng for some cash in her purse. "Try some other woman in the bar, okay?"

He laughed. "Feisty. I like that. Are you feisty in bed too?"

Olivia waved at the bartender, then slapped two twenties on the counter top. She didn't look at the creepy little man. "I'll ask you nicely," she said, staring straight ahead. "Would you do me a big favor, and leave me the h.e.l.l alone?"

"Oh, c'mon, honey," he purred. "You can't mean that."

"I sure do. So go haunt somebody else. Okay?" She continued to avoid eye contact with him.

"f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h," she heard him growl. She caught his reflection in a mirror behind the bar as he walked away. He had the meanest, most hateful look on that ugly ape face of his.

The bartender came by and took her money. Then, a few moments later, he returned with her change.

Olivia defeatedly slid off the bar stool, and stared toward the elevator. She saw the creepy, little ape of a guy waiting there. Olivia stopped dead.

She didn't want to ride down to the lobby with him, not alone. But she was saved. A handsome, well-dressed black couple stepped out of the bar area right after her. They headed toward the elevators.

Olivia followed them. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the obnoxious man glaring at her. She refused to look in his direction. The elevator door opened, and she stepped aboard.

The couple got in after her, and then the ape-faced man followed. He squeezed past the twosome and stood next to her.

Olivia kept ignoring him. She figured he wouldn't say anything rude to her in front of the couple. The handsome black man was a head taller than him and looked as if he could tear him apart.

"Oh, G.o.d, I left my cellphone in the bar!" the woman exclaimed.

Her boyfriend grabbed the elevator door before it shut, and she ran out of the elevator. He tailed after her. The door began closing right behind him.

Olivia made a run for it.

The little man grabbed her arm. She recoiled, but he had a very strong grip.

The door shut. The elevator started its descent.

He was grinning at her. His eyes had a crazy, intense look. Olivia noticed a squiggly vein on the side of his forehead.

"Let go of me!" she snapped.

He chuckled, then released her. "I just didn't want the door to slam on you, honey."

Olivia backed away, until she b.u.mped against the polished bra.s.s wall.

"I was afraid it would smash in that cute, fat little face of yours," he said, touching her cheek.

Olivia shrank into the corner. She eyed the lighted b.u.t.tons on the panel by the elevator door. They still had another thirty floors to go. She thought about pressing the alarm b.u.t.ton.

Just then, he stepped between her and the door. He glanced up and down at her. Grinning, he brushed his fingertips against her blonde hair.

"Stop that." Olivia shuddered. "Get the h.e.l.l away from me. I mean it." She looked up toward the ceiling. Where was the camera? Didn't most hotel elevators have cameras in them?

The little man was still stroking her hair. "Whether you like it or not," he whispered, "I'm going to f.u.c.k you."

Just then, the elevator stopped, and the door opened.

The man backed away from her. He frowned at the tall, handsome stranger who stepped on at the eighteenth floor. The tall man wore a brown leather aviator jacket. He nodded politely at Olivia.

She felt such utter relief. As the door shut, she cleared her throat. "Excuse me, sir?" she said, her voice a little shaky.

The handsome stranger turned to smile at her.

Olivia shot a look in the direction of the crude little man. "This guy has been bothering me," she said. "Would you mind staying with me until the valet gets my car?"

The tall stranger glared at the creepy runt. He grabbed him by the collar of his Izod s.h.i.+rt and shoved him against the wall. Olivia gasped. The elevator shook a bit at the sudden tussle. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h," the handsome man growled. "Are you hara.s.sing this lady?"

The ape-faced man held up his hands, sort of a half-hearted surrender. "Hey, it's cool, buddy. Relax."

Olivia's rescuer turned to her with a rea.s.suring smile. "Don't worry, Olivia. He won't bother you any more."

Olivia caught her breath and smiled back at him. She was so grateful for his intervention that it took her a moment to realize something was terribly wrong.

She stared at the man. "How do you know my name?" she whispered. She looked over at the short, hairy guy and wondered why he was smirking.

"He's not going to hurt you," the tall stranger said. He stepped between Olivia and the elevator door. "No, Olivia. Hurting you is my my job." job."

The elevator door opened at the lobby.