Chapter 9

 

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Brie grumbled. Rye faced her, holding up a device the size of a lapel clip.

Shaking his finger, he grinned at her tone. "Amazing what the promise of my wearing pink does." He quickly sidestepped, allowing her stomping foot to miss his toes. "Now, now."

"Neanderthal." Her temper rose once again. Of all the stupid things she'd done in life, this had to top the list. Why did all those moronic acts revolve around Rye?

Mentally shaking her head, she slapped his hand away just as it got within a hair's breadth of her abundant cleavage. "Stop that."

He rolled his eyes, dropping his tone to a whisper. "It's a recording device, squirrel. You have to be wired so we can hear what he says as well as if you get into trouble. Can't just stick this on your forehead without the bad guys noticing, you know." Holding her gaze with his stern expression, he once more slipped his fingers into her bra.

Averting her eyes, Brie squirmed under his touch. It simply wasn't fair. One brush of his fingers and her hormones start kicking on all cylinders. Fighting the blush, she focused on the task at hand. She would lure the killer to this motel room, get him to incriminate himself, then get out of there before she became his next victim. Simple. Yeah, right.

Ignoring the rub of a calloused finger tenderly whispering along her right breast, she glanced over the room. Spartan described it to a T. Well, for twenty dollars, you couldn't rightly expect the Hilton. A lone double bed sat in the middle of the room facing a rather smallish TV mounted on the wall. Less chance of it being stolen that way. A bathroom containing a sink, toilet, and a minimal shower was a mere three steps from the bed. No room for yoga, definitely. The single bedside table held the old fashioned phone, alongside a faux brass lamp missing the lampshade. A light bulb screwed in the top mimicked the look of a candle. Tackier, but provided more light. A 1950s red metal alarm clock finished the trio. A dent on one side and chipped paint spoke of long wear. More than likely, no one would grab that item up to take home with them, either.

Gary slipped into the room, shouldering close to them in the tiny space. "About ready?" His gaze raked Brie up and down, giving her a leering grin.

She simply nodded, feeling vulnerable and suddenly nervous. Fidgeting with her miniskirt, she replayed the instructions through her head. Get the guy to confess without leading him or giving up too much information that would make the recording inadmissible in court.

Rye, having gotten the pin in place, removed his hands and gave her a gentle nudge. His expression spoke of mischief, yet his eyes held a hint of something else? Worry?

"We just need a code word." Rye turned, sparing Gary a glance.

"Code word?" Her head tilted in confusion.

Gary nodded, his eyes sparkling as he peered at her chest. "In case you get in trouble. You just say the word and we come a running." He winked.

"Granny." Rye flashed a grin.

"Huh?" Gary shot him a glance, his mouth dropped in confusion. "Never heard that one used before."

Narrowing her eyes, Brie refrained from kicking Rye in the shins. Straightening her back, she glared up at him. "You are asking for it," she hissed.

If anything, Rye's grin widened, accepting her challenge. Gary tsked. Grabbing Rye's arm, he gave him a pull. "Come on, Rambo. Before you bait her into kicking your ass." The door opened and they both vanished into the shadows.

Nerves jumped to the fore as Brie counted slowly. She had to kill fifteen minutes, then leave for the nearest street corner. There, she would wait for "Jack" to show up. Somehow calling him a name caused her heart to beat less franticly than saying the killer.

Picking at her clothes, she tapped the microphone tucked into her bra. "This better work." Thoughts of what could go wrong flooded her mind, sending her heart racing once more. Panicky, she gnawed a fingernail.

"Settle down, squirrel." Rye's voice sounded in her ear. The tiny receiver reminded her of one of those new canal sized hearing aids. No wires attached, it just sat in her ear, providing a means of communication and the only thing that kept her sanity intact for the moment.

His voice soothed her, the tone low and sensual. She could picture him waking her with a lazy kiss while speaking her name in that sexy baritone. They would be cuddled under her comforter, sharing body warmth as they spooned together. Bare skin grazed and molded to other bare skin.

First, she had to survive the night.

Taking a deep breath, she checked her watch, heading toward the door. No time like the present to take on the scourge of the earth.

Five minutes later, Brie stood at the corner, pacing and impatient. What was taking "Jack" so long? Didn't the guy want to get an early start on the mayhem and murder? Turning once more, she let her heels click a path back to the stop sign.

A few men had stopped, inquiring about her offerings. She blew them off, noting they didn't fit the description they were looking for. After the first couple of men, it almost became a game of how to get them to head on out, leaving her without a second look back.

With the last man, she murmured about how much her rash on her butt itched, and maybe he would be kind enough to rub some cream on it for her. He didn't bolt, but his eyes widened in alarm. To top it off, she played her trump card. "Oh, drat! I knew I forgot something. Jeez, where has my mind gone? Supposed to take that pill. That doctor said I had to take all those pills to get rid of this stuff." She moved her hand down to scratch her thigh. "Damn. Stuff is starting to itch again."

Brie had to smirk to herself as the man hit the gas and sped away, almost leaving tread marks in his wake. Idiots.

For the most part, the communication link remained quiet. Occasionally, a few words tumbled out, mostly encouragement. Half the time, she startled when Rye spoke. Anyone watching her on the street would think she had some odd form of Tourette's, seeing her jerk in place.

Sighing, she stared down at her feet. The heels did nothing for comfort. She imagined the street walkers suffered aching feet each and every night. Probably among other things.

"What do prostitutes do when they have their period? Do they work? Take a few days off?" She quietly asked the question, knowing who could hear it. Maybe tormenting Rye would take her mind off the throb in her feet and simmering fear.

"What? How should I know?" Rye's voice took on a higher pitch.

Maybe the pause between allowed him to quit spewing and speak. She could only hope.

"I thought you knew everything." A smile played on her lips. Bantering with Rye proved entertaining at times.

A low idling motor caught her attention. Turning, she peered through the front windshield of the gray sedan and froze. Her breath hitched as the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Somehow, she just knew. The man stared back, his grin widening to reveal perfect white teeth. His head bore a fresh crew cut with just a hint of gray at the temples. Though he looked like any professional worker on the street, his dark eyes were what turned her stomach. Those eyes that spoke of lust, cruelty, and a break from sanity.

"Brie?" Rye's voice whispered in her ear.

Remembering her role, she forced a smile on her face. "Jack." The word came out on a breath.

Ambling over, she leaned onto the passenger's window, which was already down. His gaze flicked to her breasts.

"Hi." Chewing her lip, she wondered what you said to a killer upon meeting them. Nothing else came to mind.

Using his hand to wipe his mouth, the guy stared a bit longer. "You looking for a date? You do it all?" His voice dripped with lust and impatience. His eyes briefly rose to her face before falling back to her chest.

Reminding herself that she had to get him talking, she spilled out what had been rehearsed. "Whatcha want?" Her fingers plucked at the new tan fabric of the door's interior.

"You know. Climb on in. You haven't seen a good time until you've been with me." He patted the passenger's seat, a serene smile crossed his face.

Shifting weight between her feet, Brie took a big breath. Panic now and the whole case would go to pot. Worse, Jack might get spooked and move to another area, causing more deaths before he could be brought in.

"Backseats are for babies." She jerked a thumb behind her. "I got a room."

His calculating eyes flickered to the motel, then back. Long seconds passed in tense silence.

"You didn't say whatcha wanted. Cost ya twenty-five for head. More for other than that." She idly ran fingers from her neck down to just above the neckline of the top. Anything to get him to bite.

Jerking his head, he put the car into gear. "Which room?" His mouth opened, allowing a pink tongue to coat his lips.

"Seven, honey. I'll meet you there." She stood up slowly, leaving him with a view of her hand caressing the skin of her cleavage. Taking her time, she walked back to the room, pushed the key into the lock, and slipped inside.

Holding her breath, she fought the rising panic. Stunned, she pinched herself. Who in their right mind would invite a serial killer into a tiny, dirty motel room?

The door opened quietly and quickly as Jack stepped through. Shutting the door behind him, he turned the bolt, the clang loud in the small space. His average frame filled up the small space just inside. One hand ran over his clean-cut chin, the gold wedding ring flashed in the light.

Brie fought the urge to retreat. Instead, she focused on getting this guy to spill the beans. He had to confess, had to give some clues or it was all for naught. Obviously, his wife didn't know about Jack's hobby. For that alone, he needed to face the facts. Talk about a shock, finding out that you were married to a serial murderer.

"So, stud muffin, you done this before?" She took a cautious step toward him, willing herself not to hyperventilate at his mere proximity. Fresh-scented cologne permeated his clothing, tan slacks along with a pale yellow Oxford. No one would look at him twice as they walked by him in the square.

"Yeah. So?" He looked around the room, obviously checking out escape routes, making sure everything was on the up and up.

Reaching out, she touched the first button on his shirt, prying it open. "I was just a thinkin'. Seems a fine man like you would have a steady woman. Some woman to take care of ya." She drawled the words, pressing her body closer as her fingers slipped down another notch. "Maybe, if you're good, I could do a bit more as a freebie."

A gasp of surprise echoed as he cuffed her wrist, yanking it from his shirt. "Listen here, bitch. You are not worthy. Slut of this earth." His eyes bored furiously into hers, causing a shiver to zing down her spine.

She swallowed, unable to make her voice work, a tiny squeak escaped.

At her whimper, he yanked her to the bed, shoving her down with little effort. "You filthy whore. No good trash. Think you're too good for me?" With quick tugs, he managed to get his belt free, then unzipped his pants.

Frantically, she watched his face. The code word clung to her lips, just as another thought came to mind. "Lusted after your mother, huh? Or is it that you can't get it up with a woman?" She taunted him, trying to get him to show his true colors.

His hand came out, grabbing her hair, twisting it enough to cause a twinge of pain. "You filthy whore. You will get what's coming to you!" Giving it another twist, he pushed her back once more.

Emboldened, she sat up on her knees, edging ever closer to the far side of the bed. "Who died and made you king?"

His face reddened to the point of purple, hands clenched at his sides.

So, maybe that was it? Pressing harder, she met him eye to eye. Her heart sped as she sucked in air once more. "It's a sin to earn a living?" she tossed out, eyes narrowing as she managed to move a shade closer to the bathroom. "I can think of worse things. Stupid and mean people out there, doing all kinds of stuff. Murder. Mayhem." Careful not to put words in his mouth, as she had been warned, she focused on dancing around the bush for a bit longer. "Not like you're in a position to judge others. I make a living just like everyone else. So maybe it's time to get off your high horse." She sent up a quick prayer that pricking his temper would do the trick without sending her to her Maker in a quick, messy way.

He seethed. "Shut up." Throwing his shirt to the side, he yanked off his pants, the belt held threateningly in his right hand. His erection stood out, excited with this encounter. "They had it coming. Slime of the earth. God's wrath shall be fulfilled. They deserved to die. Now they are with Satan where they belong." The belt cracked like a whip punctuating his words.

"They?" Her voice shook, mimicking the tremors through the rest of her body. Courage deserted her in the face of an apparently unbalanced, psychotic man bent on killing.

"I told you to shut up." He lashed the belt in her direction. "Those sluts deserved their punishment. Selling their bodies, polluting humankind, dragging men to the depths of their depravity. Death came too soon for them."

"You killed them? All of them?" She continued to put space between them, keeping her wits by sheer will power.

"As I shall kill you. After you receive the punishment you deserve for your sins to mankind."

"No!" Fear broke through her careful cap.

"How dare you tell me what to do? No one tells me what to do! Filthy whore!" He dived after her, grabbing her leg as she tried to wiggle away. One hand secured her ankle, the other shifted quickly past her knee. Panting, she kicked, managing to catch him in the chin with one heel. "Granny!" The word burst out of her mouth as she focused on staying alive until the guys rushed to her rescue. Not bothering to check the damage, she reached desperately for the lamp. Falling short of her mark, her fingers grasped onto the alarm clock, clinging to it for dear life.

Jack groaned, but lunged for her once more.

Twisting, she stumbled to her feet, facing his angered, wild face. Hiding the clock behind her back, she retreated one more step. "Granny! Granny panties!" Where the hell were they when she needed them? A battle for her life wasn't in the plan.

He stalked her, backing off the bed, and lightly stepped closer. "Drop it, sinner. Hell is waiting."

Clutching the metal like a baseball, she prepared to defend herself. Watching him edge closer, she played her chances. With one more movement, she brought the clock up with all her might, crushing it against his nose. Blood dripped as he covered the injured area, a low moan of pain escaping. Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, she bashed him over the head while bringing her knee up, hitting him square in the groin.

The door burst open and men tumbled in, weapons drawn and yelling. Brie ignored them.

Jack had fallen to the floor holding his groin after her attack, litanies of curses flowing from his mouth. Flecks of blood dripped from his injured nose. His head didn't look any worse for wear. Figures he'd have a hard head.

Rage broke free. Brie tossed aside the clock, letting it crash into the wall. "You sick asshole. I hope you rot in hell." With that she picked up the lamp, elevating it to bring down on his head once more. Strong hands grabbed her upper arms, before snaring the lamp from her grasp.

Lifting her foot, she prepared to ensure Jack wouldn't have further thoughts of sex for at least a couple more days. Strong arms wrapped around her. Fighting the hold, she finally relented when Rye gave her a little shake.

Gary circled around the mob of officers wrestling with Jack. Shaking his head, he smiled at Brie.

"Give me your gun," Brie demanded, anger and indignation running high.

Rye tossed the lamp onto the muddled comforter on the bed, still standing behind her. "He's not worth killing, squirrel."

Twisting her neck, she frowned up at him. "Who said anything about killing?" Her eyes fell on Jack struggling with the officers who had his arms twisted back, handcuffs in place. A sigh of disgust followed. "I was going to castrate him the efficient and permanent way."

Several sets of eyes jerked up, hearing her words. More than one man in the room cringed noticeably.

Rye pulled her back against his chest, his breath rasping over her ear. Two uniformed cops wrestled Jack to his feet, dragging him out of the room, his threats and cries of retribution ignored.

Gary paused in front of them, gesturing to the floor where the clock landed. "Pretty good job, especially for a rookie."

Leaning against Rye's chest, she smiled wanly at the compliment. The adrenaline rush faded, leaving fatigue in its wake. All she wanted was to get out of those stinking shoes and scrub herself raw where the leech had touched her.

"Proves one thing." Rye wrapped one arm tightly around her.

"What's that?" Gary's gaze raked over Brie once more.

"Never mess with a woman on the rag," Rye finished in a deadpan voice.

Brie elbowed him in the ribs. Gary just snickered and shook his head.