Upstairs in Earl’s private house, a group of young girls had been gathered in two interconnected living rooms where they were eating from a lavish buffet. The atmosphere was more subdued than the lodge. The teens wore fairy wings, feathers in their hair, sequined shawls, and peacock-colored masks. Some dressed as the movie heroines they’d grown up watching, a few as the heroine from Frozen, some as the female scientist from Wakanda, and even a Buffy of all things.
Their nubile beauty and innocence was scented with a hint of curious sexuality—a tempting aphrodisiac. Stunned by this generous display of ingénues, powerful emotions warred inside Grant. He felt an overwhelming attraction coupled with a hint of guilt and an equally powerful desire to protect them. He turned his attention to the older women who accompanied them—fair game.
Drop-dead gorgeous models and actresses in their early twenties were dressed in slinky sequins, one in a leotard with Cat Woman mask, one as Greta Garbo, and two as Marilyn Monroe. They spoke in small groups around the room, painting a glamorous picture of their lives in New York or Hollywood, promising they’d get the girls in with their agents.
“Tonight is your first step,” said one woman close to him. “Just play along.”
Music played in the adjoining room and some people danced. Grant stood against the wall watching. Earl and his special entourage had gone downstairs to get cleaned up. They’d be up shortly, and the real action would start. Grant hadn’t heard from his team. He assumed they’d cleared the floors in the lodge and gone off to play.
What were the odds of their being a third assassin after all? Astronomical. Yet, he thought he’d seen Madison when they first arrived. No, that was just his shock at encountering a live ghost in Atlanta. He resented having to stand guard when he knew the Skeleton was safe. Besides, he’d counted three Ken Dolls on his way into the house, one in the front, one in the back, and one downstairs. Shit, he deserved to party tonight of all nights.
He accepted a glass of champaigne from a circulating waiter and made his way over to the table of hors d’oeuvre. He scarfed three ham sandwich wedges, then loaded a plate with peeled shrimp and cocktail sauce, found a corner chair, and started on his bounty. He hadn’t eaten since lunch. His eyes were on his mounded plate when the person dressed as the Angel of Death slipped through the door and up the stairs.
Rainey found a bathroom off the hall upstairs and went in, closing the door behind her. She was still a bit shaken by her encounter with Brad in the lodge. Her reaction revealed that she still had some residue from the trauma of that night. This surprised her considering the complete release that had come with the wash of light as she’d lifted up out of her body. Perhaps on her return she’d taken back remnants of the experience. She’d meditate. Maybe do that eye-tracking treatment for PTSD she’d heard so much about. Shed Brad and his group like a set of old, ragged clothes.
Trixie had been a delightful surprise. She wondered what they had in mind for her old platoon leader. She turned her attention to the task at hand.
The heavy tread of men’s steps sounded downstairs. “The best part of the evening, gentlemen.” It was Earl’s voice.
Laughter followed, a complex mix of lust and malice overlaid with a sprinkle of guilt.
Rainey’s stomach lit with anger.
The footsteps faded into silence. She waited five more seconds and nudged open the bathroom door. The hall was empty. Where might Earl’s lady lair be? The corridor stretched on both sides, with a set of double doors on each end. Probably one of those.
She headed left at a trot passing six rooms on each side. The doors were closed. She reached the end of the hallway and tested the gold-plated knob. The door slid open on well-oiled hinges.
Two amber lamps gave off a soft glow. They stood on elaborate marble end tables on either side of an enormous bed, twice the size of a king. She circled, studying the leopard chaise lounge, the matching sofas facing each other. An eighty-six-inch monitor dominated one wall. Soft music played from the speakers and images of softly colored mandalas changed like a kaleidoscope in the clarity of an OELD display. In the bathroom, soft beige tiles were accented with a lapis blue strip at shoulder level.
Very elegant. In fact, too elegant for Earl. His taste ran toward the garish. Plus, there was nothing personal about this room. It felt like a hotel room for the richest customer. The suite on the other end of the house, then.
Just as Rainey opened the door, the hallway filled with the voices of men and girls. Damn it, they were coming up the stairs.
“You’ll really love the rooms, girls,” Earl said, his voice high and excited. “We’ve got something for everyone.”
Rainey tiptoed up to a closet in the hall close by. Inside, she found cleaning equipment, plus just enough room to crouch. She closed the door just in time.
Earl’s voice grew louder. “Here’s the African safari room complete with the head of a lion my sons brought down.” Now Earl’s voice sound muffled. He must have bone into the room. “This is a genuine elephant tusk from the 11th century carved by Italian masters.”
She heard little feminine sounds of appreciation.
“Don’t get too rambunctious, Steve.”
Rainey pushed the door open just a crack so she could see. The CEO of one of the pharmaceutical companies escorted a wide-eyed brunette, probably around fourteen, into the room. “We won’t break anything, Mr. President.”
“Who likes France? This is a replica of a room from Louis XIV‘s Palace of Versailles.” Earl threw the door open so hard that it banged against the wall.
Several oohs and ahs issued from the group.
“Here’s a medieval castle straight from the time of King Arthur. And across from it, something a bit more modern. The Roaring Twenties, complete with a whole closet of dresses—what do they call this style?”
“Art Deco, Mr. President?” someone offered.
Most of the girls pushed forward to see. The men stayed behind them, watching, eager. Rainey was pinned down.
The tour continued. “Who walks like an Egyptian?” Earl asked, doing an impression of the old dance that these girls did not remember.
Earl reeled off the list of theme rooms, his explanations growing shorter. A Chinese room. Indian. “Here’s one from the Sixties, with tie-dye and lots of floor pillows, plus a hookah.” Earl’s voice was suggestive.
Rainey watched through the crack as two girls made their escape back down the stairs, but it seemed sadly that most were staying for the full experience. The group reached the end of the hall and Earl opened the double doors with a flourish. “An executive suite. Very exclusive.”
An older Arab man went in with a redhead on his arm. Rainey could only see her back. So, Earl’s playroom was on the other end of the hallway.
The group trooped past her hiding spot and Earl threw up his hands. “Go explore, girls. Find your dream room.”
The girls went off in a pack, opening doors, exclaiming over their discoveries. The men followed, waiting for one of them to linger a bit too long. Rainey could make out the back of Earl’s head, his black hair coiffed in a duck tail, tugging a young blonde behind him. He pulled her inside and the door closed.
She’d have to wait for the corridor to clear. She listened to the murmur of conversation. Ten more minutes passed.
Two more girls peeled off and ran down the stairway. They stood close enough for her to overhear.
“I don’t care if I get a part in a picture. I just can’t do this.”
Her friend grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here. It’s safer downstairs.”
Good choice, Rainey thought.
At last all the doors had closed. Some strains of music floated though one along with little squeals. Rainey opened the closet door and streaked down the hall. As she moved, she heard a muted scream. The double doors at the end were each decorated with elaborate borders and large E’s carved in the middle.
She tried to turn the handle, but it didn’t budge.
“No, Mr. President, please,” she heard from behind the locked door.
“Don’t be rude. You came in here with me.”
Rainey looked around for something to force the lock. The hallway was clear. She fumbled in her pockets for her lock picks, but didn’t find them. They must have fallen out in the struggle with Brad. She searched her hair and pockets, looking for a pin or a straight edge to stick into the lock.
Nothing.
She pulled the plastic container with the syringe out of her pocket. The top had cracked but the needle was still in tack. Thank heaven for small miracles. She couldn’t risk it on the door, though.
“Please don’t,” the girl pleaded.
“I can do anything I want. I’m the King. King of America. King of Israel.”
“No,” came a loud shout.
“Oh, hold still. You know you came up here for this.”
Rainey tried the door again, then pushed her shoulders against it. The sturdy wood held. Rainey swung the scythe down on the lock, but the door held.
Then the real screams started. High and shrill. The screams of a frightened child.
Rainey ran down the hall and picked up a rock statue of the Buddha. With a grunt, she lifted it and loped back as fast as she could.
“I apologize,” she whispered to the Buddha, then swung the statue back and forth a few times, picking up momentum, then smashed into the knob.
It broke. She pushed the door open.
She was momentarily stunned by the gold—gold curtains, gold wallpaper, gold trimmed chairs, a gold dresser—all reflected by the mirrored ceiling. In front of her stood a massive bed surrounded by four oversized gold pillars elaborately carved. On the bed, a waif struggled against restraints, tears running down her mascara-streaked face. Earl stood naked beside her, pontificating. He shouted so loud that he had noticed her entrance.
“I’m going to win again. My associates will assure it. Then I’ll be president for life.”
Earl’s face, normally white as a snow drop, was a fiery red, his speech somewhat slurred.
The girl sobbed, shaking her head back and forth.
Closing the door behind her, Rainey glanced at the table under one of the mirrors next to the wall. A small mound of white powder sat there on yet another mirrored surface .
“Here I come.” Earl jumped up on the bed and crawled on all fours until he loomed over the girl.
Her scream pierced Rainey’s heart.
Earl laughed. “Oh, I love a girl with spirit. But if you talk, I’ll kill you and your family.”
Then the girl saw Rainey. Her eyes went wide. “Help! Help!”
Earl turned around, his face an alarming purple. His eyes bulged. “You again! You were at the back of the banquet.”
He scrambled off the bed and lunged toward Rainey.
Who are you?” He reached for her mask, but she stepped back.
She grabbed the Makarov pistol.
“You’re the Angel of Death, but you—” He charged her, pinning her arms.
Rainey brought both arms up to break the hold, but the old man was stronger than he looked. He knocked the pistol away.
The girl on the bed struggled to get free.
Rainey brought her knee up between Earl’s legs.
He howled and let her go. Then hit Rainey in the jaw. “How dare you? I’m the best president.”
Rainey punched him in the face.
He fell back.
Rainey pulled the plastic container out of her pocket and took out the syringe.
“I’m going to rule the world. I’m gon rul furev…” Earl stopped and grabbed his left arm.
Rainey retrieved the pistol and, with her other hand, aimed it at his head. She hoped he’d put his hands up, but he just smiled and said, “Angel of Death. You can’t haf me.”
Then his face twisted. He let out an agonized cry. He grabbed at the bedpost, but missed. Tried to speak, but only choking sounds came out.
Rainey took a step toward him.
He struggled for breath. Reached a hand toward her, his face pleading for help.
Rainey watched carefully, gun still trained on him.
He looked up into the air and pointed toward the ceiling. A look of wonder came over his face. “Do you see?”
“Yes,” Rainey said. “It’s real. Go ahead.”
Now he reached for the light that only he could see. Earl took a last sharp inhale. His body went rigid and his eyes glazed over. He fell to the floor.
The girl in the bed pushed herself up on an elbow, straining against the handcuffs. They both stared at the heap at the bottom of the bed.
Rainey waited half a minute, gun still pointed.
He didn’t move.
She returned the syringe to its case and shoved it into her pocket.
“What happened?” the girl whispered.
Rainey bent down and placed two fingers on Earl’s neck.
No pulse.
“He had a heart attack,” Rainey answered.
The girl’s lip quivered. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Rainey took off her mask.
The girl looked surprised.
“Let’s get you out of those.” Rainey saw a glint of silver on the table beside the cocaine and walked over. Keys to the cuffs. She retrieved them and unhooked the girl’s hands.
The girl started to cry in earnest.
Rainey wiped her prints off the keys, then untied the velvet ropes holding her ankles. She took the child in her arms. “It’s all right. You can cry now.”
She sobbed into Rainey’s shoulder for a full minute, then pushed back. Looked up at her. “Thank you for saving me.”
“You’re welcome. What’s your name?”
“Grace,” she said in a quavering voice.
Rainey’s breath caught. What could be more perfect?
“Grace Jones, ma’am.”
“Where are your clothes, Grace?”
She waved her hands toward the bathroom, avoiding looking at Earl’s body.
Rainey fetched the pile from the bathroom floor. She grabbed a clean washcloth and ran it under warm water. She washed the mascara off Grace’s face, then handed her clothes to her. “Let’s get you dressed and out of here.”
Grace sorted out her Halloween fairy outfit and started to put it on.
“It’s important that nobody knows I was here, Grace,” Rainey said.
She paused, eyes wide. “Why?”
“Well, this man was the president and I had a gun. If his people found that out, they might think I came to hurt him. They’d come for me.”
“Oh, no,” Grace said. “Will they come for me, too?”
“No, sweetie. We’ll get you out of here before anyone finds him.”
Grace pulled her tights up and stood.
“Shoes?”
“Oh.” Grace pushed her feet into ballet slippers that had been discarded beside of the bed.
“Now, I know this is hard, but it’s best if you don’t tell anyone about me. Not even your parents. I apologize for having to ask.”
“My father left. Mother drinks.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK. I thought I could be a movie star, but—” She shook her head, pushing back sobs.
“You will be amazing no matter what you decide to do. Just look what you survived tonight.”
Grace looked up at Rainey, her blue eyes clouded with doubt.
Rainey lifted the girl’s chin. “I know it.”
“Thank you.”
“Do what is in your heart.”
Grace nodded.
“Now, let’s get you downstairs. Can you walk past Earl?”
She nodded. “He was mean.”
“Yes, he was.”
Rainey pushed the door open. She used the washcloth to wipe her fingerprints off the doorknob. She’d already wiped the keys. She hadn’t touched anything else in the room.
Using the cloth, she picked up the Buddha statue she’d used to break the lock and wiped it clean. She returned it halfway down the hall, her other hand holding fast to Grace’s. Sounds of grunting, laughter, and crying drifted from the other rooms as they headed to the stairs.
“This place is awful,” Grace said.
“Yes, it is.”
Rainey slipped on her mask halfway down the stairs. When they reached the ground floor, they saw the party had thinned out. In the back room, a group of young girls and some boys danced with each other. Two Secret Service agents stood watch. It all looked innocent.
“Thank you. Will I ever see you again?” Grace asked.
“You might not see me, but I’ll check on you from time to time.”
“Good.”
Rainey squeezed her hand. “Now, go on.”
Grace straightened up, her head high, and walked into the room.
“Gracie,” came a little cry from the buffet room. Two girls ran out and hugged her. “We were worried.”
“I escaped,” she said.
“Good. This is awful. Let’s go down to the pool. Nobody’s down there.” The three girls walked toward the steps to the outside.
From the hallway, Rainey looked around. Neither of the agents had noticed her. She supposed they were sleepy. She wondered that they hadn’t responded to Earl’s cries, but then there had been lots of screaming and crying in this house tonight. What a job to have to witness such wrongdoings and be sworn to protect the criminal.