As Fate Would Have It (8 page)

Chapter 19

An hour and a half later, Rye stood in the living room, impatiently waiting for Brie's appearance from the bathroom. Luckily, Marla lived close and was even home when Gary called. They had the whole outfit in hand within thirty minutes. The last hour whittled away as Brie prepared.
This isn't the prom. Not like the johns would care if her hair curled just right or not.
He glanced at his watch for the tenth time.

"Brie! We have to go! Quit stalling!" He couldn't help but grin wickedly to himself, even considering the situation. Knowing her, she would be busily fussing with the bustier top, pulling frantically to cover her Wonder Bra supported breasts. Failing at that, she would grumble and cuss as she tugged on the mini skirt, trying to get the split to lie in a safe area. No matter how much she worked at it, the results would be the same.

The door creaked open quietly as she poked her head out. Finding him, she wrinkled her brow. "You laugh and it's the last thing you do!" Biting her lip, she pulled at the top once more before stepping out into the hall.

Damn.
Even without the heels on, she took his breath away. Leather clung to her curves like a wet bikini. The bra sure did wonders. Definitely a good two cup sizes bigger. Cleavage stood proud and apparent. No way could anyone miss that. In fact, if she breathed too hard, they might succeed at their bid for freedom. The miniskirt barely covered her ass, the slit along the side cut almost to the waist. In a stiff breeze, that flimsy piece would more than likely let every eye watching have their fill. Her blonde locks fell loosely down her back, curls pulled to the side with combs.

He felt his libido jump to attention. His mind raced through the possibilities.
Her in that outfit, bent over the kitchen table…

Groaning, he fought for control. Two thoughts came to mind. One, he would never forget the image before him. Two, he needed looser jeans.

"Well?" Brie stood before him, gnawing on her bottom lip. Her nervous habit he realized.

With one last sharp rein to his passion, he held up her shoes. "I think you will attract every man in the county tonight." The words came out soft and gruff.

Unable to help herself, she jerked the bodice once more. "I still don't know how I let you talk me into this madness." She followed him to the entryway, taking the shoes from his hands, and setting them on the floor.

"Pink bikinis."

"Oh, yeah." Bending over, she slipped her foot into the right heel.

Rye leaned down a bit, preparing to see a tiny bit of heaven on earth. "What in the hell? What kind of panties are those?"

Standing up quickly, Brie took exception. "Mine!" Her arms waved to keep balance with one shoe on. Her voice and face took on that expression of woman quickly barreling toward pissed off mode.

"Babe, you have to look the part. Those granny panties aren't it." He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning down at her. Here he expected some butt floss, not these ugly things.

Her back straightened, chest pushed out. "I can't help it."

Prying his eyes off her enhanced bosom, he tilted his head in question. "I know you have sexier panties. You aren't wearing those because…?"

The bright blossom of red spread rapidly over her face and down into her chest. He wondered if that same blushing would happen as she climaxed beneath him, his body hard and heavy, buried deeply.

The light bulb flickered on. "Oh, hell. No wonder you've been chewing my ass lately."

Bending over, she stuffed her left foot into the shoe, jerking the strap in frustration to fasten it. Having done that, she stood back up, pinning Rye with her icy glare. A false sweet smile crossed her lips. "Oh, that has nothing to do with it. You would drive the Pope to violence."

Watching her flounce out the door to the garage, Rye mumbled under his breath, "Those johns won't know what hit them." With a small head shake, he shut the door behind him.

Chapter 20

"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 had 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, brat. 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 wisping 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 sat 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 and a cheap purchase recently. 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 not permissible 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 immersed 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.

* * * *

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?" The 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 killer.

"So, stud muffin, you done this before?" She took a cautious step toward him, willing herself not to hyperventilate at his mere proximity. A 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 are 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 are 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 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 for 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 are 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 maleness 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 apparent serial killer.