Hello, Darkness (35 page)

“I hang out in here sometimes.” She cracked a peanut shell between her teeth and daintily ate the nuts. “Before the Sex Club starts gathering.” She dropped the shell onto the floor and dusted off her hands. “You don’t exactly blend either.”

“I think we were destined to see each other again.”

“Cool,” she said.

Makeup had been slathered on to make her look legally old enough to drink. Either the bartender was fooled or, more likely, didn’t care that she was underage. He served the tequila shots that Brad had ordered.

“What shall we drink to?”

She rolled her large, dark eyes toward the ceiling as though the answer might be written in the chemically polluted layer of smoke that hovered there. “How about body piercing?”

Leaning forward, he whispered, “I get hard just thinking about it.” He clinked his glass to hers and simultaneously they tossed back the fiery liquor.

This was so damn easy, he thought. Didn’t mothers warn their daughters against talking to strangers anymore? Didn’t they tell them never, ever to go with a man they didn’t know? What was the world coming to? It made him afraid for his daughters.

But thinking about his family killed the mood, so he tucked thoughts of them safely away and ordered another round of tequila shots.

After that one they agreed to leave. He smiled smugly as they passed the pool tables. He was the envy of tough guys with tattoos on their arms and knives attached to their thick leather belts. He’d been successful where apparently they had not. Maybe because his hair was clean.

“It’s Melissa, right?” he asked as he held the car door open for her.

Her glossy red lips smiled over his remembering her name. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve got a room.”

“Super.”

Ridiculously easy.

Coming out this evening wasn’t a wise thing to do, but he couldn’t have stayed cooped up another minute or he would have gone crazy. He couldn’t return home. Toni had been calling his cell phone at fifteen-minute intervals all day, begging him to come back. The police only wanted to talk to him, she said.
Right,
he thought.
They want to talk to me through iron bars.

He hadn’t answered his phone and he hadn’t called her, knowing that the police had probably set up a system of tracking his cell by satellite. The discovery of Janey’s body didn’t bode well for him. News reports had said that an autopsy was being conducted. Hearing that had nearly sent him over the edge.

He’d fretted, stewed, paced, lambasted his wife for not understanding him, and Janey for being a cock teaser he couldn’t resist, even his mother, who’d punished him severely for masturbating when he was little.

Truthfully, he didn’t remember such a time, but psychologists had asked him during therapy sessions if he’d been so punished and he’d said yes because that seemed to be the expected and accepted explanation for his sexual preoccupation.

As the news reports went from bad to worse, actually including his name in them, his anxiety increased. He had tried to distract himself by looking at his pornographic magazines, reading the letters and “true” experiences submitted by subscribers. But soon familiarity had made them boring. Besides, his craving wasn’t going to be satisfied vicariously.

He was aroused and needed relief. With the pressure he’d been under recently, who could blame him? He resolved that if relief wasn’t going to come looking for him, he would have to go looking for it.

Now he’d found it.

“This isn’t the car you were in the other night,” Melissa remarked as she punched through radio stations until she found one playing a thrumming rap song.

The police would’ve spotted his car, so he had called and ordered one from a rental place that delivered. Not a chain outfit that required all kinds of documentation, but one that, according to their yellow pages ad, would take cash. That signaled to Brad a business that was light on rules and regulations. The only amenity promised was a working air conditioner in all their cars.

While waiting for it to arrive, he’d showered and dressed, splashed on the Aramis, and put a supply of condoms in his pants pocket.

As anticipated, the man who delivered the car looked as if his next stop might be a 7-Eleven store he could rob. Brad flashed him his driver’s license and filled out a form with false information. He’d counted out the required deposit and added ten bucks for a tip. The man spoke only limited English and didn’t seem to care one way or the other what day Brad promised to return the ten-year-old car to their lot.

“Had we met before?” Melissa asked him now. “Before the other night, I mean. You look familiar.”

“I’m a famous movie star.”

“That must be it,” she said, giggling.

To distract her from that train of thought, he said, “Do you always look this sensational?”

“You think?”

Actually she looked like a whore. The dyed hair was spiked stiffer and higher than it had been the other night. Outside the dimness of the bar, her makeup looked even more garish. Her halter top was made of some flimsy fabric through which he could see her dangling silver nipple ring. Most table napkins were larger than her skirt.

In short, she was asking for it. She should thank him for saving her from being gang-banged by the rednecks in the bar.

He drew her eyes down to his lap. “See what you’re doing to me.”

She assessed the distention behind his trousers, then said, “Is that the best you can do?” and leaned back against the passenger door. She idly brushed her fingertips across the nipple with the ring piercing it.

The girl knew her stuff. His erection stretched. “I can’t watch you and drive.”

She gave the nipple ring a teasing yank.

He groaned. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

“But you’ll die happy.”

He reached across the console and slid his hand beneath her skirt, felt the scratch of lace against his fingers, then worked his way past it.

“Hmm. Right there.” Melissa closed her eyes. “Don’t get stopped for speeding. At least not till after I come.”

Gavin was waiting outside the CIB when Dean, Paris, and Sergeant Curtis emerged. His hope was riding on Lancy Ray Fisher. He shot to his feet, asking, “Was he the guy?”

“We don’t know yet,” his dad told him. “Sergeant Curtis is going to keep him here, ask him some more questions.”

Paris glanced at her wristwatch. “If it’s no trouble, I’d like to stop at my house before going to the station. I ran out in such a rush this morning.”

“I’ll drive you and drop Gavin at home on the way,” Dean said. “We’ll have our cell phones on, Curtis. If anything happens—”

“I’ll call right away,” he assured them. “I’m going to lean on Lancy Ray.”

“With all due respect, I don’t believe he’s Valentino,” Paris said.

The detective nodded. Gavin thought he looked very tired. A blond bristle had begun to sprout from his pink cheeks. “I’m still partial to Dr. Armstrong,” he told them, “but I’m not ready to give up on Lancy Fisher just yet. I’ll be in touch.”

They were turning toward the elevators when Curtis spoke Gavin’s name. His first thought was,
What now?
But he said, “Yes, sir?”

“I’m sorry I had to put you through that today. I know it wasn’t any fun.”

“It’s okay,” he said, not really meaning it. It hadn’t been okay at all. He’d hated being made to feel guilty when he wasn’t. “I hope you find out who did that to Janey. I should’ve told you from the beginning that she and I were in her car. But I was afraid you’d think, well, what you thought. I guess she met whoever killed her after she got rid of me.”

“It appears that way. Are you absolutely certain she never mentioned who she was meeting afterward? A name? Occupation?”

“I’m positive.”

“Well, thanks,” Curtis said. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

His dad nudged him toward the elevators and they left. Gavin sat in the backseat on the way home. Nobody said much, each seemed lost in his own thoughts. When they reached the house, a patrol car with two officers inside it was already parked out front. Inwardly Gavin groaned. He’d had his fill of policemen today. If he never saw one again—except his dad—it would be too soon.

“I don’t need baby-sitters, Dad. Or am I still grounded?”

“You’re grounded, but the cops are for your protection. They stay until Valentino is caught.”

“He’s not gonna—”

“I’m not taking any chances, Gavin. Besides, the guards are Curtis’s mandate, not mine.”

“You could call them off if you wanted to.”

“I don’t want to. All right?” When his dad was wearing that face, the argument was over. He nodded grudgingly. Then his dad reached over the seat and laid his hand on his shoulder. “I was proud of the way you conducted yourself today.”

“At the risk of sounding patronizing, so was I, Gavin,” Paris told him.

“Thanks.”

“Call my cell immediately if anything happens. Promise me you will.”

“I promise, Dad.” He climbed out. “’Bye, Paris.”

“’Bye. See you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

He shuffled up the walkway. They didn’t pull away until he had let himself in. Unlike his mom and dad, the two of them looked right together. He sorta hoped it would work out between them.

He waved at them from the front door before shutting and bolting it, effectively becoming his own jailer.

“Penny for them.”

Paris looked across at Dean. “My thoughts? I was thinking about Toni Armstrong. I feel for her. I like her.”

“So do I. Brave lady.”

“I think she loves her husband. Deeply. Under the circumstances, that must be very conflicting.” Curious, she asked, “From a clinical standpoint, when is a person considered a sex addict?”

“Tricky question.”

“I’m sure you can address it, Dr. Malloy.”

“All right. If a guy gets twelve hard-ons in a day, I’d congratulate him and probably urge him to try for thirteen. If he
acts
on twelve hard-ons in a day, I’d say that’s a little excessive and we could have a problem.”

“You’re being facetious.”

“Somewhat, but there’s a basis of truth.” His grin relaxed and he became serious. “Sex can become an addiction like anything else can. When the compulsion outweighs common sense and caution. When the activity begins to have a negative effect on one’s work, family life, relationships. When it becomes the governing force and the exclusive means of personal gratification.”

He glanced at her, and with a nod she prompted him to continue. “It’s the same point at which a social drinker becomes an alcoholic. The individual loses control over the craving. Conversely, the craving gains control over the individual.”

“Like making him willing to sacrifice a wife and family to get his thrills.”

“That doesn’t mean that Brad Armstrong doesn’t love his wife,” he said. “He probably does.”

Reflecting on that, she stared through the front windshield. Even behind her sunglasses, she had to squint against the setting sun, which was doing a bang-up job of it. She wondered what Judge and Marian Kemp were doing just now. This spectacular sunset would go unnoticed by them.

“They have a funeral to arrange.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean said.

“Thinking out loud. About the Kemps now.”

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I can’t imagine how devastating it would be to lose a child. I’ve counseled cops who did, but to my own ears, every word I said to them sounded like so much crap. If anything happened to Gavin…” He stopped, as though unable to articulate the dreadful thought. Then he said quietly, “I want to be a good parent to him, Paris.”

“I know.”

“Because of my own dad.”

“I know that, too.”

“How much did Jack tell you?”

“Enough.”

He had told her that Dean’s relationship with his father had been volatile. Mr. Malloy had a fierce temper, and Dean usually caught the brunt of it. Sometimes his dad’s rages had turned violent.

“Did your father beat you, Dean?” she asked.

“He could give me a hard time, yeah.”

“Is that a gross understatement?”

He shrugged with an indifference she knew was phony. “I could take his shit,” he said. “When he started in on my mom, that’s what I couldn’t take.”

According to Jack, the defining incident had taken place when Dean’s parents visited him for homecoming weekend his sophomore year at Texas Tech. During a party at the fraternity house, Dean’s father had picked an argument with him. Dean tried to ignore it, but his father became increasingly vituperative and wouldn’t be put off.

His mother, embarrassed for her son, tried to intervene. That’s when Dean’s father began disparaging her. His words were humiliating and cruel. Heedless of his friends and the other parents looking on, Dean took up the banner for his mother. His dad threw a punch. Before it was over, Dean was straddling Mr. Malloy’s chest and, in Jack’s words, “pounding the shit out of him.”

After that night their relationship became even more antagonistic, and it remained so until his father died.

“I went a little crazy that time at Tech,” he said now. “I’d never been like that before, and I haven’t lost my temper like that since. If Jack and some of the others guys hadn’t pulled me off him, I might have killed him. I wanted to kill him.

“I hated like hell that it happened, because of the embarrassment to my mom. But at least it made the old man think twice before he lit into her again, especially if I was around.” He glanced at Paris; she’d never seen him look as vulnerable. “But it scared the hell out of me, Paris. I can’t even describe it. A red rage? It consumed me, blotting out everything else.

“My dad launched into fits like that all the time. That night I learned that whatever caused him to be the way he was, it’s inside me, too. It came out that once. I live in fear of it happening again.”

Reaching across the console, she laid her hand on his arm. “He provoked you in the meanest way. You reacted. But that doesn’t mean that you have this latent rage that can ignite in an instant. You’re not like him, Dean,” she said with emphasis. “You never were and never could be.

“As for Gavin, it’s allowed to get angry with him. Kids anger and disappoint and make their folks crazy. That’s what they do. It’s inherent in being a kid. And it’s all right for you to get mad at him when he does.

“In fact, Gavin might doubt that you love him if you didn’t get mad at him. He needs to know you care enough to get angry. He’s going to test you often, just to reassure himself that you still care.” Then she laughed. “Listen to me. You’re the psychologist and the parent. I’m neither.”

“Everything you’re saying is right, though, and I need to hear it.”

She smiled at him gently. “As long as you praise him at least as much, if not more, than you punish him, you’ll be fine.”

He mulled it over for a moment, then winked at her. “Smart as well as beautiful. You’re a dangerous woman, Paris.”

“Oh yeah, that’s me. A regular femme fatale.”

“Maybe that’s what attracted Lancy Ray Fisher. Your element of mystery appealed to his criminal instinct.”

She rolled her eyes. “He wants my job.”

“So he says.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“If he is, he’s convincing. He’s either sincere or a damn good con artist.”

“That was my impression, too.”

“What’s it like to be someone’s idol?”

She gave him a sad smile. “I don’t recommend that anyone pattern his life after mine.”

Just then his cell phone rang. He answered it with one hand. “Malloy…Huh, speak of the devil. No, Paris and I were just talking about him.” He mouthed
Curtis
and she nodded.

“What about Lancy’s home away from home?” He listened for a moment, then said, “Probably not a bad idea.” Curtis had more to tell him, then Dean signed off with, “Okay, stay in touch.”

After disconnecting, he updated Paris. “He ‘drilled Lancy Ray good,’ is the way Curtis put it. But Lancy is sticking to his story.”

Officers sent to the apartment where he had been holed up reported that Lancy had been there, but it didn’t appear that anyone else had.

“No sign of Janie being held captive there?” Paris asked.

“None. No amateur photo lab. Nothing naughtier than one issue of
Playboy.
So Curtis is hotter than ever for the dentist. He’s about to have a heart-to-heart with Toni Armstrong.”

“Hmm, what a dilemma for her. On the one hand, she wants her husband apprehended so he can get help, but on the other, she’s incriminating him.”

“He incriminated himself.”

“I know that. I’m thinking as she will. She loves him and wants him to be healed, but if he’s beyond healing, how long can she be expected to stand by her man?”

“Good question, Paris.”

Too late she realized that what she had said about Toni Armstrong could apply to herself.

Dean pulled his car to a stop at the curb in front of her house. Cutting the engine, he turned to face her, ready to speak, but she cut him off before he could.

“Jack needed me.”

“
I
need you.”

“Hardly in the same way.”

“That’s right. You were with him out of obligation. I want you to choose to be with me.” He held her stare for several seconds, then pushed open his car door and got out.

As they went up the walkway, she stopped to collect her mail, which had been neglected for the last two days. Once they were inside the house, she tossed the bundle onto the entry table. “Lord knows when I’ll get to that. My desk at work is even—”

That was all she had time to say before Dean pulled her into his arms and kissed her. While doing so, he removed her sunglasses and dropped them on the table. Then he embraced her tightly, drawing her up against him. Immediately responsive, her arms slid beneath his to encircle his torso. She dug her fingertips into the muscles of his back.

As his mouth fused with hers, he gathered up the fabric of her skirt until he could stroke her bare thigh. Her insides melted, but she pulled her mouth free of his kiss, gasping, “Dean, I’ve only got an hour.”

“Then that’ll be a record for us. So far our sexual encounters have lasted no longer than three minutes.” He buried his face in her hair. “This time, I want to see you naked.”

Laughing deep in her throat, she moved her head against his. “What if you don’t like what you see?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

He pushed his hands into her panties and gripped her ass. She made a low sound of pleasure but the voice of reason was louder. “What if Curtis calls?”

“I’ve learned to live with disappointment. But all the more reason for us to get busy.”

Taking her by the hand, he walked purposefully toward the bedroom, dragging her along behind him. A girlish giggle bubbled up from Paris’s chest. Her heart began to race. She felt terribly wicked and wonderfully, gloriously alive.

Dean was laughing, too, as he dealt with the stubborn fabriccovered buttons on her top. “Damn these things.”

She was more deft. His shirt was soon open and she pressed a kiss against the warm skin just below his left nipple, feeling his heart beating against her lips.

Finally having succeeded with the buttons, he removed her top and unclasped the front fastener of her brassiere. Then his hands were on her, kneading her breasts with his strong fingers.

She watched his face as he looked down at her. His expression was at once passionate and tender as he saw her nipples responding to the glancing touches of his fingertips. His eyes met hers for barely a second before he dipped his head and took one into his mouth.

She unbuckled his belt and lowered his zipper, then worked her hand into the waistband of his underwear. He was velvety smooth, hard, throbbing with life. She rolled her thumb across his glans and he shuddered.

“Paris, stop,” he said, stepping out of her reach. “If you…You can’t do that. I’ll come. And I want this to last.”

She shrugged off her bra, then reached behind her to unfasten her skirt, pushed it past her hips, and stepped out of it. Feverishly, his eyes moved over her. In one swift motion, he removed his slacks and underwear. She gazed at him with frank appreciation, but when she reached for him again, he staved her off.

Then he dropped to his knees and kissed her through the silk bikini. His hands splayed over her bottom as he held her against his face. The heat and moisture of his breath filtering through the fabric made her weak. He kissed her again. And again. She closed her eyes and used his shoulders to brace herself.

Then the silk seemed to dissolve because the barrier was no longer there. His lips were hot and quick on her a heartbeat before she felt his tongue, separating and seeking and stroking. She gave herself over to the pleasure, and it was immense.

But she retained enough control to beg him to stop when it became critical. He came to his feet and enfolded her in his arms. They held one another tightly, her breasts crushed against his chest, his sex making a deep impression in the softness of her belly.

Finally, they lay down face-to-face on her bed, virgin until now. Her hand coasted over his torso, down past his navel, and into the dense hair surrounding his sex. She drew her finger up the length of his penis. He covered her hand with his and guided it up and down. “Jesus,” he groaned.

“I can’t quite believe this is happening.”

“Me neither.” He kissed her nipple, caressed it with his tongue. “I keep thinking that I’ll wake up.”

“If you do, please leave me in the dream.”

He separated her legs and positioned himself between them, then entered her by degrees, giving her body time to accommodate him, pausing to test each new sensation before pressing deeper, until he was sheathed snugly and completely inside her.

Soaked in pleasure, they kept from moving as long as they could endure it, but it only got better when he withdrew, then thrust into her.

Chapter Thirty-One

D
ean shook water from his ear as he raised his cell phone to it. “Malloy.”

“Curtis.”

“What’s up?”

“What’s that noise?”

“The shower,” Dean replied, turning to wink at Paris, who was rinsing the shampoo from her hair. Head thrown back, soapy water streaming over her breasts and funneling between her legs. God, she was gorgeous.

“You’re showering?”