Killing Bliss (33 page)

He thought of Sandra, lying on their bed, a marble figure, supine on his altar of suffering. Less than a minute. After all the pain, the endless years, it had taken less than a minute to rid himself of her forever.

She'd be angry if she knew how easy it was.

At the thought of Sandra's rage, a bolt of pure terror coursed through him... a remembered reflex.

Sandra was dead, bloodied, twisted, and dead. And dead was forever.

He calmed himself, his brief wave of fear beaten back by a wild, heart-stopping thrill at what he'd done. He closed his eyes, savored it, and replayed the finale. So simple really. His hands, strong and capable, wrapped around her spindly throat.

Snap.

Maybe he shouldn't have cut her first, but it had seemed right, slashing with the blade where she'd so often lashed him with her vicious tongue or the rawhide crop she kept in her bottom drawer. He might have used his new gun if he'd remembered to bring it in the house. No, the knife was a good choice for Sandra. Bullets were too impersonal.

He again rotated his bloodstained hands. In the light of the windshield, they looked mottled and greasy like the hands of the mechanic who changed the oil in his car. Dirty.

He reached into the glove compartment, shoved the gun aside, and took out the antiseptic wipes Sandra insisted he use regularly. He wiped his hands and face carefully before picking up his cell and placing his call.

It was time to set things in motion. Finish his old life and begin his new one with Linda Curl. She'd be so proud of him when she knew what he'd done for her, for them.

He gave the room number to the front desk operator and waited for Bliss to pick up, his hand stroking the bloodied knife on the seat next to him.

"Yeah?" The voice was gruff, edged with sleep.

"Frank?" he said, his voice and mind now filled with a lucid calm. "Grover here, I have some news about Vanelleto." Thanks to his dear friend Susan Moore. She'd promised to keep him informed and she had. He'd always liked Susan. It really was too bad about her grandson. Such a pretty little boy with that mop of curly hair, that smile—

"What news?"

The abrupt question pulled him back from his reverie. "He's meeting Addilene in the morning. He intends to be there before you and Beauty arrive." He ran the index finger of his right hand along the knife blade, so soothing.

"Son of a bitch means to take me out." He followed the statement with a string of curses. "And where the hell are they meeting?"

Grover smiled. "A place called Star Lake Resort, about a two, maybe three-hour drive northeast of Seattle. No doubt the front desk can give you specific directions. Probably best you move quickly."

"Yeah." He hung up.

Grover clicked off, peered through the rain at the brightly lit hotel entry, then rested his head on the car's headrest. His plan was flawless.

Bliss would take care of Vanelleto, then Grover would take care of... everyone else.

It was past time to be free of them all.

* * *

Beauty woke with her hand clutching an empty wine bottle, trying to make sense of the thumping on her door. When she sat up, the bottle rolled to the floor.

Thump. Thump.

She tried to clear her head, make sense of it, stared dumbly at the door to her suite.

"Beauty," he said, his voice a harsh, commanding whisper against the door. "Get the hell up. We're out of here."

Bliss.

She took her head in her hands, made a vise to enclose the ache.

"I've been phoning you for half an hour," he went on, his voice irritated and low. "You die in there?"

"Go away." She got out of bed, then sat on its edge, her heart beating wildly, driven by the fear blowing in with Bliss's voice.

"I am going away, baby, to a place called Star Lake. Ever heard of it?"

Every nerve in her stilled, then spiked as she digested his words.

He couldn't know, he couldn't.

She stumbled toward the door, pressed her ear against it, then said, "How do you know about Star Lake?"

"I know everything I need to know, whore." His voice dropped, grew even colder. "Like how you've been running me around, setting me up for Vanelleto."

"I wasn't—"

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed. "And get out here. We're hitting the road. No way is Vanelleto getting there before me."

She didn't move, didn't speak, concentrated on clearing her head, getting a grip. Only one thought was clear, she could not let Bliss reach Star Lake before Gus.

"Open the door."

She'd die in the damn room before she opened a bedroom door to Bliss in the middle of the night. Being a hooker didn't make her stupid. "No. I don't think so." Her mind whirled, settled on her one chance. "Besides, if you know where you're going, you sure as hell don't need me." She'd let Bliss go—which she had no doubt he'd do if it meant getting the better of Gus—and when the coast was clear, she'd head for Star Lake on her own. She'd use the old road, beat him there, no problem.

"Now that's where you're wrong, Beauty, I do need you. You're going to be my star, play a big part in some entertainment I've got planned for your boyfriend—a little live sex show where I fuck you stupid before I cut his damn balls off."

Beauty's bones turned to rubber, and her mouth went so dry she couldn't speak.

"And think about this, bitch. If you don't get your butt out here now, there's a better than even chance I'll call the boys in blue, tell them there's a street slut working out of the hotel, maybe give them a heads up about a certain unsolved murder sittin' on their books." He paused. "Then again, maybe I'd call a buddy of mine in San Fran, have him look up your friend Lisa. You remember Lisa, don't you?" He rapped twice on the door. Rhythmically. Softly. "Your choice," he whispered.

Her heart dropped like a stone. "You're a sick pig, Bliss."

"Ain't I just. Now move that fancy ass of yours."

"The lobby"—she rubbed her forehead, managed to keep her voice level—"fifteen minutes."

"Make it ten. And leave that toy gun of yours under the mattress. I picked up one of my own, and—trust me—it's a whole lot bigger than yours."

When she heard him cross the hall, close his door, she went immediately to the phone beside her bed and dialed.

It rang, and rang... and rang.

"Be there, be there." she chanted. She had to warn Addy, tell her to get to Gus, tell him about Bliss.

Beauty looked up at the ceiling. "Answer the phone, Addy. Please. Please." She waited, rocking herself on the edge of the bed, her head pounding, her flesh snow-cold. "Answer the goddamn phone. It's the middle of the night. Where the hell are you?"

She slammed the receiver down, worked to ease some air into her constricted lungs. Her voice was weak when she murmured, this time in a plaintive whisper, "Dear God, where are you, Wart? I need you. I need Gus."

She didn't want to think about a three-hour drive with Bliss in the middle of the night, especially now. Now that he knew where Gus was, he didn't need her. Could do what he liked with her...

After two more fruitless tries to reach Addy, she went to the bathroom, splashed water on her ashen face and pulled herself together as best she could. She'd have to handle this on her own.

Staring at her image in the mirror, she said, "You're back to Plan A, Beauty girl, which means somewhere along the road to Star Lake, you have to kill Bliss."

Chapter 22

Grover didn't have to wait long. Less than twenty minutes after his call, Bliss and the girl came out of the hotel. The parking valet, dozing in a chair inside the double glass doors of the hotel, snapped to attention, and Dianna—he really must remember to call her Beauty—fumbled in her purse, then gave him what he assumed was her parking pass.

The boy was back in double time, held the driver's side door open, and held out the keys to Beauty, but it was Bliss who took them from his hand.

When Beauty tried to snatch back the keys, she stumbled and almost fell. Bliss opened the passenger door and forced her in, smiling and shaking his head at the valet as he did so.

They drove off as the boy watched, shaking his head.

Good. They were on their way.

Grover settled in behind them, his innocuous gray Honda a trail of smoke behind the brilliant red Lexus.

* * *

Cade woke to rain and darkness outside his window, Addy's head on his biceps, and his arm dead asleep. She groaned when he shifted his position, then her eyes flew open as if he'd prodded her with a hot poker.

"What time is it?" she demanded, looking as if she still didn't have her bearings but intended to get them—fast. She answered her own question. "It's almost two." She leaped from the bed, wondrously naked, and scrounged the floor for her clothes.

He reached out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her, tumbling, across him. "What's the hurry?" He nuzzled her neck, tried to ignore an erection that was looking for a whole lot more than a neck nuzzle. He pressed it to her naked thigh.

She blinked when he let her go. "You want more sex?" She sounded stunned, but not negative. "You're... what's that word? Insays... something."

"Insatiable. Describes my condition exactly." She didn't look as if the idea displeased her. Actually, she looked damn smug. "But it's not only 'more sex' I want." He smoothed the uneven shafts of her brown hair off her forehead.

She relaxed against him, ran a curious index finger along the morning stubble on his chin. "What do you want?"

"More you. A lot more you."

"Like in what way?" She gave him a curious look, leery but fascinated.

"Like in forever." The word hovering in his mind for the past few days claimed the room, filled it with quiet.

She tensed, but didn't push away. "You don't know what you're saying. You're just drunk on easy sex."

He let the easy part go. There was nothing easy about Addy. "If that's how you see it, I've got my work cut out for me to prove otherwise."

She didn't answer, and when she pushed to get up, he let her, but instead of getting to her feet, she sat on the edge of his bed. He could hear the waves of her breath in the night-quiet room.

The room was chilly, so he lifted the quilt to cover her naked back. "Cade," she said. "You don't have to say words like 'forever.' It makes me nervous. Besides, there is no forever. Not for me anyway."

"I think there is, and I'm going to add another word that will make you even more nervous." He braced himself on an elbow, shifted his position so he could see her face. "I love you." He paused. "I need to say that now, because there may come a time when you doubt it. I don't want that."

She slanted him a look he could only describe as pained and got to her feet. "I've got to go."

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you." She pulled on her jeans and shirt, slipped barefoot into her sneakers, and picked up her socks and panties. She stood there a long time, looking down at him, then—and he was sure her eyes were moist—said, "I'm not the one for you. Never can be. Even if things work out with Gus and Beauty, you're too smart, too... upstanding. You're just"—she paused, frowned—"too much." She brushed at her eyes and her jaw firmed. "Me? I'm a street kid, no family, no past that I can talk about. Not to mention being on the cops' A list." She shook her head. "That's a lot of baggage—empty baggage. I'm trouble, Cade, and my kind of trouble, a man like you doesn't need." She turned toward the door.

"Don't, Addy. Don't walk away from this." His gut clenched.

She stopped, her hand on the latch, but didn't turn to look at him. "I'm not walking away, but when this mess is over, there's a good chance I'll either be in jail or hitchhiking along I-5. I'm pretty sure that's not your idea of forever."

She opened the door and walked out into the rain.

* * *

Beauty stared out the passenger-side window of her car, growing more desperate with every passing mile. They were getting close to Star Lake. She had to do something, and she had to do it now.