Sawyer, Meryl (54 page)

"I came upstairs looking for you. There you were—engaged to
me—but in Mitchell Durant's arms, kissing him like a two-bit hooker on Mission
Street. Did you know how many times my father threw Mitch in my face? Shit! Did
you think I was going to let him walk off with my fiancee too?"

"Your father would have been glad to get rid of me,"
Royce said, conscious of the need to keep him talking while Mitch took action.

"True. He thought you were cheap with your flamboyant clothes
and those big tits. Personally, I liked the tits." He chuckled and
playfully lowered the knife, skimming across her chest to the shadowy valley
between her breasts.

He turned the knife on its side and ran the cold blade down her
cleavage. Then, with a flick of the razor-sharp knife point, he severed the
thread on the top button of her blouse. One by one he cut the others free. The
fabric parted, revealing the lacy cups of her demibra.

Outside the door Mitch groaned low in his throat, hardly able to
contain the urge to catapult into the room and kill the son of a bitch. But
with one shot Royce would be dead. He needed to distract Brent. But how?

Mitch remembered the condom he always kept in his wallet. It had
been there for so long now, it was probably useless for its intended task, but
it would suit his purpose. Slowly he inched his wallet out of his hip pocket,
aware that any sound could alert Brent. But Brent wasn't on guard. He continued
to talk.

"Caroline wasn't perfect, you know," Brent said.
"She was a little flat chested, but I loved her."

"If you loved her, how could you kill her?"

There was a moment of silence. Mitch stopped peeling the foil off
the condom in case the noise tipped Brent before he was ready to strike. He
couldn't see what Brent was doing but he could see that Royce's blouse was
hanging off one shoulder and her breasts were now bare.

Come on, Mitch said to himself, someone say something so I can unwrap
this damn thing. Royce must have read his mind.

"I don't want to die until I know the whole story. Isn't it
only fair that you tell me?"

"Ever since I can remember, I was in love with Caroline. Before
they were killed in the accident, her parents were my parents' closest friends.
They'd come over and Caroline and I would sneak away. Usually we'd play
doctor." Brent shrugged, the one-shouldered gesture that she'd once found
so charming.

He seems so normal. Even now. Royce's stomach clenched. He spoke
logically, appearing for all the world to be a rational man, not a sadistic
killer. But there had to have been signs. Her mind sifted through their months
together for clues.

There had been some. His relationship with his family had been
abnormal. With startling clarity she remembered how he'd behaved the night of
the auction. He'd turned on her because he'd never really loved her. He'd been
pretending. If she'd correctly analyzed the situation then, she would have
understood that Brent's entire life centered on pretending. A charade.

"You know, the doctor game was Caroline's idea." Brent
smirked. "Even when we were teenagers we'd still play. I'd touch her
breasts like this." He put the knife in the same hand as the gun and
palmed Royce's breast with his free hand, cradling its weight and brushing his
thumb over the nipple.

Royce wanted to spit in his eye, but she didn't dare. Help was too
close, life too precious.

"Caroline always took off her panties for me."

He used the ultrasharp knife on the cotton skirt she wore and
sliced it off her before Royce could blink. It was a deadly hunting knife, she
realized, the kind used to skin animals.

"I'd touch her here." Brent edged his fingers into the
nest of curls between her thighs. "She couldn't get enough of it."

Royce vowed that if she got her hand on that knife, she'd go for
his jugular. "So, why didn't you marry Caroline?"

Brent's hand froze. He studied her a moment, his eyes scanning her
bare breasts, scouring her naked tummy and stopping where his hand rested so
intimately against her.

"I wanted to marry Caroline, believe me. I asked her dozens
of times."

Royce remembered what the phony count had told Paul. . Caroline
had been in love with someone else. Suddenly, everything made sense as she
recalled little details she'd never put together before now. "But Caroline
refused to marry you, didn't she? She was in love with your father."

Brent's skin turned an ugly mottled red and his eyes had the most
wounded expression she'd ever seen. Honest to God, he thought of himself as the
long-suffering victim. He took his hand off her crotch and grabbed the knife
again.

For one terrifying second she thought she'd stepped over some
invisible line and he was going to kill her. But he merely traced the tip of
the blade along a blue vein on her breast.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the deadly knife moved, seeking the
perfect spot. Gently, as if she were a baby and exceedingly fragile, he pricked
the vein. The cut was the size of a pinhead, but blood trickled down over her
nipple.

Oh, Mitch, please hurry.

The crimson blood so stark against the white smoothness of Royce's
breast almost sent Mitch barreling into the room to kill the bastard with his
bare hands. But the logical part of his brain that had saved him countless
times came to his rescue again. If he stormed in there, they'd both die.

No. Royce deserves to live. Trust me, Brent is the one who's going
to die.

Mitch forced his fingers to slowly withdraw the fistful of change
in his pocket. He shoved the coins into the condom, his fingers trembling with
rage and fear. He wasn't afraid for his own life.

No. He'd conquered that kind of fear during the years of his youth
when he'd lived on the streets at the mercy of anyone bigger and stronger. He'd
survived. But now he was more afraid than he'd ever been back then when he
didn't dare go to sleep at night for fear some one would slit his throat for a
slice of stale bread. Or his holey tennis shoes.

"You know, Royce, you were always too smart for your own
good." Brent's voice came from the other room. "You're right.
Caroline loved my father... and he loved her. Know how I found out?"

It was a rhetorical question; Brent rushed on. "She came home
from college one summer. For the first time she wouldn't sleep with me. She
claimed she wanted us to date other people. I followed her and found out her
new love was my own father.

"He couldn't be satisfied with making me feel like shit every
day of my life. No, not the almighty Ward Farenholt. And he wasn't satisfied
that he'd betrayed Mother by screwing the girl she loved like a daughter. He
never gave a damn about anyone but himself. It probably thrilled him to know
he'd seduced the one woman I could ever truly love."

Royce inhaled sharply, half thinking her lightheadedness was from
the cuts Brent had made on her hands and arms, but that wasn't the cause. The
profound sadness in Brent's eyes solidified the air in her lungs. Of course,
she'd known he was crazy from the first moment she'd opened the front door, but
the depths of his insanity now shone clearly in his eyes.

"I waited, thinking Caroline would come to her senses and
realize she loved me."

"Didn't you ever love anyone else?" she asked, thinking
of Maria.

"Hell, no. You were the closest I came." He cupped one
breast in his hand and squeezed slightly.

Royce couldn't help noticing the bulge in his pants was growing.
Oh, Lord, he was sick. Heaven help her. She hadn't imagined that finger
signaling to her, had she? Mitch really was out there, wasn't he?

Yes, of course he was. She sucked in a calming breath. Despite
what she'd done, Mitch loved her. He'd come to save her.

"You were a hot number in bed," he continued, gripping
the knife, but managing to stroke her with the same hand. "If you hadn't
come on to Durant, I wouldn't have paid Linda Allen to plant that cocaine in
your house."

"What about the jewels?" She turned her head to one
side. Clearly, he was aroused, but she didn't want him to see how disgusted she
was.

"Mother put them in your purse. She didn't think you were
worthy of me. She was right, wasn't she? Mother loves me."

Royce mentally applauded her intuition. Eleanor Farenholt had been
behind this—part of it anyway. She was as loony as her son. How was it people
like this went free and women like Lolly Jenkins didn't get the psychological
help they needed?

"Mother confessed to me right after you were arrested. She
loves my father so much. She was terrified of what he might do if he found
out." He continued fondling her breast, then moved to the other, dipping
his thumb in her blood and smearing it over her nipple. There was no question
about it; he found this sexually stimulating.

"I love Mother. She was always there for me. My father always
made me feel like shit. Nothing pleased him. I told her to keep quiet. No one
could prove she put the jewels in your purse."

There was a long pause. "I'm surprised Caroline satisfied
your father," Royce said—just to keep him going.

"She was a younger, more malleable version of my mother. Ever
notice how much they look alike? She's like a daughter to my mother. Can you
imagine how devastated she would have been had she discovered Father was
planning on leaving her for Caroline?"

"You mean, when Caroline inherited her trust your
father—"

"Was moving to the south of France with Caroline. That's why
she was selling her house." Brent shook his head, genuine pain etched his
face. "The humiliation would have killed Mother. I spared her that by
getting rid of Caroline.

"Never think it was a spur-of-the-moment crime. It took years
of planning. I saved cash so there wouldn't be a paper trail. I kept up the
good-ole-boy front, so no one suspected me. When the time was perfect, I took
back what was rightfully mine—Caroline. Now Father knows how it feels to lose
the one person you truly love. And I protected my mother."

"What makes you think Ward will stay with your mother
now?"

"With Caroline gone my father won't divorce Mother. He likes
her money too much. Remember, he wouldn't leave Mother until Caroline had her
trust. You see, he loves money more than anything."

"Your father must have been humiliated by your mother. She
kept her millions as separate property," Royce said, desperate to keep him
talking. What was taking Mitch so long? "I understand she doled out money
a quarter at a time."

"Not to me," he answered with unmistakable pride.
"She gave me anything I wanted. Most of the money to buy those drugs I had
Linda Allen plant at your place came from Mother."

"But the forensic accountant didn't find any unusual
withdrawals or deposits in anyone's accounts."

Brent chuckled, obviously pleased with himself. "I saved the
money, asking Mother for a little at a time. Who knows how much a wealthy woman
spends in pocket money? Do you think I was stupid enough to deposit it in a
bank where the IRS—or anyone—would find it and ask questions?"

"No," Royce conceded. "You're too clever for
that."

He grinned. "That's right. I outsmarted everyone."

Royce searched for something else to say. What was keeping Mitch?
The telltale erection in Brent's trousers gave her an idea. If he were really
excited, he'd put down the gun.

Her hands were tied to the corners of the bed. Royce shifted
positions seductively—she hoped—splaying her breasts from side to side without
being too coy, too obvious.

"Please," she whimpered, even though ten minutes ago she
would have died before she begged him, "don't kill me."

"Be real nice to me and I may let you live"—he smiled
that intimate smile that she knew from experience was a prelude to
sex—"awhile longer." He lowered his head and licked the blood off her
nipple. Circling the nub with his avaricious tongue, he coaxed it upright, then
he closed his mouth over it, his head bent low.

The knife was in one hand, the gun in the other, but neither had
his attention. Where was Mitch? Royce desperately looked toward the door.
Relief flooded her when it moved a fraction of an inch. Mitch's head edged
around the frame, and she sighed, a low moan deep in her throat. Brent took it
for a sound of pleasure, for he looked up at her, his chin between her breasts
and a triumphant smile on his face.

"You're so hot, Royce. So hot." He dropped the gun and
plunged his hand between her thighs.

Mitch saw the gun fall onto the bed and he threw the condom full
of heavy coins, hurling with all his might, aiming for Brent's head. The condom
hit, breaking on impact, coins hailing down on the bed. Brent yelped and jumped
back, but not before Royce kicked, catching him squarely between the thighs. He
rolled onto his back, landing on the floor doubled up, but the knife still
clenched in his hand.

Mitch charged into the room and pounced on Brent. Royce struggled,
desperately trying to free herself, but her hands were still bound to the bed.
She wiggled her fingers, clenching them together while Mitch battled Brent.
They were rolling across the floor, Mitch grabbing for the knife, attempting to
disarm Brent.