Dead by Midnight (24 page)

“Yeah. Let him know that all hell’s about to break loose.”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck as he stood on Abby Sherman’s doorstep. It had been a long, difficult day and it wasn’t over yet. He hadn’t stopped for breakfast or lunch, had drunk too much coffee, and had finally gobbled down a sandwich Jack had brought him around four that afternoon. As his mama would say, he felt like death warmed over.

He had left the crime scene secure. Dozen of officers, from his department and the state boys to the FBI, had gotten in on the act. He just hoped he was doing a halfway decent job of coordinating the various investigators. Andy Gamble, the county coroner, had turned Shelley Gilbert’s butchered body over to the state, but not before he had examined the body at the site and taken it away in a body bag.

“We’ll know more after the autopsy,” Andy had told him. “But I’d say that the person who attacked her came up from behind and stabbed her in the back several times and possibly hit a kidney. The blood on the porch is from those initial stab wounds.”

“He left a trail from the house into the woods,” Mike had said. “Apparently he dragged her to the riverbank.”

Andy had nodded. “And that’s where he finished her off. He stabbed her repeatedly and then slit her throat. But even after she bled to death, he wasn’t finished with her. He sliced up her arms and legs postmortem. I’ve never seen anything like it. He carved out little pieces the way you’d carve a pumpkin to make a Halloween jack-o-lantern.”

From hip to ankle on both legs and from shoulder to wrist on both arms, the killer had carved pieces of flesh from Shelley Gilbert’s body. Thank God, she’d already been dead when her killer had etched the bloody, triangular designs.

Mike had finally left the crime scene once everything that could be done there had been done. Every precaution had been taken to protect both the back porch of Lorie’s house and the area surrounding where the body had been found on the riverbank. The porch, back door, steps, and railings had been dusted for fingerprints. Soil samples had been taken from the yard, the path into the woods, and at the riverbank. The entire area had been searched for any sign of the weapon. Shoeprints found near the river had been photographed, and after being sprayed with fixatives to stabilize the loose dirt, the prints had been filled with plaster. Mike hoped that the shoeprints didn’t wind up belonging to one of his deputies.

He had left the press conference he’d held in front of the courthouse and had driven straight to Abby’s. He hesitated before ringing the doorbell. He needed to be honest with her. He owed her that much.

How can you be honest with Abby when you’re not being honest with yourself? Admit the truth!

But that was the problem—he wasn’t sure he knew what the truth was.

He rang the doorbell. Abby opened the door instantly, as if she had been standing on the other side waiting for him to make his presence known.

She offered him a fragile smile. “Please, come in.”

He stepped over the threshold. She caressed his arm.

“I can only imagine how difficult this day has been for you,” she told him, concern in her voice and sympathy in her eyes.

Mike closed the door behind him.

“Have you had supper?” she asked. “I can fix you something. Scramble some eggs. Make a sandwich.”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“How about some iced tea or coffee or—?”

“Abby.” He grasped her hands in his.

She stared at him, wide-eyed with uncertainty. “It’s awful about that woman, the bodyguard. But Lorie Hammonds wasn’t harmed. That’s something to be thankful for.”

“Abby, listen to me.”

She looked directly at him. “All right.”

“My mother is going to be staying at my place with Hannah and M.J. for a while, and I’m temporarily turning over some of my duties as sheriff to my chief deputy.”

“Why?”

“When I leave here this evening, I’m going home to see my kids, and then I’m packing a bag and moving in with Lorie until she’s no longer in any danger. I’ll go into the office during the day, but in the evenings and at night, I’ll be with Lorie.”

Abby swallowed. “I see. But why, Mike, why does it have to be you? You can assign around-the-clock deputies or the Powell Agency can send a replacement. This isn’t something you have to do personally.”

He gave her hands a gentle tug, brought them up to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. “That’s just the thing—it is something I have to do myself. I can’t leave Lorie’s safety in anyone else’s hands.”

“Why not?” Tears pooled in Abby’s eyes.

Mike felt like the biggest jerk on earth. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I never meant to lead you on and then pull the rug out from under you this way. I can’t explain it, not really. But this is just something I have to do.”

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

There it was, the one question he couldn’t answer. “I honestly don’t know.”

“If it was just sex, I might be able to understand. But she has some kind of emotional hold over you. I can see it in your eyes when you look at her.” Tears trickled down Abby’s cheeks.

“It wouldn’t have worked out between us,” Mike said, without adding that not only did his kids not like her, but he wasn’t in love with her.

“Do you honestly think it will work out with her?”

“This isn’t about my expecting to build a future with Lorie. It’s about keeping her alive, about my needing to personally protect her.”

“And when this is all over, what then?”

“I guess I’ll figure it out then.”

Abby swiped the tears from her cheeks, tilted her chin staunchly, and looked right at him. “I’d like for you to leave now, please.”

Mike nodded, and realizing there was nothing he could say or do to make this easier for Abby, he turned and walked away.

Lorie was thankful that Cathy and Jack were staying in her home with her, at least for tonight. She simply couldn’t have forced herself to go beyond the front door. With her inside and the world outside, she felt relatively safe. Her best friend, who had stayed with her all day, gave her the comfort and reassurance she so desperately needed. And her best friend’s husband, a sheriff’s deputy who had once been an Army Ranger, provided her with personal protection. Also, there was a deputy stationed in the driveway who checked her front and back yards every hour on the hour.

She hadn’t seen Mike since early this morning, but he had sent Jack to tell her that they had found Shelley Gilbert’s body.

“Mike and I don’t think that the Midnight Killer is the one who murdered Shelley,” Jack had explained. “This isn’t his MO, not even close. Even though he did kill Shontee Thomas’s bodyguard, he shot the guy and then killed Shontee. Whoever killed Shelley used a knife.” He had paused for a moment, and Lorie had suspected he was considering just how much to tell her. “He slit her throat.”

For a second or two, Lorie had thought she’d throw up, but the nausea subsided and she’d managed to say, “And he didn’t kill me and we both know he could have.”

The day had been endless, each minute seeming like an hour. Investigators of every form and fashion had traipsed through her house, doing God only knew what to gather evidence. Deputies. Police officers. ABI agents. FBI agents. And when they had finished up inside, they had moved to the back porch, a taped-off crime scene being guarded by one of Mike’s deputies. She and Cathy had lost count of how many pots of coffee they had made and how many cups they had filled. They had both been thankful to have something to do. And when Cathy had suggested making sandwiches and having them available for the slew of investigators, Lorie had immediately agreed.

She had watched from the kitchen window when Andy Gamble’s team brought Shelley’s body, cocooned inside a black body bag, out of the woods. Shelley, who only last night had been alive and well. Shelley, the person who had been responsible for keeping her safe. Shelley, whose bodyguard training and possession of a big gun had not protected her.

Mike and Cathy sat together on the sofa in Lorie’s living room watching the ten o’clock newscast on Huntsville’s CBS Channel 19. One of the countless reporters who had been kept at bay by the roadblocks set up and manned by Alabama state troopers had taped interviews with Lorie’s neighbors. Supposedly, no one knew for sure what had happened, other than a woman’s body had been found in the woods not far from Lorie’s house.

“We heard it was that bodyguard who’s been staying with Lorie Hammonds,” Irene Shelby told the reporter.

Lorie, who had just taken a shower and put on a pair of lightweight pink sweats and a lacy white T-shirt, came into the living room in time to hear Irene’s comment.

Jack picked up the remote.

“No, don’t turn it off,” Lorie said. “Leave it on.”

“Are you sure?” Cathy asked.

“I’m sure.”

Jack laid down the remote.

The nighttime anchor appeared appropriately somber when he stared into the camera and said, “Sheriff Mike Birkett held a press conference late this afternoon.” The taped interview appeared on the TV screen.

Lorie noticed how haggard Mike looked. His hair was windblown and disheveled and he sported a dark, heavy five o’clock shadow. He spoke calmly and with absolute authority, giving the basic facts and nothing more. The victim was Shelley Gilbert, who was employed by the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency headquartered in Knoxville, Tennessee. Ms. Gilbert was on assignment in the Dunmore area, working as a private bodyguard. The case was considered a homicide and both the ABI and the FBI were involved in the investigation.

Mike walked off, refusing to answer even one of the dozens of questions bombarding him from every direction.

“I hope he’s home in bed and getting some rest,” Lorie said. “He looked so tired.”

The doorbell rang. Everyone froze. Before Jack got to his feet, a familiar voice called to them through the closed front door.

“It’s me, Mike.”

Lorie didn’t move, could barely breathe.
What is he doing here?

Jack walked across the room, unlocked the door, and opened it. “Everything’s okay here. We were just watching the ten o’clock news before going to bed. You could have saved yourself a trip and just called, but I guess you needed to see for yourself that Lorie’s all right.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Mike replied as he entered the living room, removed the navy vinyl carryall from his shoulder, and set it on the floor.

With the length of the room separating them, Lorie and Mike looked at each other. And then Mike turned to Jack. “You and Cathy can go on home. I’ll stay with Lorie.”

No one uttered a sound for a couple of minutes, and then Jack replied, “Sure thing, if that’s what you want. I guess it makes sense for several of us to rotate shifts, but since I’m already here, you could have—”

“We’re not rotating shifts,” Mike told him. “I’m moving in. I’ll be staying here with Lorie until she’s no longer in danger. I’ll go in to the office during the day, but I’ll be here every night.”

“What!” Lorie gasped. “You—you’re moving in here with me?”

Mike looked her square in the eye. “That’s right.”

“But what about M.J. and Hannah?”

“My mother will be staying at the house with them.”

“And Abby, what’s she going to think about your moving in here with me?”

“Abby understands the situation,” Mike said.

“Does she? I’m glad she understands, because I sure don’t. How about explaining it to me?”

Lorie wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not that Cathy and Jack had left so quickly. A part of her wished they had stayed, at least Cathy, for moral support. But on the other hand, she knew that this particular confrontation needed to be solely between Mike and her. His showing up at her door and announcing that he was moving in with her had come as a complete surprise.

No, surprise was too mild a word. Replace that with shock. Yes, that was how she felt. Totally shocked.

“My God, what were you thinking?” she demanded the moment they were alone. “People are already talking about us, so I can only imagine what is going to happen now.”

When he stood there and stared at her, saying nothing, she marched over and stopped directly in front of him. “Why, Mike? Why are you doing this?”

“It’s something I have to do,” he told her, the words dragging out of him as if they caused him pain.

“And why is that?” She was not going to let him off with such a simplistic explanation. “It’s not as if I didn’t already have protection. Jack was here. And you have a deputy posted outside.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” He hesitated, as if choosing his next words carefully. “I need to be the one protecting you.”

She glared at him. “No, you don’t. You need to be home with your children. You need to stay as far away from me as you can. Not only do you have a reputation to uphold, which you can’t do living under the same roof with me, but you shouldn’t put yourself between me and a killer. Hannah and M.J. have already lost one parent. I don’t want to be the reason they lose another.”

“Are you saying that you assume because Shelley Gilbert was murdered, someone will try to kill me?”

“Yes, of course, that’s what I’m saying. You can’t put your life on the line for me.”

“But that’s just it,” he said. “If something happened to you and I knew that I hadn’t done everything possible to keep you safe, I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Damn it, Mike, where is this sense of responsibility coming from? For nearly nine years, you were barely able to speak to me or even look at me, and when you did speak to me, you made it perfectly clear that you wanted absolutely, positively nothing to do with me.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for reminding me of what a jerk I’ve been.”

She was momentarily rendered speechless, her mind completely blank.

“I’m moving in and I’m staying until you’re no longer in any danger. People can say whatever they want to say. I’m here as your personal bodyguard, not as your lover. If people want to believe otherwise…” He shrugged. “I have to do this. I wish I could give you a better explanation, but I can’t.”

“Hannah and M.J. will be—”

“For some inexplicable reason, my children seem to adore you. They’re okay with my staying here. And my mother encouraged me to do this. She told me to do what I had to do.”

Lorie huffed and threw up her hands in frustration, then glowered at him. “What about Abby Sherman? You can’t tell me that she’s honestly all right with her boyfriend living with another woman, even only as her bodyguard. She’s well aware of the fact that the whole town knows all about our past history.”

“Abby and I ended things this evening.”

“What?”

Mike stayed focused on Lorie, his expression grim. “It was never right between Abby and me. I tried to make it work. God knows she tried. She’s a fine woman, but…I don’t love her. And my kids don’t even like her. And my mother…Hell, listen to me, would you? My personal life is none of your damn business and yet here I am explaining myself to you.”

“You’re right about that. Your personal life is none of my business. But your moving in with me is my business.”

“I’m staying with you as your protector, to keep you safe. I’m certainly not standing here declaring my undying love for you or anything like that.” He glanced down at the floor as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Our personal relationship hasn’t changed. You’re off-limits to me, the same as you’ve been ever since you came back to Dunmore.”

“Screw you, Michael Birkett! I want you to leave. Get out of my house right now and don’t come back.”

He looked at her, his brow wrinkled, his gaze narrowed and anger brightening his blue-black eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for the duration, to do whatever I have to do to keep you safe.”

Barely able to refrain from hitting him, Lorie uttered a frustrated groan. “Damn you. You do not get to play the martyr, willing to lay your life on the line and die to protect me. Whatever your reasons for doing this, please don’t. If you’re doing this to make it up to me for treating me like the dirt beneath your feet all these years, then don’t. I absolve you of any sins you think you’ve committed against me. Go home, Mike. Go back to your safe, uncomplicated, above-reproach life. Take care of your kids and keep looking until you find yourself another Molly.”

She’d had it. All she could take. The very thought of having to endure Mike’s presence in her home night after night was more than she could bear.

She walked past him until she reached the hallway, and then she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door. For half a second, she considered locking it, but if Mike wanted in, a locked door wouldn’t stop him. And in all honesty, she didn’t think Mike would invade her privacy. Hopefully, she had persuaded him to leave. But whatever he decided to do—go or stay—she didn’t have to deal with him again tonight. There would be time enough for that in the morning.

After kicking off her shoes, she fell across the bed and onto her stomach. Turning slowly onto her side, she released the tears she had been holding in check all day. As she lay there crying, her body instinctively curled into a fetal ball.

After setting the security alarm, Mike picked up his vinyl bag, flung it over his shoulder, and walked down the hall. Jack had given him the security code right before he and Cathy left. Mike paused outside Lorie’s closed door. He’d made such a mess of things. In his own redneck, He-Man, take-charge way, he’d barged in and told Lorie how it was going to be. What kind of fool did that make him? If he’d ever stopped and thought about the situation, he would have known how she would react. Lorie had always hated being told what to do. As a teenager, she had rebelled against her father’s stern domination and had sworn she would never be any man’s doormat, the way her mother was. If her parents had been different, if they had seen her through his eyes, as the beautiful, exciting, free spirit he had fallen in love with, maybe things would have turned out differently for her. But he couldn’t lay all the blame on her parents. As much as he hated to admit it—and had fought against the truth all these years—if he had encouraged Lorie’s dreams of becoming a movie star, if he had gone to LA with her and been there for her when things went wrong, she would never have made that damn porno movie.

If he had it to do over again, what would he do?

Hindsight is twenty-twenty. No use crying over spilled milk. What’s done is done.
A dozen different ridiculous sayings came to mind.

If he had gone to LA with Lorie eighteen years ago, they could have come back to Dunmore together, as man and wife, if her career had failed. They would have built a life together here, the life he had always wanted for them.

But what if she’d made it big? What if she’d gotten just one lucky break and wound up becoming a star? Mike would have despised being thought of as Mr. Lorie Hammonds, the redneck hick husband that she’d brought with her from Alabama. He would have hated the glitz and glamour, the endless parties, the other social events, the premieres, and especially being hounded by the paparazzi.

So, he guessed that if he could do it over again, he’d make the same decision. He had done what he had to do. He had stayed in Dunmore. And Lorie had done what she had to do. She had gone to LA to seek fame and fortune.

Mike walked past Lorie’s bedroom and glanced into the other rooms, searching and finding the room that Shelley Gilbert had used. The ABI folks had gone over that room with a fine-tooth comb. If Lorie had a second guest bedroom, he would prefer not sleeping in the room the murdered Powell agent had used.

He slipped his hand along the wall inside the open door of the pitch-black room at the end of the hall and flipped on the overhead light. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it actually was a bedroom of sorts. A mahogany spindle double bed had been placed against the wall and covered with a white spread like the one his mother used on her own bed. He’d heard her call it a Martha Washington bedspread. Funny what a guy remembered.

A treadmill occupied the opposite wall in front of the wooden blind-covered double windows facing the backyard. A large desk, probably an antique, had been painted a dark green to match the old Windsor chair that had been painted the same color. A mahogany barrister bookcase stood beside the closet door, the case filled with a variety of hardcover books and paperback novels.

Mike dropped his vinyl bag down beside the bed, removed the four decorative pillows from the bed, and placed them in the armchair shoved into the corner. It had been a very long day. He was bone weary and all he wanted was a good night’s sleep. He pulled back the covers—bedspread, lightweight quilt, and top sheet—and decided he really had no choice but to take a shower. The bed linens were light green, the hems of the top sheet and both pillowcases trimmed with lace. A guy couldn’t lie down on stuff that fancy without cleaning up first.

After retrieving his pajama bottoms, a clean T-shirt, and a clean pair of briefs from his bag, he headed for the bathroom situated between the two guest rooms. He flipped on the light, closed the door, and turned on the shower. He’d searched through every drawer in his dresser at home before finding the one pair of pajamas he owned. He had stuffed the bottoms into his duffel bag, along with his shaving kit, underwear, and a change of clothes.

Dead on his feet, he nearly fell asleep beneath the warm spray of soothing water, but he managed to wash, step out of the shower, and dry off as quickly as possible. Once dressed in the PJ bottoms and white T-shirt, he gathered up his dirty laundry wrapped in his damp towel and walked out into the hallway. He’d had every intention of going straight to the guest room and falling into bed, but the same stupidity that had brought him here tonight urged him to check on Lorie.

He knocked softly on her door. No response. He called her name. She didn’t reply. He grasped the doorknob and turned it. The door eased open.

She hadn’t locked it.

He stood in the doorway and looked into her room, his gaze settling on her bed. She lay there, sprawled sideways, her body semi-curled, one arm draped over the second pillow. Plantation shutters covered both windows, their slats partially open. Only the light from the hall wall sconces and the minimum of moonlight from a crescent moon illuminated her still figure. He took several uncertain steps into the room and then paused.

What the hell was he doing?

He was checking on Lorie, making sure she was all right.

She’s fine. She’s sound asleep. Now get your ass out of here pronto.

Walking backward, he eased out of her bedroom and left the door open. If she needed him during the night…Once out in the hall, he turned and moved quietly toward the guest room.

He dumped his dirty clothes in a loose pile beside his bag, then partially opened both window blinds to allow in a little moonlight. After turning off the overhead light, he crawled into bed and pulled the covers to his waist. He lifted up his arms, entwined his fingers, and slipped both hands under the back of his head. He lay there and stared up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling.

Why, Mike? Why are you doing this?
Lorie’s words played repeatedly in his mind.

He had told her the truth, or as much of the truth as he had been able to admit to himself. He was here because he had to be here. If he didn’t do everything within his power to keep Lorie safe and the Midnight Killer murdered her, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He had let Lorie down more than once, first when he hadn’t been able to make himself leave Dunmore and go to LA with her. And the second time had been when she came home, her life in shambles, her pride destroyed and her reputation ruined. The first time, she had been equally at fault. She could have stayed with him. But the second time, when she returned to Dunmore nine years ago, he could have, at the very least, treated her with human kindness. His mother had pleaded with him to befriend Lorie. Even his wife had wanted him to offer Lorie a helping hand.

A man couldn’t tell his mother and certainly not his wife that his bitter hatred for his former girlfriend was deeply rooted in one unbearable fact—deep down in the depths of his heart and soul, he still loved Lorie as much as he hated her. He didn’t want to love her. God knew he tried not to love her, not to want her, not to need her on some basic, primal level. And over the years, he had been able to convince himself that all he felt for her was hatred and contempt. Odd, how a man could lie to himself so easily and could make himself believe what he wanted to believe.

So, what now? Now that he had finally admitted the truth to himself?

He could stop hating Lorie. Actually, he’d already done that.

And he could keep her safe. He could protect her from a deranged killer. He could do what he needed to do. This time, he wouldn’t let her down.

Mike tossed and turned, flipping from one side to the other in an effort to relax and get comfortable. He tried resting flat on his back, but that didn’t work. He flopped down on his stomach and flung his arms, elbows bent, on either side of his head. Damn it, he needed rest, needed sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come.

When this was all over, when the Midnight Killer had been stopped, when he knew for sure that Shelley Gilbert’s murder wasn’t in any way connected to Lorie, then he could resume his normal life. But in the meantime, he had to keep reminding himself that he and Lorie had no future together. It didn’t matter that his mother liked her or that his kids adored her or even that he still loved her. And it really wasn’t about forgiveness. He could forgive her and maybe she could forgive him. He might even get past the fact that every man in the county, including his friends, employees, and neighbors, had seen Lorie naked in
Playboy
. But how did he erase the memory of watching her having sex with two other guys?