Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) (68 page)

Unfortunately, his neighbor, the stout Mrs. Westley, entered the hallway with her yapping Yorkie, Sherlock. She hit the elevator button. Rook looked down at his watch, which counted the minutes down rapidly. With the sluggish elevators in this building, she was never going to get out of the way in time.

“Mrs. Westley, I’d suggest you take the stairs.”

With a scarf around her neck that only made her rather rotund face even more rotund, she turned to him. “Are you implying that I need to exercise?”

Um, yes,
was what Rook wanted to say, but it would get him nowhere. He shrugged. “It’s just that the elevators have been running slowly today.”

He was about to walk off. He wasn’t exactly the chivalrous type, but he had a soft spot for that stupid Yorkie. Rook grabbed Mrs. Westley by the arm and urged her to the stairwell.

“Look, let’s just take the stairs.”

As Sherlock tried to sink his pint-sized teeth into his hand, and she beat him with her purse, Mrs. Westley screamed. “I’m being molested!”

“You wish,” Rook muttered under his breath, as he dragged them into the stairwell and down the steps. For a chick whose biggest exercise was lifting a gallon-sized jar of Twizzlers into her shopping cart, Mrs. Westley could pack a punch with her purse.

Half-stumbling and half-carrying the woman and her little dog, Rook rushed them down two flights of stairs. They were nearly at the lobby floor landing when an explosion knocked them all to the ground. Somehow, Mrs. Westley ended up on top of Rook. He doubted that it was by accident. She kissed him all over his face.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed as Sherlock licked Rook’s nose.

This was exactly why he did
not
do the Good Samaritan thing.

Extracting himself from Mrs. Westley, Rook shook off the explosion and the kisses. Rushing to exit the building before any inquisitive police or fire officials arrived on the scene, Rook hit the lobby door at a run, just as a pink limousine pulled up.

Beauty. At her best.

* * *

Beauty shook her head as Rook got into the backseat. “Must you always make such a scene, Puddin’ Pie?”

“Please!” he retorted, as he dusted off the dirt from his leather trench coat. “You just drove up in a pink getaway car, with hair to match.” Rook rushed on, “And if I am not mistaken, you have on a leopard-print bustier with six-inch stilettos. So please, spare me.”

Beauty glanced into the rearview mirror as she gunned the engine. Rook’s dark hair looked like he had slept on it for three weeks, but his blue eyes shone with amusement. The dark circles under them told a different story, though. How long had it been since he slept? Even Rook could only get so far with magical poultices and Red Bulls. Yet, even haunted, he was a looker. Not her type, but still a looker.

As she hit the gas pedal and pulled them away from the curb, she waved her fingernails in front of him. “Oh, please, these nails are just glue-on, and my weave? I’ve got to get over to Sholinda’s ASAP, or risk getting arrested by the fashion police. And the leopard print accentuates my dark skin.”

“Oh, well, excuse me,” Rook said as he put his hand out. “Whatcha got for me?”

Gunning the car around a right turn, Beauty grabbed a black folder off the seat next to her and handed it to Rook through the sliding glass window.

“Don’t worry. It’s right up your alley.”

Rook grasped the proffered file and flipped through its pages. “And that would be?”

“S.C.A.G.G.Y.” Beauty answered.

A smile spread on Rook’s face. “Supernatural carnage and gore? Ah, you know how to brighten a man’s day, my dear.”

Beauty flashed some pearly whites of her own. “A girl tries her best.”

She hit the gas even harder. The situation in Africa wasn’t going to wait on mid-town traffic.

* * *

Angela Morrey sat in the interrogation room as the detectives milled about, uncertain what to do with her. But she didn’t blame them. She didn’t know what to do with herself, either. She kept wrapping and unwrapping her tear-soaked tissues around her fingers. Even the crying had stopped. Maybe people only had so many tears for a lifetime. Once they were spent, were they done crying?

“Angela,” Detective Brian Hoffman stated kindly.

“Yes, sorry,” she said, wiping a stray blonde hair from her face.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, as he sat down next to her and put his hand over hers. “You have been through so much.”

She just shook her head, though. “I just want to get this over with so that I can get home.” Once she got there, she had no idea what she would do, but she needed to get out of the cramped, dingy interrogation room, or she
really
would lose it.

Brian sat back and gave her a grim smile. “Okay, then. How well did you know your letter carrier, Mr. Nilen?”

“Not well. I mean, I said ‘hi’ if I saw him. He would also ring the bell to deliver packages, you know? He didn’t like to leave them on the step. He said he was afraid they would get stolen.”

Had that simple act of kindness gotten him killed? Did having her as a delivery stop doom the poor man?

“That’s good, Angela. Thank you. Now, are you sure that you didn’t see anyone suspicious around the neighborhood this morning?”

She looked up into the detective’s green eyes. How many times had they played out this macabre dance? Between the mail carrier, her cleaning lady, fitness trainer, and her boss, that made it four dead, just in this city. Before that, back home? Her mother, brother, two sisters, an uncle, and just for good measure, a fiancé.

She wasn’t unlucky. She was doomed.

Her postman’s death just confirmed it.

Brian’s partner, Detective Stakeland, paced behind them.

“I’m sorry, Brian, but don’t we want to ask something other than the softballs you’ve been throwing?”

Brian turned around and glared at his partner. “Stakeland…”

But Angela nodded. “Go for it.”

Brian squeezed her hand, but she shook him off. Seriously, what could Stakeland say or do that was worse than what had already happened? As much as Stakeland obviously wanted to grill her, he equally did not want to incur Brian’s wrath, so his tone was polite.

“I would like to discuss your alibi.”

Angela sighed. More of the same. At least if he was going to go at her, couldn’t he be a little more inventive? “I was online discussing a graphic design, switching out background images with a client. He can verify that I was on the call through the time-of-death window.”

How sad was it that she knew things like “time-of-death window”—and where she was during it?

“Your phone and online records do seem to support that,” Stakeland said, but then his tone sharpened. “But that does not rule out an accomplice.”

She could feel Brian tense next to her, but how many times had that allegation come up as well? “You must know that techs have combed through my phone, texts, and email records. I don’t talk to anyone unless it is work related, and even then I do so under an alias that you have access to.”

“Don’t be smug with me,” Stakeland growled as Brian jumped to his feet.

She hadn’t been trying to be smug or anything else with the detective. She had just been trying to get through this interview without crumpling into a heap of depression.

“Back off, Stakeland.”

“Brian, open your eyes, man. She is jerking you around! That chick has helped kill nearly a dozen people, and
you
are defending her.”

Angela watched as Brian’s hand balled up in a fist. He spoke through clenched teeth. “There is absolutely no evidence of that, and I am not going to have you harassing a victim of all of this.”

“Victim?” Stakeland snorted. “More like perpetrator.”

Brian shook his head. “Stop and listen to yourself, Stakeland. Why would she do this? Any of this?”

“Why does a chick need a motive for anything?”

“Well, the DA certainly does, so unless you are going to be constructive, I suggest you leave.”

Angela actually felt a little sorry for Stakeland as Brian pointed at the door. It wasn’t the detective’s fault he thought her guilty. She had even gone through hypnotic regression therapy to see whether she was sleepwalking and committing these terrible crimes. At this point, Angela actually wanted to be guilty. At least then, they would lock her away and stop the deaths. As it was now, she was a laser pointed right at the killer’s next victim.

Hadn’t she left Cincinnati to avoid the carnage? How could it have followed her here? She never should have listened to Brian. Her instincts after her maid’s death had been to move far away again, but the detective had convinced her to stay. That he would catch whoever was responsible. No matter Brian’s dedication, three more people were dead. And the poor mail carrier lost his life because he gave superior service? There was no way she could stay. Not here. Not anywhere.

Plus, she knew that Brian wasn’t just taking flack from Stakeland, but from his lieutenant as well. Angela couldn’t let Brian ruin his career while the dead kept piling up.

She just needed to get through this interview so that she could go do what she needed to do. Angela had known since she opened her door this morning and found Mr. Nilen prone on his back, those still, dead eyes gazing up at her. She couldn’t, just couldn’t, do that again.

Hopefully, her death would be the last death.

CHAPTER 2

Rook waited and watched from the shadows of the cave. He watched the professor, his remaining students, and several tattered gun-for-hire security guards. Group dynamics were always so fascinating, but never so much as when the group was confronted with not just the impossible, but after the impossible just kicked everyone’s ass.

The professor was—clearly—badly injured. His shoulder was swathed in bloody bandages. The rest of the group didn’t look like it had fared much better. Corpses were piled to the side. With the heavy fighting outside in the jungle, there was no way to dispose of the bodies there. Certainly, the group was far too afraid to move them to the rear chamber.

Reports were sketchy, but it seemed that all the action happened there.

Now, though, everyone was crowded around the young man on the ground. Presumably, the vice president’s nephew.

Perhaps it was time for Rook to make his introductions.

He struck a match. “Boo.”

The group jumped to their feet. The guards raised guns with shaking arms. Rook stepped into the room, but Beauty downright sauntered in—still in those six-inch stilettos.

“Oh, this is nasty,” she stated, picking up one foot and inspecting the bright red sole, and then the other.

Rook crossed over to Chad. “So, what have we got here?”

The stunned group, though, did not answer, so Rook looked at Beauty. “Is this our mark, or what?”

But Beauty slipped on the blood-slicked floor. “These are…” She scraped some brain matter off the sides of her shoes. “These
were
Guccis.”

Finally, one of the students snapped out of her shock and put a protective arm over Chad. “Who are you?”

Rook stood up. “Why, I thought it was obvious.” When the looks upon the group’s faces did not register the “obvious,” Rook continued, “We are the cavalry.”

Pointing behind him to the dark, tribal men entering the cave, Rook clarified. “Well, actually,
they
are the cavalry. I’m more the general.”

Each of the men wore tight loincloths stained red with the blood of a lion. Bright feathers lined the waistbands. Beyond that, the men were naked. So as much as Beauty was grumbling about her shoes, she was also getting her fill of eye candy.

Without hesitation, the tribesmen began dragging the dead bodies out of the cave.

“What are they doing?” the student pressed, worry crimping otherwise attractive features.

“Taking payment for services rendered,” Rook answered.

“What?” she asked.

But Rook grinned, amused by the growing horror on her face. “Come on. You look like a bright girl.” Perhaps she was bright, but not altogether quick. “A little snack for the road?”

The girl studied the tribesmen, then the corpses, and then Rook. “Cannibals?” she spat out. “You employed cannibals?”

“Um, who else was going to get us past the
Apocalypse Now
scenario you’ve got going on out there?”

Still horrified, Kadie rose to her feet. “You can’t expect us to let them take our friends and… and…”

Beauty stepped over a rather large piece of torso and squeezed the young woman’s shoulder. “It’s best not to dwell on details like that, sweetie.”

But the student jerked away from Beauty’s grip. “You are sick.” She indicated Rook as well. “You
both
are sick. I would rather take my chances here.”

The professor finally ended his silence. “Kadie, I don’t think we can be quite so hasty.” It seemed that the instructor was a bit more practical in these matters. Which wouldn’t surprise Rook, given that the guy’s shoulder oozed a yellow discharge. When faced with cannibals or sepsis, one usually accepted the help of the cannibals.

One of the rent-a-guards stepped forward and spoke in a thick Irish accent. “I’d give my own bloody arm if it gets us out of here.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” Rook said, indicating the large tribesmen. “They might take you up on that offer.”

The man stepped away from Rook, a look of repulsion on his face.

What
? Rook was only trying to be helpful.

Kadie turned on her professor. “You can’t be serious! We should trust these… these…”

The older man put a protective arm over his student’s shoulder. “Kadie, what other choice do we have?”

By Rook’s count, that would be none. The girl’s lip trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes. Rook was just glad someone else was comforting her. Rook sucked at babysitting. Instead, he knelt beside Chad.

“Looks like it is time we examined the main attraction.”

Kadie fled from her professor and tried to shove Rook away. “No. He’s already been through enough.”

But one little grad student wasn’t going to dissuade Rook. He knelt, picked up a stick, and moved Chad’s torn shirt aside.