Guilty Secrets (Campus Love and Murder Sorority Eyes Romance Book 1) (23 page)

I had to remind myself that I was looking only for one important aspect of his personality. The psychotic aspect. More particularly, one that had an obsessional knowledge of and love for blues music that matched the profile of the mysterious killer Shard.

He didn't seem perturbed at the idea of sitting at my feet like a worshiping slave. Even when as expected he had to pick up a giant gold feather on the end of a long stick and gently fan my brow as he squatted uncomfortably on his knees.

"Hi, my name's Eric and you're so beautiful I could explode."

I tried not to roll my eyes or burst out laughing.

"Hi Eric, I'm Robyn. It's nice to meet you. So tell me a little about yourself. I understand you like blues music."

"I feel the blues."

"Do you have an extensive collection?"

He seemed a little distracted in the half-light.

"Um, yeah, sure. Want to see it."

The prospect of wasting time by turning up in his apartment to listen to his one greatest hits collection of blues masters was not what I had in mind

"How big is it?"

He seemed a little agitated. As if he was hyperventilating.

"Getting bigger. I'll show you in a second."

After a minute or so of holding the fan he struggled to keep the giant feather out of my eyes. His shoulder kept dipping. Clearly he was struggling.

I noticed he was holding it with only one hand. Perhaps describing himself as athletic in his profile was a little misleading.

I wandered what else he was misleading me about.

Was he a connoisseur, I couldn't tell? "So you love vinyl?"

He grunted. "Vinyl, plastic, carpet. I'll do it on anything."

What?
"Vinyl records. Twelve inches," I explained.

"I'm not that big..."

He grunted again.

Feeling impatient with how this interview was going I brushed the feather out of my eyes.

"Would you be more comfortable, Eric, if you stood a moment."

Eric stood. He had one hand firmly gripping his erect penis and was rubbing it ferociously back and forth along the thick shaft.

Eric grunted as he turned crossed eyed, "You give me the blues, baby."

I leapt out of the pink penis love seat and screamed.

The door of the Love Cave flew open and Brad ran in.

Clearly, Mai must have spoken to him about my little plan for he ran across the room and grabbed Eric by the shoulder. He then jumped backwards as Eric ejaculated over himself.

Brad looked disgusted.

"Buddy, this is your lucky night, to get hit on. Just not the way you thought."

With that, Brad caught Eric on the end of his chin with a hard and fast right hook.

Eric collapsed and Brad dragged him out by his feet.

As he reached the door he shot a look of pity at me. "Should I send in the next one?"

I fought a wave of nausea and nodded.

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

Mai came in and apologized and asked me if I wanted to continue.

Charity made an appearance and for the cameras made a big show of wiping down the pink leather penis seat with antiseptic hand wipes.

"Obviously, Robyn, you were just too hot for him."

I wanted to punch her and instead sat back and enjoyed Brad throw the camera crew out. But not before Charity explained to the camera that the Love Caves were themed according to whatever made the woman feel at home.

"Make sure you get a wide angle shot of Robyn riding the leather couch."

Once things had settled I asked Mai to show in number two.

According to the tablet, his profile said he was easy going.

A tall, dark haired guy with a honey tan and muscles to die for. He entered and from what I could tell in the low light he hadn't lied about anything so far.

He sat at my feet with good humor and seemed to handle the preposterous fanning feather with ease.
So far so good then.

"So, Antonio, you like the blues?"

"I love all music, Senora. It is the romance I love. I collect beautiful things. Music. Cars. Women..."

He looked into my eyes and despite the slightly dubious chat up line I felt my pulse race.

Tempting fate to repeat itself I asked if he had a big collection.

"It is nothing unless I have you as the prize of my collection."

"And how do you keep your collection? In a hermetically sealed environment?"

"To look and not touch?"

"Precisely?"

"Never!" he waved the feather about animatedly. "My passion is to love like a real man, whether it is my music, my cars or my..."

"Women?"

"Exactly. You understand me. We are soul mates."

"In just ninety seconds. Must be a record for you."

I couldn't yet decide either way about Antonio. Yes he was easy on the eye. He was a student here on Kimberley campus, but his real passion was to be a racing driver. Apparently he had dabbled in Formula One cars back home in Italy, but had crashed one too many and his wealthy father had put his foot down and insisted he put away childish things and learn business management. To begin in haste the transition to one day take up his rightful position as head of the family olive oil empire.

All this was of course a perfect cover for an international assassin. The travel and the danger were part of the lifestyle. But I wasn't yet getting a deep sense of the obsessive blues fanatic.

The door of the Love Cave flew open. I half expected Brad to be standing in the doorway.

I was just about to wave Brad away as I needed a few more minutes to find out if this guy Antonio was indeed a potential assassin.

But standing in the doorway was the silhouette of a young slim woman. She marched into the cave. She paused to size me up in one deep and scornful breath. Then she turned to the now wide eyed Antonio and let fly a quick upper cut punch to his jaw.

A series of Italian expletives followed. Peppered with English outbursts, "You said you loved me... I'm carrying your bambino, Antonio."

She delved into a clutch bag and produced a hand gun. She aimed it at me.

"I should kill you slut, for tempting my man."

My hands shot up in the air. "Trust me, I'm not your problem."

The gun wavered. The woman aimed it at Antonio. "I should make our bambino fatherless?"

On his knees, Antonio wept and pleaded he was a fool and for her to take him back.

"Sofia, am I not your soul mate. Do I not make your rivers flow with passion? Shoot me now for I cannot bear to have caused you pain..."

After a couple of minutes and a growing crowd of people gathering, including Charity's film crew, Sofia lowered the weapon.

Brad grabbed it from her hands and emptied it of bullets.

Sofia dragged Antonio up off his testicle cushions and shoved him out of the cave.

He glanced over his shoulder with a naughty bad boy smirk. "Chao, Senora."

"Chao, Antonio."

Another strike out.

Mai shrugged. "Robyn did you know, Thomas Edison failed eight hundred times before he finally invented the light bulb?"

I rolled my eyes. "Inventing a light bulb seems easy in comparison to this."

"Shall I send in number three?"

I nodded.

"Perhaps Brad could frisk them first?"

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO

After the introductions, number three leapt to the top of my list of potential killers by being able to name three old blues guitar masters and to possess their original recording on vinyl.

I was so shocked I paused for a breath to contemplate how low womanhood had gone in order to suspect the male of our species for such crimes as having musical taste.

His name was Owen. He wore casual smart clothes. He was slim, but said that he ran marathons and therefore I considered he'd have a lean and very strong physique. Perfect for the hours of discomfort a sniper would invariably endure while lining up a kill.

He was a little shy and intense, but had a welcome lack of chat up lines and a sincere core of self-awareness that included refusing to fan me with a giant gold feather. A little integrity went a long way in the dating world.

"Blues is a statement, a testament to human condition," he announced.

I considered anyone who thought that long and hard about long dead, old time penniless musicians who had their songs ripped off by white pop bands was someone whose record collection bared further investigation.

"You consider yourself a collector, Owen?"

"Of blues?"

"Yeah."

He shrugged, "I only have a thousand blues records in vinyl and another ten thousand digital."

"Only?" I took a deep breath. "Owen, what say you and me take a break from the Love Cave and go listen to a few of your rare records?"

He seemed up for it.

We left the Love Cave. I whispered to Mai to call Ben if I wasn't back in an hour to call Ben. There just didn't seem any point in calling Ben before I was certain.

Besides, I was supposed to be getting close to Kublai Khan, not hunting down my parents' killer.

As Owen and I waded through the bodies in the night club I heard someone call out my name.

I turned to see a man with magnetic eyes. One of blue, and the other brown.

"Kublai, what are you doing here?"

He smiled at me but his eyes fixed a look of undisguised contempt towards Owen.

Kublai took my hand and with a graceful flourish he kissed it.

"I was missing you. And as a backer of this little venture, I thought why not? What do you think of it? Promising, yes?"

"A little overwhelming."

"Then come dine with me tonight."

"I'd love to, but I have to, um..."

"You have to entertain your date for the night?"

I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to blow Kublai off and ruin my chances to find the evidence against him.

"How about tomorrow night, Kublai?"

He smiled. "As you wish. I am compelled to accept the crumbs of your graciousness."

I think that was a yes.

"Great. Speak to you tomorrow?"

He bowed and I left with Owen.

Owen smiled, "You know Kublai Khan?"

"Just in passing."

"He's radical."

"He's certainly something."

Outside, Owen glanced at the entrance of the night club and shrugged.

"Robyn, I’m sorry, but Khan's way out of my league. Maybe we should forget it. Find someone else a bit more."

I squeezed Owen's hand. "Owen, you're the one I want to spend some time with; not Kublai Khan."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Sure. I see potential in you like no one else tonight."

He lived on campus. Alone. It was a ten minute stroll away.

His apartment was on the small side. But after being spoiled by Mai's Taj Mahal sized apartment, even an aircraft hangar might seem a little cramped.

He showed me his record collection. Basically, every wall in the apartment was lined with vinyl records. I found his blues music collection. It was just has he modestly claimed. At least a thousand old vinyl records neatly alphabetized.

"I'll be right back," Owen said. He paused at the bathroom doorway and glanced over his shoulder at me. "I've never felt so special. So accepted for who I am. I'm going to do something special for you."

I simply smiled as I wasn't sure what to say to that.

Walking through his record collection I found out to my dismay that his blues collection was not his biggest. There was an opera collection almost three times as big as his blues collection.

The bathroom door creaked open and Owen strode across the apartment toward me. He was completely naked. He carried a plastic sheet which he proceeded to spread out across the living room floor.

I felt my heart jolt. I'd heard of hit men being caught by the F.B.I. because of trace D.N.A. fragments of their victims. No matter how thoroughly they cleaned, there was always something left behind. Unless extreme precautions were made. Such as covering the kill zone with impermeable plastic so no body fibers or blood could escape.

"Owen, you don't need to do this. I've not told anyone who you really are. There's no proof. I don't know who you really are, OK? Just let me go."

"You do know, Robyn. And that's why I can do this."

He stopped in the middle of the living room and knelt on one knee. He began to sing an opera aria from Madam Butterfly.

After a minute of standing there transfixed and not quite knowing where to look, I realized the singing had stopped.

"Opera is my real passion," Owen said. "My other passion is to have someone in my life who fully accepts me for who and what I am. Someone who understands my needs."

I took a deep breath and tried to guess if I could make it to the door alive.

"OK, Owen, so what is it you need?"

"Robyn, you understand me like no other woman. I think you should be the one for it."

"The one for what?"

Owen took a deep breath and let it out. "Robyn, I'd like you to shit on my head."

"Excuse me?"

"I need to be loved for the man I am inside. And you're the right woman for me."

"That's the reason for the plastic sheet?"

"Sure, I'm not a freak you know. I
am
house proud."

"Of course you are."

I took a deep breath. I imagined a giant red button on his forehead. "Here's what I'm going to do for you, Owen. First, close your eyes."

He closed his eyes and his penis grew as quickly as his smile.

"No peeking, Owen."

He grinned and panted like an eager puppy dog.

I took off my heels and sprinted for the door. I turned the handle and I've never been so glad in my life for a door to open.

I ran the Hell out of there and didn't stop running until I was outside.

I heard a window open and Owen shouting or was it singing? I didn't stop to find out.

I ran until I was standing outside the main doors of the Campus Love party.

Outside I found Hemingway smoking a cigarette.

A tense smile crossed her face. "I've not smoked since my brothers dared me when I was eight years old and I threw up over them. That's what this party's doing to my nerves."