Killer Love (60 page)

Sam took a cautious sip of the hot brew, looking at the woman expectantly.

“I’m here about Dex,” she said. “I wanted you to know what kind of man he is.”

Sam frowned. “Why do I need to know what kind of man he is?”

The too-blue eyes regarded Sam shrewdly, making her feel as if she were strapped to a lie-detector. “I sensed there was something happening between you two.” Clarissa shrugged. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. I just want to make sure you don’t hurt him.”

Sam laughed and shook her head. “
Hurt
him? We’re business colleagues, nothing more.”

“Ryan is not Dex’s son,” Clarissa said, not disputing or acknowledging Sam’s assertion. “He’s his stepson, but you couldn’t tell it by the way Dex treats him. As a matter of fact, Ryan lives with Dex instead of me because Dex is the better parent. I can’t say I’m proud of that, but it’s the truth. Dex moved here from Boston for Ryan’s sake. Ryan was having some trouble at his old school and Dex felt a new environment might be better for him. So, he uprooted his own life and moved, for Ryan. He even coaches Ryan’s baseball team. They’re a group of kids who’ve been in trouble and Dex is trying to get them interested in something besides raising hell.”

And Sam had accused Dex of taking a day off to play when he’d actually been helping troubled teens.
Nice
.

She had to admit she was grudgingly impressed at Dex’s sacrifice, but she still wondered what it had to do with her.

“Sounds like an amazing man,” Sam said, half facetiously. “It’s a wonder you let him go.”

Clarissa gave a small, sad smile. “Biggest mistake I ever made. I’ll never find another man like him.”

“Right. Perfect men don’t come along every day.”

She grinned. “He’s not perfect. He has his faults. Such as, he is definitely not a morning person. Don’t even talk to him until he’s had his first cup of coffee. He’s a monster.”

She said it affectionately, almost reverently. As if she were saying, ‘he rescued orphans from a burning building and was awarded the Nobel peace prize.’

“Sometimes he has horrible nightmares. He used to be in this Black Ops organization and his nightmares can get pretty intense. One night, he grabbed my neck and the look in his eyes...” She shuddered. “But, he woke up right away and was very apologetic.” She flushed. “And he most definitely made it up to me.”

Sam suddenly realized she didn’t like the image of Clarissa and Hawkins in bed together. What the hell was wrong with her? He was nothing to her. Why should she care? Sam gave her wristwatch a quick glance like she had somewhere to be.

Clarissa didn’t seem to notice. She obviously wasn’t finished with the Saint Dexter Hawkins Tribute. “He’s also
way
too into sports. Drove me crazy that he had to catch every football and baseball game he possibly could.” She laughed. “He wanted to plan our honeymoon around a Packers game. Wanted me to go to Green Bay, Wisconsin for my freakin honeymoon! Can you believe it?” Her gaze turned pensive. “I put my foot down. Refused. You know what?”

Sam shook her head, not sure if she wanted to know ‘what’.

“I should have let him.” She smiled wistfully. “If I had it to do over again, I’d have gone to Wisconsin, or even the Antarctica, for my honeymoon, anywhere, just to be with him.” Clarissa wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get all sappy on you.”

“Sounds like you still love him.”

“Oh, yes, I do. And if you have feelings for him, if you have even a smidgen of interest in him, you hold on and don’t ever let go.”

“Why are you telling me this if you love him?”

“Because, I lost my chance with him and I want him to be happy.”

“Surely it’s not too late for you?”

“Yes. I’m afraid it is. I had an affair. Dexter is fiercely loyal and expects the same from those he loves. He has forgiven me, but he would never give me another chance. I killed his love.”

Fiercely loyal? Must not extend to wives of other men. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m lucky to have him in my life.”

“I’m still not sure why you came to see me. Why you’re telling me all this.”

“Because he cares about you.”

“We barely know each other.”

“Maybe. But I saw the way he looked at you. Trust me, I know him. Don’t screw it up.”

Before Sam could respond, her phone rang. It was Mona Morrison’s station manager.

“I understand you wanted to speak with me?” Carson Clayton said.

“Yes,” Sam replied, casting a look at Clarissa. “Would now be a good time?”

“Any time. I’m at the office now, will be until much later in the evening. Have a lot of catching up to do since I took those few days off. You know, you wanna play, you gotta pay.”

“I know the feeling. If it’s okay, I’ll be there in, say, half an hour?”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

Sam stood and held a hand out to Clarissa. “Thanks for coming to see me. I’ll keep what you said in mind.”

The woman held her grip for several seconds, meeting Sam’s eyes. Finally, she released her, nodding and saying softly, “Please do. For your own sake, please do.”

****

Sam drove to the television station as dusk fell, bringing even cooler temperatures, although there had already been a break in the oppressive heat.

A light summer rain fell, the wipers languorously slapping away the moisture from the windshield.

Sam put in an Elvis CD and cracked the window just a bit. She loved the fresh smell of rain in the air and didn’t figure a little moisture would hurt anything.

Love Coming Down
, one of Elvis’ more obscure releases from the 70’s, was playing and the damp evening air and Elvis’ powerful voice filled the car, surrounding her, calming her. She released a breath and along with it, some of the tension of the past few weeks.

Sometimes, she felt as though she were being tugged on from too many different directions and there wasn’t enough of her to go around. She was afraid that one day, she’d be wrenched into a thousand pieces and just disappear.

There was her job, her family with their problems, their holidays, their never-ending functions. There was her mother with her guilt trips about Sam’s absence from said functions, her criticism regarding Sam’s lack of family devotion, not to mention Sam’s ring less finger and barren womb, circumstances that were specifically aimed to punish
her
. And now, there was Hawkins’ ex-wife with her perplexing praise of a man who’d divorced her. And Hawkins himself, with those incredible eyes and devastating dimples and his paradoxical good boy/bad boy persona.

But mostly, there was Mona Morrison, the victim who cried out from the grave for justice.

Sam lowered the volume on the CD player when she arrived at the guard shack. After checking her badge and confirming Clayton was expecting her, the security guard waved her through.

She parked where he directed and eased the window closed. She climbed out of the car, not bothering with an umbrella, even though the rain was falling a little harder than it had been.

The building was dark, abandoned, looking completely different than it had when she’d visited less than a week ago. The hum of activity and swarm of people were absent, lending it a deserted feel. Sam shivered, feeling creeped out, which made no sense. After all, she was armed.

She passed the sound room where she’d watched the tapes with Giselle, then the recording studio, warily checking to her right and left as she did so. She could hear the rain hitting the roof. The sound she’d enjoyed only moments before now gave off an ominous vibe.

At the end of the hallway was Clayton’s office. Sam knocked but there was no response. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dark, except for the glow of a fish aquarium standing against one wall next to a bookshelf. Colorful fish glided through the water, darting in and out of a small castle resting on the bottom.

“Mr. Clayton?” Sam called.

No answer. She caught a shadowed figure in her peripheral vision and whirled, her hand flying beneath her jacket to her shoulder holster.

An embarrassed laugh left her throat when she saw what had startled her. It was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Judge Mona Morrison. It stood just inside the door to the left, hidden from her view until she’d stepped inside.

Sam shook her head and glanced around the room. Something still didn’t feel quite right. Clayton was supposed to be here working all evening. Even the guard had thought he was here. He could have gone to the restroom, or maybe a break room for a cup of coffee. But the entire building felt deserted. As if she was the only living human here.

A clattering noise broke the silence, like something shaking around inside a box. It sounded like it was coming from this room, but she couldn’t identify its source.

She pulled her weapon and glanced behind her. Nothing.

“Mr. Clayton?” she called again, moving further into the room.

She made her way cautiously to his desk and when she peered behind it, she saw him. Or, at least, she assumed it was him, even though she’d never met him. He looked to be in his mid- thirties, short, neat brown hair and a goatee. Nice-looking man. Well, he had been a nice-looking man. Now he was a corpse.

He was lying half in, half out of his chair, his eyes wide and staring, his mouth contorted in a death grimace. His flesh was reddish and swollen, one eyelid slightly drooping.

Sam holstered her weapon and grabbed her lapel mic, calling for an ambulance as she knelt to check him. Putting her fingers against his pulse, she confirmed he was beyond help.

Despite the physical characteristics she’d noticed on his face, she didn’t see any visible signs of injury. Did he have a heart attack? He wasn’t old, but even the young were susceptible to heart problems. Sighing, she stood. As she did, she noticed a mark on Clayton’s neck.

Two small holes. Fang marks.

Sam went numb and at that moment, the clattering sound resumed. Only this time, she recognized it. It was a rattle... A snake.

Once more, she drew her weapon. She stood stock still, unable to look for the snake, afraid she’d find it.

She was terrified like never before in her life, even more so than the time a coked-out thug with a pistol had her cornered. She’d taken a bullet then, but she’d trade that time for this one in a heartbeat, no doubt about it.

Yes, she was armed, but this was a
snake
. A quick, deadly,
hidden
, snake. One that had killed once and undoubtedly wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

She shuddered, her gun hand quaking. If she could get a shot at the snake, she’d blow it away and to hell with PETA. But that was the problem, she couldn’t see it. The demon serpent was slithering around somewhere in the dark.

Her breathing was quick and shallow, loud. She couldn’t control it, even though she feared it would alert the snake to her presence. Sweat broke out at her hairline and trickled down her face, underneath the collar of her jacket.

What was it she’d heard on one of those Discovery channel programs? That if you were perfectly still, a snake wouldn’t attack? Or was that a bear?

Snake or bear...snake or bear...snake or...

Fuck it!
She ran.

Chapter Eight

Sam was still trembling as the animal control officer held the snake in a large white bag after lifting it with a pair of long tongs and slipping it inside.

“This is a Mojave Rattler,” the man said. He was young, short, and thin, with dark hair that fell over his forehead, causing him to make a constant slinging motion to get it out of his eyes. His voice rose in pitch and he spoke with rapid excitement. “It’s one of the most dangerous snakes in the US. Their venom is like, ten times more toxic than any other rattler.” He shook his head. “These puppies live in the Mojave desert out in California, maybe some in Texas. Don’t know how it got here.”

Don’t know either, but get it the hell away from me.
Sam wanted to scream the words at him but she nodded. “Thanks. We’ll check into that.”

“Pretty good bet the killings are about the show now, huh?” Frank said after the happy snake boy had gone. He peered closely at Sam. “You okay, Spike?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “Just discovered I have a fear of snakes. Didn’t know that.”

“Hell’s bells, who
doesn’t
have a fear of snakes?”

“That guy, apparently,” Sam replied, jerking a thumb at the retreating animal control officer.

“Got to be the same doer, even though the MO is different.” Frank worried the drinking straw clenched between his teeth. “Isn’t Avery from Texas?”

“Not
from
Texas, but he moved there. You’re thinking because the rattlers are found in Texas, it might be a link to him?”

“Might be.”

One of the uniforms approached. “Detective, Ms. Corinthia is here. She’s in the lounge down the hall.”

Sam nodded and she and Frank went to the lounge.

Giselle Corinthia stood in the center of the room, her face taut, stress clearly showing in the eyes and in the lines around her lips. She wore a shiny gold, floor-length, body-hugging dress, proving what Sam had suspected when she met her the first time. The woman was perfect.

Sam could almost hear Frank salivating as he stood behind her.

“Ms. Corinthia,” Sam said, extending a hand. “This is my partner, Frank Torino.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Giselle said. Frank nodded like a bobblehead but didn’t respond as he shook the woman’s hand. His face was a study in reluctance when he released her.

“I was at a banquet when I received the call about Carson. Is he...dead?”

Sam nodded. “I’m afraid so. Would you please take a seat? We need to ask you a few questions.”

Giselle nodded and moved gracefully to the sofa, floating downward until she was perched on the edge. Sam sat next to her and Frank took the chair positioned caddy cornered to them.

“Do you know of anyone else working late this evening, other than Mr. Clayton?” Sam asked.

Giselle shook her head. “It wasn’t common for anyone to be here after hours. The cleaning crew comes in at night, but normally, the staff leaves by six or so. Carson was only here because he had a lot of catching up to do after being out of town.”