Read Krewe of Hunters The Unholy Online
Authors: Heather Graham
Krewe of Hunters The Unholy (23 page)
“I’m off pretty soon, too, Sean,” Colin Bailey said. “Nash is coming in. He and I are doing twelve-hour shifts, like we do during lockdown. Now it seems especially important that one of us is here to keep guard.”
“That’s great, Colin. Just hope it doesn’t wear you two out.”
“Did you find anything down there?” Bailey asked.
“A lot of dirt!” Sean said with a laugh.
“Well, I’m not sure what else you thought you’d find in a basement,” Bailey told him. “Bye for now.”
Behind him, Madison said good-night and Tyler politely echoed her words. They left the studio for Sean’s borrowed car.
Tyler took the wheel while Sean made a call to Logan, and Madison sat silently in the backseat. They reached the hotel, where they hurried through the lobby and up to the third floor.
“Showers. What then?” Madison asked.
“Movie night,” Sean said.
“We’re going to see a movie?”
“Don’t want to be all work and no play,” Sean said, but judging by her expression, she wasn’t amused. He touched her chin, still smudged despite the repairs they’d attempted. “Like I said this morning, I think we should enjoy a viewing of
Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum.
”
“Oh. Well, the only place I could imagine seeing that film is at the Black Box,” Madison said.
“Precisely.” Sean smiled at her. “Your hair looks gray.”
“So does yours.”
“Any of the three of us would fit right in with those mannequins in the halls,” Tyler said. “Sean, I’m going to take a shower, go down to the police station and see if I can interview some of the people who still need to be questioned. Then I’ll brief the others and meet you two at the Black Box. Call me when it’s been arranged and we’ll be there whatever time you say.”
“Good plan. I’m going to get on the computer and see if I can come up with any references to the original Claymore and his son, the studio and anything that might’ve been going on at the time,” Sean told him.
They parted and went to their own rooms.
* * *
I’m not afraid of cemeteries. I’m not afraid of the dead!
Madison silently chanted the words in her mind as she scrubbed her hair for the third time. Probably useless, because she’d end up back in the strange catacombs beneath the studio again.
No…
Tomorrow would be a workday for her, a time to return to the world of
The Unholy
and the specialized costume that would be worn by Oliver Marshall—and his stunt double. Of course, they’d all be feeling awkward, not sure what to say to one another, and there might still be a police presence on-site. No, there
would
be a police presence on-site
.
Finally, she rinsed her hair, poured on conditioner, rinsed again and got out of the shower.
Wrapped in one towel, with another wound around her hair, she wandered back to her room. She had the television on and was gratified to see a police spokesman on the news. He was saying that although Alistair Archer had been arraigned for the murder of Jenny Henderson, new leads wer neon e causing police and FBI to delve further into the case.
The spokesman told reporters he couldn’t give them any details as that information might jeopardize the case. While still being harangued by dozens of questions, the stern middle-aged man lifted his hand and said, “That is all at this time.”
Surrounded by officers, he went back into the station.
Madison was only dimly aware of the reporter as he spoke to the anchor back at his studio, reconstructing the “bizarre” case once again.
She glanced at the bedside clock-radio and saw that it was just after five. She felt as if she’d lived a lifetime that day. They hadn’t had lunch, although breakfast delivered to the room had been filling. She was getting hungry, though, and besides being hungry, she was alarmed at the way she felt so
alone.
But she did feel alone. More alone than ever. Maybe because she usually spent so many hours working. Maybe because she lived with a ghost much of the time. Except it wasn’t just
alone
that she was feeling. Because her sudden loneliness had everything to do with Sean, with missing him, although she’d left him only forty minutes ago….
She got dressed, determined not to think anymore.
But when she’d donned jeans and a sweater, she was still restless—and alone. Sitting on the foot of her bed, she began to feel as if the hours, the fears and the discoveries, were weighing on her. She couldn’t just sit there any longer.
Everything in her life had changed with Alfie’s call on Monday morning. She’d liked her life; it was a good one. And she was lucky—incredibly lucky—to have her job. But everything was based on work. Great work, with wonderful coworkers. She was proud of her associations, and outside friends were often envious because she dressed stars like Oliver Marshall and spent hours on movie sets. She’d never recognized until now how much she’d allowed herself to overlook in life. She’d blamed Bogie for the fact that she hardly ever brought a date home, but it wasn’t Bogie’s fault. Well, maybe it was a little bit. But she hadn’t gone out in forever, and the real reason was that she hadn’t met anyone she wanted to spend time with, or even one night.
She stood; she couldn’t stay where she was.
She wasn’t sure what she was doing or why, but she left her room, walked across the hall and knocked on Sean’s door.
“Just a second!” he called.
A minute later, the door opened a few inches. Sean stood behind it, looking around its edgerou/div>
“It’s okay,” she said, not moving. The scent of his soap seemed to waft into the hallway.
He must have realized she wasn’t going away. He frowned slightly, but arched a brow. “I’ll be ready soon.”
“May I wait with you?” she asked.
He was silent for a few seconds, then opened the door the rest of the way. “I’m sorry—I’m not quite decent.”
“You’re decent enough for me,” she said.
He still hesitated. “Sure, come in. It’ll take me a few minutes to throw some clothes on. I’m a little behind—I ended up on the computer. There’s soft drinks and probably something harder in the suite’s work area.”
She walked past him, heading toward the connecting door. It was closed and she turned back to him. He’d been reaching for a neat stack of clothing to bring into the bathroom with him but he paused, his frown deepening as he looked at her.
“Madison, you all right?” he asked.
“I—I don’t know,” she admitted.
He smiled suddenly, as if he understood. But she knew he didn’t.
“It was an interesting day. There’s something eerie about those catacombs, even after being in the morgue for an hour.”
“It’s—it’s interesting all around.”
“You must feel terrible. And I’m honest-to-God sorry. I never knew we’d have to worry about your safety.”
“I’m fine with everything that’s happened,” she said. “We’ve already proven how it was done. As you said, we just need to discover who.”
He nodded. “The who, and the why.” He frowned again. “Is there a reason you’re looking at me like that? Are you hungry? We’ll eat on the way to the Black Box.”
“Yes, dinner will be nice, but…”
“But?”
“I was thinking of…shinont size="pending a little time together. Not in the company of ghosts or in a crypt or a graveyard.”
He offered her a slow half grin, his head angling to the side in a questioning manner. “I’d almost think you came here to proposition me, Madison,” he said softly.
She met his eyes and inhaled, and tried to appear like a woman with a sophisticated sense of reality.
“I did.”
11
T
he moment was ridiculously awkward. It was as if time stood still as he looked back at her—and yet time was ticking away. Madison thought she could actually hear the hands on the room’s old-fashioned clock-radio.
But, in an odd way, it wasn’t awkward at all.
She swallowed, but she was determined to be honest, and she wasn’t backing down, wasn’t going to pretend she was just joking.
She wasn’t to going to run off in embarrassment, either; if she did, that was how she’d feel forever after in his presence. Her lips curved wistfully. She realized that although she hadn’t been sure of her exact intent until she’d said the words, she certainly hadn’t expected rejection. It wasn’t that she felt any man would instantly agree to have sex with her. It was just that she believed there’d been something between them. Chemistry, if nothing else.
“Uh, you made rather a point about not staying in my room last night,” he reminded her.
“I know,” she said. “But…that was, well…I didn’t want to be here because I
had
to be here—I mean, in a room with you—because I was afraid. When I’m afraid, I
would
rather be with you, but I… I’m not saying this at all well.”
She was surprised when he walked over to her at last. She began to feel a trembling inside her when his hands dropped to her arms, and she was intensely aware of his height and physique, his damp bare chest and the towel about his midriff. Whatever it was that she always felt when she was with him seemed amplified, like a drumbeat in her head, or a riveting pulse in her bloodstream.
“Trust me, I have nothing against the idea. I’d be a hell of a liar if I said it hasn’t played in my mind more than once,” he told her. The sound of his voice seemed to sweep around her, creating a deeper sense of longing with every throaty word, every nuance.
“I guess it’s not the time or place,” she murmured.
hinone>
“Actually, it’s a fine time and place. Tyler’s gone to work with the others, I’ve called Eddie and arranged for a showing of the film. We won’t meet at the cinema for about two and a half hours.”
His green eyes seemed to have a dazzling light as he stared down at her.
“Oh!” she said, about to step back. “I’m sorry—I didn’t even think. Is there someone in your life?”
He seemed to wince. “No. There’s no one in my life. You?”
She shook her head.
“At least I’m dressed—or undressed—for the occasion,” he said dryly.
“I can be, too,” she whispered.
“Madison, I’m not really… I didn’t plan on sleeping with anyone. I’m not prepared. I’m talking about sexual responsibility.”
“I am,” she told him.
His smile deepened and she added, “No, I mean, really, there’s no one in my life. I guess…I’ve been ever hopeful.”
He laughed softly. She lowered her head, astonished that the simple sound of a laugh could be so provocative.
He lifted her chin, then pulled her against him, and once more his eyes fell on hers. “You know we live in different worlds,” he said.
“Different and the same.”
He smiled at that, and there was something amused, something tender and yet still hesitant in the way he looked at her.
“I care about you, Madison.”
“Would it be better if you didn’t?”
“Yes.”
“We can’t just take this for what it is—and for whatever time we have?” she asked.
He groaned. “Yes. Yes, we can.”
He gazed into her eyes ando h“Yes. seemed to struggle, and she wondered if he was worried for her, for himself, or for them both. But his thumb and forefinger were already on her chin and cheek, and he lowered his head slowly. His lips touched hers as lightly as a breath. As if he was giving her every chance to move away…
He had no idea how much she wanted to be right where she was. She wished she could hold on to time and savor this closeness forever. His skin was taut and bronzed and smooth. The easy strength in his arms seemed unique, the very feel of his lips was beyond anything she might have imagined.
But his lips grew hungrier, more impassioned, and he drew her closer, his mouth like fire on hers as the kiss deepened. She felt drunk with the luxury of his touch, aware of the hardness of his muscled form, and
very
aware of the rise of his erection against the thin denim of her jeans and the towel that was all he wore. He’d been quite right—he was dressed, or undressed, for the occasion.
His hands moved down her back. She stepped out of her sandals, and together they removed her shirt. His fingers slid beneath her waistband. She imagined that no grace was possible in the act of taking off her jeans, and yet it seemed that they shimmied effortlessly down her body. The towel slipped from him as he picked her up, his eyes on hers once again as they crossed the few feet to the bed. The clothing he’d been planning to wear fell to the floor, landing on top of her hastily discarded T-shirt and jeans.
He leaned over her, stroking her face, but he didn’t speak. She had to wonder what was going through his mind. But she didn’t speak, either; she was afraid of breaking the enchantment that had seized her.
Then she felt his mouth on hers again, and she ceased to think or analyze and gave herself completely to the sensations that overwhelmed her. His mouth left hers, trailing over her breasts. She felt the pressure of his thighs, the ripple of muscle. He moved down the length of her, kissing her, and where his lips touched, it seemed that fire erupted and spread. She touched him with feather-light strokes at first, and then the hunger inside made her bolder, and she caressed his hair and his bronzed flesh in return. His every movement against her seemed erotic; he was a practiced and natural lover, she thought, a man who knew where to touch and when, and how to tease and elicit and give all at once. She prayed that she could do the same. Again, she ceased to think, she was so caught up in the carnal and earthly sensations that swirled through her, the eroticism of his tongue on her flesh and the movement of his hands….
She cried out softly as he brought her to a fever pitch and then rose above her, sliding into her smoothly and easily, his movements a slow and evocative thrust, then escalating…becoming more and more urgent. Her hands and fingers rested on his shoulders. His eyes gazed down into hers and, once again, beyond the physical intimacy they shared in all its heady glory, she felt something deeper. It was as if his eyes could reach where no physical movement could. And yet everything—their breath, the ripple of muscle, the pure eroticism of their intimacy, the pounding of their hearts—seemed so intense that nothing could be deeper.
But it was.
She closed her eyes. They’d taken a step together that neither of them had planned.
Afterward, she lay there for a minute, trying not to breathe, praying they wouldn’t speak, that nothing would come to shatter the moment.
Then thoughts crowded her mind again, and nagging fear took hold. For her it had been as if the entire world had glowed and sparkled, but…
For him, it might have been sex. Just sex.
Maybe he knew she didn’t want words; she wanted to savor the moment. He didn’t speak. He held her close, and the seconds seemed to slip away. Outside, the sun fell and shadows darkened the room.
Then he turned to her, and the whole process began again, until once more, they lay side by side, silent in the wonder of aftermath.
Then his phone rang, and the sound seemed louder than music blasting from a disco club. Madison jumped. Sean eased her back down, rolling over to find the jeans he’d discarded before his shower and pulling his phone from the pocket.
“Cameron,” he answered.
She heard Logan Raintree’s voice, but couldn’t really make out the words.
“Yes, fine, all set,” Sean said. “We’re leaving here, and we’ll grab some fast food on the way…. Sure, see you in about thirty minutes.”
He hit the end button on his phone and looked at Madison. She was afraid he was going to give her some kind of apology, that he’d thank her jokingly, but, hey, they really needed to get going now.
He didn’t say anything like that.
“Race you to the shower!” he said, and leaped out of the bed.
Stunned, she watched him for a moment. Then she bounded to her feet and rushed in. “No touching!” he teased. “We’ll be late if you do.”
He was serious about that. They passed the soap to each other, showered quickly and dressed with equal haste.
They were out the door and in the borrowed Prius before she realized she had yet to say a word.
When she finally did, it was in answer to his question about what she’d like on her burger and did she want onion rings or fries. And that was fine. Since she wasn’t sure what to say…
That was incredible?
Far too clichéd.
Thank you?
Far too sniveling.
Good thing they were going to the movies!
* * *
Guilt.
Sean told himself he should’ve been experiencing a massive sense of guilt—not that he’d done anything for which he should feel
guilty.
Not really. It was just that they shouldn’t be involved when there was a chance that she was in danger, when they were in the middle of a case, when—
No. There was no reason to feel guilt, regret or remorse. They were consenting adults with the rights of consenting adults.
He just wished…
That they’d met at another time, another place. In a bar, for God’s sake. Somewhere other than here and now. Because he couldn’t jeopardize her, and he couldn’t jeopardize the case.
But did it really make a difference in the practical sense? He’d already determined that she was in danger, and maybe being closer to him was better than not.
Eddie Archer had already begun the film.
Eddie had taken it on himself to have Helena, Mike Greenwood and Andy Simons join them. Maybe that hadn’t been such a bad idea; he knew the rest of the team would be observing those closest to Eddie, watching for any indiscretion. Detective Benny Knox had decided to join them, as well.
Sean sat in the darkened theater with the group as they watched
Sam Stone and the Curious Case of the Egyptian Museum.
He tried to remember everything he knew or had heard about the movie.
He’d seen it before—in this very theater. He’d seen it with Eddie and Alistair and a number of the other employees at the studio.
It certainly wasn’t the most famous of film noir movies. It had done well in its day, but both of the leads—John De La Torre and Audrey Grant—had died soon after its release, de la Torre in the service and Audrey in a plane crash as she was flying out to entertain the troops. After that,
Sam Stone
had somehow slipped into the pile of the “mostly forgotten.” He wonden.the troored why. Probably because neither of the two performers had really had a chance to become a big name. There’d been an accidental death on the set as well—a bit player had been electrocuted. These days it seemed that such things would make a movie
more
popular; in the middle of World War II, there was already too much death. Sean remembered the first time he’d seen the movie; he’d thought it was excellent because there were only two suspects in the murder of Dianna Breen’s husband—the priest, Amun Mopat, and Dianna herself. But the writing, direction and action scenes were so effective that it wasn’t until the very end that you knew the widow was innocent, and you knew because the evil priest killed her just as Sam Stone discovered the truth and killed him. There had been a scene in which the mummy was brought to life…. But as Sam Stone fought the thing to save himself, he figured out that it was mechanically run and the priest was a sham. Alistair had loved the movie so much because he’d wanted to direct and produce from the time he’d been a little kid. This movie had exceptional special effects for the day—done at this very studio—and that, too, was part of its appeal.
