Love is Murder (49 page)

“Get with the program, Dawson,” I warned. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. Stop treating me like a greenhorn.”

Did I fail to mention he was stubborn?

His fingers tightened, sending little blasts of heat over my skin in a tantalizing hailstorm. “I don’t want you out there unarmed.”

There went another chorus, sacred chord included. I rallied my defenses and rolled my eyes. “Who said I was?” I pulled free of those long, blunt-tipped fingers and gave him my back. Time to get this done.

“Pretty Boy can ride with me,” Nance shouted over his shoulder as he hit the door.

Behind me Dawson muttered, “One of these days I’m gonna kick his ass.”

Now that I would pay good money to see.

* * *

An hour later I was still standing on the corner of Montrose and Taft. It was muggy as hell and my feet were killing me. My companions for the evening were complaining that it was slow for a Friday night. Just went to show that the depressed economy even affected the oldest profession. I guess when push came to shove some guys preferred their Starbucks Venti Double Chocolate Chip Frappuccino over a quick blow job.

“Suspect is headed your way, Mercer.”

The warning vibrated across the wireless com link and in my ear just as the black Lexus IS convertible rolled up to the curb. Well, well, ’bout time.

“This one’s mine,” I murmured to the ladies on either side of me. One was a redhead, the other a brunette. Both did a little body wave and cheered me on with
you-go-girl
.
Ain’t no use in us all going home hungry tonight
.

The bastard behind the wheel looked straight at me and smiled. “You like to take a ride, baby?”

Ten plus years as a private detective had prepared me for most any situation. Trailing cheating spouses, locating missing persons, background searches, you name it. But tonight was different. Tonight I had agreed to work with Houston’s elite homicide folks to help lure in the suspect in a string of prostitute murders.

Not exactly my usual fare. But, hey, I considered myself a team player.
I scratch your back, you scratch mine
. Mainly, though, tonight was about Kelli Reese, a seventeen-year-old who’d decided high school was getting in the way of making her dreams come true. Kelli, the starry-eyed senior, and I hadn’t ever met when her mother hired my agency to find her. Easy as pie I tracked her down within forty-eight hours. Unfortunately her dramatic journey toward independence and celebritydom led to the city morgue. And this good-looking piece of shit in his thousand-dollar Armani suit was her killer. All I had to do was prove it.

I removed my knockoff Versace sunglasses and tucked them atop my blond head. The lush blond wig was part of my cover. He has a penchant for blondes, all five victims had sported golden manes and pretty blue eyes. Colored contacts turned my unremarkable brown eyes to just the right shade of sapphire blue. While it was true that the only seventeen I’d seen lately was on a calendar or as the balance in my checking account, this guy didn’t seem to care about age. His victims ranged in age from sixteen to forty.

I strolled over to the car, the six-inch heels of my thigh-high boots making my legs even longer just for him. I leaned down to his eye level, allowing him a nice view of my cleavage. “I ain’t cheap, handsome.” I surveyed the luxurious car before settling my gaze back on his expectant one. “Can you afford me and this car, too?”

“Get in.” He nodded toward the passenger seat. “I can handle whatever you believe you deserve.”

Cocky bastard. I opened the door and settled into the buttery-soft leather seat and turned to him. “I’m all yours.” He watched as I crossed my legs. The black spandex mini hiked all the way to my crotch. “Like the preview, sugar?” His gaze zeroed in on mine. “I’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve, too.”

The Lexus peeled away from the curb. With the push of a button the top went up, then the windows, closing out the rest of the world. I would be lying if I didn’t admit the move rattled me just a little.
Focus, Jackie.

If he stuck to his usual M.O., he would drive to a remote location, demand rough sex, including ropes and other paraphernalia, then he would pound a stake through my heart. After a freaky cleansing ritual, he would leave me with my hands folded prayer-style and secured to the stake protruding from my chest. A real prince. Off the record, Nance and his crew had dubbed him the
Vamp Slayer
. I didn’t find their attempt at humor amusing at all. These were women: daughters, sisters, mothers; they deserved respect the same as any other victim.

My job was to draw out the inevitable for as long as possible and to use my wiles to ply incriminating information from this psycho. Ultimately I needed him to pull out the wood—the stake that is. That element of the murders had been kept under wraps for just this moment. We needed to be able to connect him to the murders if we wanted to take him all the way down.

The cops and my partner were listening to every word via the communications link. Backup would be as close behind the Lexus as feasible and would get into position in time to ensure this ass wipe didn’t go too far. The tracking device in my sunglasses supposedly guaranteed there would be no hiccups.

That was all well and good but my daddy didn’t raise no fool. He used to say, “Jackie, always keep your wits about you. Never trust anyone to take care of you.
You
take care of you.” A good Texas girl always listened to her daddy’s advice. That’s why I tucked
Shorty
into the top of my right boot while no one was looking. Smith & Wesson .38 Special, three-inch barrel and seven ready rounds. A girl’s best friend.

Dawson should know me well enough by now to anticipate that I never went anywhere without Shorty.

“What’s your name, handsome?” Might as well get this party started.

He glanced at me, his only answer was to punch the accelerator a little harder, pushing the speed limit without the slightest visible fear. Didn’t matter. I knew his name. Scott Gant. Software engineer. Loner. No wife. No kids. No family.

He maneuvered the Lexus quickly and expertly through the dark streets, his goal apparently to escape the city limits in record time. The headlines heralding HPD as being stumped by this case had obviously gone to his head. He wasn’t even worried enough to watch his mirrors for a tail. Not surprising. I had watched his one interview with the police. More than a dozen men had been questioned about dealings with one or more of the victims. This guy was the only one who had fessed up to having had sex with three. Still, the police hadn’t had one damned thing to connect him or anyone else to the murders. Until they discovered the website. Actually, Max Caldwell, Houston’s resident computer guru and friend of my son’s, had found the naughty little project. The bastard had promised the victims a part in a documentary on prostitution he’d been commissioned to do by a hotshot producer in Hollywood. The website had been his way of looking legit to his prey.

One of the victims had shown the website to a street sister who had refused to come forward at first. Even with the website, the best forensic experts available couldn’t connect the site to the killer. Gant was that good at covering his tracks. The idea that he was the only person of interest in the case who possessed the necessary skills wasn’t enough. But we all knew. Nance and his crew had opted to watch him rather than attempt to slip him up in an interview. A good move in my opinion. This one wouldn’t be tripped up easily.

I might have breathed a little easier at the idea that his reckless driving indicated he fully believed no one was on to him yet, except that I knew this guy was way too smart to make a stupid move out of an overabundance of confidence. He knew what he was doing. He was in the zone. Most likely he was already picturing me dead.

“My friends call me Jenny.” I swung my booted foot and smoothed a hand over my bare thigh. “What kind of games do you like to play, handsome?” I leaned against the headrest and smiled at him. “I like games where I get to pretend I’m someone else.”

He slowed and made a turn that took us farther away from the city’s lights but he said nothing.

Creep
. Undeterred, I reached across the console and trailed a finger through his hair. “I could—”

He jerked away from my touch. “No talking.”

I withdrew to my side of the car, pretending to sulk. I couldn’t help thinking that this ugly emotional distance must have terrified Kelli. Fury ignited in my veins. Had all his victims been treated as if they weren’t worthy of conversation before being brutally murdered?

“Look, mister—” he didn’t bother looking, just kept driving “—if you changed your mind you can take me back. It’s no big deal.”

“Don’t blow this, Mercer.”

I twitched at the sound of Nance’s voice in my ear. Cursed myself for the reaction.

“Take off your clothes.”

I snapped back to attention. “Now?” Adrenaline followed the path of the fury, effectively nullifying its bravado-inspiring attributes.

“Now.” He shot a look my way. “Everything.”

“This is weird. Are we going to do this driving down the road?”

“Shut up and do it.”

I untied the simple knot between my breasts and peeled off the skimpy top, revealing my lacy red bra. I wasn’t worried about him noticing the com link. It was scarcely bigger than a nickel, paper thin and invisible just like the fancy little earpiece that inserted so deeply into my ear I figured it would take an ENT to remove it. I dropped the blouse onto the console and reached for my skirt.

“Throw it out the window.”

My gaze collided with his; before I could argue, he growled, “Do it.”

“Whatever you say, handsome.” The window lowered far enough for me to shove the blouse out, then I raised my bottom from the seat and dragged the skirt over my butt and down my thighs. The lacy red thong left little to the imagination but that was the least of my worries at the moment. Carefully stretching the skirt over the boots was my focus. If he demanded I take off the boots, I was screwed.

The black mini went out the window.

In my earpiece I could hear Dawson arguing with Nance. Good thing the volume was modulated to ensure sound went into my ear only.

“The boots, too.”

Oh, hell.

“Dude,” I argued. “These boots cost me a whole night’s work.” Actually I had borrowed them, but Shorty had cost a shitload. “Maybe you should just pull over and let me out. This is getting a little freaky for me.”

He reached into his jacket pocket. I resisted the urge to go for Shorty. I had to ride this out…nail this bastard to the—

The pistol was in my face before I finished the thought.

Awesome.

“Take off the boots.”

My hands went up in mock panic. “Please don’t shoot me.” I had no idea if this guy could hit the broad side of a barn at point-blank range but I also had no desire to find out. More debating over the com link. Dawson was pissed and ranting at Nance to end this now.

“Take off the boots, you stupid bitch,” the driver roared.

Hands shaking for his benefit, I started with the left. How the hell would I get the right one off without him spotting Shorty? The left boot went out the window. I held the part of the right boot where the weapon snugged against my leg with one hand, hoping to keep it from plopping out, as I dragged the boot off with the other hand.

Didn’t work.

Shorty hit the carpet.

“What the hell is that?”

The car swerved dangerously. My heart skipped a beat or two. Reluctantly, I reached down and picked up the gun, holding it by the butt with my thumb and forefinger so as not to set off the wrong chain reaction. He snatched it out of my hand and tossed it to the floor on his side of the car. More swerving ensued. Damn, I should have buckled up.

The muzzle of his pistol stabbed into my temple. “Why do you have a gun?”

I turned my face to him, ignoring the jab of the business end of his pistol. “For protection from freaks like you.”

“Toss the sunglasses.” His voice was ice-cold and rock hard. He was through playing now.

I did as I was told. The fake Versaces went out the window.

I was screwed.

The tracking device was history.

Shit.

“Take off the rest.”

No way in hell. I was through playing, too. I crossed my arms over my middle. “Pay me first.” I moved my head resolutely from side to side. “I ain’t showing you the goods until I see the money.”

He grabbed my purse and tossed it out the window then pushed me forward and ran the hand with the gun over my back in a half-assed attempt to feel for any surprises. Did he suspect that I was working with the cops? The other victims’ clothes had been missing, that was true. Was this the way he made that happen? Did he retrace his route and pick up the clothes? Or was he just lucky since not a single article had been found?

His encumbered hand groped around my shoulders and chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” Despite my question, I moved my arms and let him have free reign. The more cooperative I appeared the less suspicious he would grow.

I hoped.

Dawson shouting in my earpiece snagged my attention.
Where the hell is he taking you?
There was a distinct crackle that rendered inaudible whatever he said next.

Fear slammed into my brain.

The tracking device was history
.

I glanced at the dash, the increasing speed registered. The communications link would fail if there was too much distance between them and me. Without the tracking device there was no way to locate the Lexus once a visual was lost.

Think, Jackie
. Where the hell were we? I blinked. Scanned the landscape flying past in a dark blur. An eerie silence in my ear forced the evacuation of the oxygen in my lungs.

Could they still hear me?

My panicked gaze latched onto a familiar landmark as the bastard slowed for another turn. I knew exactly where he was taking me.
The
cemetery…but was it too late to pass the word to my backup?