Deadly Obsession Part 4

Cole's hold slackened, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her. "Purpo se?"

"Yeah." She chuckled. "I was chilly by the bar. I'm not anymore."

The song ended, leaving them standing in the middle of the dance floor, the seductiveness of the night life around them, their gazes held hostage by des ire.

"Another slow one, Cole?" the lead singer bellowed into the microphone.

Laurie glanced at the singer whose gaze focused on her dance partner. "Yo u know him?"

"Unfortunately," Cole replied as he led Laurie off the floor and back to their bar stools, his hand in the small of her back.

"We have time for one more, then we go for a break," the singer growled, ho lding up his empty beer bottle. The crowd roared in approval.

The slow guitar riff of another song filled the room as the man's voice dee ply stroked the words. Women seemed drawn to the enigma on stage. There was definitely something alluring about the man with his silky black hair and his black eyes. He had high cheekbones, a long slim nose, thin lips, and st ood at least six foot five as he loomed above the other band members. Lauri e might have found herself captivated, had she not already been with the be st-looking man in the room. They were only having drinks-and she had invite d herself. But the detective enchanted her, nonetheless. She pulled away. T he story had been the objective, not her attraction.

"So how do you know him?" she asked Cole, drawing his attention from his nearly empty gla.s.s.

Cole's brows drew together. "Why? Need a date?"

Laurie flinched at the tone of his voice. "Certainly not."

He'd returned to his usual surliness. What could have possibly happened to change his mood? Had he noted her watching the singer and reacted out of je alousy? Of course not. His mood swings had little to do with her. But he ob viously had issues with the singer. She wondered if any of his dates had ditched him for this guy.

"Why the curiosity about the singer? Oh, I forgot, you're a reporter. It's yo ur job to know these things. Or maybe you're just interested in a one-night s tand with him."

Anger heated beneath the surface, rising to the top. She had half a notion to smack the snarled look off his face. "Mr. Kincaid-"

"Back to that are we?"

She paused and stared blankly at him. "Back to what?"

"Mr. Kincaid. I thought we dropped the formalities when I paid for your dri nk, Miss Michaels ."

"You bought me a drink, Detective. That does not give you the right to tell me who I can and cannot sleep with."

"So you do want to sleep with Damien."

"Who the h.e.l.l is Damien?" she screeched just as the music ended, making he r voice seem loud even to her.

"The singer."

"I don't want to sleep with him."

"Oh." He shrugged, his face relaxing as he tapped his gla.s.s on the bar. The b artender grabbed it. "Another for the lady, too."

"For crying out loud, Cole. What ever gave you the idea I wanted to sleep w ith this-this Damien?"

"Intuition."

"Let's hope your intuitions about the murders aren't as far off base."

"Cole, what have you been telling the pretty lady here about me?"

Laurie turned to see the topic of their conversation standing behind her. S he wondered how much he'd heard.

"Laurie Michaels," Cole turned on his stool to face the man, who looked mu ch taller standing in front of her than on stage, "this is my charming roo mmate, Damien Vincent."

Damien grasped one of her hands and brought it to his lips. A shiver travel ed through her body as she fought the urge to jerk her hand from his grasp.

It was as though a cool breeze had pa.s.sed through the room, chilling her t o the bone. She glanced into the cold eyes of the singer. This man exuded s omething akin to evil. Had she not known better, she would swear she stared into the eyes of Lucifer himself. Was not Damien the name of Satan's son?

A tremor pa.s.sed down her spine; the intense shiver reminded her of how ice splits when a pick is shoved into it.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Michaels." His hypnotic voice caused Laurie to stare into his eyes unable to say a word.

Seconds later, she regained her senses; she noticed the annoyance on Cole's face and pulled her hand free. "You may call me Laurie."

"Who's the new guy?" Cole asked, nodding toward the stage. A man, slightly smaller than Damien though still large by any means, bent over k.n.o.bs and b.u.t.tons on the front of an amplifier.

Damien glanced at the stage and shrugged. "He's been with my band for a c ouple of months now. Chad left and I needed a new guitar player. I had an audition and he's who I ended up with. Sandy Brown."

"Sandy?" Cole's eyebrows rose.

Damien chuckled. "His mother must have hated him. But he's a h.e.l.l of a guit ar player."

"I noticed. You guys sounded good tonight."

Something about Damien unnerved Laurie, though she was unable to figure out why. Her skin crawled just being near him; she felt an urgent need to get out of his presence. "Well, I really should be going."

"I'd tell you I'd hope to see you around, but then we both know the truth to that, don't we?"

"I don't give up that easily, Detective." As she turned to leave, she knocked her drink to the floor. The gla.s.s shattered, the shards glittered on the woode n surface. Laurie bent over to pick up some of the pieces, but the first one s he touched pierced her forefinger.

"Ouch!" She stood up and held her injured digit between two of her fingers on the opposite hand. A drop of blood welled to the surface.

"Let me see that," Cole said, a note of concern in his voice.

Before she could show Cole the injured finger, Damien grasped it, taking it to his mouth, suckling the blood. Laurie stared into the singer's eyes, mesm erized and repulsed at the same time.

She pulled her hand from his hold. "Thank you, Mr. Vincent." She frowned.

"I think." Why would a man she'd just met perform such an intimate act?

Cold fear seized her. She turned to Cole and said, "I have to go." She di dn't bother to wait for a response; she hurried away from him and Damien, careful not to look back should the wickedness of the room swallow her w hole. Tomorrow would be soon enough to confront Detective Kincaid about t he sort of company he kept.

Chapter 5.

Cole rolled to his side and kicked his feet free of the covers, glancing at t he glowing green clock. Two a.m. His gaze shot to the ebony phone sitting bes ide the clock on the nightstand; he half-expected it to ring.

Phone calls in the middle of the night were rarely good-and he feared another victim would be found. But the phone did not ring, nor did his alarm go of f, so what the h.e.l.l was he doing awake? Releasing his pent-up breath, he rol led onto his other side, using an arm as a pillow, and glanced at the window .

Light from the street lamp seeped through the Venetian blinds, causing stark white lines across his gray carpeting. His body needed rest. h.e.l.l, twenty-f our hours had pa.s.sed. He should be exhausted, but still, he could not sleep.

Cole flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Though he wore no mor e than a pair of plaid flannel boxers and the air-conditioning unit blew a s teady stream of cooled air into his room, Cole's body was damp from sweat.

Someone out there had killed two girls. The unknown subject had a taste for blood. His s.e.xual draw likely came from the spilling of another's life fluid s. Images of blood splattering from the wounds came to mind, covering a face less man as he tried to get closer, tried to drink from the fresh cut.

Cole cringed in disgust. They were not dealing with a human; they were in communion with a vampire. Even though he knew these supernatural beings di d not exist, he was d.a.m.ned tempted to believe this was exactly the type of evil they had staring them in the face.

In his past work, he had studied two cases of serial killers. Richard Chas e had been labeled "The Vampire of Sacramento." In 1978, after disemboweli ng his victims, he dipped cups into their bodies and drank their blood. Ch ase had been a schizophrenic who had been easily caught. Dead of a drug ov erdose from his medication; the human race was better off without him.

Peter Kurten received the name "The Vampire of Dusseldorf." An amoral person ality, who began to kill in the late 1920s, and like Cole's killer, received his satisfaction from attempting to catch the blood from the wounds of his victims and drinking it. He'd been caught and lost his head in the guillotin e in 1931. If reincarnation were possible, Cole feared his perp was Chase or Kurten reborn.

A cool breeze swept through the room, raising the hairs on his skin as a fe eling of foreboding settled within his gut. Cole glanced to his closed wind ow then grasped the sheet tangled around his feet and pulled it up to his n eck. He chuckled softly to the dead air of the night. His imagination was f ar too active. But, he made a mental note to look up the cases of Peter Kur ten and Richard Chase come morning to refresh his memory. Maybe studying th ose cases again would offer some clues into his current case.

Desperately trying to fall asleep, Cole conjured up the image of a well-cu rved woman, one with hair of auburn and eyes of melted chocolate. He would not have minded had she the notion to follow him home instead of running from the nightclub like she spotted some sort of fiend in Damien. It had b een some time since Cole had slept with a woman, and in Laurie's presence, his body reminded him almost painfully just how long it had been. The simple thought of her made his body stir in places he would rather remain pla cid at the moment. Cole rolled to his side. d.a.m.n, but this was going to be one long night.

Laurie lay in her pale yellow room, staring at the ceiling fan as the wood en blades spun round and round, sending small bursts of chilled air to cool her heated body. She had tossed and turned for nearly two hours and sleep was still no closer to coming. In the morning, she doubted she would be abl e to concentrate long enough to tap the keyboard of her computer and form a ny type of coherent story.

George would fire her on the spot. Especially after the lame story she turne d in on the Fairview Park killings. But with someone like Detective Kincaid running the cases, her leads were not likely to get any better. He protected his privacy better than Guardian Alarm secured her home.

Though the night air held little scent, she could almost smell the musk he had worn. Laurie rolled to her side and clutched the pillow beneath her hea d. She had not entertained the thought of a man since Jeff walked out of he r life six months ago. Being unfaithful and unable to keep promises came wi th a man's basic nature, part of his DNA makeup. Besides, with the money fr om the trust fund her grandfather left her and her salary at the paper, wha t did she need a man for?

Laurie glanced around the room and at the luxuries her wealth afforded. How many people fresh out of college could buy themselves their own home, let alone one in the upper-cla.s.s section of Fairview Park? Her parents lived ne arby, about ten minutes away. Close enough to visit, yet far enough to prov ide her privacy.

She wanted to curse Cole Kincaid; he reminded her body how truly alone she had been the last few months. Jeff Carlton had been her first and only bo yfriend. She started dating him her soph.o.m.ore year of high school and they had stayed together through their college years, where they had eventuall y consummated the relationship. He had offered her marriage. Then, after g raduation approached, he announced his plans to go to California and had a sked her to return the engagement ring.

She had thought her life was over and her future grim. But, six months late r, she had her own career, a home to cherish, and a dog to keep her company . Laurie moved her foot across the sheets to where her Miniature Pinscher, Zeke, lay curled up in a ball. The movement brought him from his sleep to t he top of the bed, showering her face with kisses. Laurie smiled and shooed him away.

"Down, Zeke. Go night, night." She gently pushed him from her.

The black dog bent his head in rejection and trotted to the foot of the bed where he laid down and placed his head on his paws, looking at her through saddened eyes.

Not exactly the kind of kisses she had been dreaming of as of late. Cole's da rk image came to mind with his black hair and dark eyes. With six feet of hei ght, a taut body, and lush lips, her thoughts never strayed far from her carn al nature.

Laurie rolled her eyes as she tossed to her back. She was pathetic.

With any luck, as long as George continued to keep her on the case, she wou ld see a lot more of Cole Kincaid. Her first impression of the detective ha d been that he was arrogant, rude, and downright wretched. But tonight she had seen another side to him. As long as she was not discussing his life or his case, she might even deem him personable.

Laurie sighed. She could only hope to dream of the man she ran from so qui ckly. But when she closed her eyes, a darker, taller, more formidable man came to mind.

Damien Vincent.

Opening her eyes, Laurie glanced at the small cut on her hand, no more than a dark line in the dimness of her room. A shiver traveled down her spine. He r gut tightened, remembering all too well the feeling of immorality that had invaded her soul as the tall singer suckled her injured finger.

Satan's hand at work.

Not in novels or movies, but here in Fairview Park. Someone took pleasure in ending the lives of people. And if evil was not in the form of Damien V incent, then who?

Blood. Asimple word, a simple fluid. But without it, one cannot survive. And the soul cannot function.Why not, then, can the soul take what is readily a vailable? Red Cross pumps pints daily and the hospitals give it to those dyi ng in order to keep them alive. The demon, too, feels it can perform menial duties in order to have in abundance the liquid it craves most and work wher e a simple pint here or there might not be missed.

There are beings who cut themselves and lend their life's fluids in return fo r small menial favors from the soul. Degenerates, wretched, and out of work.

But Satan laughs in the face of evil and takes from those who wish to cling t o life.

What satisfaction comes from those who do not plead? To h.e.l.l with the wick ed who do things for their own gain for they already belong to Satan. The soul wants to claim those who do not and send them to their G.o.d above.

For is the soul not already tortured and left to its own merits by the same G.o.d who claims to protect His own? Now, with nowhere else to turn, the demon looks to darkness to survive. h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation are all that is left. And now, the son of Satan has eternity in which to suffer.

The darkness of night shadows the evil as it stares out from dim doorways and blackened corners where no light lends its brilliance. The thick crimson l iquid calls and the smell of human life is almost too much to bear. Soon, th e soul thinks. Soon another victim shall fall prey to his maleficence.

They shall not catch the soul, for ignorance is in and of itself a sin.

Laurie satat a desk in the library studying microfiches of past Plain Dealer s, unsure if she would find anything of importance. But maybe, just maybe....

"d.a.m.n," she muttered.

Four hours later and she still had nothing. Unless, she came up with somethi ng soon, George would have her on obituary duty. She knew it was probably a long shot, but she would lay odds this killer did not just begin in Fairview Park. If her intuition paid off, she might find several unsolved murders in other cities. The closest place to start was Cleveland.

The city was big enough to hide in, so why turn to a small community? Or w as Fairview Park no more than a dumping ground for a madman? She looked at the screen. August 4. She had already gone through several years of old p apers and still came up empty handed. She continued to scroll backwards. N othing. She was no closer to finding an answer than when she had walked in to the library. One more turn to the dial and she reached for the k.n.o.b to turn the machine off.

A picture on the final screen came into focus, catching her attention.

May 2. The headline read: "Detective Lead Suspect in Murder." Beneath the c aption, a picture of Cole Kincaid stared back at her.

"My G.o.d," she mouthed as her jaw dropped and her gaze fixed on his dark eye s. Turning to a pa.s.sing librarian, she asked, "Can you get me a copy of thi s article?"

"Sure," the woman replied curtly. Laurie barely heard her as she scrolled f orward. Certainly there would be more.

"Miss Michaels?" the same librarian said as she made her way back to Laurie , handing her a copy of the story.

"Yes?"