Queen Of Blood Part 2

Dream struggled as they dragged her toward the open back of an old van. She opened her mouth to scream, but someone hit her again.

The world went black.

CHAPTER THREE.

The smell of cooking meat wafted in from the kitchen. A faint undertone of Indian spices accompanied the aroma. The m.u.f.fled sound of a television also emanated from that direction, as did the occasional clank of pots and pans being moved around.

Chad Robbins closed out his e-mail and browser screens and flipped the laptop shut. Allyson poked her head around a corner of the hallway arch and smiled broadly at him. "Dinner's almost ready, baby. Put the silly Internet away and come help me get the table ready."

Chad looked at her and smiled. Her long blonde hair was in pigtails, but wild strands of it hung over her sparkling eyes and over her ears. She was a pretty girl, with a sweet, almost angelic face. The pigtails and her relative youth--she was twenty-four--endowed her with an almost Lolita-like quality. She could pa.s.s for a girl in her late teens. But she was slighter than Dream, smaller and less curvaceous.

And this was a problem, that way he was always comparing the two of them. It wasn't fair to Allyson. Especially given his still-vivid memories of the emotional abuse he'd suffered during his time with Dream. Allyson was special in so many of her own ways, and her presence in his life had done much to prevent a slide into the kind of despair and guilt that had crippled his ex-wife.

Chad rose from the recliner and followed her into the kitchen. The table was already covered with a crisp white tablecloth. Set upon it were two lit candles in silver holders and a tasteful arrangement of fresh flowers. Chad opened a cupboard above the counter and withdrew two plates, which he set at opposite ends of the table. From a drawer he selected the appropriate silverware and set these next to the plates. Allyson selected gla.s.ses from another cupboard while Chad set about opening a bottle of wine.

The cork came out with the usual mild pop, the rich wine aroma immediately mingling with the scent of the spices in a pleasant way. Chad poured a modest measure of the red wine into each of their gla.s.ses. He then pulled his seat out and sat down, taking a sip of the wine as he watched Allyson transfer the food from the little island in the middle of the kitchen to the table. He experienced a mildly salacious tingle as he observed her moving through her domestic-G.o.ddess-in-training paces. He especially liked it when she would turn and flash him a look at her exquisitely toned calves. The dress she wore had a somewhat prim aspect to it, with no plunging neckline to reveal cleavage. However, the conservative effect was offset by a high hemline that fell just inches shy of miniskirt territory. The big pink ap.r.o.n she wore over the dress inexplicably heightened the erotic charge Chad derived from watching her, so much so that he was almost disappointed when she removed it and hung it from a peg on the pantry door.

She flashed him a dazzling smile as she settled into her own seat at the table. "Let's eat, shall we?"

Chad needed no further prompting. He dug into the spiced lamb with enthusiasm, letting out a moan of almost s.e.xual satisfaction as the tender meat penetrated his taste buds. Similar moans accompanied each of the next several bites.

He paused long enough to take a deep breath and say, "Allyson, dear, you have outdone yourself."

Allyson received the compliment in what had become her usual way, by smiling sweetly and saying, "Thank you, sweetie. When we're done eating, you can thank me again by f.u.c.king the daylights out of me."

The eye contact between them in that moment was electric. Chad sucked in a hissing breath through clenched teeth. Talking dirty at the dinner table was one of Allyson's kinks. No dinner ever elapsed without some amount of what she called"naughty talk."

Chad returned her smile and said, "I'd like that."

Allyson licked her lips after another delicate sip from her wine gla.s.s."Of course you would. But I think I'll sit on your face for a while first." She laughed softly as she dipped a spoon in her curry. "After all, you'll want to show your appreciation for all my hard work, won't you?"

Dinner continued in that manner for a time. Moments of relative silence during which they enjoyed the food, followed by increasingly ribald verbal exchanges. Chad's body was vibrating with need by the time he finished his meal. His fork clattered on the plate and their eyes locked across the table again.

Allyson smiled. "We're going to the bedroom. f.u.c.k cleaning up. It can wait."

Chad nodded his enthusiastic agreement. "Yes."

He hurried around the table and pulled Allyson into his arms, her body slamming against his as she hooked her arms and a leg around him. Their mouths met. Their tongues danced. They gasped and moaned. Chad's erection thrust against the fabric of his trousers. Allyson squealed as she felt it and writhed against the hardness, making Chad shudder and reach for the hem of her dress, s.n.a.t.c.hing it up over her a.s.s.

"h.e.l.l with the bedroom," Chad managed between gasps. "I want you now. Right here."

A sound like a growl emerged from Allyson's throat and a corner of her mouth curled in a carnal snarl. "Yes. Yes. Do it."

Chad spun her around, grabbing a handful of her dress and pushing the flimsy bit of fabric up over her a.s.s as she braced herself against the table.

She looked back at him over her shoulder, biting her lip as she said, "Hurry. Hurry."

Chad was reaching for his zipper when they heard the heavy double knock.

THUMP-THUMP.

Someone was at the front door, pounding the wood with the base of a fist rather than using the bra.s.s knocker.

"G.o.d-DAMMIT!" Allyson slapped an open palm against the table top and stood up straight. "Who the f.u.c.k could that be?" She glanced over her shoulder at Chad again. "Please tell me you're not expecting anyone. You would've told me, right?"

Chad frowned. "Who would I be expecting?"

The question was rhetorical. Allyson was the only person he'd allowed to get close to him since moving to the Atlanta suburb of Buckhead. He had no friends. The friends he'd had in his former life in Tennessee were either dead, estranged, or missing. And he'd made no new friends here. He was a financial a.n.a.lyst for Aerodyne in Atlanta, where he met a lot of people, but he'd intentionally maintained an air of aloofness with his fellow employees. And he met all gestures of potential friendship with a wall of coldness. With Allyson as the one welcome exception, of course.

THUMP-THUMP came the double-knock again.

Chad groaned. "Christ. You know it can't be anyone I know."

Allyson sniffed. "Well, I don't have any friends here either, remember?"

It was true. Allyson had moved to Atlanta only a week prior to Chad's relocation there. They had met by chance at a coffeehouse, the chemistry between them instant and undeniable. And since then they'd been too involved with each other to bother meeting new people or getting entangled in the local social strata in any way.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!.

"f.u.c.k!" Chad moved past her, anger boiling inside him again as the knocking intensified. "Okay, time to get rid of this a.s.shole."

"Be careful." Allyson hurried after him, the slap of her bare feet on the kitchen tile becoming a whisper as tile gave way to living room carpet. "For G.o.d's sake, Chad, don't just open the door. It could be anyone. Remember that home invasion last week."

Chad's hand paused on the doork.n.o.b. She was right. He'd read the newspaper stories. A wife and daughter had been raped. The wife's husband was tortured until he'd given up the combination to the safe in his office. No one was killed and everyone had said how lucky that was for the victims. Except that Chad knew that was bulls.h.i.t. Those poor people would carry the mental scars of that night with them the rest of their days.

It had happened in this neighborhood. And the perpetrators had not been caught. They were still out there.

Somewhere.

THUMP-THUMP.

And this stupid f.u.c.king door didn't have a peephole. f.u.c.k. His hand still on the doork.n.o.b, Chad looked at Allyson. "Maybe you should get a phone, be ready to speed-dial 911."

Allyson nodded and hurried out of the room. She came running back a moment later, a slim, silver cell phone clutched in one slightly trembling hand. Chad flashed her a rea.s.suring smile and shifted his attention back to the door as the most insistent knock yet rattled the thick slab of wood in its frame.

Chad cleared his throat and made his voice loud, projecting it the way a stage actor would:"You can stop knocking, a.s.shole! Who are you and what the h.e.l.l do you want?"

The knocking stopped. Chad held his breath and sensed Allyson doing the same. Then he heard a very dim, m.u.f.fled sigh. A tired sound. A weary sound.

Chad frowned. There was something faintly familiar about it.

Something--Chad's hand closed around the doork.n.o.b and yanked the door open. Allyson let out a gasp of surprise, but Chad barely heard it.

He gaped at the figure standing on the darkened front porch for nearly a full minute before managing to say, "Oh...s.h.i.t ..." Then he broke into a broad grin. "I can't believe what I'm seeing." He stepped back and waved a hand toward the interior of the house. "Come on in, man."

The dark figure stepped forward into the light. The wryest of smiles touched the very edges of his mouth. He looked better than the last time Chad had seen him, years ago. Leaner and less haggard. The bushy mane of gray-flecked brown hair had been shorn to a longish s.h.a.g. He looked especially great for a man in his early sixties.

Chad shut the door as the man stepped into the house. "Christ, Jim, I can't believe how good you look. Last time I saw you--"

The man Chad had once known as Lazarus shrugged. "Being an unrepentant sinner is a well-doc.u.mented course to a healthier life."

Chad's grin remained in place as he turned to introduce his friend to Allyson. "Hey, honey, this is the man I've told you about--" His grin faltered as he registered her sullen expression. "Honey--?"

"I don't care who the f.u.c.k this is." Sullen, nothing. She was fuming. "We were in the middle of a nice, quiet dinner. I can't believe you're inviting this person in, regardless of who the f.u.c.k he is."

"Honey, I'm sorry, but--"

"Whatever." Allyson brushed past him and yanked the door open again. Her face was a tight mask of controlled fury as she turned toward him. "You boys catch up. Jerk each other off. Whatever, I don't f.u.c.king care. I'm going for a walk."

She stepped outside and slammed the door behind her.

Chad gaped in disbelief at the door for a long moment. He'd never seen Allyson so angry about anything. He understood her frustration about the interruption. He still felt some of that, too, a rippling undercurrent of unspent s.e.xual energy. But storming off like this--well, it seemed a bit out of proportion.

Jim cleared his throat. "Sorry to cause you trouble, friend. But there are things we need to talk about."

Chad turned and looked at his friend, a ghost of the faded grin returning to his face. "Okay, but I think I need a drink now."

Chad led the way to the living room and the liquor cabinet.

Allyson waited until she was two blocks from the house before flipping open her cell phone and punching in the number she'd memorized so many months ago. She held it to her ear and listened as it rang and rang.

She cursed as she counted a tenth ring and considered hanging up. But she couldn't do that. The time had come and she couldn't afford to turn back now. She made herself wait some more and her patience paid off as the phone was at last answered on the twentieth ring.

A tired male voice said, "Yes?"

Allyson snapped at the man: "What the f.u.c.k took so long?"

A pause. Then:"Who is this?"

"This is Allyson f.u.c.king Vanover. You recognize that name, don't you?" Her voice was shrill, rendered almost brittle from the combination of fear and anger coursing through her. There was another strong emotion at work, as well, one she couldn't afford to think about, not if she meant to see this through. "After all, you're the reason I'm in f.u.c.king Atlanta, remember?"

The man sighed. "Of course. I do remember. I told you--"

"You told me to call this number only if I had news. This is the first time I've called, but trust me, the news is big."

The man's att.i.tude changed immediately. His voice resonated with eagerness as he said, "Do you mean--"

"Yes." Allyson paused. She allowed a final pang of regret to pierce her deeply. Then she made herself say, "The man you've been looking for, the one you told me to keep an eye out for...he's here."

"Excellent. Are you still at the same location?"

Allyson hesitated only a moment, regret stilling her tongue a second longer than necessary. But she knew it was too late for second thoughts. The wheels had been set in motion. Regardless of what she said from this moment forward, there was nothing she could do stop it.

"Yes. It's the fourth house on the left on Jacobsen Avenue. 505 Jacobsen Avenue." Her hand was shaking. She forced it still. "There's a late-model silver Porsche parked on the road in front of the house. Your people won't be able to miss it."

"Good. You've done very well, Allyson." Soft laughter issued from the other end, wherever that was. Allyson had Googled the number, but there was no record for it, nor any other indication of its origin. Which was kind of spooky, but it figured. "And as previously agreed, you'll be handsomely rewarded."

"I better be." She forced a toughness into her voice she didn't feel. "That money better hit my account by the end of business tomorrow."

More soft laughter. "Oh, it shall. All one hundred thousand. And remind me, that would be your secret account, correct? The one Mr. Robbins doesn't know about?"

Allyson closed her eyes. "Yes. That one."

"The money will be there by the appointed deadline, rest a.s.sured. You'll want to be well out of town by then."

"You can count on that."

"Good." A sigh. "We can consider our business closed, then. You will never speak of this to anyone, of course."

Allyson's eyes fluttered open. Two kids were playing with a glow-in-the-dark Frisbee two houses down. Somewhere a dog was barking. Through a window of the house to her immediate right she could see the warm glow of a television. She imagined a family gathered around the box, enjoying their evening's familiar and comforting entertainment. Though part of her was loathe to admit it, she had come to appreciate that a life in the suburbs could be a good, perhaps even blissful one.

She snapped the phone shut without another word and turned back toward home.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Ms. Wickman smiled at the boy on the floor. His name was Terry. His dead sister's name had been Sherry. Such unimaginative parents. No wonder, then, that the siblings had crumbled so predictably through the course of the evening's long and b.l.o.o.d.y festivities. Refugees from the shallow end of the gene pool, these children. Not that it mattered. Ms. Wickman had a slight preference for more intelligent victims, but in the end she was an equal opportunity s.a.d.i.s.t.

This Terry had a blandly handsome face, though its handsomeness was offset somewhat by a pudginess she found distasteful. He stared up at her with wide, pleading eyes. Snot dribbled from his nostrils. A large red welt on his left cheek further marred his bland good looks. His bleeding lower lip trembled uncontrollably.

"Please d-don't hurt me...again." A whimper issued through his sputtering lips. "I d-did it. Did what you t-told me."

Ms. Wickman's smile broadened. "Yes, you did." She clapped her hands in a slow, mocking way. "And congratulations on the murder of your sister." She leaned over him, her long, brown hair falling over her shoulders. "I did so admire the gusto with which you committed the act. Such savagery. Why, one would think there'd been more to it than the cowardly exchange of your life for hers."

She looked at the boy kneeling at Terry's head, a broad, gleaming knife clutched in his three-fingered left hand. "Dean, did it seem to you that Terry enjoyed killing his darling sister?"

Dean looked at her through hollow, sunken eyes. Long strands of greasy hair hung over those eyes. "Yes, m'am." He laid the edge of the knife against Terry's trembling throat and drew forth a trickle of blood, making the doomed boy squeal."Matter of fact...I think he was getting off on it."

Ms. Wickman nodded. "You know, I believe you may be right. You see, Terry, one of the things that most interests me is exposing the barbarian that exists in all of us. Human beings are taught to live behind a mask of civility, to govern their lives by an arbitrarily imposed set of concepts of right and wrong. You lived all eighteen years of your miserable life with that mask wedged firmly in place, but tonight we stripped it away. Tonight we saw the ugly, craven beast that's always lurked in the depths of your now thoroughly tainted heart."

Anger flashed in Terry's eyes. "f.u.c.k you. f.u.c.k you and f.u.c.k all of your evil little helpers. Are you going to lecture me all d.a.m.n night, or are you going to f.u.c.king kill me?"

"Boys, hold Terry very still, please. Dean, make certain he is unable to move his head."