Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [103]
Hannah cuddled up against Lorie. “We wanted you to know that no matter what anybody says, we don’t believe you’re a bad person. You’re a nice person, Miss Lorie, and we like you. We like you a lot.”
Lorie barely managed not to burst into tears. She put her arms around the children’s shoulders and hugged them to her, then glanced across the room at Shelley, who shook her head and offered an understanding smile.
“Miss Shelley is going to call your daddy and let him know where y’all are. And I want you to tell us where your grandmother is so that she can call her, too. Nell is probably worried sick about you two.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re sorry if we did something wrong.”
“It’ll be all right,” Lorie assured him. “Your dad will understand.”
Mike would understand, all right. And he would blame her. Well, better he take his anger out on her than on his kids.
He opened the briefcase that he had sent FedEx to himself from Atlanta and looked at Ebony O’s bloody clothes. A slinky red dress that had accentuated her abundant curves. No bra, since she hadn’t been wearing one. A pair of gold high heels. And a lacy red thong. He had not removed her ruby earrings and her gaudy three-carat diamond solitaire from her body. Jewelry was of no importance.
He fingered the red lace forming the V of the thong, lifted it carefully, and crushed it in his hand. Once a slut, always a slut. Shontee Thomas might have gotten out of the porno business, but she remained a worthless piece of trash until she took her last breath.
The others were no different.
Wicked. Immoral. Perverts. Tempting good men to think and do evil.
He brought the thong up to his face and buried his nose in the alluring scent of the whore’s sweet pussy. A shiver of sexual excitement rippled through him. Even in death, a woman like that still held the power to entice a man.
He lifted his face and looked at the four windowless walls surrounding him. Photographs of each person who had performed in Midnight Masquerade had been centered on individual cork boards. And attached to the boards beside each nude photo was a single article of clothing. Underwear. Dean’s boxer shorts. Charlie’s white briefs. Hilary’s bra. And now Shontee’s thong. He had acquired quite a collection in the past four months.
He took a small plastic box from his pocket, opened the box, and removed a couple of tacks. After he mounted the thong beneath Ebony O’s picture, he stood back and smiled at his handiwork.
Four of the nine were now in God’s hands and five were left, five who were yet to meet their rightful judgment. There was no doubt in his mind that all of them would be condemned to hell, a fitting end to lives not only lived in sin but lived in a way that catered to the most basic, animalistic nature in others. The only way to free himself once and for all from their evil influence was to kill them. He was justified in what he was doing. Killing them was like killing vermin, ridding the world of dangerous creatures who spread disease and destruction.
As he circled the interior of the storage rental, appreciating his collection, he paused in front of her photograph. Young. Beautiful. Sexy. And so very wicked.
“I’m saving you for last,” he said aloud. “Always the best for last.”
Mike’s mother had phoned him, panicked and half out of her mind. His children were missing.
“When Kim hadn’t dropped them at Gloria’s by three-thirty, I called her and she said they had told her I was playing bridge at Irene Shelby’s house. Now, why would they have told her such a thing? They knew where I’d be. Lord help us, Irene doesn’t even play bridge.”
“Did you call Mrs. Shelby and ask if the children were there?”
“Well, of course I did. She hasn’t seen them.”
While he had been reassuring his mother that M.J. and Hannah were okay and he would find them, his secretary had told him he had an urgent call on another line.
“It’s something about your kids.”
He had instantly put his mother on hold and taken the other call.
“Mike,