Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [174]
We will make love, sweet Lorie, and then…
They would be found lying together, naked lovers whose souls could never be separated.
Lorie tried to scream.
He yanked her backward so that her butt hit his groin and she felt his erection pressing against her. She struggled to free herself but he held tight.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “Not yet.”
Who was he? His voice was so soft she could barely hear him, but it sounded familiar.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” he told her. “I used to stand outside at night and look at your silhouette through your window shades. I wanted you so much. But you never looked at me once. You couldn’t see anybody except Mike Birkett.”
Was it Buddy Pounders? No, no, it couldn’t be Buddy. The voice was too soft, a tenor instead of a baritone. And this man wasn’t tall enough to be Buddy. He wasn’t much taller than she was. Buddy was six feet tall.
“You are mine, not Mike Birkett’s and not the Midnight Killer’s. You belong only to me. We are going to be together forever now.”
Whoever he was, he intended to kill her, that much was clear. But she’d be damned if she’d let that happen. She had no intention of giving up and going to her death like a lamb to the slaughter.
His lips touched her neck. She shivered.
“You like that, don’t you? You want me as much as I want you. God, Lorie, I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you so bad.”
He stuck his hand between her legs and kissed her neck. She took advantage of the moment when he was distracted by his own sick desire. She bowed her head and then reared back and bashed him in the nose. He hollered in pain and momentarily loosened his hold on her long enough for her to pull away from him.
“Lorie, is that you?” M.J. called out in the darkness.
Oh God, the children! How could she have forgotten, even for a moment, that Mike’s children were in the kitchenette.
“I thought you were here alone,” he said. “Who is that?”
Inching her way along the wall, trying to get farther away from her attacker and stop M.J. before he came out into the hall, Lorie called, “Go back. Do you hear me? Close the door and lock it. Do it now.”
A child’s frightened scream reverberated off the walls. No, no, no!
“M.J., answer me.”
“Help me, Miss Lorie,” Hannah cried. “Somebody’s got me.”
“So help me God, if you hurt that child, I’ll kill you, you sick son of a bitch,” Lorie yelled at the top of her lungs.
“This is Mike Birkett’s little girl, isn’t it?” The man chuckled. “She’s a pretty thing, sweet and tender and—”
“Don’t you hurt my sister!” M.J. shouted as he moved his flashlight’s beam in a semicircle.
That was when Lorie saw Paul Babcock standing inside the kitchenette, Hannah hoisted up in front of him, his forearm pressing firmly across her throat. M.J. stood outside in the hall, only a few feet from Lorie.
“Let her go,” Lorie said. “Please, Paul, we can lock the children up in the storeroom and then you and I can have our time together, all alone, just the two of us.”
Hannah whimpered. M.J. shined the light directly on his sister. Paul’s arm tightened across her neck. It would take very little for him to choke her without meaning to or even break her fragile little neck.
“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it,” Lorie said. “Anything. You name it and it’s yours.”
She inched closer and closer to M.J. and when she was within touching distance, she held out her hand, wriggled her fingers, and mouthed the words “stay here.” Knowing what she wanted, M.J. gave her the flashlight. Holding the light in front of her and keeping it aimed directly at Paul, who was using Hannah’s head to shield his eyes from the flashlight’s glare, Lorie took small, tentative steps forward until she entered the kitchenette. And then she turned off the flashlight.
“Why did you do that?” Paul asked. “Where are you? I want to see you. Turn the flashlight back on. If you don’t, I swear I’ll break her neck.”
Lorie reached out and ran her hand across the counter and into the sink