Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [53]
But that had been then. This was now. Divorce in California was expensive and although he had managed to hide some of his assets with wives three and four, wife number five had outsmarted him by stashing away millions neither he nor his lawyer had ever been able to find.
He turned and gazed out the vast expanse of windows that showcased a splendid view of the Pacific Ocean. Beauty unparalleled in nature—except for the exquisite human form, both male and female in their prime.
Travis sighed heavily. Ah, for the good old days.
Be grateful for what you have, you old son of a bitch.
It wasn’t as if he lived in poverty. He still owned the beach house he had inherited from his second wife, Valerie. Dear Valerie, to whom he owed so much. She had been the one who had taught him how to enjoy the finer things in life. Although he had never loved her—had he truly loved any of his wives?—he would forever be grateful to her for leaving him her millions.
And he still owned the rights to forty of his films, adult movies that had been rereleased recently on DVD. The income off those movies didn’t afford him the luxury lifestyle to which he had been accustomed, but it did pay the bills and allowed him and his latest wife to maintain the façade of wealth. Dawn—his sixth wife—was young and gorgeous and sported the best body cosmetic surgery could give her. She wasn’t overly bright, but after his fifth wife—the one who had taken him to the cleaners—Travis was perfectly content being married to a gorgeous, airheaded bimbo.
By his standards, he had lived a good life. Hell, he’d lived a great life. How many men could say they had screwed hundreds of lovely ladies? From his first fuck at the age of fourteen, he’d had his pick of sweet pussy. Not that he was all that handsome himself, just an average-looking Joe. But he had a big cock and a big ego and women seemed to love both of his best assets.
If he had his life to live over again, would he do anything different? Hell, no! He had lived every moment of his life to the fullest and had no regrets.
Well, maybe one regret. The doctors claimed that his two-packs-a-day smoking habit had probably caused the cancer that was now killing him.
But why him? Damned if he knew. Bible-thumpers would say he was getting his just punishment. Screw ’em all, every last sanctimonious hypocrite out there. There wasn’t a heterosexual man alive who didn’t enjoy the pleasures of looking at, touching, and using a woman’s body. The films he’d made catered to the normal human desires that existed in everyone.
“Mr. Dillard?” Louie Tong cleared his throat. “Your guests are due to arrive shortly. Do you wish for me to—?”
“Is it that late already?” Travis turned and faced his housekeeper of twenty years, a man he called friend, possibly the only real friend he had. “Did you compile all the information I asked for?”
“All the information is in the red binder there on your desk,” Louie said. “I placed it there earlier today.”
Yes, of course, he had. Travis remembered now. Odd how easily he forgot things these days. “Thank you. It had slipped my mind.”
“Will there be anything else?”
“No, I…uh…I’m just wondering about these murders. Someone has killed Hilary and Dean and Charlie. Hilary and Dean were some of the best in the business. I loved them both, you know.” He chuckled, remembering how often he had “loved” Hilary. God, she’d been a wild woman in bed. “And Charlie was a real card. The guy had a wonderful sense of humor. I loved him, too.”
“Yes, sir, it’s a shame what happened to them.”
“Damn shame. They were all far too young to die.” Travis slammed his fist down on the antique desk. “Damn it, I’m too young to die! People live to be a hundred these days. I should have had at least another twenty years.”
Louie stared at him, a look of concern and sympathy in his black eyes.
Travis waved his hand in the air and grunted. “When those