Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [87]
The corners of Griff’s wide mouth curved slightly as he gazed at her. “Sanders and I can handle the details, if you’d prefer not to know how and what—”
“I’m not an FBI agent now,” she reminded him. “I’m your wife and the co-owner of the Powell Agency. I may not always approve of all your methods, but right or wrong, I want to know about whatever it is that you do to expedite matters.”
Griff nodded. “Then let’s go to the kitchen, drink our tea, and get down to business.”
At 11:53 P.M., Theo Smith, who was monitoring the strategically placed cameras from the basement to the third level of the building, placed a call to Calvin James, the head of Rough Diamond’s security team.
“I just picked up a man and woman in the hall on level three outside of Mr. Johnson’s apartment,” Theo said.
“Mr. Johnson just sent Ms. Thomas upstairs with Tyrell.”
“I didn’t see their faces, so the lady could be Ms. Thomas, but the man is not Tyrell. He’s a much smaller man. And he’s white.”
“Can you still see them?” Calvin asked.
“No, sir. They’ve just moved out of camera range.”
“If you see them again, let me know immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Calvin sent one of his guys to inform the boss about the intruders on level three while he took two other armed men and headed for the elevator, not knowing what they would find when they arrived in Mr. Johnson’s private suite. Uncertainty pumped adrenaline through his body as he reached out and hit the Up button outside the elevator. He and his men waited while the elevator came down from the third floor. The doors swung open. Inside lay two bodies: a redhead in a clingy black silk dress, a single bullet hole in her forehead, and a large black man, his body riddled with bullets.
“Shit!” Calvin stared at the unknown woman and then at Tyrell Fuqua, Ms. Thomas’s bodyguard.
“Please, don’t kill me,” Shontee pleaded with the man holding a gun on her. “Please, I’ll do anything. I can pay you a lot of money. My fiancé is a very rich man. Just tell me what you want.”
“I want you to die,” he told her. “You and all the others.”
“Others? You—you’re the person who sent me the letters, aren’t you?”
He smiled.
“Why?” she asked, wanting to keep him talking. “At least tell me why you killed Dean and Hilary and Charlie.”
“They had to be killed for the same reason you must die, Ebony O.”
“I’m not Ebony O. Not any longer. I’m Shontee Thomas. I left that life years ago. I’m not that person now.”
“You can’t erase the past,” he told her. “Not as long as you live. I watched you in Midnight Masquerade this evening. You’re even more beautiful and sexy in person.”
“You’re a fan,” Shontee said, forcing a smile, as she prayed that she could buy herself enough time for someone to realize Tyrell was dead and she was in big trouble.
“Yes, I suppose you could call me a fan.”
His smile turned Shontee’s blood to ice as they stared at each other. His weird expression hinted of madness. As she studied his face, she realized that he was wearing theatrical makeup, that his nose and chin were fake, probably plastic. That could mean his beard and mustache weren’t real.
Why was he wearing a disguise? If he intended to kill her, there would be no witnesses. Ah, but what if there were hidden security cameras that she hadn’t seen? Had he known about them or had he simply not taken any chances?
“Do I know you?” she asked. “Have we ever met before?”
His smile widened. Shontee’s stomach knotted.
“You really want to know the answer to that question?”
“Yes.” She held her breath.
“We’ve met before,” he told her as he fired the pistol.
The bullet hit her in the shoulder. Crying out in pain, she clutched her wound. Blood trickled through her fingers.
Oh God, he had shot her!
He’s going to kill me.
She lunged at him, her instinct for survival choosing fight instead of flight.
He shot her a second time, in the gut. The second shot slowed her as she doubled over in horrific pain.
“Why?” she asked, her voice so weak that she barely recognized