Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [95]
“I’m flying solo on this one. Just me, a few toys, and my fingers.” She laughed.
“I may drop by and watch.”
“Sure thing. You know I love a live audience.”
He held out his hand. She grabbed hold and he yanked her up and onto her feet. Her shoulder-length black hair—still natural and without a single silver strand—shimmered as she shook her head and stretched. Her body was toned, deeply tanned, and willowy slender. Since retiring from the regular porno film business, Jean had been making a healthy income via the Internet. The Puff Raven site was one of the most popular in the world. Once a month, she added a new video that customers could download and enjoy, for a very reasonable price.
Jeff figured that one of these days very soon the Internet sites would make regular porno movies completely obsolete.
After a quick kiss, he and Jean went their separate ways, she to her bathroom and he to his. He shaved, showered, and dressed casually in a cotton shirt and linen slacks. Just as he slipped into his leather sandals, his cell phone rang.
Where did I put the damn thing? In my dressing room? On the nightstand?
Then he remembered he had left it in his jacket pocket and hung the jacket across the back of the sofa in the sitting area of their bedroom. By the time he retrieved the phone, it had stopped ringing. Just as he started to check for a message, the phone rang again. He glanced at the caller ID.
Travis Dillard.
What the hell did that old son of a bitch want? After their last collaboration, he’d told Travis in no uncertain terms that they were kaput, finished, over and done. Travis needed to retire. He had lost touch with the new porno industry and still wanted to do things the old-fashioned way. Not Jeff. He was all about new and improved.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Jeff asked when he answered on the fourth ring.
“Have you seen the news today?” Travis asked.
“Can’t say that I have. I’m a busy man. Making deals, screwing my wife, enjoying my success.”
“Think you’ve got it made, don’t you? Well, Shontee thought she was living the good life, too, down in Atlanta with that rich boyfriend of hers, but her little pie-in-the-sky piece of heaven just bit the dust.”
A sudden chill settled over Jeff. “What happened?”
“He got her,” Travis said. “The Midnight Killer whacked Shontee last night.”
“I thought she had a bodyguard.”
“The killer filled him full of lead and then moved on to Shontee.”
Jeff swallowed. Ever since the Powell Agency had contacted him and Jean, they had been careful not to leave the house without the private security that Jeff had hired. Around-the-clock protection didn’t come cheap, but keeping Jean alive was worth any price.
“I thought you’d want to be forewarned,” Travis said. “Tighten up your security and watch your back night and day. You never know when this guy is going to come for Jean.”
“Is that a threat, old man?”
Travis laughed. “Don’t talk nonsense. Why would I want to hurt Jean? She was one of my favorite fucks. I always loved the way she screamed when I made her come.”
Jeff clenched his jaw. He would not rise to the bait. “I’ll take care of Jean. And if I find out that you’re behind these murders, that you’ve threatened my wife, I’ll personally see to it that you rot in hell.”
Jeff hung up, not giving Travis a chance for an acidic comeback.
After pocketing his phone, he left the bedroom and went downstairs. He had a sudden need to see Jean, to make sure she was all right. As he passed the living room, he nodded and threw up his hand when he saw one of their two security guards immersed in a game of solitaire. The second agent was posted outside and the two men rotated shifts indoors and out every four hours during the day. And every twelve hours, two fresh, alert agents took their places.
He entered the dark, soundproof room where Jean filmed her Internet videos. Reclining on a plush red velvet