Buch lesen: «Death's Door»
“It’s possible your life is in danger.” “It’s possible your life is in danger.” Paul took one of her hands in both Paul took one of her hands in both of his. of his.
She didn’t believe it, but the intensity in his eyes told her that he was dead serious. Madison liked to think she could take care of herself, and she could, but something cracked inside her. Knowing Paul cared appealed to her softer feminine side—the side she liked to deny having.
His expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. “So much is going on, a perfect storm of events, and you’re at the center. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
His look was so galvanizing it sent a tremor through her. The concern reflected in his eyes became smoldering desire. She was gathered against a warm, rock-solid body and he covered her mouth with his. He kissed her urgently, hungrily, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She eased her arms around his shoulders and returned the kiss.
In a heartbeat her blood thickened to warm honey. Kissing him was even better than she’d imagined….
Praise for the work of
MERYL SAWYER
“Sawyer’s gift for building great and believable characters makes the danger they face all the more intense. Outstanding!”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Kiss of Death (41/2 stars, Top Pick)
“Sawyer spins a tale to captivate and entertain.…Wonderfully crafty and extremely entertaining.”
—Romance Reader’s Connection on Half Past Dead
“Nail-biting suspense punctuates this thrilling romantic adventure. The name Meryl Sawyer is synonymous with exceptional romantic suspense.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Better Off Dead
“A riveting work of romantic suspense…near perfection.”
—Publishers Weekly on Tempting Fate
“Meryl Sawyer has become a brand name known for taut, sexy and very intriguing romantic suspense.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Closer Than She Thinks
“A page-turner…glamour, romance and adventure on a grand scale.”
—Publishers Weekly on Promise Me Anything
“Count on Meryl Sawyer to deliver a fast-paced thriller filled with sizzling romance.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jill Marie Landis
Death’s Door
Meryl Sawyer
MILLS & BOON
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This book is dedicated to Dave Wells
and to my close friends, Pamela and Ricki.
Where would I be without your friendship?
A special thank-you also
to the real Keith Brooks Smith
for his humor and his inspiration.
The best way to love anything is as if it might be lost.
—G. K. Chesterton
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
“THERE’LL NEVER BE another you.”
The killer’s words were spoken softly, almost lost in the darkness. The dead were lucky. Death stopped time and their mistakes were ended. They were forever young and unchanged in the minds of those left behind. They were immortalized. Especially beauties like the woman slumped across the floor nearby.
What might she have become?
That unfulfilled promise would be seared into the memories of her loved ones. So young. So sad. So tragic.
So necessary.
Death meant life everlasting. Didn’t it?
“Don’t look at her body. Don’t allow this to become personal,” whispered the killer.
Death divides time like nothing else. Closing doors irreversibly. Before and after. No doubt her family, friends, a lover—if she had one—would always say her name accompanied by those words. Never, ever would “before” return.
Silent as a shadow, the killer moved toward the door, unable to resist a quick look back. Inhaling deeply, the killer absorbed the sweet perfume of death.
Take it in. Make it last until the next time.
This murder had been much harder and messier than the others, but in a way the difficulty of the task—the challenge—made the kill more satisfying. Life did not go smoothly. Why should death?
Had the dead woman seen this coming? the killer wondered. People believed terrible things happened to others—not them. Still, humans did retain remnants of their ancestors’ primitive instincts. Fear—first among those vestiges of survival. She must have sensed…something.
THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES earlier, at almost three in the morning, the victim had driven up the short, narrow driveway. Her front porch light must have burned out. She had turned it on before leaving, hadn’t she?
It was difficult to remember just what she’d done when she’d raced out of the house to meet the others. She’d been too keyed up to pay much attention to anything but what she had been instructed to wear. A black stocking cap to go with her black pants and T-shirt and black soft-soled shoes. They promised to provide the night-vision goggles and latex gloves.
She idled in the driveway, gazing at the burned-out light, and almost put the car in Park before remembering she’d had the garage door opener replaced last week. Thank heavens. She didn’t know if she had the strength left to hoist the heavy old door. The job tonight had been much more physical than anything they’d attempted in the past. Her body was in great shape, but working so strenuously against the clock consumed more energy than she’d imagined.
She pressed the remote control and the garage door creaked upward. “We’re home, big guy,” she told the dog on the seat beside her.
The retriever cocked his head slightly as if he understood every word. She gave him a quick pat as the Toyota rolled into the garage. His golden fur was matted and he smelled as if he needed a bath. Not your show-quality golden retriever, but he was precious just the same.
“Home sweet home,” she said to the dog when she stepped out of the small car and held her door open for him. The retriever hesitated, again tilting his head toward her as if expecting another command. “Here, boy. Come on.”
The dog lumbered across the driver’s seat, sniffed the humid air, then cautiously lowered himself to the garage floor. The single-car garage dated back to the twenties and had a dank, musty smell. The heat of the day was still trapped inside, making it like breathing through wet wool.
She turned and punched the button beside the door leading into the house. Behind her, the garage door groaned shut as she stepped into the laundry room and hurried through the small space into the kitchen. The dog hesitantly followed, sniffing at her heels.
“Thirsty?” She put the manila envelope she was carrying on the counter before filling a cereal bowl with water. She set it on the floor, but the dog didn’t move toward it. “You feeling okay?”
The golden retriever hitched one ear. He couldn’t have to go to the bathroom, she decided. She’d stopped at a park on the way home. He’d relieved himself while she’d pitched the outer layer of her clothes and gloves into a nearby trash can before using the pay phone. She’d been warned numerous times to never—under any circumstances—use her home phone or cell to make a call that could be traced back to the others.
“You stay right here,” she instructed as she walked out of the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
The rest of the small house was dark, the air only slightly cooler than it was outside thanks to the window air conditioner. She flicked the switch that lit the tiny lamp across the room. Suddenly the hair on her arms prickled. Something didn’t seem…right. She refused to allow the tidal pull of memories to interfere with rational thought. Her unease was just the residual effect of the past few hours, she decided. She was safe now. No one could link her to the job. But if she’d been caught in the act—
“Don’t go there,” she whispered to herself. The reward was worth the risk.
Feeling silly for being so jumpy, she walked into her bedroom. And stood still. Something slightly ominous seemed to hover in the air like an unseen ghost. She looked around at the drifts of clothes tossed over a chair and underwear slung onto the bed. She had the housekeeping habits of a frat boy. She really ought to make an effort to be neater, she thought, still battling her nerves.
What was giving her the willies?
It was ridiculous for a grown woman to be afraid, but she tiptoed over to the closet and put her hand on the knob. For a moment she merely stared at the door. Stop being an idiot, she told herself, and jerked open the closet.
Nothing. Just clothes haphazardly shoved into the small space. On the floor was a jumble of shoes and a few purses too large for the overhead rack. No one was hiding in here.
In the small bathroom off her bedroom, she ran a bath and filled the tub with magnolia-scented bubble bath, then lit lavender-infused candles, known for their calming fragrance. Even though she’d showered before she’d left, the adrenaline rush had left her sheathed in sweat that had since dried and made her skin itch. She peeled off the short shorts, tank top and underwear she’d worn beneath her dark clothes, then swung her leg over the side of the tub.
She had the unsettling sensation that someone was watching her. Of course, that was impossible. It was merely her mind playing tricks. She’d purchased new locks and dead bolts when she’d had the garage door opener replaced. This was a safe neighborhood, considering it was Miami. Still, you couldn’t be too careful. The others in the group believed they were under surveillance. It came with the territory. If the authorities were spying on her, they were outside the house, monitoring her comings and goings to build a court case. They were not hiding in the house.
The bathroom door was open. She pushed it and the door would have shut, except the tangled cord from her blow-dryer on the counter got in the way. Hadn’t she returned it to the drawer? Obviously, she’d been in such a rush to meet the others that she’d forgotten.
She eased into the tub and turned off the taps. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and let the warm water and fragrant air soothe her taut nerves. This was it, she told herself. The last job. From now on, she would lead a normal life. It might even be time to settle down, she silently admitted. That meant a steady, down-to-earth guy, not one of the club rats she usually met in South Beach.
A faint, muffled noise outside the bathroom made her eyes fly open. Her pinched throat kept air from entering her lungs and she trembled. Then she remembered the dog. Aspen. A great name for a honey-colored golden retriever. She’d given it to the dog even before she’d seen him. She had it put on the collar she’d bought. She’d chosen “Aspen” because when the leaves on Aspen trees changed color each fall, they were the same golden shades she associated with golden retrievers. Aspen wasn’t trying to get out of the kitchen, was he?
She kept listening, straining to hear another noise, but the only sound was the muted whir of the air conditioner in the living room. What was throwing her world out of whack? She’d never been this disturbed before, and the group had engaged in missions that had been just as dangerous as the one tonight.
Closing her eyes again, she settled back, allowing the warm water and the fragrant candles to do their magic. She was bone weary and soon almost nodded off. She forced her eyes open so she wouldn’t fall asleep in the tub.
Hadn’t the bathroom door been almost closed a few moments ago? She stared hard at its reflection in the mirror partially fogged by steam, then looked over her shoulder directly at the door. Her red robe hung from a hook on the back. Maybe the door wasn’t quite balanced and the weight of her robe had caused it to open several inches. What was going on? She was more jittery than she ought to be.
She settled back, closed her eyes once more and inhaled deeply to take the calming scent of the candles into her lungs. Her tense muscles relaxed and her mind almost purged itself of the sight of all those forlorn, pleading eyes riveted on her.
Almost.
Don’t drift off, she warned herself. She needed to scrub away the sweat, crawl into bed and set the alarm for seven-thirty. She struggled not to close her eyes, but gave in for just a moment.
A mechanical whir jerked her upright, the sound reverberating against the ceramic tile. Her eyes flashed across the short distance to the counter. Her blow-dryer was on. How had that happened? She grabbed the towel bar and heaved herself upright in one quick jerk. Instinct told her to get out of the tub NOW!
“Wh-what?” The serrated blade of fear shredded each syllable. The vapor from the candles scorched her throat as if she’d been suddenly transported to the desert. She attempted to make sense of what her eyes told her, but the dark glaze of panic blacked out the edges of her vision. Hot, white noise rumbled through her head, awakening a terror unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
A gloved hand appeared from behind the door and grabbed the blow-dryer off the counter. The next instant the dryer was hurtling through the air at her. It splashed into the bubble-filled water at her knees with a serpent’s lethal hiss and an eruption of sparks. Instantly, little popping sounds battered her skull like fireworks exploding in her brain.
CHAPTER ONE
Before becoming a world-famous photographer, what did Ansel Adams aspire to be?
MADISON CONNELLY STARED out the window from the largest enclosure in the cube farm at the shimmering waters of Biscayne Bay visible over the rooftops of nearby buildings. As copresident of Total Trivia, she was entitled to a large private office, but she and Aiden had agreed long ago that doors encouraged isolation. Togetherness inspired innovation—the healthy exchange of ideas that led to creativity.
Maybe, she thought, but right now she wished she could slam her office door shut and make the world go away. She was burned out by what her father would have called “premature success.” Her company was barely three years old and it was already being touted as a triumph. If only her personal life was as glorious.
Get a grip, Madison told herself. There’s no reason to feel sorry for yourself. Concentrate on what you’re doing and forget past mistakes.
Madison forced herself to stare at her computer screen as she waited for inspiration. The software program she’d invented culled obscure facts from numerous sources for their online game, but every so often she liked to throw in a zinger. Her favorite was “what if.” What if Ansel Adams had his wish? He would have become a concert pianist. Lucky for the world, he hadn’t.
If she’d had her wish, she would have pursued a doctorate and—
“Madison, there’s a man here to see you. How cool is that?”
She swiveled around in her chair to face Jade, Total Trivia’s receptionist. Short blue-black hair gelled up like a rooster’s comb and deep red lipstick combined with Cleopatra eyes gave the girl an unfashionable Goth look that was rarely seen in South Beach these days. Jade could easily have told Madison she had a visitor with the interoffice telephone, but the girl never lost an opportunity to sashay by the cluster of cubicles the programmers used, just as she never failed to add how “cool” something was, even when delivering bad news.
“Who is it? I’m not expecting anyone.”
Jade consulted a business card she held between bloodred nails that could have doubled as letter openers. “Paul Tanner. He’s with Tanner Security Solutions, Inc.”
Another geek trying to sell them software that was supposed to prevent other online trivia sites from hacking into their database. Online protection. What a joke.
“Tell him we take care of our own security.” She was about to give Jade another lecture on how to screen people, but she spotted Aiden Larsen coming toward her office.
“Hey, Madison,” her ex-husband called in his usual upbeat voice. “Got a minute?”
“Not really,” she fibbed as Jade ducked out of the cube and began to saunter down the aisle toward the reception area.
Aiden ignored Madison’s response and parked himself in the chair opposite her desk. She tried not to notice how handsome he looked. Chloe really knew how to make him dress in a way that emphasized his best features, his height and surfer blond hair.
The irony of the situation irritated her. Aiden would do anything for Chloe, but he’d stubbornly refused to make the smallest change for Madison. Instead, he’d insisted she be the one to alter her looks and life for him. He’d wanted her hair long and ruler-straight, even though it was naturally curly and at the mercy of Miami’s humidity. He’d wanted to go out to SoBe’s clubs almost every night. It was a scene she hated. Madison had resisted, of course, but it didn’t seem to matter now. Aiden was on a new path in life—Chloe’s course.
“Where’ve you been? I tried to get you all weekend.”
“Busy.” She didn’t want to tell Aiden she’d wasted another weekend searching for a place to lease. She couldn’t decide on anything, because each property she was shown made her think of the fabulous house in Coral Gables that she’d permitted Aiden to keep in the divorce. Retaining half the business they’d started together had been more important.
“You didn’t answer your cell.”
“I left it at Erin’s on Friday.”
The mention of her best friend’s name caused one blond eyebrow to quirk. Aiden’s brows were less scraggly than they had been on Friday, she noted. Over the weekend, Chloe must have convinced him to go to one of SoBe’s stylish spas for a professional wax.
Madison could see Aiden was biting back another negative comment about Erin. For an instant, Madison’s brain replayed something she’d heard on the morning news as she’d been getting ready for work. It made her think about Erin and wonder if her friend could have been involved in the incident.
“Why were you looking for me?” She knew it had to be important. Since their divorce they spoke only when necessary. So much for the “togetherness” they’d envisioned when starting the company. She struggled to keep her tone civil. Their last conversation had ended with Aiden accusing Madison of using her tongue like a whip.
“I had such a great idea that I wanted to run it by you immediately. That’s why I kept calling. Total Trivia needs a shot in the arm, right?”
“I guess,” she reluctantly conceded, although she knew he was correct. Advertising banner sales were level but she perceived a lack of momentum. On a per-week basis they weren’t drawing new gamers the way they once had. They were still raking in a bundle, but similar Web sites were invading the territory they’d once dominated.
“How’s this for an idea?” He rocked back in the chair opposite her desk and put his feet up on the rim, the way he used to when they’d been developing ideas for Total Trivia. “Add betting to our site.”
“We’ve been down this road before.” How could he waste her time with this? They’d known when they created Total Trivia that Internet gambling and auctions made boodles of money. They’d defied the odds by making money with a game that didn’t feature gambling.
He chuckled nonchalantly, but she knew better. Aiden handled the business end of their site. He could smell money the way a bloodhound picked up a fresh scent. “True. We have avoided gambling, but now Trivia Mania has added it to their site.”
“Interesting,” Madison hedged. Trivia Mania had been their chief rival before their competitor added gambling. She had no doubt gamers on Total Trivia would flock to a site where they could place bets. “Who’s handling their finances?”
“They’ve contracted with Allied Miami Bank.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Madison knew the bank was owned by a group of YUCAs—Young Urban Cuban Americans—with a reputation for financing shady gambling operations. Not all young and ambitious Cubans skirted the law, of course, but some did. It was a temptation unique to Miami, where many immigrants had settled and were making new lives.
“We’re thinking that adding betting to Total Trivia is the way to go. We know Allied Miami has the most experience.”
Madison didn’t have to ask who “we” was. This must be Chloe’s idea. Well, she could say many things about Chloe, but not being one of God’s brightest creatures wasn’t one of them. Madison had personally hired Chloe, but she hadn’t counted on Chloe stealing her husband.
“We’re making money. Why risk associating with questionable characters?”
“What if I tell you—”
Bzzt-bzzt. Jade was buzzing her from the receptionist’s desk. Madison picked up the phone, relieved at the interruption. “Yes, Jade?”
“Mr. Tanner is still waiting to see you. He says it’s not about business. This is a personal matter.”
“Yeah, right. That’s what they all say.” She never failed to be amazed at how many creeps crawled out of the woodwork once they sensed a computer game had hit the big time. She must get ten of these guys a week.
“I think he means it.” Jade was whispering now.
“Tell him to call me. We’ll discuss it on the phone.” Madison hung up and turned back to Aiden.
He was watching her intently, and she wondered if she was wearing an outfit she’d had on last week. She tended to wear half a dozen outfits that she liked over and over and over. No wonder she’d never been able to turn geek Aiden into GQ Aiden the way Chloe had. Twice a year Erin forced Madison to donate her old clothes, then took her shopping.
Don’t let him make you feel inferior, she told herself. Both Madison’s mother and Erin always described her as pretty. Not that they fooled her, but natural blond hair and wide blue eyes did manage to turn a few guys’ heads. Unlike Chloe, Madison didn’t have much to brag about in the chest department. Chloe was pinup material. Madison didn’t care; her brains set her apart. She had no intention of competing in the body department.
“Well, what do you think?” Aiden asked, and though his tone was still casual, she knew his manner meant he was ready to move on this immediately.
She stood up. “Let’s do a bit more research. I’m still not in favor of gambling or Allied Miami, but maybe—”
“Why? Allied Miami handles all sorts of betting operations. They even have a division set up to process, then pay every bet.”
“Wait!” She threw up one hand to stop him. “We don’t want to hand over a chunk of our business without thoroughly investigating the situation. It’s an invitation to steal from us or ruin our reputation. This isn’t something to leap into without careful thought.” She picked up her purse. “I’ve got an appointment.”
“Wait. I—”
“Later. I’m in a hurry.”
She rushed out of her corner cube and took a left. She headed for the back door to avoid the software salesman. She needed time to think about Aiden’s proposal. She might as well swing by Erin’s and pick up her cell phone.
Madison climbed into her BMW and lowered the windows to air out the car. Even though it was barely ten o’clock, the Miami sun was scorching a path across the blue April sky. She allowed her mind to drift for a moment. She’d wasted yet another weekend. She was never going to be able to replace the home she’d shared with Aiden.
Why was she trying?
She should lease the condo that she’d reluctantly allowed the Realtor to show her, Madison told herself. She didn’t need a yard. This way she could come and go easily. She punched the AC button and reached for her cell phone with her other hand to call the Realtor. Then she remembered she was on her way to pick up her cell.
“I’m losing it,” she said out loud. She backed out of her parking space and drove away.
Total Trivia was located several blocks off trendy Ocean Boulevard in South Beach’s low-rent district—if such a thing existed. They’d leased the office space nearly ten years ago, before she had married Aiden, when Total Trivia had been just another blip on the information superhighway. Aiden had insisted locating in SoBe would lure programmers they could hire for less.
Her ex had been right. Talented programmers often made sacrifices, living in studio apartments or sharing run-down flats just to be in the area. As Erin always said, SoBe was “hip to the max.” It was amazing what people would give up to live here.
Maybe Aiden was right about adding gambling to Total-Trivia, but she didn’t think so. Letting an offshore bank collect the money was evading the law. Wasn’t that the same as breaking the law? Sooner or later the government would catch on and come after them.
South Beach traffic was light—no doubt a fair number of residents were inside nursing hangovers—which meant Madison had to wait a mere two cycles to drive through most traffic lights. By evening, when the club set went on the prowl, it would take at least six cycles to move through a light.
From ten until dawn, the clubs would be full of tanned guys and women wearing next to nothing, slurping mojitos and chocolate martinis. Sexual energy would pulse through the air like a drumbeat in the tropics.
Madison didn’t like the club scene, but last Friday, Erin had wanted to check out two new clubs and she’d gone along. Her best friend since they’d been in diapers, Erin Wycoff had always been something of an enigma. Like a butterfly, Erin was beautiful but difficult to pin down. As close as they were, Madison often didn’t know what Erin was thinking. Even when they were young, Erin had kept her thoughts to herself, unlike most teenage girls, who told their best friends all their secrets. But since Madison’s split with Aiden, Erin had been the only one who could lift her spirits.
Erin had insisted on going to Sweet Cheeks and another club whose name Madison couldn’t recall, but as soon as they were there, drinks in hand, Erin had wanted to leave. Too hot. Too crowded. Too many airhead guys.
Well, that was the club scene for you. A club wasn’t “in” unless it was crowded with hunky guys and scantily clad babes. And jam-packed places were hot. That was a given.
They’d gone back to the little cottage Erin had rented and ordered pizza from an all-night pizzeria. They’d sat chatting about the move Madison couldn’t seem to make, but Erin had seemed distracted, on edge.
Still, Erin had scored a major point when she’d claimed Madison was in denial. By searching for a large home to replace the one she’d shared with her ex-husband, Madison was attempting to hang on to the past. The last time Madison’s mother had telephoned from some remote island in the South Pacific, she’d told Madison the same thing—in different words. “Oh, baby doll. Try something new. Get on with your life.”
Madison had admitted Erin was probably right and had left after finishing a slice of cardboard-tasting pizza. She’d only realized the next day that she’d forgotten her cell phone. She’d tried to catch Erin on Saturday and again on Sunday but hadn’t been able to connect. Maybe she hadn’t even wanted to reach Erin, hadn’t wanted to explain why she was still asking the Realtor to show her large homes.
A bit of trivia popped into her head, which often happened when she was thinking of something distressing. How much wine does one grapevine make? The average vine yielded twenty-four pounds of grapes. That was enough to make ten bottles of wine. She hadn’t used this fact on Total Trivia because inexact measurements like “average” caused arguments and players would claim their answer was correct.
She told herself to forget about trivia and concentrate on finding a place to live. The owners of the house where she was staying would return soon. Gambling and trivia could both wait until she’d settled her life.
At this hour of the morning, Erin was probably out making sales calls for the sunglass company she represented. It didn’t matter if Erin wasn’t home. Madison had a key to her friend’s place. She could pick up her cell then call the Realtor. Signing the lease on the condo and making arrangements would take the better part of the day, but Madison didn’t care. She didn’t want to return to Total Trivia until she’d had a chance to consider Aiden’s proposal.
It was quieter in the middle-class neighborhood in South Miami where Erin lived. People were at work, children in school. She turned into the narrow driveway and shut off the engine. The white cottage with an attached single-car garage was a legacy of the early twentieth century, when snowbirds from the North built small, inexpensive bungalows where they could wait out the winter in Miami’s warm sun. Snowbirds now clustered like bees in the hives of condos that riddled the state. This neighborhood had morphed into a working-class section of the city.
