Authors: Priscilla Poole Rainwater
Hours of sweaty tension and worry suddenly slipped from him with sweet relief, and he chuckled, shaking his head.
“Are you done laughing at me?” she demanded, trying to force a frown, but not quite making it.
“Darling, you're such a shit slinger, I could get used to working with you.” he managed between gasps, then thought,
I can get used to you BEING with me all the time....
“I do my best.” she muttered.
When his laughter finally subsided, he put a strong hand in the small of her back and led her inside the hotel, straight to the elevator. As they both stepped inside, he pressed the button for their floor and asked, “Would you like me to make reservations for a table in the restaurant here? Or perhaps we could walk around the town and find a nice place to eat and chat.”
He's fun, and certainly good looking, but you KNOW this man is a player from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet. I had one like him before, and barely managed to escape him without losing my life. Just leave him alone!
She
thought as a war of emotions raged within her. “No thanks.” she murmured, and had to look away at the stung expression on his handsome features.
As the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, she stepped out quickly and said, “I plan on ordering a six course meal, since you're footing the bill. While I'm waiting for my food, I'm taking the longest, hottest bath possible. After that, I'm climbing into bed. To sleep.” Believing he would simply shrug it off and go find a lady to spend the night with, she was shocked when he grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
“Alright, but tomorrow we'll go grab a few trinkets, maybe have a nice lunch before we head home. After we talk to Doctor Santo, of course. I think we deserve a bit of fun.” he replied.
Nodding, she tried to pull her hand free, but he refused to relinquish his hold on her, and walked her to her suite.
What's up with him? He doesn't strike me as the touchy- feely kind of guy....
she wondered. Pulling the key card from the back pocket of her caprice, she put the sombrero she had been carrying back on her head, then unlocked the door and pushed it open.
“Well, buddy, it's been an adventurous day, but now it's time for this brave soul to turn in for the night." she said.
Who would have thought being arrested by the Mexican authorities would have been so much fun? Of course, it was the company that made it fun....
she mused.
Not wanting to leave her, but not wanting to appear pushy either, he wondered,
What's wrong with me? She's got me all twisted up like some pimply, teen aged geek!
Looking down in her soft brown eyes, he thought she was becoming an ever-changing mystery, and he planned on finding out all he could about Cynne' Barns. Leaning down, he kissed her
cheek, only a fraction away from her lush lips, touching her skin like a whisper. “Good night, and thanks for having my back.” he whispered, then turned and left.
Wanting desperately to call to him, but not knowing what to say, she touched her cheek reverently and watched as he unlocked the door to his own suite and stepped inside.
*********************************
Leaning his head against the closed door, Raidon had to actively resist the urge to bang his head in frustration “Well, what do you expect, you're not exactly the commitment-minded type, are you? She just wants to be friends, so leave it at that.” he muttered.
With a heavy sigh, he trudged across the room and picked up the phone, dialing the number to a friend of his, Special Agent Stone Billings, who worked for the FBI, and specialized in missing persons and kidnappings. After a moment of small talk, he got down to business, telling the man about Brett Parker, and the role he had played in the disappearance of Cassandra and Karen. He also emailed a photograph of Karen, in an effort to get a fast, positive identification. Before hanging up, he also asked his friend to see if he could dig anything up on Doctor Santo, and to call him back as soon as possible. He didn't know if the doctor had been a willing participant in Brett Parker's schemes, but he certainly aimed to find out.
Hanging up, he tossed his wallet on the desk, then removed the leather band from his hair, letting it cascade down his shoulders. With another heavy sigh, he began shucking his now-foul-smelling clothing and underwear, then tossed them in the trash, certain the jail-smell could never be washed out of them.
Making his way to the bathroom, he turned the hot water on in the shower and stepped inside. Closing his eyes and relishing the feel of it cascading over his tired, aching muscles, he thought about his strong attraction to Cynne'. Something about her made him go against all the rules he had relied on for years in order to keep from getting entangled in the dreaded commitments other women had demanded. His 'love 'em and leave 'em' attitude had always worked like a charm before, but the only problem was he couldn't see himself ever having such a callous attitude towards Cynne'. What was it about her that made him want to be a different man, a better man? Smiling, he suddenly remembered the incident with Danny the Demon Child, and the tiny garden snake, when she had wrapped her thick thighs around his waist. His reaction then, and now, reminded him there was more than just an emotional connection he had with her.
He couldn't deny it, he wanted her lush, ripe, voluptuous body as well.
Suddenly his manhood sprang to life, begging to be petted.
One hand stole down to his six pack abs, then to his hardened flesh, gripping it almost painfully and squeezing.
With a shudder, he gasped, “Down, boy! Going solo will only make it worse.” Then, instead of giving in to his burning urges, he quickly finished his shower and dried off. Wrapping the towel around his trim waist, he thought about going to down to the hotel bar for a few drinks, maybe flirt with a few girls, but quickly dismissed the idea.
Going to his king size bed, he flopped down and grabbed the television remote from the nightstand. Turning on the flat screen television, which was mounted on the wall, he clicked the menu screen and scrolled down to the room service icon, then browsed the fare they had to offer.
Before he could make his selection he heard a light rap on the door that separated his room from Cynne's. Getting up out of bed, he rushed to the door, thinking that something must be wrong, like Captain Lopez, for instance, coming to look for her.
Opening the door, he saw her standing there with a room service cart that was loaded down with an assortment of Mexican dishes. Giving the food a cursory glance, his eyes preferred to drink in the sight of her instead.
Even without make up, she's a beauty...
was his first thought. She looked as if she had just stepped out of the shower. Her braids were separated into two ponytails, making her look much younger, and she was wearing a white tank top that showcased her full, but pert breasts. His eyes drifted down to her low hanging, baggy pj bottoms, that still seemed to cling to her shapely hips.
“Ummm, I decided I didn't want to eat alone, but...” she faltered as her eyes locked on the one gun salute she was getting behind the towel he had wrapped around his waist. “...but if you want me to give you a few minutes to dress, I can come back.”
Sweet Mary and Joseph the carpenter, PLEASE let that towel drop!
She
thought, praying she wouldn't start drooling.
“No no no!” he babbled, a little louder than he had intended. “Come on in, while I put something on.” he said as he turned around and yanked a shirt and a pair of sweat pants off the bed, then hurried into the bathroom.
Smiling, she pushed the cart inside the room and closed the door.
Maybe, just maybe Mr. Bishop will be hungry for something besides food...
she hoped silently.
Chapter 39
Lieutenant Paul Marshall emptied the box of DVDs onto his desk, DVDs that had been found in a hidden false wall in the master bedroom closet of Brett Parker's home. Along with the DVD's, there were several flash drives, and two trinket boxes that were filled with dozens of Polaroids of African American women, and assorted jewelry. With a sinking heart, he knew what the items were, they were the sick bastard’s 'trophies'.
Turning on the portable DVD player that was sitting on top of his desk, he sat down, opened a desk drawer, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, then lit one. Although their work area was supposed to be a smoke-free environment, at the moment he didn't give a tin shit, he had a feeling he would need a smoke in order to watch what he suspected was on the DVDs. Slowly opening the closest jewel case, he removed the disc and loaded it into the player.
As the picture come into focus, he watched in horror as the camera panned on a bloody, badly beaten African American woman whose age was almost impossible to determine, because of all the bruising, cuts, and swelling on her face. Her wrists and ankles were strapped to what appeared to be a hospital bed. Suddenly the helpless woman looked directly into the camera, and the sight made his skin crawl like nothing on his job ever had before.
“Please stop, Brett, don't hurt me anymore! What did I ever do to you? I swear I won't tell, just let me go, please, PLEASE!”
the woman shrieked as Paul's own heart began racing with horror. He had seen many types of abuse and brutality in his long career, but this was something different altogether. Pausing the player with a finger that was trembling, he took a long drag off his cigarette to steel his nerves, then reluctantly continued watching.
Suddenly a man entered the camera's view, with a merciless chuckle that made his skin crawl even more, a feat he would have believed impossible only moments earlier. “Now, Terry, if you would just relax and accept that I hold your life in my hands, that would make me very happy. And at the moment I'm very UNHAPPY with you, for trying to run away.” the man said as he turned to a medical instrument stand beside the bed and selected what appeared to be a syringe and vial from a stainless steel tray.
Swallowing the bile coming up from his stomach, Paul leaned forward, studying the woman's reaction to the drug as the man injected her.
Sweetheart, I'm so sorry I wasn't there to stop him...
he thought as he sank further into nauseating despair. Arching her back and screaming one last time, the woman suddenly ceased struggling, then went limp. Her face became slack, and a vacant gaze in her dull eyes told the awful truth of what she was feeling.
As the man leaned over his hapless victim, Paul got his first good look at him. Dr. Brett Parker. “Terry, can you hear me?” the monster asked in the low, monotonous voice of an automaton.
“Y...y...yessss” the woman slurred as her eyes slowly slid shut.
“Now you'll tell me what I want to know, won't yo....” the monster's voice trailed off as
the woman's body suddenly began convulsing and thrashing, spittle and bloody foam flying from her mouth. With one final, desperate wheeze, the woman's body went limp, and Paul recognized the lifeless look in her eyes, and knew he would be haunted by the sight till the end of his days.
“It would appear that the test subject, number six, has expired. Results of this experiment, less than satisfactory, much like the previous five. It's my opinion I'll have to lower the dosage of Gamma-hydroxy butyrate and Pentachlorophenol yet again.” the monster said, then glanced at his wristwatch. “Test subject withstood physical behavior therapy and drug combination for thirty six hours. I'll perform the autopsy immediately, then dispose of the test subject so I can begin the search for the next candidate.” Turning to face the video camera, Brett Parker brandished a remote control, and the screen suddenly went blank.
Senses reeling, Paul lurched to his feet and ran to the men's room, where he did something
he hadn't done in fifteen years, when he was a green-behind-the-ears rookie patrolman responding to his first grisly automobile accident. Leaning over the sink, he lost his breakfast.
****************************************
Back at his desk, Paul looked at the stack of remaining discs. “Fifteen more.” he croaked, praying that his hunch was wrong, but knowing in his heart it wasn't. Reaching for his cell phone (the department phone on his desk was broken) he dialed the number for the Chief of Detectives.
“Daniels, what can I do for you?” a gruff voice answered after two rings.
“Sir, this is Lt. Marshall, I'm calling about the Parker and Shepard case. The house was searched, and some hidden items were found. Some of them were DVDs, and, well, since this isn't a secure line, I won't say what all we found, but I think you should set up a meeting. We need homicide, missing persons, and the FBI in on this, it's going to be bad, sir. Brett Parker is a serial killer.” he said, point-blank, in a dead voice.
Daniels was quite for a moment. The case was already a nightmare, but this, the media would be crawling up their asses about in record time. “Consider it done.” he finally answered. “Lieutenant, let's try to keep the media out of this as much as we possibly can, alright?”
“Yes sir.” Paul replied quietly, then hung up. Glancing back down at the items on his desk, he felt something within himself snap, and his shock quickly yielded to a blinding rage. “Brett Parker, when I find you, I'm going to make you feel what that poor girl felt, and if I have my way, it'll be a hell of lot longer than thirty six hours.” he muttered, vowing to himself that he would do whatever it took, even if it meant vigilante justice.