Shannon Michaels’ stately home in Sands Point was exactly twenty-six miles from Ashley’s apartment, but it was certainly a world away. Turning into his long driveway, Ashley couldn’t believe all the land the man owned. And the house was huge, painted white with dark green shutters and trim. This guy lives in style, she thought.
Shannon greeted his guest with a chilled glass of white wine. Predictable, but effective. A wood fire danced in the brick living room fireplace, and soft jazz played on the stereo. It didn’t take long for Ashley to unwind.
The two seemed to have a lot in common. Both favored the preppy look. Ashley wore a navy blue blazer, white cotton shirt, and a tartan skirt over hose that matched the blazer. Shannon wore a forest green Shetland wool sweater over a white shirt and neatly pressed tan jeans.
“Beautiful ride out on the Expressway, isn’t it?” Shannon said smiling.
“You know, it doesn’t get any better than passing the Elmhurst Gas tanks in the moonlight,” Ashley answered. She was sitting with her legs crossed on Shannon’s burgundy couch, sipping her wine.
Shannon laughed softly and Ashley stared at him. She liked his smile very much, but noticed that it did not quite reach his eyes. Unlike Tommy O’Malley, who could be genuinely playful when he let his guard down, Shannon Michaels never seemed totally at ease. In control, yes. But never completely caught up in the moment. Something important always seemed to be on his mind.
As the couple made light conversation, Ashley was consciously comparing Shannon to Tommy. It was interesting to put one up against the other because both possessed strong personalities. But there the similarities ended. Shannon was much more intense. He was also better looking, though both were attractive men. Ashley noticed that Shannon was beginning to look at her strangely. She abruptly stopped the evaluation.
“Are you okay, Ash? You look distracted.”
“I’m fine, just getting adjusted to the new surroundings.”
“How about a tour, to make your adjustment easier?” Shannon had a very subtle way of mocking her, Ashley thought. She didn’t mind. Her father and brother used to do it all the time.
Shannon led his guest through the mansion—through much of its fifteen rooms and five thousand square feet. Ashley was impressed that all the original woodwork was restored. The hardwood oak floors were highly polished, the dark brown stair banisters shined. There was even a working fireplace in the master bedroom. The kitchen was enormous. A custom-made chopping block table divided the room, which was filled with every appliance and utensil a cook could hope for. As she thought of her one-bedroom apartment back in the city, Ashley became momentarily depressed.
Shannon Michaels wanted to impress Ashley Van Buren and guessed he was succeeding. He liked the woman. She was good company and emitted a powerful, understated sexuality. Shannon had planned the evening carefully. He wanted to accelerate his relationship with Ashley.
Having worked for years in New York City, Shannon knew that a country atmosphere had a powerfully seductive allure to many single women living and working in the chaos of Manhattan. Space, trees, clean air, and flowers were aphrodisiacs to New Yorkers. From experience, Shannon knew that his house was a place most women found comfortable and appealing.
Ashley Van Buren proved no exception. She wandered around the house for a full thirty minutes visualizing what touches she would install if it were hers. The closet space was amazing. The library, stunning. Four large bathrooms. But, she thought, this place badly needs a woman’s touch.
Shannon regretted not cooking dinner himself—he now didn’t want to leave the house. Instead, he had made reservations at a seafood restaurant overlooking the Long Island Sound. He finally persuaded Ashley to leave the library, where she was examining his collection of first edition historical books. In Shannon’s black Buick Park Avenue, the two drove off to the restaurant.
The Old Salt was a typical informal fish house, filled with nautical wall prints and overhead fishnets. The lobster was great and so was the fresh bluefish. The couple ordered and gazed out at the harbor lights of Port Washington.
“What is it with you?” Ashley asked. “Every time we go to dinner, we have a table with a view.”
“It’s just my discerning aesthetic sense,” Shannon said with a smile.
“Wow, great vocabulary for a TV guy. That library is really paying off.” Ashley was enjoying the repartee.
“Well, I don’t want to seem meretricious,” Shannon quickly shot back. “I really do enjoy the views. They calm turbulent souls.”
“Meretricious! My God. You’re lucky I have the perspicacity to understand that, Buster.”
They both laughed. Shannon was impressed with the woman’s wit. After a few more minutes of light banter, the conversation turned serious. Ashley wanted to talk about the GNN case. She asked Shannon what he knew of Martin Moore.
“I made a few calls about him,” said Shannon, and then hesitated. He really didn’t want to talk about the case given how gruesome it was. He preferred that Ashley concentrate on the romantic side of the evening. After a short pause, however, he continued, “I actually met this guy one time, and didn’t remember it until a friend of mine reminded me he had done some work for Channel Six.”
Ashley was on her second glass of wine, but that piece of news put her on alert. “What kind of work?”
“The guy was advising our news director. Very hush-hush. Consultants usually get people fired.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with your dismissal?”
“Maybe. They told my agent that their research showed my popularity declining. This Moore could have done the research. But, listen, Moore was behind the purges at GNN and a couple of other networks as well. The guy did a lot of damage.”
“So he deserved to die,” said Ashley in a probing tone. Shannon picked right up on it.
“Didn’t say that. What I am saying is the guy had a lot of enemies, just like Costello and Ross. This is really becoming a fascinating case because the three victims fall into the same category. They were all workplace terrorists.”
Ashley’s eyes opened wide. She had never heard that term. But it was a great headline for a column. “Workplace terrorists?” she repeated quizzically.
“It’s funny. Here in America we think about terrorism in the context of Arabs or the IRA or right wing militia nuts. Fanatics with bombs. But terrorism comes in many forms. Terrorism can be defined as ‘coercing by intimidation or fear.’ How often do we see that done in life? All the time. In many corporate environments, people are defenseless because there is no due process. If your boss is a workplace terrorist, then you’re gonna get terrorized and there’s little you can do about it except quit. And well paying jobs aren’t easy to find. So few of us quit.” Shannon looked at Ashley, who was listening attentively. “I’m sorry, I guess I sound like I’m lecturing.”
“No, it’s an interesting take. But how does it relate to GNN?” Ashley asked.
“Are you kidding? The media is the worst. Journalism, as you know, is a profession that requires its participants to be aggressive, skeptical, and persistent in pursuit of the truth. Yet, the moment you enter your own newsroom, you’ve got to drop all that. The managers want total conformity. They want you to play the game, to do what you’re told to do. If you don’t, or if you raise annoying questions, there’s a good chance you’ll be terrorized by administrators or others who’ve been given a semblance of power. People like Costello and Ross.”
“So you think somebody in the press is killing these people?” Ashley asked, staring intently at Shannon.
“I think somebody snapped. Costello, Ross, and Moore all had one thing in common: They terrorized people. And they got away with it. Somebody just said, ‘Enough.’ ”
“You sound like you’re justifying it.”
“No, I’m trying to understand it, Ash. I’m simply theorizing about why it happened. I’m trying to figure out who would do something like this.”
�
��Are you going to share your thoughts with Detective O’Malley?”
Shannon smiled, but inside he was unhappy with himself. He was shooting his mouth off. First murder theories, now questions about O’Malley. How was he ever going to get Ashley back in the mood? Unable to think of a conversational diversion, he pushed ahead. “You like this O’Malley guy, don’t you? Well, he’s coming out here tomorrow. He wanted me to come into the city, but I only do that for special people like you.” Shannon Michaels smiled again, his best smile. Not a bad segué, he thought.
Ashley looked into his blue eyes. So far, she thought, the guy made a lot of sense. She knew O’Malley suspected him, but maybe Tommy was jealous. Besides, he hadn’t even met Shannon yet. Ashley trusted her instincts about people, and her instincts told her that this man was not psychotic. He seemed very grounded in reality. His career trauma had made him bitter, she believed, but not homicidal.
After dinner, the couple drove to the northern tip of Sands Point. It was a clear night and, looking back toward the city, Manhattan glowed in the distance like a candlelit procession. At this distance, the dark of night always had the effect of airbrushing the city, covering all its visual flaws with an attractive, sparkling gauze.
As she contemplated the view, Ashley knew she would soon be forced to make an important decision. When they returned to his house, Shannon would undoubtedly invite her in for a drink. Caution dictated a polite decline. Better not to get any more involved with this man until the whole picture became more defined. After all, even though she didn’t believe it, Shannon Michaels could be a killer.
For his part, Shannon Michaels sensed Ashley’s doubts about him. And as they drove back to his house, he made a major effort to ease those doubts.
“So, Ash, I know you have to get back to the city, but I can’t let you go without some coffee to keep you alert during the drive. Wouldn’t want you falling asleep at the wheel and missing the Utopia Parkway exit. It’s really something.”
Ashley laughed but remained noncommittal, mulling things over as the two drove silently toward Shannon’s house. Only when they pulled into Shannon’s long driveway did she conclude that it was still early, and that coming in for one cup of coffee couldn’t hurt.
Shannon Michaels stoked up the fire in his immense living room. Luther Vandross played softly on the stereo. Ashley was again sitting on the couch, her slender legs curled up under her skirt. Since the conversation about the murders, her mood had changed. She was quiet now, staring at the fire.
“I’ll write you directions so you can drive out of here. It’s pretty confusing in the dark,” Shannon said, speaking as placidly as he could. He did not want to appear anxious to have Ashley stay, although that’s exactly what he wanted.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Well, it is slightly after eleven. And only you know how much beauty rest you require.” Shannon’s eyes gleamed. He was teasing her.
“I guess I should be going, really,” Ashley said, but made no move to get up. The house was seductively cozy.
“Tell you what. Let’s play a little game before you go.” Shannon very subtly licked his top lip. Ashley noticed.
“Shannon, the last time we played your game, I almost got into trouble. I can’t do that tonight.”
“This game requires no physical contact,” Shannon said.
Ashley was wary but curious. “What are the rules?”
“Okay. We sit across from each other. About ten feet apart. Then each of us gets a turn. You can ask me to do anything that doesn’t require me to get up. Then I can ask you. Pretty simple, right? Oh, and one more thing. You can stop the game at any time by refusing to do what you’re asked. So if the game is boring or you feel uncomfortable, you can quit, and so can I.”
Ashley continued to look skeptical. “I don’t know. To be honest, it doesn’t sound like such a great game.”
“We’ll see.” And Shannon smiled, daring her with his eyes. “What have you got to lose? You can quit at any time. Ready?”
“All right. But you’re right on the edge, Mister.”
Shannon’s smile remained steady. He picked up a small chair and moved it directly across from Ashley. “Okay, I’ll go first. Take off your shoes.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “What is this, strip poker without the cards? Don’t tell me! Next we’ll be spinning the bottle!”
“The shoes.”
Ashley slipped off her ankle high black shoes and wiggled her toes. “Happy?”
“Thrilled,” Shannon said. “Now it’s your turn.”
Ashley paused, thinking it over. “Mess up your hair,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.
Shannon shook his head and smiled. “No problem, but you just wasted a turn.” He ran both hands through his thick, brown hair.
“Now, Ash, take your right hand and rub your left thigh from the hip to the knee four times. Make sure you do it very slowly.”
“Oh, I see where this is going. You men are so predictable.” Ashley hesitated, and Shannon thought she might quit, but she looked him straight in the eye and began moving her right hand up and down her dark stockings. She took her time. For some reason, she enjoyed teasing him.
“My request,” Ashley said. “Take off your shoes.”
Shannon slipped off his brown loafers, thinking she was getting bolder. Good. “Okay, Ash, take your right index finger and put it in your mouth. Then slowly move it in and out of your mouth five times.”
Ashley grinned and said, “You are very ill.” Then she did what Shannon wanted in a way that almost made him shudder. He knew she was beginning to enjoy the game.
“Unbutton your shirt.” Shannon was surprised by Ashley’s quick command. It was obvious he was not wearing an undershirt. “Now—”
“Only one request at a time, Ash,” Shannon interrupted. Slowly he opened his shirt. His dark chest hair stood out against his white skin. Sitting directly across from Ashley, Shannon was backlit by the fire. His build, Ashley could see, was medium but solid, and his chest well developed.
“Unbutton your shirt.” Shannon’s voice was low. He smiled at Ashley when she looked at him. He didn’t want her to quit.
Ashley paused and thought about it. “No touching, right?” Shannon nodded, and she slowly undid the buttons of her white shirt, careful to keep the fabric close together. She was resisting, but the truth be told, she was becoming increasingly excited.
“Take off that shirt,” came Ashley’s next order—this one with a slightly huskier voice.
Shannon removed his shirt and threw it behind him in the direction of the fire. Thank God he had gotten rid of the sweater when he came in from the restaurant, he thought. He wanted this woman to see his body almost as much as he wanted to see hers.
Shannon’s stomach, Ashley noticed, was flat. The man must be doing his situps, she thought. His posture was also good. Straight back. Even shoulders.
“Here’s where the game gets really interesting, Ash,” Shannon said, looking straight into her eyes. “I would like you to unhook your bra and let it slide down your arms. You can keep your shirt on.”
Once again Ashley paused, but not for long. She felt a tingle of excitement. Thinking that she must be crazy, she nonetheless did as Shannon asked.
Shannon’s eyes took in Ashley’s round breasts. Her shirt partially concealed them, but their shape was evident. He gazed intently, spotting nipples that seemed taut as they pushed up against the fabric of her shirt. The last time he and Ash had been together, he had felt her breasts. But this was the first time he had actually seen them. He was acutely aware that his blood flow was gaining speed.
Acting on a powerful impulse, Ashley decided to push the game up a notch, to abandon her usual caution. She didn’t really know why, but the words that kept ricocheting around in her mind were: Why not? Don’t I have a right to have some fun once in a while? Finally, she dictated the course of the evening. “Okay, Shannon Michaels, off with those pants.”
While still sitting, Shannon undid his belt and the button on his jeans. Very slowly, he lifted his hips, sliding the jeans down his long legs. When they reached his feet, he deftly kicked them off.
Ashley took it all in. He was wearing Calvin Klein briefs. Black. Her eyes moved downward from his slim hips to his legs. She tried not to stare at his crotch, even though she saw movement there.
“So, Ash, now that you have me at a disadvantage, I want you to do a small exercise. Cup your hands under your breasts and hold them up for ten seconds.”
Ashley knew that to do this would leave her completely exposed from the waist up. But she did it anyway.
Shannon stared at the woman in front of him. Not only was she holding her breasts aloft, she was gently caressing them. Teasing him. His eyes swept over her. She was beautiful. Her light skin was growing slightly red. He knew she was getting extremely aroused.
Shannon Michaels ended the game with two words: “I quit.” He then dropped to the floor kneeling before Ashley, pushing her skirt up to her waist. Using a fair amount of pressure, he kissed her inner thighs, using his lips and tongue. His hands reached the waistband of her hose. Shannon gently gave a tug and Ashley lifted her hips. He slipped the hose down to her ankles, all the while continuing to knead her skin with his tongue.
Ashley was now wearing only brief white panties. By removing her shirt and skirt, and by leaning back on the couch, she had signaled her desire. Now, she closed her eyes, concentrating on nothing but Shannon’s tongue and lips. He gently teased her by licking the areas around her most sensitive erogenous zone. Then he slipped her panties down her legs and, within seconds, his tongue was inside her, moving rapidly. Ashley felt intense pleasure building. Doubts briefly surfaced, but she quickly dismissed them. She had not felt physical pleasure of this kind for a long time. Maybe it had never been this good. Why should she deny herself? There wasn’t any concrete reason why she shouldn’t enjoy the moment for a change.
Those Who Trespass: A Novel of Television and Murder Page 16
