'OK, OK,' she agreed, laughing. 'I admit - it was better than nice.'
'She's so cool,' he said, running his fingers up her bare leg. 'So ladylike.'
'Was I ladylike just now?' she demanded.
'You were somethin' else.'
'I'll show you something else,' she said, sitting up and reaching for him.
'Hey, wait a minute - give me time to -'
'You don't need time,' she said seductively, bending her head to lick the insides of his thighs.
He immediately started to get hard again as her tongue promised unspeakable ecstasy.
Putting his hands on top of her honey-blonde head he pushed her down and groaned with pleasure.
'I told you,' she murmured. 'You've really got to learn to listen to me, Michael.'
And then she had him in her mouth and he leaned back lost in a sea of pure delight.
Being with Kennedy was like coming home.
* * *
Having the two girls trapped in the cellar was the most stimulating thing that had ever happened to The Man. He had complete and total control over their lives. He could do anything he wanted to them -anything at all.
He wished it was his mother down there. Yes, his mother, who'd always loved to be surrounded by sweet things, nice things. And the bitch had called him poopsy, and ruined every single day of his FUCKING HORRIBLE LIFE.
He'd like to see her shackled in a basement with rats gnawing at her skinny ankles, crawling up her spindly legs, tearing at her flesh.
The thought excited him so much that he considered stripping off his clothes and satisfying himself. But he could always do that later - he had all the time in the world.
He wondered if there were rats down there in the basement. Then it occurred to him that he didn't have to wait and see, he could take care of it himself.
Women were frightened of the furry, four-legged rodents. If he rigged a tape recorder at the top of the stairs, he would be able to record their screams of terror.
The very thought made him happy and content.
He'd killed four of the women who'd betrayed him. He had the other two trapped.
Soon his mission in California would be over and he could return to New York ready to deal with the woman who deserved to die more than any of them.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Detective Carlyle rang the doorbell of Cheryl's house.
Grant heard the sound of the bell over the television, but he didn't move.
Detective Carlyle kept his finger firmly on the buzzer.
Finally Grant slouched to the door. 'Yeah?' he said, still holding on to his glass of vodka.
'I'm here to see Cheryl Landers.'
'She's not home right now.'
'I called yesterday. She never returned my call.'
'Who are you?'
'Detective Carlyle. Was it you I spoke to?'
'No, not me,' Grant said quickly.
'You got any idea where she is or when she'll be back?'
Grant ran a hand through his uncombed hair.
'Look, do you want to tell me what this is about?'
'Who are you?'
'Her brother,' he lied.
'You'd better have her contact me pronto.'
'Why?'
Detective Carlyle shifted position. 'Several years ago she testified at a murder trial. It seems that the man she helped put away is out of prison. I'm trying to warn Miss Landers to be on her guard.'
'Is this serious?' Grant asked.
'Only if he comes looking for her.'
'What makes you think he might?'
'Because he went looking for four of the other women - and he found 'em. They're all dead.'
'Jesus!' Grant exclaimed. 'Why wasn't she warned before?'
'We've only just found out.'
'I don't get it. I-'
'If she feels she needs protection she can come in and talk to us,' Detective Carlyle interrupted.
'I'll have her call you as soon as I find her.'
'Find her?'
'Oh... uh, she's around somewhere.'
The detective handed Grant his card. 'See she does.'
Grant couldn't wait to get rid of the detective. At least they weren't getting busted for pimping and pandering.
Once the detective was out of there he searched for his notes, trying to locate the name of the client Cheryl had been visiting at the St James's. Shuffling through a stack of papers on the desk, he finally came across it scribbled on a yellow legal pad. Bosco Nanni. Yes, that was the name.
He immediately called the hotel, only to be told there was no answer from Mr Nanni's room.
All of a sudden Grant was worried. It wasn't like Cheryl to stay out all night, and now this detective was telling him there was some maniac out there, tracking down the people who'd testified against him.
What if he'd got Cheryl?
Of course it was unthinkable, but what if he had?
Grant decided the best thing to do was to go over to the hotel and see if Cheryl was there.
And if she wasn't?
He'd get into that when it happened.
* * *
Eldessa finished her chores, then wearily sat down at the kitchen table resting her feet. There wasn't much to do in the big old house any more, especially now everybody had moved out, but she kept it clean and presentable because Luca Carlotti could turn up at any time - as he'd recently proven.
Mr Carlotti was a fine man, and even though over the years he'd rarely visited, Eldessa was still in awe of him. He'd probably forgotten, but when she'd first started working for him she'd been employed by the actress who, at the time, was his mistress.
Eldessa often recalled the night Mr Carlotti had flown in unexpectedly and caught his girlfriend in bed with her stuntman lover. She remembered the yelling and screaming, and the two of them getting beaten up and thrown out. After that exciting incident, the house had been empty for a while.
She'd worked for him ever since, watching people come and go, observing all sorts of things, but forever being loyal to Mr Carlotti because he was her boss.
When Zane arrived to stay she'd known he was the nephew of Mr Carlotti. Eldessa had a way of finding things out.
Unfortunately she didn't know where he'd gone, although it occurred to her that Shelley might, because she'd seen how Shelley ran after him all the time.
She should have warned the girl that Zane was no good. An evil presence. Eldessa had a nose for bad people.
She decided it was probably just as well she'd never said anything. It wasn't her place - besides, girls today, you couldn't tell them anything, they all thought they knew it all.
When Shelley left the house, she'd written down her address and made Eldessa promise to visit.
Eldessa had agreed.
Now that Mr Carlotti had mentioned a big reward, she decided to take the bus down Sunset and pay Shelley a visit. Maybe Shelley would know where Zane had gone.
After all, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
* * *
Later that morning Luca Carlotti got word from his business manager in New York that Zane had forged a six-thousand-dollar cheque, changing the amount to sixty thousand dollars. When Luca heard this he was one angry man. He immediately summoned Bosco and Reno to his suite. 'You've bin screwin' around long enough,' he snarled, a rigid disciplinarian when he had to be. 'Get out there today an' find the cocksucker - you hear me? An' don't come back 'til you do.'
'Where are we supposed to look?' Bosco asked, his pop eyes bugging.
'That's your problem, not mine.'
Bosco shuffled his feet. 'Whaddaya want me to do first?' he asked. 'Track down Bambi? Or find Zane?'
Luca's voice was cold. 'Find Zane before the cops, 'cause I personally want the pleasure of splittin' his thieving head open an' scattering it to the coyotes.'
* * *
The Sandersons' butler and Hubert Potter were having an argument. The butler kept insisting that Jordanna was a
sleep in her room and couldn't be disturbed, while Hubert was equally insistent that she had to be woken, because he needed to know why her wrecked car was abandoned in the middle of the street.
The butler had been enjoying a peaceful morning, but it was obviously not to continue. Hubert was getting on his nerves. He did not approve of security guards anyway, it was beneath his dignity to work in a household that had to have these uncouth people around. Once, when he was very young, he'd served at Buckingham Palace. Working for an American billionaire was no match for Her Majesty the Queen.
Reluctantly, he buzzed Jordanna's room.
Just as he'd thought there was no reply.
'Miss Levitt is still asleep,' he said, unable to hide a small note of triumph.
'I never saw her come home,' Hubert said stubbornly. 'She would've told me about her car. There's something wrong here.'
'I can assure you, nothing is wrong,' the butler said, looking disdainfully down his long, thin nose.
'Then I'll speak to Marjory Sanderson,' Hubert said, refusing to be deterred.
The butler stood firm. 'Miss Sanderson cannot be disturbed either.'
Hubert scratched his head, unsure what to do next. The doorbell saved him from having to make a decision. The butler opened the front door and Detective Carlyle entered the fray.
'Can I help you?' the butler asked imperiously.
'I understand Jordanna Levitt's staying here.'
'Miss Levitt cannot be disturbed,' the butler said. 'May I ask who's calling?'
'Detective Carlyle, and yeah, Miss Levitt can be disturbed.' He'd had enough for one morning, it was not his job to go traipsing around trying to find Beverly Hills brats so he could warn them to be careful. 'Tell her I'm here.'
Hubert observed the action. The detective couldn't have arrived at a more opportune moment.
The butler hesitated a fraction before stomping off to get Jordanna.
'She smashed up her car,' Hubert remarked, folding his arms.
'Excuse me?' Detective Carlyle said.
'It's sitting in the middle of the street. Didn't you see it on your way up here?'
'A white Porsche?'
'That's right.'
'How'd she do that?'
'She's a wild one,' Hubert said knowingly.
'Really?'
'Too much money. What're you here to see her about?'
'It doesn't concern you.'
Hubert puffed up. 'I think you'll find it does. I'm security here.'
'Security, huh?'
'Been with Mr Sanderson eight years.'
'He that TV mogul?'
'Correct.'
'Easy to work for?'
'The best.'
'Good pay?'
'Excellent.'
Detective Carlyle sighed. 'Sometimes I gotta hunch I'm busting my ass for nothing. I should get me a nice cushy private security job like you.'
The butler returned, his face impassive. 'Miss Levitt is not here.'
'I told you,' Hubert crowed.
Detective Carlyle hitched up his pants. 'Where is she?' he asked.
'I would imagine she's at the studio.'
'Didn't you say her car was out there on the street?'
Hubert couldn't wait to join in. 'It's her car all right, her purse was sitting in it. I don't know any woman who'd leave her purse behind. And what's more, I never saw her pass by my station.'
'Was her bed slept in?' Detective Carlyle said patiently, although the last thing he felt like being was polite.
'No,' the butler said.
Detective Carlyle had a nasty feeling he was just about to find out something he didn't want to know.
* * *
'What time is it?' Cheryl mumbled.
Jordanna consulted her watch. 'Nearly eleven. How're you feeling?'
'Really bad. It's like my stomach is on fire.'
'Try to stay strong.'
'How long is it since he was down here?'
'Almost three hours.'
'Do you think anybody's missed us yet?'
'They'll find my wrecked car. Where did you leave yours?'
'Lexington - blocking somebody's driveway.'
'When they discover our cars they'll realize something's wrong. They're probably already looking for us. This is kidnapping, Cheryl, the FBI will get into it. We'll be out of here soon.'
'I wish I felt better,' Cheryl complained. 'All I want is to close my eyes and pretend this is a bad dream.'
'It is a bad dream, but we'll be OK.'
'He won't even let us go to the bathroom, or give us a drink. My mouth's so dry. I could kill for a sip of water. What are we going to do?'
'I don't know,' Jordanna replied honestly. 'Something will come up. We'll get our opportunity. First of all we've got to try and get out of these handcuffs.'
'There's no way,' Cheryl said flatly. 'Without a key we're trapped.'
'Wait - I hear something, he's coming down here again.' Jordanna listened, holding her breath.
The door opened - silence for a few seconds, then there was a tumbling noise on the stairs.
'Hey, Zane, I need to talk to you,' she shouted. 'It's important.'
No response.
Keep going.
Attract his attention.
Get the fucker to communicate.
'Did you know that Ingrid spoke about you all the time?' she called out. 'Ingrid told me plenty. I want to share some of the things she said with you.'
The door slammed shut.
They both heard the squeaking noises at the same time. 'What's that?' Cheryl asked, alarmed.
Before Jordanna could answer, two rats descended on them - and panicked, the rats began racing frantically around the small cellar. One of them nipped at Cheryl's ankle. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. 'Oh, Jesus! Oh, my God! Jordy, do something!'
'Kick 'em, Cheryl,' Jordanna yelled as the rodents scurried around the floor searching for an escape. 'You've got to kick 'em hard. We can kill 'em. We can do it.' Drawing back her legs, she kicked out with all her might. One of the rats yelped loudly as it was flung up against the wall.
Cheryl was weakening fast. 'I can't,' she wailed. 'I can't, Jordy, I can't. I'm telling you, he's poisoned me!'
'Yes, you can,' Jordanna said harshly. 'You've got to. Just kick the little bastards.'
Cheryl shrank into the corner doubled over with stomach cramps. 'Oh, God,' she groaned. 'I think I'm going to die.'
* * *
The Man crouched by the door at the top of the stairs listening to the shrieks coming from below.
One time, when he was in jail, a couple of the other inmates had forced a live rat down his pants. It had bitten him on his balls and thighs, and the pain had been excruciating. The guards had hauled him off to the prison hospital and made him have a rabies shot. The pain of the shot was worse than the rat bites.
How the other inmates had loved that little trick.
But he'd gotten his revenge. He'd put rat poison in the stew when he was on kitchen duty, and half the cell block were sick for days. A fitting punishment.
He hadn't planned on speaking to either of the girls, they didn't deserve the honour of his conversation. But Jordanna had intrigued him by mentioning Ingrid.
Had Ingrid really talked about him? And if so, what exactly had she said?
He thirsted to know every word, and the only way to find out was to ask the Levin bitch.
He'd had enough of their screams. Besides, he could replay the tape as many times as he cared to.
He opened the cellar door again. One of the rats raced up the stairs, making a frenzied dash into the house.
He shone his flashlight down into the cellar.
Cheryl was huddled in a ball. Jordanna wasn't.
As soon as she saw him she began talking. 'Do you want to hear what Ingrid had to say about you? We should talk about it, it's interesting stuff.'
Jordanna was a tough one. He could see that she'd kicked one of the rats to death with her
bound feet and she was still ready to talk.
He hesitated for a moment, but the thought of finding out what Ingrid had said about him was irresistible.
Slowly he descended the cellar steps.
* * *
Bobby had just finished shooting a pivotal scene with Jerry when Mac called him over to one side. 'This is Detective Carlyle,' he said, introducing him to the stocky detective.
'If it's about Barbara Barr trashing my house, I'm not pressing charges,' Bobby said, wondering why Mac was getting into it.
'I'm afraid it's more serious than that,' Mac replied, with a worried expression. 'Have you seen Jordanna today?'
'She'll be here soon.'
'Were you with her last night?' Detective Carlyle asked, thinking that his girlfriend would have an orgasm if she knew he was actually speaking to Bobby Rush. Her idol. Although as far as he was concerned Bobby Rush looked like every other thirty-something actor. Kevin Costner, Dennis Quaid, Michael Douglas - they all looked the same to him.
'Yeah, I saw her last night. Why?'
'I don't know how to tell you this, but we think she's... missing.'
* * *
Michael lay in bed, hands crossed behind his neck, eyes wide open. He was perfectly content. Absolutely at peace.
Kennedy lay half across his stomach, asleep. The scent of her body entranced him. Gently he began stroking her hair.
Was it possible to fall in love with somebody in such a short period of time?
Yes, it was possible. He was living proof.
There'd been a lot of women in his life, one-night stands, short affairs, but in all his experience he'd never come across anyone like Kennedy. She fulfilled him in every way, and as far as he was concerned they were totally compatible, even though they came from such different worlds.
He stroked her hair until she woke up. 'Didn't sleep last night, huh?' he asked.
'Not that much,' she said, stretching in a very feline way. 'I was working on my story.'
Hollywood Kids Page 46
