“I will.” And she did.
With the door locked and the CLOSED sign prominently displayed, Lorie headed for the kitchenette. The lights flickered. Oh, dear. She didn’t make it across the shop before the lights flickered again. Another deafening roar of thunder, followed by a blinding lightning flash, stopped Lorie in her tracks. The lights went out, sending the entire shop into darkness. Only the fading daylight coming through the glass door and the display windows across the front of the shop enabled her to see anything at all.
The children were alone in the back, Hannah probably frightened and M.J. trying to be brave. Since she was halfway across the shop, she decided not to go back and search for a flashlight under the checkout counter. Feeling her way more than seeing, Lorie took small, careful steps, doing her best not to run into anything. Once she reached the back wall, another streak of lightning illuminated the open door leading to the rooms behind the shop. She stepped over the threshold, placed her hand on the wall, and took her time going down the hallway between the storeroom and the kitchenette.
Feeling a whoosh of air coming from somewhere nearby, she stopped and listened. Just as she started to call out to the children, someone grabbed her from behind and placed a sweaty hand over her mouth.
You’re mine now. I’ll never let you go.
He had been patient. He had waited for such a long time. Too long. Didn’t she understand that she belonged to him, that they were destined to be together forever. And there was only one way he could make sure Mike Birkett would never have her, that she would truly be his and only his for all eternity.
He supposed he had known all along how this would end despite how much he wished it could end differently.
We will make love, sweet Lorie, and then…
They would be found lying together, naked lovers whose souls could never be separated.
Lorie tried to scream.
He yanked her backward so that her butt hit his groin and she felt his erection pressing against her. She struggled to free herself but he held tight.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “Not yet.”
Who was he? His voice was so soft she could barely hear him, but it sounded familiar.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” he told her. “I used to stand outside at night and look at your silhouette through your window shades. I wanted you so much. But you never looked at me once. You couldn’t see anybody except Mike Birkett.”
Was it Buddy Pounders? No, no, it couldn’t be Buddy. The voice was too soft, a tenor instead of a baritone. And this man wasn’t tall enough to be Buddy. He wasn’t much taller than she was. Buddy was six feet tall.
“You are mine, not Mike Birkett’s and not the Midnight Killer’s. You belong only to me. We are going to be together forever now.”
Whoever he was, he intended to kill her, that much was clear. But she’d be damned if she’d let that happen. She had no intention of giving up and going to her death like a lamb to the slaughter.
His lips touched her neck. She shivered.
“You like that, don’t you? You want me as much as I want you. God, Lorie, I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you so bad.”
He stuck his hand between her legs and kissed her neck. She took advantage of the moment when he was distracted by his own sick desire. She bowed her head and then reared back and bashed him in the nose. He hollered in pain and momentarily loosened his hold on her long enough for her to pull away from him.
“Lorie, is that you?” M.J. called out in the darkness.
Oh God, the children! How could she have forgotten, even for a moment, that Mike’s children were in the kitchenette.
“I thought you were here alone,” he said. “Who is that?”
Inching her way along the wall, trying to get farther away from her attacker and stop M.J. before he came out into the hall, Lorie called, “Go back. Do you hear me? Close the door and lock it. Do it now.”
A child’s frightened scream reverberated off the walls. No, no, no!
“M.J., answer me.”
“Help me, Miss Lorie,” Hannah cried. “Somebody’s got me.”
“So help me God, if you hurt that child, I’ll kill you, you sick son of a bitch,” Lorie yelled at the top of her lungs.
“This is Mike Birkett’s little girl, isn’t it?” The man chuckled. “She’s a pretty thing, sweet and tender and—”
“Don’t you hurt my sister!” M.J. shouted as he moved his flashlight’s beam in a semicircle.
That was when Lorie saw Paul Babcock standing inside the kitchenette, Hannah hoisted up in front of him, his forearm pressing firmly across her throat. M.J. stood outside in the hall, only a few feet from Lorie.
“Let her go,” Lorie said. “Please, Paul, we can lock the children up in the storeroom and then you and I can have our time together, all alone, just the two of us.”
Hannah whimpered. M.J. shined the light directly on his sister. Paul’s arm tightened across her neck. It would take very little for him to choke her without meaning to or even break her fragile little neck.
“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it,” Lorie said. “Anything. You name it and it’s yours.”
She inched closer and closer to M.J. and when she was within touching distance, she held out her hand, wriggled her fingers, and mouthed the words “stay here.” Knowing what she wanted, M.J. gave her the flashlight. Holding the light in front of her and keeping it aimed directly at Paul, who was using Hannah’s head to shield his eyes from the flashlight’s glare, Lorie took small, tentative steps forward until she entered the kitchenette. And then she turned off the flashlight.
“Why did you do that?” Paul asked. “Where are you? I want to see you. Turn the flashlight back on. If you don’t, I swear I’ll break her neck.”
Lorie reached out and ran her hand across the counter and into the sink where she had left a paring knife after peeling an apple for her midafternoon snack.
“Don’t play games with me, Lorie,” Paul said. “I’ll do it. I swear, I’ll kill her.”
Lorie grabbed the knife, slid it into her pants pocket, and then hurriedly turned on the flashlight and held it under her chin.
“I’m here. See?”
“Where’s the boy?”
“M.J., tell Paul where you are,” Lorie called to Mike’s son.
“I’m in the hall.”
“You stay there, boy, or I’ll kill your sister.”
“Let her go,” Lorie pleaded. “We’ll lock her and M.J. in the storeroom and then you and I—”
“You don’t tell me what to do.” He lowered Hannah to her feet, put his hands around her throat, and squeezed.
Dropping the flashlight, Lorie screamed and lunged at him, every protective, maternal instinct within her coming into play. She yanked the knife out of her pocket and stabbed his arm. He yelped and instinctively released his hold around Hannah’s neck.
“Run, Hannah, run,” Lorie yelled as she jumped on Paul Babcock before he knew what had hit him.
He grabbed her just above her waist, his grip so tight that she felt as if he were cracking her ribs. Barely able to breathe, pain radiating through her body, she managed to lift her hand and plunge the paring knife into Paul’s neck. As he eased his tenacious hold on her, she jerked the knife out, fully intending to stab him again. Blood gushed from the puncture wound like water from a geyser and Lorie knew she had hit his jugular. He dropped to the floor, one big hand gripping his neck. Blood spurted through his fingers. He took her down with him as he fell to the floor and she lay there pinned beneath his stocky frame. He moaned and gurgled and then became unconscious within a couple of minutes. Lorie shoved him off her and crawled a few feet away. She sat there on the floor, her hands and face and clothing wet with Paul Babcock’s blood.
“M.J.,” she called out to Mike’s son.
No reply.
Lorie struggled to her feet, her knees weak, and her legs shaky.
Where were the children? She searched and found the flashlight, turned it on, and staggered out into the hall. Dancing the light up and down and around, she found the hall completely empty. The back door stood wide open. Breathing raggedly, she walked to the door and looked out into the alley.
“M.J.? Hannah?”
The worst of the storm seemed to have passed, leaving behind a slow, steady rain falling from a gray sky. She stepped outside and let the clean, cool rain wash away some of Paul’s blood.
“Hannah? M.J. Where are you?” The alley was dark and shadowy, lit only by the dim dusty daylight that was quickly fading.
“Miss Lorie,” a little voice called from inside the nearby Dumpster.
“Hannah?” She rushed to the Dumpster and saw Hannah hiding there between two large black garbage sacks. Lorie reached down and lifted Hannah up and out. She flung her arms around Lorie’s neck.
“Where’s M.J.?” Lorie asked.
“He put me in the Dumpster and told me to hide,” Hannah explained. “He went for help.”
Hannah clung to Lorie for dear life as Lorie’s knees gave way and she eased them down to the ground there in the alley. Hannah sat in Lorie’s lap, her little head pressed against Lorie’s breast. Lorie wrapped her arms protectively around Mike’s baby girl.
Ten minutes later, that’s where Mike found them, his daughter and the woman he loved. Both of them drenched to the skin, Hannah clinging to Lorie and Lorie’s wet clothes stained red with blood.
Chapter 36
When Lorie walked out of the sheriff’s office the morning after stabbing and killing Paul Babcock, M.J. and Hannah on either side of her, she was met with an unpleasant surprise. A huge crowd of townsfolk had gathered, along with TV and newspaper reporters, including Ryan Bonner.
“What’s going on?” Hannah tugged on Lorie’s hand.
Scowling as he took in the scene before him, Mike came up behind Lorie and called to his mother, who stood just inside the doorway. “You kids go with Grams.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jack. “Take them out the back way and drive them home.”
“But I want to stay with Miss Lorie,” Hannah whined.
“Miss Lorie needs us,” M.J. told his father. “We want to tell all these people how she saved our lives. They need to know that she’s a hero.”
“I’ll tell them,” Mike promised. “I’m going to make an official statement as the sheriff and then another one as your father. Now, you two do as I told you and go with Grams. I’ll see y’all at home in a little while.”
Hannah reached up and pulled Lorie down to give her a kiss before going to her grandmother. M.J. stood straight and tall in front of Lorie, then quickly hugged her before following his sister.
“Are you up for this?” Mike asked her.
“There’s not much more anyone can do to me,” she told him. “If the good people of Dunmore want to tar and feather me, then l say let ’em bring it on. I’ll face every last one of them. Hell, I’ll face the devil if I have to.”
“I think you did that last night,” Mike said as he escorted her to the top of the steps.
A roar of shouts rose up from the crowd. Mike cleared his throat and said in a loud, clear voice, “Late yesterday afternoon, Paul Babcock, a lifelong resident of Dunmore, assaulted Lorie Hammonds and took her and my children hostage inside Treasures of the Past. In order to save my daughter’s life, Ms. Hammonds fought Mr. Babcock, and during the fight, she stabbed him in the neck.”
The reporters bombarded Mike with questions, which he did not answer. Instead he said, “This morning, Ms. Hammonds and my children gave sworn statements concerning the events that led up to Paul Babcock’s death. Ms. Hammonds killed Mr. Babcock in self-defense and in order to save my children.” Mike turned to his chief deputy. “Chief Deputy McCorkle will take over now and try to answer any other questions you have.”
“I have a question,” a female reporter called out as she waved one hand in the air to gain Mike’s attention. “I’m Alice Kendall, the editor of the WCM’s weekly newsletter.”
Mike took Lorie’s arm and started to walk away.
“What sort of example do you think you’re setting as the sheriff of this county by having an affair with a woman like Lorie Hammonds? Do you think your constituents will reelect a man involved with a woman of such inferior moral character?”
Silence fell over the crowd.
Mike turned and looked the woman in the eye. “Lorie Hammonds is a kind, caring, loving woman who made some mistakes years ago. Mistakes she’s atoned for many times over.” Mike slid his arm around Lorie’s waist and held her against his side. She knew he could feel her trembling. “I’d like to think that my constituents are good people who believe in the Bible—‘judge not that ye be not judged.’ But if they choose not to reelect me because of my wife’s past, then I’ll just have to find me another job, won’t I?”
“Your wife?” Lorie gasped.
Mike looked at her and smiled. “This wasn’t quite how I’d planned to ask you to marry me, but—”
“You’re going to marry her?” Alice Kendall asked. “Won’t it bother you knowing that any man with the price of a DVD can see your future wife not only completely nude, but having sexual intercourse with other men?”
Lorie stiffened. God, if only a hole would open up and swallow her.
“The way I see it, the men who watch that movie will envy me,” Mike said loud and clear for everyone to hear. “They’ll know how lucky I am to have such a beautiful sexy woman giving herself to me and only me for the rest of our lives.”
Lorie looked at Mike with teary eyes.
“I love you, Lorie. Will you marry me?” Mike dropped to one knee.
The crowd went wild with applause and shouts of congratulations. “Way to go, Mike.” “You’re sure as hell one lucky SOB.” “We’ll dance at your wedding.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Lorie told him. “You know that, don’t you? You’re crazy and brave and wonderful and—and yes, I’ll marry you.”
Mike grabbed her and kissed her, there in front of God Almighty and half the town of Dunmore, Alabama.
Griffin Powell took the call at 3:17 that afternoon. He listened carefully, made a few necessary comments, and ended the brief conversation. If there had been any doubt in his mind before now, the news he had just received erased those doubts. As he mentally processed the information, he left his study and went in search of his wife. He found Nic on the patio, stretched out on a chaise longue with a book lying in her lap as she gazed out over the lake behind their house. When she heard him approach, she glanced up and smiled at him.
And then her smile disappeared. Apparently she had sensed that something was wrong.
“What is it?” she asked as she got up and laid aside the book.
“I just got off the phone with Holt Keinan,” Griff said. “His brother was murdered sometime last night.”
“Oh, my God!”
“His throat was slit,” Griff told her.
“No, no, please don’t tell me that—”
“His body was mutilated postmortem. The killer carved triangular pieces of flesh from his arms and legs just as the person who killed Kristi and Shelley did to them.” Griff clenched his jaw, and then looking squarely at Nic, said, “Apparently, he’s not just targeting Powell agents. Now he’s killed a member of an agent’s family.”
Epilogue
Lorie had tried to convince Mike that they should have a small, private wedding, just family and closest friends.
“As much as I want to give you whatever your heart desires, I’m afraid we are outnumbered when it comes to decisions about the wedding,” Mike had told her. “My mother says that since this is your first marriage, you deserve a big, fancy wedding. And Hannah is already talking about being a junior bridesmaid and M.J. told me that if your father won’t walk you down the aisle, then he wants that honor.”
So in the end, with Cathy joining forces with Nell and the kids to insist on the
wedding being a major event, Lorie and Mike had agreed, if somewhat reluctantly. A June wedding, with a guest list in the hundreds. A church wedding nonetheless, at Dunmore First Methodist, with Reverend Patsy Elliott officiating.
But Lorie had drawn the line at wearing white.
“I’m not that much of a hypocrite,” she’d told Cathy.
“Mike was your first lover and now he’ll be your husband. Wear white if you want to. You have as much right as three-fourths of the brides today.”
“I don’t want white. I want yellow. A pale, shimmering yellow. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
Today, Lorie Hammonds had walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, the two now on speaking terms even if their relationship remained somewhat strained. For the first time in her married life, Sharon Hammonds had stood up to her domineering husband and told him what’s what.
“You are going to walk our daughter down the aisle on her wedding day. And if you refuse, then you’ll be sleeping on the couch the rest of your life!”
Lorie had indeed felt like a fairytale princess in her strapless, butter cream yellow wedding dress, the bodice heavily decorated with pearls and rhinestones and intricate bedding that culminated in a cluster at her waist. The only jewelry she wore were small diamond stud earrings and the half-carat yellow diamond that Mike had given her the first time they had been engaged, all those years ago. She had sent it back to him from Los Angeles seventeen years ago and Nell had kept it for him all this time.
The entire wedding had seemed like a dream to Lorie, every aspect of the event as perfect as perfect could be. From the warm and sunny June weather to the approval of a town that had once scorned her, Mike and she had exchanged their vows surrounded by family, friends, and well-wishers.
Jack and Cathy, as matron of honor and best man, had insisted on hosting the reception at the Dunmore Country Club.
With his hand over hers, she and Mike sliced into their seven-tier wedding cake as the photographer snapped shot after shot of the happy couple. But breaking with tradition of the bride and groom sharing the first bites of their cake, they had brought Hannah and M.J. with them and offered the children the first pieces.
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