Hollywood Blood: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “What’s in the bag?” Rose asks, giggling.

  Myra runs a hand suggestively over the case. “Something special, just for you.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Not yet. First, we need to get you in the mood.”

  The two women come together, slowly, tentatively their lips and tongues find one another, before moving deeper, more passionately into their lovemaking. Myra’s lips move down, finding Rose’s breasts, the metal stud in her tongue lightly brushing against her raised nipples.

  As the session progresses, Myra moves lower, eventually finding Rose’s wetness. The younger woman’s body begins to undulate. She brushes the blonde hair from her face as her back arches and she moans.

  Myra drinks in the sweet arousal as Rose’s soft cries resonate through the room. The blood begins to roar, pulsing in Myra’s ears as they move together. A rhythm eventually finds the women. Myra knows when to thrust and then to slow, changing tempo as the pulse of their coupling beats like a drum while the camera takes in everything.

  When Myra knows that Rose can stand it no longer, she reaches into the leather bag. Even as she continues making love to the woman, she slips the leather noose around Rose’s neck.

  “What’s…happening…I don’t...” Rose’s words drift away as swollen, aching flesh turns into a moan of desire.

  Myra smiles, pulls the leather strap, slowly cinching it around Rose’s neck. The device begins to suck up the oxygen in Rose’s body like a flame inside a glass bottle. Myra hears the gasping, the struggle for breath, even as Rose moans, lost in the ecstasy of a sensation that has now gone beyond the swell of earthly desire.

  Myra pulls the strap tighter. Rose’s body tenses for a moment, but the fight for air slips beneath the hypnotic rhythm of a panicked sweetness that’s like a craving for honey and air. Finally, her mind fogs, the light fading away as the last bit of oxygen is pulled from Rose’s lungs.

  “Give into it,” Myra says, pulling on the leather strap as hard as she can now. “Let it take you away…go into the darkness…”

  Myra feels a final shudder as the young woman’s body collapses beneath her in an orgasm of death. She waits a few beats before releasing the leather strap. Rose’s body is limp, lifeless. The killer’s dark eyes move up and find the camera lens. A final suggestive smile and the performance is complete.

  Myra tosses the death noose onto the floor and kisses her dead sister on the forehead. She pushes the lifeless body off the bed and shuts off the camera.

  After walking to the windows, she peers through the blinds and watches as the investigators finish up with the cop’s apartment across the street. She knows that the crime scene people have gone through everything in the apartment, looking for clues about the unsolved murders and the threat against the detective.

  It’s late when the cops finish their work. Myra gathers up her duffle bag and heads across the alleyway.

  The building’s alarm system is killed before she uses the apartment key Rose got from the old man who owns the building. The elderly fool was so taken by her that he didn’t even question Rose’s story about needing the key for the cleaning staff to enter.

  Once inside, Myra works quickly, drenching the apartment in gasoline and planting the blasting caps. She plans to videotape the explosion for Azazel and the Predators from the office building across the street. The images of the female cop burning to death should be spectacular, a fitting punishment for the bitch having saved Chloe.

  When she’s back in the alley, Myra hears footsteps and disappears into the shadows of night. She waits in the alleyway, watching as a man comes down the street toward the apartment.

  While she doesn’t know who the man is, it takes one look for Myra to know what he does for a living.

  The guy’s a cop.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It was evening when I pulled into my mother’s driveway with Charlie and Bernie. I was still so upset about Skully yanking me aside earlier in the day after our taskforce meeting that I couldn’t get the conversation out of my mind.

  “Why didn’t you interview the lead singer of Fleshded, like you were supposed to?” Skully had said, lighting into me in his office.

  Now I understood why he’d seemed annoyed with me during the meeting. “I told you the band was on tour, not returning my calls.”

  “If you’d done your job forty-eight hours ago, we’d have known about the websites, the game, and this guy Azazel or Brighton or whatever the hell his name is.”

  “I did my job. What did you want me to do, fly to Atlanta and interview Bathgate?”

  “We looked like a bunch of bumbling idiots to the feds.”

  “Some people can’t help but look like an idiot.”

  “Is that comment directed at me?”

  We were no longer on off-the-record status so I hadn’t responded. Skully had just stood there, shaking his head dismissively, before adding, “There’s been another leak.”

  I’d held up my hands in a defensive gesture. “I haven’t talked to anyone.”

  “Haley Tristan, the reporter for Hollywood Confidential, went on the air this afternoon with details about our apprehension of Chloe Bryant. She also knows the name, Azazel. It’s all over the media.”

  “I didn’t talk to her. If you’ll recall, I’ve been a little busy, jumping off a pier and interviewing Chloe.”

  “Tristan is citing her source as a highly placed individual who is close to the investigation.”

  “I’ll say it again. I’m not the leak. I’m not the source. And, I’m not going to continue having every move I make scrutinized.”

  As it turned out I was wrong. The punishment for my perceived failings and subsequent meltdown with Skully was his decision to assign me twenty-four hour police protection. He’d justified it by saying he had no choice, given what Azazel had posted on the Internet and after I’d told the taskforce that I thought someone had been in my apartment last night.

  “This is not about protection,” I’d said to Skully as I stormed out of his office. “It’s about surveillance—my own surveillance.”

  It was almost eight by the time Charlie and I walked into my mother’s house after letting Bernie water the flowers for a minute.

  The taskforce and SID investigators had assembled at my apartment earlier in the day to look for any trace evidence of a break-in. I had no desire to see everything I owned picked through and scrutinized, so I decided to spend the night at my mom’s house. Charlie had volunteered to take the first shift as my assigned protection.

  Charlie—my surrogate daddy and bodyguard. Ugh!

  I turned to him as I closed the door. “So how did you get lucky and draw the first shift as my babysitter?”

  Charlie shrugged, munching on some fries after he’d insisted we go through a drive-through on the way to Mom’s house.

  “Volunteered. I need the overtime pay. This dating stuff is expensive.”

  I locked the door behind us and pushed a hand through my hair, wondering if the damp air would turn it into a tangled mess again.

  “Yeah, I’m sure taking Wilma to Skooby’s for dinner really adds up.”

  “She wants me to take her to the Geisha House.” He smiled. “I guess it’s worth it, considering the fringe benefits.”

  “Spare me the details.” I called out for my mother but didn’t get an answer.

  “I saw Clyde the other day,” he went on. “Told me about a Chinese herb.”

  I turned back to him. “I don’t want to hear about simian sex, first date sex, or anything to do with your sex life. Understood?”

  Charlie put a hand over his heart, a furtive smile creasing his lips. “No more sexy time talk. I promise.”

  I turned away from him and called out for Mom again but still didn’t get a response. I then found a note on the kitchen counter, telling me that she’d gone to spend the night with a friend.

  “Guess it’s just the three of us,” I said, explaining the note. Charlie was al
ready rummaging through the refrigerator, filling a plate with leftovers.

  A half hour later, after I’d showered and changed, I found Charlie sound asleep on the living room sofa when my phone rang.

  “Kate, it’s Hud Mackenzie. Thought I’d check on you, see how you’re surviving the homicide circus.”

  I felt my pulse quicken at the sound of the private detective’s voice. “I’m hanging in there. It’s been a busy couple of days. You’ve probably seen the news reports.”

  “Thought maybe you and Bernie might want to take me up on that offer for drinks and dinner. You could come by my place, if you’re free. I mentioned Bernie to Thelma and Louise and he’s all they’ve been talking about.”

  I laughed and considered his offer. I hadn’t heard from Jack since he’d left for Washington. It upset me that he hadn’t even bothered to call. There was also the matter of my surveillance. I glanced over at my partner who looked like a snoring bulldog.

  I weighed my options. Let’s see, an evening with daddy snorz-a-lot, or…

  “I can be there in half an hour,” I said.

  ***

  After trying on a couple of outfits I’d brought with me from my apartment, I’d settled on a white lace V-neck blouse, blue skinny jeans that I had to hold my breath to squeeze into, and a pair of Repetto ankle sandals.

  Bernie and I found Mackenzie’s house tucked away on a narrow street in the Hollywood Hills. He waved to us from the patio of a home that looked like a reproduction of an English cottage, complete with a rose garden and privacy hedges. The home was small, but the view was everything the private investigator had promised.

  I received a brief tour of the house and grounds before we moved back to the patio. We settled in beneath a vine-covered trellis that overlooked a fire pit and the city beyond as Mackenzie filled our wine glasses. The setting was serene. I felt my stress melting away for the first time in days.

  I motioned to Bernie, cavorting in the grass with Mackenzie’s black labs. “I guess everybody’s happy.” Bernie did the romp and sniff, his version of foreplay, which, come to think of it, is pretty typical guy stuff.

  “I hope Thelma and Louise don’t wear him out.” The crackling fire illuminated Mackenzie’s eyes, which took on the color of the evening sky. “Hate to see Bernie go out on a disability because of a threesome.”

  “I think he can keep up with the girls.”

  Mackenzie wore dark pants and a tight-fitting turtleneck that conformed perfectly to his perfectly muscular frame. As before, I found something comfortable and easy in the way he talked and carried himself. There was an understated confidence in everything he said and did.

  “Saw you on the news the other night,” he said.

  I was horrified at the thought that he’d seen me when my Brazilian blow-out had blown up. I’d finally managed to tame my mane earlier after dressing for dinner and was happy with the result.

  “Just doing a little stand-up routine for my camera-shy boss.” I sipped my wine, set the glass down. “By the way, I want to thank you for helping us out with Chloe Bryant. If it wasn’t for you, I have no doubt that she’d be dead.”

  He nodded, regarding me for a moment. “We don’t have to talk about the investigation tonight. I’m sure it’s all you’ve had on your mind for days.”

  I considered what he’d said. The investigation had consumed my every waking minute, but I felt the need to talk about it with someone on the outside, someone who I knew I could trust. I took the next twenty minutes explaining that need and filling him in on everything that had happened.

  After I’d gotten him up to speed I added some details. “The computer expert with the FBI thinks that Brighton, if he actually exists, is really Azazel. He’s the controller for the Alternate Reality Game. He’s using servers in foreign countries and private networks that make his IP address and Internet activities untraceable, except for the screens he’s allowed us to see.

  “The FBI says there are others out there that Azazel calls Predators who are watching the game, maybe even paying for the right to see it unfold. They’ve also been using untraceable IP addresses or Internet cafes while accessing the screens.”

  “The ultimate reality game—voyeur murder for the rich.”

  “Something like that. Azazel has allowed us to see part of the game, but the feds think we’re seeing just the tip of the iceberg in a game for players with nothing but time on their hands, lots of money, and a passion for murder.”

  After I told him about my starring role in Azazel’s version of, The Last Supper, he said, “What do they know about this guy Azazel or Brighton?”

  “Just the name. According to the singer for Fleshded, he had a company overseas. The band made all the arrangements for the game via the Internet. They don’t even know if the photo they have is really Brighton. He’s completely off the radar.”

  Mackenzie sipped his wine, considered what I’d said. “You still think Karma is the ultimate target?”

  I nodded. “Azazel and Myra are playing a crazy game. There may be others out there watching, but it all seems to center around Karma. Chloe Bryant told me it’s a game of revenge, apparently involving the singer. But we have no idea why those around her have been targeted to die or what secrets are behind the game.”

  “Secrets have a way of eventually giving themselves up. Sometimes it just takes time and the right circumstances before they finally unravel.”

  We chatted aimlessly for a few minutes until he brought out his chicken-veggie stir fry and served the dish. “This is from an ancient Chinese recipe. It’s said to have medicinal powers.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, then saw his questioning look. “It’s a long story,” I said, not wanting to explain about Clyde Bump’s herbal remedy. I accepted the plate and more wine.

  The stir fry was delicious and, as I ate and drank, the tension drained from my body. I felt a little giddy, even lightheaded.

  “Tell me about your wife.” I don’t know why I said it, maybe it was the wine, but there was something about the charming little house and gardens that hinted at the feminine side of things.

  “Kathy was…well, let’s just say she was very special. She planted the grounds, the flower gardens, and the hedges. Gardening was her passion…and…” He sipped his wine. I thought maybe he was trying to regain his composure. “…kids,” he finally said. “Kathy volunteered at Children’s Hospital several times a week. Children were very special to her. She wanted kids someday.” He glanced around the grounds. “To share this.”

  I glanced around the grounds again, feeling something vulnerable and touching in the way he talked about her.

  He continued, “We were going to adopt at little girl from Darfur a couple of years before Kathy was killed by a drunk driver.”

  “I’m sorry.” I let the silence sit between us for a moment. “Did you ever think about going ahead—with the adoption, I mean?”

  “I was scheduled to finish the adoption paperwork when insurgency forces overran her orphanage. All the children were murdered.” His gaze wandered off somewhere in the darkness before coming back to me. “It’s only added to my mission to help children in distress, kidnap victims, that sort of thing.” He smiled. “Maybe I’m just a social worker with a gun.”

  I reached over and touched his hand. The gesture was more out of understanding than desire, but at the same time I felt a fluttering in my chest. “I think you’re just a very nice guy who tries to do the right thing.”

  “And you?” he said, his blue eyes finding mine. “What’s your passion?”

  “Hot thirty-something men in dark clothing, with beautiful eyes, that love children, own dogs, have a vulnerable side, and…” Okay, I just thought it. Instead, I said, “I just try to keep busy taking care of a dog, an overweight partner, a British friend who dresses like a dominatrix, and a psychic.”

  Mackenzie, your typical guy, was asking about the dominatrix when my phone rang. I stood up and walked toward the
fire pit as I answered.

  “Kate, it’s me,” I heard Jack Bautista say. “I’m standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment with wine, some flowers, and a banana.”

  I hesitated, thinking how much I was enjoying the evening. But then I thought about Jack waiting for me and felt guilty. “I can be there in about twenty minutes.”

  I turned back to Mackenzie as I ended the call. “I’m afraid I have to go, Hud. Duty calls.” I put my phone in my purse and came back over to him. “Can I ask you something?”

  He smiled. “I’ve never dealt with a dominatrix, if that’s where you’re headed.”

  I chuckled. “Your name. Would you mind if I called you, Mack?”

  “Sure. Been called a lot worse.”

  He helped me gather up Bernie who seemed a little exhausted when we found him in the garden with the girls.

  “I hope he didn’t pull anything,” I said. “He’s still recovering from taking a bullet.”

  “I’m just glad he didn’t have a heart attack. Thelma has a lot of stamina.”

  When we got to my car, Mackenzie reached down and kissed me. It was spontaneous. It wasn’t passionate. But it was exciting. And it was something I realized that I wanted, and more.

  He opened my door and said, “Can I call you again?”

  I nodded. “You’ve got my number, Mack. Stay in touch.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I felt conflicted as I drove to my apartment with Bernie to meet Jack. It wasn’t just the fact that I’d slipped away from Charlie, who was probably still sleeping peacefully on Mom’s couch. It was Hudson’s, I mean Mack’s, kiss. It had been completely unexpected. Between the wine, the kiss, Jack’s sudden call, and the events of the last few days, I felt like all my emotions were on overload.

  Tears were running down my cheeks when my phone rang. “Kate, it’s Nat. Just checking in to see how things are going with you.”

  I brushed my tears away, trying to steady my voice. “Things are okay,” I lied, attempting to regain some self-control. “I’m headed over to my apartment to meet Jack.”