Kat slid her arm up to take the license back. She caught Jim’s eyes. Before he could break eye contact, an electric shock went through his body, and her eyes drew him in with a kaleidoscope of shifting colors. Instead of taking back the license, she cupped Jim’s hand and pulled it against her breast. For barely a second, he allowed his hand to rest there. Although the shock lasted only a moment, Jim realized, that in those seconds, his discipline had collapsed. Regaining composure, he broke eye contact, stepped back from Kat, and put his notebook and pen back into his pocket. Connors had breached his self-control, and though Jim had made a quick recovery, he silently berated himself. Those were the mistakes that got cops killed.
“If I need anything else, I will be in touch,” he said.
“Call me if you need anything,” Kat said.
He turned around and headed back toward the kitchen, gathering his thoughts, restoring focus. Bruce stood at the entrance to the kitchen. Anger and something else — jealousy? Frustration? — inhabited Bruce’s face.
“Mr. York, I need to see the car and your registration. You said that no one else drives it?”
“No one.”
“Not even Ms. Connors?”
“Just me,” Bruce replied.
Jim looked at Bruce’s face as he stepped past into the garage. Yeah, right.
***
Bruce decided to assume that the cop did not believe him. Even on his best day, Bruce could not tell a convincing lie. His mother had always known when he lied to her, and she had always made him regret it.
Bruce opened the door wider, letting Jim pass. The cop scanned his face like he was a laboratory specimen. Bruce followed him into the garage. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
Bruce had parked the Viper next to the door. A sensible Honda Accord sat on the other side of the Viper. Bruce opened the Viper and retrieved the registration. He handed it to Jim.
“I got an inheritance,” Bruce offered. Why the hell are you telling him that?
Jim nodded as he copied information from the registration into his notebook.
“It paid for the car and the down payment on the house.” Shut up, Bruce. You’re telling him too much. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
***
Jim’s intuition and experience told him that something made York nervous. Something more than just the presence of an FHP Trooper.
“Where did you meet Ms. Connors?” Jim asked.
Bruce stood next to the Viper, blinking at Jim. Kat answered the question from the open kitchen doorway.
“Bruce came to the club. He was nice. I let him take me for a ride. Now we’re friends, but he doesn’t let anyone drive his baby.”
Jim wrote some more information into his notebook and handed the registration back to Bruce. He took out his cell phone and used the built-in camera to take a picture of the Viper. He needed something to show his single witness. Not much more to do here.
He took a last look. The Viper was pristine. No signs that anyone had driven it recently. Jim’s intuition told him that he had the right vehicle, but, for the moment, he had no other evidence. Only the imperfect memory and quick glimpse of a witness.
“Thank you, Mr. York,” Jim said as he put his pen and notebook away. “If I have any more questions, I’ll call you.”
Jim turned to go through the kitchen. Kat held the kitchen door open with her back. Jim slipped past her and, once again, her body heat reached him without any physical contact. A very weird feeling.
Jim went through the living room and let himself out the front door. Bruce trailed behind him, closing the door as Jim stepped outside. The late afternoon heat washed over him. Putting on his sunglasses, he welcomed its warmth.
He walked down the driveway to the Charger. He opened the driver’s door, then looked back at York’s house. Kat stood beneath the portico watching him. Her expression was intense, like a beast evaluating prey.
She was a stunningly beautiful woman, but there was something dark in her, something that wasn’t right. He had known women who were selfish, women willing to do anything to get what they wanted. Even a few out-and-out criminals. None of them had given him the creepy feeling that accompanied his interaction with Kat Connors.
Jim got into the Charger, started it, and pulled away from York’s house. Even before he turned on the Charger’s air conditioning, the air inside his car seemed to drop twenty degrees. A freakish, someone-just-walked-across-my-grave chill slithered up his spine. The temperature in the Charger seemed to drop another ten degrees. Most bizarre. He opened the driver’s side window and relished the sudden blast of hot air as he drove away.
***
Kat watched Demore leave. She realized that her denials might have been an empty gesture. It would be easy for Trooper Demore to find out that she had been away from the club the night of the accident. She had no alibi. It also would not take long to uncover her day job with AGT. Even a half-assed investigator could link driver’s license numbers to social security numbers, and to employment records.
Although she had seen a weakness in Demore, she did not believe he was a half-assed investigator. That left her with one option: stop the investigation before Demore went any further. Either seduce or somehow compromise Trooper Demore, or else kill him. While seduction or compromise might be the most interesting solution, killing him might be the quickest and cleanest. Either way, Trooper Demore’s fate now belonged to her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kat brushed past Bruce as he opened the front door. Bruce watched as Demore’s car exited the cul-de-sac. The bright sunshine made Bruce squint and blink. He stayed in the doorway as Demore drove away. The cop probably thinks I’m an idiot.
Bruce did not care for the way Demore looked at him when he left. Something’s wrong. Kat did something. Something that involved the car. Bruce watched until the patrol car turned off his street and disappeared. This is not good. Just think it through. Don’t panic.
He would find out what Kat had done and, if necessary, throw her to the dogs. Or the wolves. Or under the bus. Whatever. After all, he had discovered and tapped into an untold source of wealth. He had seduced a woman who would not normally have given him the time of day. Kat was the hottest woman at the club, and the sexiest, most beautiful woman he had ever known. And he got her without her knowing about the extent of his newfound wealth. He was finally coming into his own. Finally becoming the man he had always believed he should be. Love had its limits. He knew that from his ex-wives. If she has to go, oh well. I got her and I can get another one. That waitress Kat terrorized, seemed pretty interested.
Yes, he was on the verge of having everything he wanted. Even if he truly loved Kat, he would not let love make him stupid. Once again, experience with the ex-wives.
Admittedly, it had been risky to let Kat take the Viper to Naples without him, but he could never have predicted that he would be stuck in Atlanta. The law of unintended consequences. You do this, expecting that, and some other crap happens. Should have known better. Might have bit me right on my ass.
Worst case scenario, Kat had done something that would screw him, and not in the good way. No doubt, she had some reasonable level of intelligence. He knew that Kat had an associate’s degree from the local junior college, but he had a master’s degree in finance and accounting and a CPA designation. He was smarter than Kat. Hell, he was smarter than most people. Mentally, Kat would be no match.
The light outside dimmed as the horizon embraced the setting sun, but the air remained hot. Once again, the night would be unseasonably warm. His thoughts drifted to watching Kat skinny-dip in the pool. He didn’t swim, just lounged around in the shallow end, but he loved the feel of the subtemperate water on a blistering hot summer day. Watching Kat swim naked was a bonus, but not something he was willing to risk everything for.
Of course, that presumed that Kat had done something wrong. It could be a case of mistaken identity. It was unlikely that he had the only red and black sports car
in Florida. After all, the trooper did not arrest Kat or have the Viper impounded. That could be a good sign. He and Kat would have a heart-to-heart tonight. Maybe in the pool. Naked.
***
Kat lit the second candle. She had set up a small altar on the ceramic tank cover in the guest room toilet. She had no time to waste, Bruce would be sniffing around looking for her in a minute or two. She hated the idea of having to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get another driver’s license, but Trooper Demore had left his body oil behind on the license she had shown him, and she needed something personal from Demore to burn in the flame of the black candle. It wasn’t ideal because the plastic lamination would stink, but for the moment it was all she had.
Bruce would be difficult to control if Demore’s investigation threatened his personal security. When Bruce had called her this afternoon, right after he had spoken to Trooper Demore, Kat assumed that she would have to deal with both men. The two candles would take care of both problems. Black for undermining an enemy. Red for controlling someone.
She had also brought a third candle, a yellow one, to use with Bruce later in a special divination ceremony. Infernal sex magick. She was anxious to use the secret spells of Luciferian Witchcraft she had found in the book Martha had given her. It had opened a new world of power and possibility. She would take Bruce to levels of sexual pleasure he had never imagined. When this is over, I will own both his ass and his soul.
The book taught Kat that by being bold and using the right spells, she could summon and control guiding spirits. These were the indisputable signs that she had tapped into a source of metaphysical power. Evidenced by the laughing voice she had heard at her apartment, and the unexpected knowledge she had gained, Kat knew now that she had awakened her own internal guiding spirit.
Kat lifted her dress and pulled down her panties. She sat on the toilet and defecated while the black candle burned. She had read on the Internet that in hoodoo candle magick — one of the powerful variations of black magick — exposing Demore to her excrement and her ass as the black candle burned added insult to injury. She did not know exactly what effect this last gesture would have, but she liked the idea of metaphysically crapping on her enemy.
It was a shame that she and Demore were enemies. He was tall, good-looking, and, from what she could see, he was in great shape. He might have been a good lay, maybe even a great lay.
She cleaned herself, flushed the toilet, and then washed her hands. She used her wet fingers to pinch out the candle. She would burn the red candle next. Tonight she would give Bruce everything he wanted, but, in exchange, he would be writing her a blank check with his soul.
***
Kevin Williams followed the Highway Patrol car from a safe distance. Unknown to Trooper Big-Blond-Prick Demore, he had placed a tiny GPS tracking device under the Charger’s rear bumper. Kat had called Kevin right after Bruce had called her. He had driven through Bruce’s neighborhood, picturing the middle-management jerks that lived there. Kevin did not know who this Bruce dude was, but he was sure that he would not like him.
Kevin also foreknew that at some point Kat would need his help. He had written his number down and given it to her before leaving her outside Martha’s shop. The voice had told him to do it, and to do whatever Kat asked. The voice promised Kevin special rewards for his cooperation and obedience. He found simply thinking about the possibilities arousing. He would need to make a trip to the beach the upcoming weekend to relieve the pressure that was building inside.
Kevin had set up the tracking through his smart phone, using the phone’s Internet browser. The tiny lithium battery used to power the bug would allow the device to emit a signal for six continuous months. Of course, Trooper Demore did not have six months. Kevin would see to it that Demore would not even have six more hours.
Even before Kat called, days earlier, the voice had told Kevin to prepare a special package for the big, blond prick. Getting the parts and pieces he needed turned out to be quick and easy. No real surprise considering the possibilities and opportunities created by the Internet and next day air freight. Only a couple of years ago, it would have taken weeks or months to set up what he had been able to do in days.
In spite of the ease in ordering and receiving what he needed, Kevin knew that the Feds were watching for certain keywords. The damn terrorists had screwed things up for everybody. Nevertheless, Kevin’s sources were true experts at flying below the radar, and he knew that as good as the Feds were, he was better. Kevin also had the ultimate advantage — he had the voice to help him when things got rough. And the voice had never failed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jim drove south toward Ft. Myers. He had decided to try to interview de la Garza again tomorrow. Tonight he had a class. He had been fortunate enough to be able to register for classes around his on-call schedule, and fortunate to have instructors who were sympathetic to his work situation. At the end of this term, he would complete all of the courses needed to transfer to a bachelor of science program.
While tonight’s class would interrupt the investigation, at least he was on track. His cop-sense told him there was something screwy about Bruce York and Kat Connors. And don’t even get me started on that little freak, Kevin Williams.
He had the photos of the Viper, and if de la Garza recognized York’s little toy, he would be making a special trip back to Tampa to talk to both York and Connors. It seemed as if York had a hell of lot more to lose than Connors did. Nice house in a good neighborhood, a government job that apparently paid well, some extra money thanks to a dead relative, and one hot damn sports car.
As the mile markers passed, Jim found his thoughts drifting back to Connors. Definitely a beautiful woman. Her body was as close to perfect as Jim had ever seen. He was still embarrassed that he had been caught peeking at her through the guest room door at York’s house. Okay, so I’m not perfect.
Yet, in spite of her beauty, Jim found something unsettling about Connors. It was not so much that she was with York and probably a gold digger, or that she made her living at a topless club.
Jim thought about it for a moment. Her eyes. The same strange look as the St. Onge woman. That, and the comments about special candles and magic. Maybe Connor’s life revolved around weird, supernatural crap. But would that have anything to do with the accident? Not likely.
Jim’s attention shifted back to his driving. He glanced at his gas gauge. He needed fuel. He could hit the truck stop at the next exit on the east side of the freeway. They would accept his State-issued gas card.
As he put his foot on the brake pedal, Jim’s mind went back to the investigation. Truth be told, his mind went back to Kat Connors and what he had seen through the guest room door. He ruminated for a moment before realizing the light ahead had turned green. He also noticed that the temperature inside the Charger had dropped again. In fact, it felt like the inside of an icebox. He reached toward the dash to turn the air conditioner off when a bright light flooded the Charger’s cabin.
***
The driver of the westbound semi found himself distracted by the teenage Goth-girl he had picked up at the truck stop on the east side of the freeway. The girl was probably in her late teens; although, who knew these days? It wasn’t his responsibility to check the ID of every sweet thing that came along. Besides, they all had fake IDs anyway.
She wore a short black, white, and gray plaid skirt, a black bustier half a size too small, torn black fishnet stockings, and black, glossy, lace-up boots. Around her neck hung a black leather necklace supporting a black circular pendant with an anarcho-punk scarlet “A” in the middle. She had a small, upside down cross tattooed under the corner her right eye.
His route did not include the side trip she had asked for. But after hearing her story and her offer, he decided why the hell not? She had told him that her friends had punked her, left her at the truck stop as a prank. Unfortunate for them, they had forgotten that she was holding their stash of King B
ubba Kush, a truly righteous weed. He and the girl shared half a joint before leaving the truck stop. As they smoked, her eyes seemed to kaleidoscope into different shades and colors. It was almost as if more than one person was staring out through them. Probably just the dope.
The big truck rolled under a freeway overpass. The girl leaned over toward him and held the joint to his lips. Her other hand slid up his thigh to his crotch. The semi cleared the overpass and raced towards a traffic light. As the traffic signal turned yellow, the driver realized he’d misjudged his speed and decided it was too late to stop. He closed his eyes for a second, sucking hard on the joint. The signal for westbound traffic turned red a full three seconds before his truck reached the intersection stop bar.
The girl’s hand slipped back to his thigh for support as she continued to hold the joint to his lips. The truck driver opened his eyes and saw the Highway Patrol cruiser pull out in front of him. The girl laughed as he hit his horn. Traffic in the eastbound lanes didn’t give the trucker any room to play thread-the-needle between the cop car and opposing traffic.
***
The sound of a semi’s air horn burst into the passenger compartment of Jim’s Charger with all the finesse of a middle linebacker intent on eating the opposing quarterback’s lunch. Jim jerked the Charger’s steering wheel sharply right, stomped on the accelerator, and the car’s performance-tuned steering responded. The car jumped to the narrow, gravel shoulder, and the tractor-trailer missed its rear bumper by a fraction of an inch. Jim fought to maintain control. The police-performance suspension and special tires kept the Charger from spinning out into traffic, or off the shoulder and into a ditch.
The tractor-trailer roared past. Jim looked down, ready to hit his lights and siren, when the flashing colon between the hour and minutes of the Charger’s clock blinked a wagging finger at him. Get to school on time, Jim.
He took a deep breath while drops of sweat rolled down his forehead. He realized the car’s interior had gone from freezer to furnace.
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