The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

  I’m almost there now. Got through the first gate without a problem, without an escort. Behind the wall. Two more gates. Walk. Just walk fast. Don’t hesitate. Walk. Faster. Move. Hips carrying me to my destiny. To Wolf.

  I get through the second gate. Same easy access. No problems from the guard. Walk like you belong. Like you know where you’re going. It always works. No reason it shouldn’t work this time. Just like McCormick Place. Just like when I was a kid.

  I walk faster now. Getting closer. Then I spot him, Richard Franklin Speck, just like when I was a kid. Walking in front of me. Only this time, I’m the stalker, not him. I’m the one he should be afraid of.

  He slowly pushes his cart. Free to fuck-off. Free to fuck whenever he pleases, “life goes on…as long as I’m having fun.”

  Not any more. Your executioner has arrived. “Speck,” I yell out. “Richard Speck.”

  He stops. Turns. Smiles. Trusting, like his victims must have been.

  Footsteps behind me. Someone ordering me to stop. I can’t stop. Not now. Not until it’s over. May have to pull out my gun and warn whoever it is not to try and stop me. Don’t have enough bullets. Should have bought the Beretta.

  “Carly, stop.” It’s the Captain’s voice.

  Speck turns away and moves through the last gate. Waiting on the other side. Watching it slowly close with a guard by his side. Watching me. Smiling. Laughing. I keep walking toward him, faster now. Ignoring the Captain’s order.

  He yells at me again. He’s running. Suddenly, I’m running. Have to catch Speck. Have to catch Wolf. “Hold that gate,” I yell as I reach for my gun.

  Vivian. I bump right into Vivian. “Oh my gosh,” she says. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” I readjust the weapon between my breasts. “Just have to get to the set before the director leaves. Need to tell him something. It’s important.” Agitated, I try to move her out of my way. She doesn’t budge.

  “But you know you can’t come through here unescorted. You know that,” she says. “I don’t know how you got this far.” She takes a closer look at my face. “Oh, dear. What happened to—?”

  The gate closes and Speck walks away down the tunnel, giving me one last smarmy look.

  “Everybody’s gone. Left this morning,” Captain Bob says, interrupting Vivian’s question. “Only a few people back there now. Let me bring you back out.”

  Just the sound of Bob’s voice is enough to generate more anger in me. More determination to get this done. Part of me would like to put the first bullet through him, but I can’t get his kids out of my head. Couldn’t do that to his kids. His wife. Too much love going on there.

  Have to think fast. “I left some of my paperwork on the table. It’s important.” I start to walk away. The Captain gets in front of me. “Can’t let you do that.”

  “Let me go. I have to go and look.”

  He pushes me back. Vivian steps in between us. “Now, now,” she says. “Let’s not get all excited here. I can bring you back there so you can look around. It’s no trouble.”

  The Captain interrupts, “Can’t let you do that, Vivian. She needs to leave. You can send her anything she’s left behind. Those are my orders. Movie making is over.”

  “Well, she looks upset. At least let me take her to my office to calm down. Poor thing.” Vivian puts her arm around my shoulder and leads me out a side doorway into the open courtyard. I struggle against her touch. She grips harder. The Captain follows us all the way to her office and stands outside the door after we go in.

  “Why don’t you lie down while I make us some nice hot tea,” she says in that high-pitched voice she gets when she’s trying to mother me. I can’t stand it, or her. I want to scream. I need to get out of here. Need to do what I came for.

  My breathing is messed up. Can’t get enough air. Feeling trapped. I open one of her windows to get some air and look up at the sky.

  Vivian puts the tea cups down too hard on her desk. “Stop pacing and sit down,” she orders. Her voice firm now, like some stressed-out teacher trying to control her classroom.

  I follow her orders.

  She sits down next to me on the sofa. “Take some slow, deep breaths,” she says.

  I do, closing my eyes. The tension starts to leave.

  “Now,” she says as sweet as ever, “you want to tell me about the gun between your breasts or do I call the Captain in?”

  Thirty-seven

  Vivian’s words cut through me, catching me off guard. This kook of a woman has discovered my secret. But how? I try to stand. She holds me down with tremendous strength while looking me straight in the eyes. Those eyes. Her eyes. Soft. Kind. Always seeing the rosy side of life. How did she know?

  “Let me go, Vivian. This doesn’t concern you,” I say firmly, so that even with her ditzy brain she can understand me.

  “But it does concern me. I like you, Carly. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  I repeat, “Let me go, Vivian.”

  “Not until you give me the gun. Whoever you want to harm can be handled by the law. You don’t want to end up in a place like this, a murderer, confined to hell. You’re a beautiful, talented woman. Now please.” She holds out her hand confident that I’m going to give it over. Yeah. Sure. Just like that.

  “You stupid, silly woman. What do you know about anything? Working in here with all these monsters—the entertainment director. What the hell kind of title is that? Like murderers deserve to be entertained. You’re a nut-case. They’d rape you then slit your throat if it wasn’t for all the guards protecting you. They should be put to death, not entertained.”

  “You don’t know about this place, Carly. It’s debasing to these men, what they have to live with each day.” Her hand is still outstretched, waiting, fingernails polished a soft pink. The same color Suzanne Farris wore the night she struggled for her very life.

  “They aren’t men. Most of them aren’t even human. They need to be eradicated. Shot down like they deserve.”

  “And are you the one to do that, Carly? Which one? And when you kill him, what about the next one and the next? They’ve all done evil things. Are you going to kill all of them? And with such a small weapon. How many shots? Two? Six? We have over a thousand inmates in here. You’ll have to do better than what you have hidden between your breasts.”

  I can feel the anger well up inside me. She’s always talking, reasoning. I yell out, “I don’t care about the other men. Just Richard Speck.”

  I break away from her grasp and stand up, pulling my gun out as I go. She doesn’t move. “Now, I don’t want to hurt you, Vivian, but you’re always talking. Can’t you please, just shut up for once in your silly life? Let me do everybody a favor.”

  There’s some noise outside the door. Some running. Some shouting. I aim directly at her head.

  She says, “I believe you, Carly. But—”

  She speaks. Her mouth moves, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. Someone else whispers in my brain—telling me what to do. She knows where Speck is hiding, Carly. She’s been keeping him from you. Naughty Vivian. She knows, Carly. She knows right where he is.

  My head pounds. I can feel the pressure behind my eyes. I need a drug. A drink. Should have had a drink this morning.

  “Take me to him,” I yell out. “Right now!” She doesn’t respond. Too scared. I slow down. Show her some reason, some sweetness. She likes sweetness. “It’ll be all right. No one will bother us. We’ll just quietly walk out the door and over to F-house. He’s probably there right now, painting. He really likes to paint. Did you know that? He actually enjoys it. Who’d have thought he would ever get to do anything he would enjoy? I never did. I bet his victims’ families never did. It’s so nice that the prison can afford him such creative pleasure. So nice that you can entertain him.” I get angry again just listening to myself. “Let’s go. I’m tired. I want to get this over with.”

  She stands, shaking as she lifts herself off the sofa. For
an instant, I want to reach out and help her. Want to grab her arm, look into her eyes and tell her that it’s okay, but I’m pointing a gun at her. Why? What is this? What’s going on? I shouldn’t be…

  The door bursts open. Captain Bob and Mike come in. The Captain has a .45 drawn and pointed at me. Dead on. I pull Vivian in tight against me and rest the barrel of my .38 up against Vivian’s head. My other hand pulling at the back of her hair. I stand behind her. Just like in a movie. We’re in a standoff.

  Everything gets quiet. No sounds. Just breathing.

  The pressure inside my head builds.

  Is this a movie? Part of a scene? But I’m pointing my weapon at the wrong person. I don’t want to hurt Vivian. What’s happened? Where’s Speck? He’s the one. This isn’t how it was supposed to go down. This isn’t in my script. It’s all Vivian’s fault—with that stupid meddling of hers, always poking her nose into other people’s business.

  “Slowly put the gun down on the floor and step away from Vivian,” Captain Bob orders.

  “Carly, this is insane. Don’t do this,” Mike begs.

  “You still don’t get it,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I’m supposed to prove to Lisa that I’m not chicken. I can do the scene now. I can call the police. Get Speck away from the windows. Out of our tent.” Mike gets a confused look on his face. I don’t understand it. Doesn’t he know? Didn’t he read the script?

  “He’s not in a tent, Carly. He’s in prison.”

  “But I still have to prove it to Lisa. I have to kill him. You know that. It’s all in there on the page.”

  “Lisa knows how brave you are, Carly. You don’t have to kill anybody to prove that.”

  Why can’t he understand? Why can’t they all understand? “I’m not brave. Those nurses—they were brave. Every one of them. Or else why didn’t they scream? Why didn’t they yell out the window? I was there—we were all there. On the swings. Or did the nurses already know about me? That I wouldn’t help. None of us would. Too busy with our own lives.”

  “No one knew, Carly. No one knew he was in that townhouse,” Mike says. He sounds as if he’s pleading now, but he’s not right. I know he’s not right.

  My vision is suddenly blurred. I don’t want to cry. Don’t want to show any weakness. Not now. Not when my actions are so important. “I knew. I knew he was inside as soon as I saw it. Just like that night in the rain at Pauline’s—watching him from Sharon’s bathroom window. The screen gave him away. The pulled-out screen next to the back downstairs window. It wasn’t there when I fell in the cinders, but when we went back around to the park for the second time there it was, propped up against the wall like nobody would notice. I noticed, but I didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t tell anybody what I knew.”

  “You didn’t know, Carly, nobody knew. How could you? You were a little girl. A child.” Mike is always taking my side, protecting me. The Boy Scout walking me across the street. What does he know?

  “Because I saw his goddamn face when he lit his cigarette on the street. Saw the hate. I saw a glimmer of that same face up in the townhouse window looking out over Luella Park right before he closed the curtains. Right before he began his night of murder. Smiling. Gawking. Gazing at the park while we sat on the swings weaving our fantasies. But I never said a word. Not a word. Couldn’t take the chance. My friends would call out to him. Ring the bell. Make him come out and kiss me. Make him come out and tell me that Ringo’s letter wasn’t real. Then laugh. They’d all laugh. Sharon. Lisa. We were always pretending. Lying. Weaving stories about Wolf and the Beatles. Best friends. We were best friends. I trusted them.”

  I pull harder on Vivian’s hair, staring at the Captain. He shouts at me again, as if the sound of his voice could make any difference.

  Two more guards burst into the room. Guns drawn. Giving orders. Suddenly, the room gets heavy with voices.

  Mike yells, “Everybody calm down.”

  Silence. Gives me a chance to tell them, “They made me believe the letter was from Ringo. It wasn’t, you know. Sharon wrote it.”

  I can feel myself backing down. Feel the tears on my cheeks. Getting weak. Vivian doesn’t move. I can feel her body shaking. Don’t understand why she’s so nervous. I’m not going to hurt her. She knows that. She’s read the script. I’m not going to shoot her. It’s Speck who takes the bullet, not Vivian.

  “Put the gun down on the floor and nobody will get hurt,” the Captain orders.

  I’m tired of hearing him. He tricked me into thinking he was someone else, someone noble. But he’s just like Speck who tricked those girls into thinking he only wanted money. Not going to hurt them. Not going to kill them. Just like my friends. They’re all the same. Liars. Cheaters. Killers.

  “You lying fuck. Does anybody know what a lying fuck you are?”

  Rage splashes across his face. If he could get a good shot off, he would. But I move in closer to Vivian, hugging her body with my own. Wanting to protect her from the Captain. From the moment.

  “Carly,” Vivian says, “Don’t do this. It’s up to the law and God, not you. You’re mixed up right now. Somebody could die. Please, let go.”

  What kind of crap is that? Just a ploy so I won’t shoot anybody. But I’m supposed to shoot somebody. It’s what the scene calls for. “No. No. No. We’re not following the scene. Not saying the right lines. The director’s going to be mad. Somebody get Speck. Bring him here. Right now. I have to kill him. This is all wrong, Mike. Can’t you tell them? Will you please get the screenplay and show them exactly what it says.”

  Mike slowly moves in closer to me. Inching his way, like I’m not going to notice him, “You’re right. I’ve read this part and you’re not supposed to pull out your gun until Speck walks into the room. We’ll have to do it again when he gets here.” He puts out his hand for the gun.

  I want to surrender it to him. Want to curl up in his arms. Smell his cologne. Linger on his shoulder. I want him to take me away from here, but Captain Bob keeps talking. Keeps giving me orders. Telling me he’s going to take my life. As if he has that power. As if pointing a gun at me proves that he does. Only one man holds that power and he’s walking out in the tunnel, pushing his paint cart, laughing, thinking about tonight’s fuck.

  Mike slips in even closer. I’m staring at him, he at me. He’s talking, sighing. Complaining about the videotape, about Speck, the Captain. I can’t quite make out his exact words. Don’t want to. Don’t want to hear him or the nurses. Don’t want to be tricked into something. Not again. Not ever.

  I tell him, “You’ll just have to film the rest of the scene without me. I’m tired of all of this.”

  I pull the gun straight back to my head in one swift movement, but can’t pull the trigger. Mike screams, “No.” But that’s not what stops me. It’s the look on his face. The love and fear all mixed together. Like what I’m about to do will kill him. Like I’m going to take his life along with my own.

  I can’t do it. Can’t ruin his life. Suddenly a fog lifts and I can’t seem to remember the lines. Can’t remember the scene. Was there a scene? Is this really happening? It’s like something inside me snapped and I actually see what’s going on in front of me. I want to live. Need to live.

  I let go of Vivian and she steps away from me. At once, I see the Captain aiming to take the shot. Only it’s not at me. It’s at Mike.

  Everything moves in slow motion as I step in front of Mike.

  My ears ring. My legs buckle.

  As I hit the floor, I can see it. See it above me, around me, inside me.

  My blue sky at the end of the sidewalk.

  Epilogue

  September 7, 1996

  I woke up early this morning. Bought a dozen pink roses. Have to attend a funeral. Pay my last respects to a guy who they’re burying inside his sacred car. A guy who liked pink. There was an article about Flukey’s murder in the Chicago Tribune, over on page twenty-eight. The police are looking for the suspect: Ivory Jennings.

&nb
sp; Strange how some people affect you. How they get under your skin and crawl inside your mind, never allowing you to think or to breathe on your own. Every word, every action, every thought is dictated until all logic disappears, all hope, and eventually, all life. When you first meet evil your instinct responds, telling you to run, to hide, to get as far away as you can, but reason slips in and says you’re overreacting, calm down, listen to what evil has to say—by then it’s too late. Once you hesitate, once you begin to consider, to trust, instinct disappears.

  That’s when evil strikes.

  I nearly died that day in Vivian’s office, just like that, without so much as a whisper. Evil would have won yet another victim, only the demon didn’t succeed. Good was in his way.

  I caught the triumph in the Captain’s eyes when I realized he was pointing his gun at Mike. I could see his sick elation. With me out of the way, the only credible witness to the existence of the videotape was Mike.

  My instinct reacted.

  The Captain’s eager bullet plowed into my lower back just as I knocked Mike to the floor. It burned through my flesh and lodged itself next to my spine. The fiery pain racked my body until consciousness was no longer an option. That’s when everything became clear, every emotion came into focus. During that impassioned moment of time, while I lay on top of Mike, struggling to stay alive, I began to heal.

  It got kind of sketchy for awhile, the doctors not knowing if I was going to walk again. Going easy on me. Telling me there was only the slightest chance. I took that chance. Worked on it every day. Got myself up and forced my legs to work again. Had to. Couldn’t let Mike be forever in my debt. The world didn’t need another guilt-ridden victim. I walk just fine now. Friends say they can hardly notice the limp. A cane helps when I get especially tired.