by Rita Herron
She sighed. “I know this sounds crazy. My grandmother told me that a new leader is rising to take over the underworld. And that other demons have surfaced to steal souls to please him. I think that’s what’s happening now.”
His gaze met hers, dark and filled with doubts.
But she forged ahead. “She also said that he might have possessed a human’s body. So he could be here among us.”
He grunted, and she quieted. The killer was some kind of human monster, someone who was cruel and violent like his father had been, someone in town, someone they trusted. But who?
A demon?
Even though he’d seen his father throw fire with his hands, he couldn’t quite believe it. Because believing his father was a demon, not just a human monster, meant that he was one, too.
He contemplated the possibility while they finished eating, then paid the bill. Clarissa caught his arm as they settled in his SUV, and heat scalded him, sending his senses tingling with arousal. “What are you thinking, Vincent?”
That she shouldn’t touch him. That his resistance toward her was waning.
“I’m going to confirm Bo Bennett’s alibi, then stop at the Bare-It-All to question the bartender and waitresses.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re going to Sadie Sue, aren’t you?”
So what if he was? Maybe he’d sate himself with her tonight so he could finally get some sleep without being plagued with fantasies about fucking Clarissa. “What better way for a sicko to hunt for women than a place like that?”
“Tracy, Jamie, and Billie Jo didn’t go to that bar. He wouldn’t have met them there.”
“But some of the girls might know something. Maybe they’ve had experience with a stranger or someone who’s violent toward women. Someone they saw as a threat. Even a man who bragged about killing.”
Clarissa’s vision blurred with images of the ones who’d passed as she glanced across the cemetery by the bar before they pulled away. While they ate, she’d struggled to drown out the tortured cries, but the skeletal bodies had floated across the parched grass with outstretched brittle fingers and sightless eyes.
Billie Jo’s, Jamie’s, and now Tracy’s spirits were wavering, clinging to the realm between the dark and light, yet not ready to cross into the light. Yet she’d also noticed a black aura floating around them—Satan had sent his soldiers to steal them over to his side.
She couldn’t let him win this war.
Lost in thought, she spent the drive back to the police station with her nerves on edge. She contemplated telling Vincent about the aura, but she’d also noticed it around him on that rooftop, and she’d held her tongue. He wasn’t ready to believe in demons. And maybe she wouldn’t accept the possibility so easily if she hadn’t seen ghosts all her life.
He parked beside her car just as the deputy pulled up and climbed out.
“Thanks for the ride,” Clarissa said. “Let me know if you get any leads.”
Vincent nodded and stepped from the car, then turned to confront Tim.
“Why didn’t you mention that you’d dated Tracy Canton?” Vincent asked.
Bluster’s eyes turned to glaciers. “I only went out with her twice, four months ago. Didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Or maybe you withheld information because you didn’t want to be treated as a suspect.” Vincent inched closer to him. “The girls around here would certainly trust you if you showed up at their door. Wouldn’t hesitate to accept a ride from you or to invite you inside their homes.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Valtrez.” Bluster reared back as if he might hit Vincent, but Clarissa caught his arm.
“Don’t, Tim.” She turned to Vincent. “Maybe you’d better go, Vincent.”
“If you’re hiding anything else, Bluster, I’ll find out.”
“You’d better watch your back, Valtrez,” Bluster shouted as Vincent climbed in his car. Clarissa held Tim back, trying to calm him as Vincent drove away.
But she wondered why Tim hadn’t mentioned he’d dated Tracy. If that was the reason he didn’t want Vincent around. And if he’d hidden his relationship with her, what else could he be hiding?
Vincent ignored Bluster’s warning as he drove away. He wasn’t afraid of the shithead deputy.
And if he found out he was killing these girls, he’d take care of him personally.
But he hated leaving the man with Clarissa. Like the other girls in town, she obviously trusted the guy.
Which would make it easy for him to catch her off guard and attack.
Curious and on edge, he phoned McLaughlin.
“How’s it going?” McLaughlin asked.
“Hard to say. It looks like it might be a serial-killer case. No suspects yet, though.” Hell, he couldn’t exactly tell McLaughlin about Clarissa’s suspicions of demons. “I want you to run a background check on the deputy. His name is Tim Bluster. See if you can dig up anything.”
“Anything specific you’re looking for?”
“Not really. But he made it plain that he doesn’t want me here. And he dated one of the victims.”
“I’ll do it and get back to you.”
“I have a list I want you to follow up on, the alibi for a real estate developer in town. He claims he was in Atlanta on business.”
“Fax it over.” McLaughlin hung up, and Vincent drove to the wrecker service. He parked and went inside the small front office, scanning the place for Bo Bennett. If he wasn’t their UNSUB, Vincent wanted to cross him off the list and move on. The clock was ticking.
A twentysomething big-haired blonde snapped her gum and grinned up at him.
“What can I do you for, Mister?”
He identified himself. “I need to verify Bennett’s alibi.” He highlighted the girls’ deaths, then showed her the photos.
“My God, that’s awful.”
“Yeah, so tell me about you and Bennett. He says he was with you each of the nights in question.”
She glanced down at the dates, then batted eyelids doused with light blue shadow. “That’s right.”
Bennett appeared from the back room, wiping his hands on a grease cloth. The bleached blonde sidled up beside him. “Bo moved in with me a few weeks ago, and he’s been with me every night since.”
“You wouldn’t lie for him?” Vincent asked.
She pursed hot pink lips. “No need to. Bo did his time. Y’all need to leave him alone now so he can get his life together.”
“Yeah,” Bo said, yanking the girl next to him with a beefy hand scarred so badly it was nearly disfigured. “Me and Rocky here are getting hitched next month. There’s no way I’d be hanging out with other chicks now.”
Vincent grunted and left, then phoned Waller. “Did you ever hear back about the Canton girl’s car? Was it tampered with?”
“Nope, no signs of foul play.”
Vincent hung up, frustrated. If Bennett and the real estate guy weren’t the UNSUB, then who the hell was?
Clarissa claimed her car and drove home, her nerves on edge, the voices of the dead girls pleading for help bombarding her.
The humidity sucked the breath from her lungs, and she powered down her window, but the metallic scent of blood and vile odor of evil laced the air, and she immediately closed it again, as if that gesture could keep the demon from touching her.
But that was impossible. He’d killed her friends.
A dozen different voices haunted her, ones she’d heard before, new ones, all crying that she should help them. Was this how her mother had felt before she took her life? Tormented and helpless?
The headlights of her car shimmied across the asphalt as she turned up the winding road to her cabin, but her heart slammed against her ribs when she drew closer. The halo of a body swinging from the Devil’s Tree made her clench the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip.
The tree the devil had planted. The one she’d seen the ghost’s image on so often. The one that had held her mother.
Trembling, she pa
rked, unease chasing goosebumps across her arms as she climbed out. The image was there again tonight. But not her mother’s.
And not a ghost’s.
A woman she recognized—Daisy Wilson.
Her naked body had been wrapped in plastic from head to toe, then she’d been strung up from the tree and left naked and vulnerable for the vultures to feed on.
Pan laughed at the sound of rejoicing from the bowels of the underworld. He’d called upon the lost spirits to torment Clarissa, claiming she’d offer them salvation, and they were storming her with their pleas.
Zion was now preparing for his coronation, ecstatic that Pan had brought him Sadie Sue’s soul. Even more so because she would be the perfect temptation for Vincent.
Pan had issued the orders as he’d released her from her rebirth. She would seduce Vincent, turn him into a ball of sexual need that would drive him deeper into the black holes that clawed at him daily.
Clarissa had found her surprise tonight.
The girl he’d suffocated.
Above the tall, spindly trees, the full moon was already beginning to wane. He had precious little time to fill his order. Six more souls . . .
Frustration and rage heated his blood. He should have won over Billie Jo Rivers, Jamie Lackey, and Tracy Canton by now, but the medium had given them the strength to fight him.
Still, Pan beckoned them not to cross into the light, to join him, and they hung in limbo. There was still time to beat Clarissa and destroy her hold on them, but he had to work quickly.
Meanwhile, he had to keep hunting for more souls. Needed them for his own redemption.
Slipping out into the night, he reveled in the body he possessed. To think that he walked among the humans, and they had no clue as to his identity, sent a surge of joy though him.
It had been hundreds of years since he’d felt joy.
Tonight he’d find another girl. One touch and he would know her greatest fear.
Then he’d use it to kill her as he had the others.
And Clarissa would hear her screams as he sucked the life from her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vincent noted the details of the Bare-It-All club as he parked, the posters on the door featuring outlines of two naked blond dolls wrapped seductively around one another drawing his eyes.
A billboard on the main highway coming into Eerie advertised the pit stop for truckers, yet the wooden structure sat surrounded by woods, tucked away on a side mountain road that offered its patrons privacy from other passing cars. Statues of grizzly bears flanked the club’s front door, and as he entered, he saw a wraparound bar to the left, and to the right a runway stage lit by soft lighting that bounced off the near-naked woman gyrating on stage.
Wooden tables situated around the stage held patrons drinking beer and booze, shouting at the blonde, waving dollars and catcalling her to come their way. Tassels twirled from her nipples as she spun around, the thong between her ass showcasing a butt that swayed and twitched seductively.
Business first, though—then he might enjoy the show.
A topless cocktail waitress wearing a strip of red lace for panties greeted him with a tray of cigars, but he declined and headed toward the bar.
She gestured toward the tables. “You can see the show better over there.”
“I know. Maybe later.”
She shrugged, and he claimed a barstool. The bartender, a big burly guy wearing a wifebeater shirt and sporting a gold tooth, pushed a coaster toward him. “What’ll you have, Mister?”
“Scotch, straight up.”
Vincent waited until he handed him the drink, then asked his name.
“Marvin,” the man said. “You new in town or passing through?”
“Visiting,” he said, then identified himself. “I’m investigating Tracy Canton’s murder.”
Marvin shook his head and grunted a sound of disgust. “Heard about it. You got any idea who did it?”
“No. That’s why I’m here. You notice any strangers in town, anyone who looks suspicious?”
“We have guys stopping through all the time. Come and go so fast I don’t get their names.”
“How about locals?”
The bartender shrugged. “Sure. Most every man in town’s been in a few times. Not that their girls or wives know of it.”
“That include Deputy Bluster?”
An odd expression twisted the man’s features before he looked away. “Why don’t you ask him?”
He had his answer. “Anyone stick out as violent?”
His deep-set eyes flickered sideways for a second, and Vincent noticed the jagged scar on his left cheek. “Sometimes one of the guys has a little too much sauce, things get out of hand. Nothing me and Shooter can’t handle.”
“Shooter?”
He flicked his thumb toward the three-hundred-pounder with the no-neck standing guard in the shadows by the door. “He takes care of things.”
“Guess I’d better talk to Shooter.”
Marvin nodded, and Vincent grabbed his scotch and headed toward the man. Shooter’s shoulders snapped rigid as Vincent approached, and his hand automatically went to the pistol at his waist.
Vincent threw up one hand in warning. “Easy, Shooter. I just want to talk.”
“I’m not a talker,” the man growled.
Vincent flashed his ID. “It’s about Tracy Canton’s murder. You know anyone who’d want to hurt her?”
His expression remained bland. “Didn’t know the girl myself.”
“How about customers who enjoy roughing up the girls? Anyone come to mind?”
Shooter shifted, glanced at the door as two young guys wearing cowboy hats loped in. “No.”
“Think hard,” Vincent said, irritated with the defensive attitudes. Then again, hadn’t the deputy warned him that the locals wouldn’t talk to him willingly? “Any names ring a bell? Hadley Crane or Tim Bluster?”
Shooter leaned closer. “Crane’s creepy, all right. Likes to wear a damn black cape like he’s some vampire, but never heard any of the girls complain that he was violent.” He clicked his teeth. “The girls like Bluster, no problem there. Word is the doctor’s son, J. J. Pirkle, likes rough sex. I don’t ask specifics.”
Vincent finished his drink. “Thanks.”
He crossed to one of the tables by the runway and took a seat. The waitress appeared again, and he ordered another drink, then probed her for information, as well, but she confirmed what he’d already been told.
The blonde onstage gathered her tips and paraded through the velvet curtain. The music changed to a sultry tune, and Sadie Sue danced in, wearing a red-feathered costume that she slowly stripped off and swung around her head, then tossed into the crowd, earning a cheer. Her breasts were draped with nothing but a red boa, and a sequined thong showcased her long legs and sexy ass. She gyrated and danced, playing up to the men as they stuffed dollar bills into the G-string. When she spotted him, her tongue flicked out to lick her lips in silent invitation.
He gripped his drink and watched her climb the pole, humping it seductively as she flung her head back, and she winked at him as he watched her. He offered her a smile, and she slowly wove the boa off and stroked it between her legs as if it was a man’s hands.
Men groaned and clapped; one even reached for her, but she cleverly sidestepped his hands, spun around, and slid around the pole.
Before the dance ended, she winked at Vincent again, then blew him a kiss. He tossed down his drink and ordered another, just as the waitress leaned over and relayed that Sadie Sue wanted to talk to him.
She showed him through a hall housing several private rooms, each draped in a beaded curtain that hid little of the view of girls giving private lap dances.
Maybe Sadie Sue could tell him more about the men in the club.
A second later, he parked himself on the velvet-cushioned bench and Sadie Sue, naked as when she’d left the stage, danced in. Her tits swung forward, nipples brushing his mouth as she s
traddled him.
He’d had lap dances before, knew the rules, and planted his hands firmly on the cushions, knowing he couldn’t touch. She danced up and down him, trailing her hands over his shoulders, down his face, using her boa to stroke his cheek as she ground against him.
“Tell me about the guys who come here,” he said, gritting his teeth to maintain control. “Anyone dangerous?”
“They all are,” she said with a laugh.
“I’m looking for Tracy Canton’s killer. Any names come to mind?”
“Shh, honey,” she whispered, then ran her tongue around the tip of his ear. “Just sit back and enjoy.”
He barely controlled a moan as she stroked his length through his pants.
“Lick me,” she whispered in a deep voice. “Take my nipple into your mouth and suck it.”
His breath hissed between his teeth. The primal male in him couldn’t deny her or himself. Her nipple brushed his lips, teasing, taunting, and he opened his mouth and bit the tip. She threw her head back and moaned, and he sucked her long and deep, the blood pooling in his loins. Sensing his need, she rubbed him harder, then freed him from his jeans. He groaned, unable to help himself as she gyrated her hips and teased the tip of his sex with her clit.
“Condom,” he whispered hoarsely.
She shook her head, and he moved his hands to grip her arms. “I never have sex without one.”
He wanted to flip her around, but she lifted herself off his lap and knelt, one hand grabbing his cock and massaging it. Then she wet her lips again with her tongue and met his gaze.
His blood ran cold at the evil glistening in her smile. And her eyes flickered with yellow flecks, then turned a glazed red.
Reality snapped him from his sexually induced haze. Her eyes looked exactly as his father’s had when he’d turned violent in that cave of black rock.
Clarissa was right. Demons did exist. One had possessed Sadie Sue as it had his father.
He sucked in a breath, grabbed her, and pushed her away. “Who got to you, Sadie Sue?”
She jerked back, fire flaming from her eyes. “You can’t stop now, Vincent. You want me too much.”
“I said who are you?”
She traced a finger over his dick. “I’m the devil’s child, just like you,” she said with a laugh. “The girl who can satisfy you. The girl you want.”
