Passion's Hope (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 3) (30 page)

The two men fell back on the bed, guffawing with laughter. “Oh, Babygirl, you are priceless.” Jay exclaimed. He lay there a few seconds, collecting his breath then he rose and headed for the bathroom.

Nik curled upward, slid his hands beneath Charlie’s arms and pulled her up, his mouth seeking hers. “Thank you,” he murmured between pecks to her lips. “Thank you for trusting us. You have no idea what a priceless gift you have just given us. And not just us, either, but yourself as well.”

Any reply she might have made was swallowed up by his devouring kiss.

* * * *

“Who wants popcorn?” Jay asked, levering himself up from the sofa and heading toward the kitchen. Both Charlie and Nik said, “Me!” making him chuckle. Like Nik, he was barefoot, wearing only his jeans. Charlie was wearing only Jay’s T-shirt. They were lying on the sofa watching
The Princess Bride
on the huge TV in the living room. She was holding Mr. Floppy.

Over the past several days, Charlie had basically moved into Nik and Jay’s house and made her stamp on their space and their lives. Her dolls and stuffed animals were displayed proudly on nearly every surface, and, since Nik and Jay had taken her shopping several times, she had a growing selection of beautiful dresses hanging in their closet. One whole set of shelves was lined with her new shoes. Her make-up cluttered the marble countertop at one of the bathroom sinks and her hair and grooming products mingled with theirs in the shower.

Nik and Jay had introduced her to all the shop owners in downtown Passion Lake. That morning she had met Leah Nighthorse, Clay Nighthorse’s wife. Leah owned a gallery specializing in manipulated fabric—clothes, wall hangings, sculpture, jewelry, and other accessories, many of which she had created herself. The two women had hit it off right away, and while they were talking and finding out all the things they had in common in spite of their wildly disparate upbringings, Kylie Rafferty had come in. The three women had shooed their hovering men away and wound up spending a leisurely afternoon together, having high tea at Granny Grace’s Tea Shoppe. Charlie invited both women over on Sunday for a swim and a whole lot of girl talk. When Nik and Jay had arrived to pick Charlie up, however, the swim morphed into a barbecue with the three women and all six of their men.

Mandy Patinkin, as Inigo Montoya, was just about to utter his famous line when Nik’s cell phone vibrated on the end table. Nik grabbed it and glanced at the screen. “It’s Conover.” He pressed talk. “Yeah, Mike, what’s up?” He listened for a few seconds, then,
“Fuck!”
He knifed up from his position on the couch, a movement so sharp and sudden it nearly sent Charlie, who was spooned in front of him, rolling off onto the floor.

“Hey!” she yelled, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

“Damn it! How did that happen?”

“What?” Jay demanded from the kitchen. “Put it on speaker.” Popcorn forgotten, he walked over to join them

Nik thumbed on the speaker. “Say that again.”

“We went ahead and arrested Perry Bradford this afternoon. Harmon Pierce managed to convince the judge that remand was out of line, so the judge set his bond at five million, which Bradford posted immediately. He’s out.”

Fear iced the blood in Charlie’s veins, froze the air in her lungs.

“That’s not all,” Conover said, his voice grim. “It gets worse.”

“How can it possibly get worse?” Jay asked, his voice just as grim.

“He’s put out a contract on Ms. Fielding.”

“What?”
The breath exploded from Charlie’s lungs, as all the blood drained from her face.
Oh, my God! Omigodomigodomigod!
She sat up, pressing her hand to her breast as if trying to contain the frantic pounding of her heart. “He’s hired a-a hit man?” Her voice was barely a wheeze, pushed out with her last bit of breath, followed by an audible, sucking inhale as she sucked in enough air to re-inflate her lungs.

“Fortunately,” Conover went on, “the hit man he hired is Alex McKay. Thanks for the heads up, Nik. You were right about this one. While he was in the holding cell, waiting for Harmon Pierce to post bail, he asked his cellmate, our undercover cop, what he had done to wind up in prison. Officer Donnelly told him that he was in for murdering a cop and that he was being transferred to Red Onion the next day, Bradford asked him if he knew anyone who’d be willing to kill somebody. Money was no object, he’d pay whatever fee the killer demanded. Donnelly gave him Alex’s untraceable number. Sure enough, as soon as Bradford was out of jail, he called Alex and said he wanted to meet him. Unfortunately, Bradford wants irrefutable proof that she’s dead before he’ll pay up, so McKay and a mortician are on their way over there right now.”

Charlie gasped. “A mortician?”

Conover laughed. “Who better to make the living look dead than someone who can make the dead look alive? The case is scheduled to go before the Grand Jury on Friday morning at nine-thirty.”

“Yeah, we know. Sarah called us earlier. Don’t worry, we’ll be there. Thanks, Mike.” Thumbing off the phone, he tossed it on the seat. “Well, boys and girls. Sounds like we’re coming to the murder and mayhem portion of the evening.”

“Alex…McKay?” Charlie mused. “Any relation to…?”

“Brother, actually. He’s ex-Richmond PD, now FBI on
loan
to the Richmond PD for this assignment.”

Charlie looked at Nik, aghast. “You
knew
this was going to happen?”

“No,
myshka.
” His voice gentled. “But we did prepare for the possibility.” He sighed, one hand rubbing his thigh. “Let’s just say I wasn’t about to take any chances with your safety.”

Charlie just sat there, having trouble grappling with the fact that someone wanted her dead. She looked down at the hands twisting in her lap, staring at them sightlessly. She’d lost all feeling in her fingers and toes. Even her lips felt numb. She heaved a deep, shaky sigh. “Well. “She planted her hands on her knees and pushed herself up off of Jay’s lap. “I have a very important decision to make, then, don’t I?” she said, heading in the direction of the bedroom.

“What’s that?” Jay asked.

“What to wear.” She swept her hands downward to indicate her only garment—Jay’s T-shirt. “I can’t possibly allow myself to get murdered looking like
this.
”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jay started to get up off the couch and follow her, but Nik’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Well, pick out something you don’t cherish, ’cause it’s gonna get ruined,” Jay called after her.

In the silence that descended with her departure, Nik and Jay looked at each other.

“She’s in shock,” Nik said with a shrug. “As soon as it’s over she’s going to crash. We’ll need to be ready.”

When Charlie came back out, dressed in a pair of shorts and a blue tank top, Jay studied her, noting her almost eerie sense of calm.

“I must say you’re taking this rather well,” he murmured. “If it were me, I’d be kicking and screaming.”

“Oh, I am,” she said. “On the inside.”

They heard the metallic clang of the gate closing and Nik opened the patio slider to admit a man who could only be Alex McKay.

Oh, my God! He’s gorgeous!
Was Charlie’s first thought. Tall, lean, superbly muscled, he stalked into the living room like a man on a mission. He looked like a biker, wearing worn, faded jeans, fingerless leather gloves, and a black Harley T-shirt that was tight enough to accentuate his sculpted abs. His denim jacket was faded, torn, and covered with logo patches, including an enormous eagle with spread wings and a black patch over his eye taking up most of the back. Alex’s black hair was short and spiky and his three-day growth of beard only partially softened the sharp angles of his face. His high cheekbones, wide forehead, and piercing ice-blue eyes were guaranteed to get the attention of any woman still breathing. Possibly even a few who weren’t. He was a sharper, edgier, much more intense version of his brother Lucas, who was no slouch in the smoldering, sexy looks department himself.

“Alex!” Nik and Jay exclaimed, the three men greeting each other with hugs and slaps on the back.

A second man entered behind Alex, a short, balding, nondescript, middle aged man with ginger hair and mustache and wearing wire-rimmed glasses. Alex introduced him as Harold Borland. He was carrying what looked like a woman’s make-up case. Nik and Jay introduced Charlie, who shook hands with both men.

“I’m so sorry we have to put you through all this, Charlie,” Alex McKay said, still holding her hand and giving it a squeeze. “We’ll try to make it quick and painless so we can be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She just looked at him, not sure what to say. After all, what
did
one say to the man who’d come here to kill her?
Kill her!
The entire concept was so bizarre, so alien to her, she still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She was suddenly having trouble breathing

Alex was watching her carefully. He frowned. “Are you all right, Charlie?”

She nodded.

“Do you have to do it this way?” Nik asked, stepping up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. “Why can’t you just photo shop it?”

“Too easy to spot as a fake. Bradford has already informed me that he has software that can analyze the photographs to make sure they’re the real thing and not photo shopped or CGI. We can’t take any chances. He has to believe she’s dead.”

“Mr. Borland.” Jay made a sweeping gesture toward the kitchen. “We thought you might set up in here. Will that be suitable?”

“Perfect.” The man responded, placing his case on the counter. He opened it and began removing various items, lining them up neatly on the breakfast bar. He picked up a small paint brush and brushed something all over one side of what looked like a small piece of very thin rubber. Then looked back over at Charlie and indicated one of the bar stools. “Ms. Fielding? If you’re ready?”

She took the seat he had patted. “This is a latex prosthetic,” he explained as soon as she was comfortable. “Just relax and don’t frown, or it won’t stick.” He placed it in the center of her forehead above her left eyebrow, pressing lightly all around the edges with his fingertips. He applied a layer of foundation to her entire face, using his finger to feather the ragged edge of the prosthetic to disguise the outline. He picked up a large safety pin and opened it.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, smiling at her sudden frown. “I’m just going to pick a hole through the layers of latex You won’t feel a thing, I promise.” Holding the edges, he began digging the sharp point of the pin into the latex, pulling and stretching until he had made a ragged hole around the size of the pad of Charlie’s index finger. He inserted his finger, and she felt it touching her bare skin in the center of the hole. Using a pair of cuticle scissors, he snipped away at some of the “flesh” from around the hole, leaving the edges ragged and torn-looking.

Next came color. Purple and red on the surrounding skin for a bruising effect, followed by fake blood brushed liberally inside the hole so the wound would appear wet. A blackish purple powder applied randomly over the jagged flaps of “skin” around the hole’s perimeter added the singed look the exploding gasses of a real bullet would have left.

Finally, he swept a large make-up brush across what looked like black, pressed-powder eye shadow and tapped the tips of the bristles all around the wound, creating the black powder stippling common to a close-range gunshot wound.

Finally, he said, “Okay, Ms. Fielding, I think you’re ready.” He lifted the little compartmented tray in his case and pulled out a woman’s ribbed knit top. It was pink, her favorite color, and folded neatly. “Put this on. It already has an actual bullet hole with GSR stippling, because we needed it to look real.”

“GSR?”

“Gunshot residue. All we have to do is add some make-up to the prosthetic that’s attached to it. And the blood. Of course.”

“Of course,” she parroted.

“That way you don’t have to ruin any of your clothes.” He smiled at her, but she couldn’t get her mouth to smile back.

Wordless, she took the shirt, noting that it had been folded so the ‘actual bullet hole’ was not visible. She slid off the stool, turning toward the bedroom to change clothes. But Harold Borland held up his hand. “Wait a second, Miss Fielding. Mr. Rostov?” he addressed Nik.

Nik, Jay, and Alec all turned at the sound of his voice and let out a collective gasp when they saw Charlie.

“Holy fuck!” This from Nik.

Alex McKay gave an admiring shake of his head. “Gotta hand it to you, Hal. This is probably your best work. She really looks dead.”

“Are you kidding?” Jay said, “I’ve seen
dead
people who didn’t look this dead.”

Nik frowned. “You had a question, Mr. Borland?”

“Is there a mirror in the bedroom? She really shouldn’t see herself looking like this. Once this image gets in your mind, it’s difficult to dispel.”

“Hang on a sec,” Jay said. He went into the bedroom, re-emerging a few seconds later to stand in the doorway, gesturing to Charlie. “C’mon, Babygirl. It’s safe.”

As Charlie approached him, he took her elbow and led her into their bedroom. He’d draped a sheet over the mirrors on the huge triple dresser. He sat on the edge of the bed and drew her toward him to stand between his legs. Stretching the neck of the T-shirt she was wearing to keep it from disturbing her make-up, he pulled it off over her head before pulling the doctored shirt on. She just stood there docilely and let him guide her arms through the sleeves, dressing her as if she were one of her dolls. He tugged the shirt down over her hips and sat, just looking at her.

Her head was bent and she was gnawing on both her lips. The torn, ragged black edge of the bullet hole was right over her heart and even without the final make-up, the prosthetic attached to it had a distressingly real look about it.

Curling his finger under her chin, he lifted her head, capturing her gaze with his. “You okay, sweet thing?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

In fact, she was not right at all. The merciful numbness was beginning to fade, overtaken by an anxiety that curdled her stomach and had her wanting to crawl out of her skin. Saliva flooded her mouth as bile rose into the back of her throat. Swallowing repeatedly, she managed to shove the contents of her stomach back down where they belonged. But for how long? And she could do nothing about the fact that she was shaking all over. Even her teeth were chattering.

Jay stood, framed her face between his hands, and lifted it to his, placing a light kiss against her lips. “Come on, baby girl, let’s get this over with so you can take off that godawful makeup. Seriously. It’s so realistic, it’s actually scaring me.”

As they walked back out into the living room, McKay looked up from placing a plastic-lined throw rug on the floor. He deliberately set it askew, rumpling it slightly with his foot.

“So the fake blood doesn’t stain the wood,” he explained. “This stuff’s tougher to get out than real blood. Here, Charlotte, if you would sit right here, please? No, facing toward the outside, like you opened the door and I shot you. Excellent. Now, if you’ll just lie down so we can mark your head…good.”

Borland joined them, carrying a plastic tarp, an aluminum pie plate and a half-gallon jug full of dark red liquid. He poured an uneven pool of it over the chalk mark Alex had made on the rug to indicate blood seepage from the massive wound where the back of her head would have been blown away. Even though it was a deep red, Charlie thought it smelled like chocolate.

“I apologize, Miss Fielding. This is going to be uncomfortable and sticky and it’s going to get all over you.”

“Why does it smell like chocolate?” she asked.

“Because there’s chocolate in it. Hershey’s syrup, to be exact. Otherwise the red would be too garish to look real. If you should happen to get some in your mouth, it’s completely edible. Now, if you would lift your hair up and kinda flop down so it will look like you were literally blown backward…”

She followed the two men’s instructions, letting them pose her arms and legs in awkward, ungainly angles as if she’d opened the door, been shot where she stood, and crumpled to the floor.

“Ms. Fielding, I’m going to tap you with this,” Harold Borland said, lifting a paint paddle. The paddle had loops of rolled-up rags stapled in a circular shape to one end. Obviously it had been used before and washed, possibly many times. The fabric was already stained pink. “This will give an appropriate arterial pattern.”

She watched him slop the rags around in the fake blood he’d poured into the pan until they were saturated with the viscous liquid.

“Close your eyes, please.” Covering himself with the plastic tarp, he tapped the rags sharply against the fake bullet wound in her chest sending blood spattering in all directions. He added a few more artistic dribbles here and there, opened a can of deviled ham and dropped a few chunks in the blood spreading out from her head, followed by splinters of actual bone taken from a cadaver skull. The last thing he did was tap a toothbrush in the blood pooled on her chest, hold it over her, and scrape his thumb across the bristles, creating a gruesomely realistic spatter effect.

“Okay, detective, she’s all yours.” Borland picked up his supplies, carried them to the kitchen, and began to clean them up in the sink.

Alex McKay hunkered down next to Charlie, being careful not to smudge or leave footprints in any of the blood drops. He smiled down at her. “You’re doin’ real good, Charlie,” he said warmly. “Just a few more minutes and we’ll be done here. Open your eyes halfway and try not to blink.” Alex McKay pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket. “Don’t hold your breath. It’ll just make you look stiff. Just let yourself go limp and don’t let your eyes focus on anything. Open your mouth just a little bit. Excellent. Hold that pose. Do not change anything.” He circled around her snapping pictures from all angles. He tapped the screen and scrolled through the resultant photos. “By George,” he chortled, “I think we’ve got it.”

He handed the phone to Jay, who scrolled through them, with Nik looking over his shoulder. “Christ,” he muttered. “These are way too realistic for
my
comfort.”

“So, do you have what you need, Alex?” Nik asked, moving toward Charlie, who was still lying on the carpet in a pool of blood.

“Yeah. Bradford wants me to bring him the photos as soon as the deed is done, so I’m driving back to Richmond tonight and handing them over in person. As soon as he runs them through his computer program and wires the rest of the money, I’ll let him upload these into his computer. That’s when he’ll be arrested for solicitation to commit murder.”

Hal Borland approached Charlie. “Can you sit up, Ms. Fielding?”

For a moment Charlie didn’t move. She remained exactly where she was, limp and lifeless, her half-lidded eyes staring blankly off into space, as if she truly were dead.

Both Nik and Jay felt a moment of utter panic as their hearts squeezed to a halt. “Charlie!” They rushed forward and fell on their knees beside her, nearly sobbing with relief when she finally blinked her eyes open and looked from Nik to Jay to Harold Borland, who said gently, “I’m sorry, Ms. Fielding. I know this has been terribly hard for you. But it’s almost over. I just need to remove the prosthetic from your forehead?”

Wordless, she nodded.

He picked at one edge of the latex bullet hole until the adhesive released, carefully peeling it off still in one piece. “Thank you, Ms. Fielding.”