mingled with his own – the high, piercing screech of a woman.
Confusion rolled through Linda’s mind. She knew only that she had to get out. Covering her ears against the cries from above, she raced up the passageway to the kitchen, and outside.
She was a block away when the alarm began wailing to wake the volunteer firemen. She ducked into an alley, no longer afraid of the shambling creature with the shopping cart, no longer afraid of whatever else might lurk in the shadows.
She had burnt the Freeman house, burnt the naked specter that had haunted her nightmares.
It had to be him. He’d looked different, but it had to be him.
The woman’s scream?
One of Sheila’s ghosts?
No such thing. Nothing to be afraid of.
Not even the empty darkness of the alley. Nothing could touch her.
7
D ANI ROLLED over and opened one eye. Jack was missing. She smelled coffee, and smiled. Turning onto her belly, she pushed her face into the pillow and snuggled against the sheet.
There was no hurry. She wasn’t needed at the studio today.
She writhed, stretching her stiff muscles, remembering how they got that way. Last night had been wonderful in spite of the creep.
Maybe she should thank the guy. He’d provided a certain excitement . . .
Excitement, my ass.
He’d scared the hell out of her. He ought to be caged, the damned degenerate.
She thought of him at the window, watching her with Jack, and her skin turned hot. The bed was no longer comfortable. She tossed aside the single sheet and climbed off. Taking her satin robe from the closet, she headed for the open door.
She found Jack at the bar, a coffee mug at his elbow, his fingers probing the mouth of the artificial head. He grinned around at her. ‘Amateur night,’ he said. Swiveling his stool, he rested the head on his lap. He flicked its red hair. ‘Cheap wig. The eyes were marbles.’ He pulled the tongue from its gaping mouth. ‘A slab of liver.’
‘Yuck.’
Jack flung it onto the counter. ‘The guy has, at least, got a certain macabre ingenuity.’
He tossed the head to Dani. She inspected its waxy flesh, its eye sockets and mouth.
‘Mortician’s wax,’ Jack said, ‘on one of those plastic skulls you can buy at a hobby shop.’
Dani inserted her forefinger in an eye hole. It pushed against a soft, rubbery substance. She pulled it out, glanced at the gray crescent under her nail, sniffed it. ‘Modeling clay.’
‘To give it some weight, I suppose.’
‘Well, Al obviously wasn’t involved. No one with any knowledge of the business would turn out this kind of work.’
Jack raised a forefinger. ‘Unless, Sherlock, he did it that way to throw off suspicion.’
‘Or as a joke,’ Dani added. She set the head down on the counter, and kissed Jack. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning,’ he whispered. ‘Excuse me if I don’t touch.’
‘Me too,’ Dani picked up the slab of liver and eyed it critically. ‘Not enough for both of us. Would you rather have bacon?’
‘I think so.’
She carried the liver into the kitchen, holding her breath against the stench, and put it down the disposal. Then she washed her hands.
Jack washed up while she took the foil-wrapped bacon from the freezer. She unwrapped the rigid strips, dropped them into a skillet, and turned on a burner.
Jack came up behind her. He stroked her hair away, and she squirmed as he kissed the side of her neck. He rubbed her belly. A hand slipped inside her robe. It glided up her ribs, closed over her breast. His other hand loosened the cloth belt. He spread the robe open. He held both breasts, squeezing gently. Then his big hands moved lower, touching her skin like a warm breeze as they drifted down her ribs and belly, caressed her hips, brushed over her thighs. She quivered as the hands curved upward between her legs. They stirred her tuft of hair. She waited, but they didn’t seek deeper.
Turning around, she embraced Jack and kissed his open mouth. He held her tightly. Then
Confusion rolled through Linda’s mind. She knew only that she had to get out. Covering her ears against the cries from above, she raced up the passageway to the kitchen, and outside.
She was a block away when the alarm began wailing to wake the volunteer firemen. She ducked into an alley, no longer afraid of the shambling creature with the shopping cart, no longer afraid of whatever else might lurk in the shadows.
She had burnt the Freeman house, burnt the naked specter that had haunted her nightmares.
It had to be him. He’d looked different, but it had to be him.
The woman’s scream?
One of Sheila’s ghosts?
No such thing. Nothing to be afraid of.
Not even the empty darkness of the alley. Nothing could touch her.
7
D ANI ROLLED over and opened one eye. Jack was missing. She smelled coffee, and smiled. Turning onto her belly, she pushed her face into the pillow and snuggled against the sheet.
There was no hurry. She wasn’t needed at the studio today.
She writhed, stretching her stiff muscles, remembering how they got that way. Last night had been wonderful in spite of the creep.
Maybe she should thank the guy. He’d provided a certain excitement . . .
Excitement, my ass.
He’d scared the hell out of her. He ought to be caged, the damned degenerate.
She thought of him at the window, watching her with Jack, and her skin turned hot. The bed was no longer comfortable. She tossed aside the single sheet and climbed off. Taking her satin robe from the closet, she headed for the open door.
She found Jack at the bar, a coffee mug at his elbow, his fingers probing the mouth of the artificial head. He grinned around at her. ‘Amateur night,’ he said. Swiveling his stool, he rested the head on his lap. He flicked its red hair. ‘Cheap wig. The eyes were marbles.’ He pulled the tongue from its gaping mouth. ‘A slab of liver.’
‘Yuck.’
Jack flung it onto the counter. ‘The guy has, at least, got a certain macabre ingenuity.’
He tossed the head to Dani. She inspected its waxy flesh, its eye sockets and mouth.
‘Mortician’s wax,’ Jack said, ‘on one of those plastic skulls you can buy at a hobby shop.’
Dani inserted her forefinger in an eye hole. It pushed against a soft, rubbery substance. She pulled it out, glanced at the gray crescent under her nail, sniffed it. ‘Modeling clay.’
‘To give it some weight, I suppose.’
‘Well, Al obviously wasn’t involved. No one with any knowledge of the business would turn out this kind of work.’
Jack raised a forefinger. ‘Unless, Sherlock, he did it that way to throw off suspicion.’
‘Or as a joke,’ Dani added. She set the head down on the counter, and kissed Jack. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning,’ he whispered. ‘Excuse me if I don’t touch.’
‘Me too,’ Dani picked up the slab of liver and eyed it critically. ‘Not enough for both of us. Would you rather have bacon?’
‘I think so.’
She carried the liver into the kitchen, holding her breath against the stench, and put it down the disposal. Then she washed her hands.
Jack washed up while she took the foil-wrapped bacon from the freezer. She unwrapped the rigid strips, dropped them into a skillet, and turned on a burner.
Jack came up behind her. He stroked her hair away, and she squirmed as he kissed the side of her neck. He rubbed her belly. A hand slipped inside her robe. It glided up her ribs, closed over her breast. His other hand loosened the cloth belt. He spread the robe open. He held both breasts, squeezing gently. Then his big hands moved lower, touching her skin like a warm breeze as they drifted down her ribs and belly, caressed her hips, brushed over her thighs. She quivered as the hands curved upward between her legs. They stirred her tuft of hair. She waited, but they didn’t seek deeper.
Turning around, she embraced Jack and kissed his open mouth. He held her tightly. Then
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