Once Craved (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #3) (12 page)

As the woman
strolled down the posh hotel hallway with the man who called himself T.R., she
wondered what kind of fun was in store for her today. The situation made her a
little giddy and she gave herself a stern reminder …

Your name is “Chiffon.”
Don’t forget it.

It wasn’t that she
usually had trouble remembering the name of her hooker alter-ego. She really
liked the name Chiffon, and she’d used it with dozens of johns without slipping
once. But T.R. was different. He disarmed her somehow.

Maybe it was because
he’d shown a trace of vulnerability the only other time they’d been together.
Things hadn’t gone well for the poor guy. Of course, she’d dutifully taken the
blame and cheerfully offered to make it up to him.

A little while ago
in the middle of the day, she’d spotted him sitting in his parked car a block
away from the Kinetic Custom Gym. He’d picked her up near the gym once before,
although he’d insisted they meet somewhere else to play. She thought it was
because he was too classy for a place like that. This time, she’d approached
him and suggested they give things another try.

Right now, she was
feeling a bit overwhelmed. She was used to holding her trysts in her sordid
little cubicle behind the gym or sometimes in a cheap motel. But today he’d
asked where she’d like to go if she could choose any place she wanted. She’d
thought it was a little game. More or less as a joke, she’d suggested this
expensive, out-of-the-way hotel. She’d never been here but knew it was a
vacation spot for well-to-do tourists.

The next thing she
knew, he was making a reservation on his cell phone. Then she was in his car
and on her way here. T.R. was certainly full of surprises. She wondered what
else he had in store for her tonight. She couldn’t wait to tell Mitzi all about
it. She was sure that her friend who also worked at the gym had never been to a
place like this.

He had left her in
the car and gone into the hotel alone to check in, carrying a suitcase and
wearing a hairpiece and expensive-looking glasses that changed his appearance.
She’d been surprised at how different those small changes made him look.

In a short time, he
had come back to the car to escort her through a side door and to their room.
When he opened the room door, she saw that it was beautiful and spacious.
Peeking into the bathroom, she saw that it was quite elegant. A sliding door
led from the room out onto a patio where pots of flowers were in bloom.

“How beautiful it
all is,” she exclaimed, heading toward the patio.

But he gently
blocked her way. “Sorry,” he said with a smile. Then he drew heavy drapes
across the sliding door.

Of course,
she realized.
How silly of
me.
He obviously didn’t want to be seen with her, and it was best for her
to stay completely out of sight.

She wasn’t bothered.
How could she be? It was part of the job.

She sat down on the
edge of the bed and looked around the room, eager to figure out what this john
would want her to do next. This place was expensive, and he’d promised her a
lot of money—money that she wouldn’t have to divide with Jaybird, the manager
of the gym. She was delighted with the opportunity, but one thing was bothering
her. She realized that T.R. might be expecting to spend a lot of time with her
here. That could be a problem for her.

The john didn’t
appear to be in a rush, and he seemed to be prepared for a leisurely afternoon.
He pulled a bottle of chilled white wine out of the mini-fridge and poured two
glasses. Handing one to her, he sat down in a plush armchair with his own. He
nodded and gestured as if making a toast, then sipped his wine and seemed to
relax into the chair.

She sipped her own
wine for a few moments. Then she got up nerve enough to tell him, “I’m sorry,
but I can’t stay long.”

“Why not?”

She fell silent. She
didn’t know what to say. She’d never told a john the truth about herself. She
hadn’t even told Mitzi everything. Jaybird was the only person who knew.

The man smiled a
gentle, sympathetic smile.

“You’ve got a
secret, haven’t you, Chiffon?” he said.

She said nothing.

He chuckled a
little. “I understand. I really do. I’ve got some secrets of my own.” Then,
after a pause, he added. “And I’ve got a bit of a confession to make. I feel a
real a kinship with you. I feel like we understand each other in a special way.”

She was becoming
quite moved. She’d never known a john to show this kind of openness. A lot of
them didn’t even bother talking.

“Tell me about it.”
He patted the suitcase. “I’ve got little surprise for you. I’ll give it to you
if you tell me.”

The woman took a
long, slow breath.

“My name isn’t
Chiffon,” she said.

“Well, mine isn’t
T.R.,” he said, chuckling again. “Tell me something both of us don’t already
know. Tell me your real name.”

She felt as if she
were on the edge of a precipice. But yes, she really did want to tell him. It
would be exciting to tell him. It would be a new kind of adventure.

“My name is
Gretchen,” she said.

“And?” the man
asked.

“And—I’m married. I’ve
got children.”

The man looked quite
delighted now.

“Two children?” he
guessed.

“No, three.”

He held her gaze for
a moment. Yes, it felt good to be doing this. She wasn’t sure just why, but it
felt absolutely right.

“I’m supposed to be
at home right now,” she said. “I’m supposed to be doing whatever it is that
stay-at-home mothers do. That’s what my husband thinks I’m doing. But it’s no
kind of a life. There are too many hours in a day. I can’t keep myself busy.”

“And you get bored,”
he said.

She giggled, feeling
relieved to be able to admit it aloud.

“Oh, yes! More bored
than you can imagine! But I do need to be home when the kids get back from
school.”

The man fingered the
top of his suitcase. “And you don’t need the money?”

“No. Well, the money’s
nice. My husband keeps a pretty tight hold on the purse strings. I like having
cash of my own.”

The man rose from
the chair and walked over to the bed, carrying the suitcase. He sat beside
Chiffon. He opened the suitcase just a little, holding it so that she couldn’t
see its contents.

“Close your eyes,”
he said.

She did so.

She felt his hands
at the back of her neck. He was putting something around her throat.

“Now you can look,”
he said.

She opened her eyes
and jumped up to see herself in a nearby mirror, then squealed with surprise.
She was wearing a thin silver necklace with an infinity sign. A little stone
sparkled in the center of it. A real diamond, she was sure.

It must have been
quite expensive. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Should she accept
it? She didn’t know when or where she’d be able to wear it. She certainly
couldn’t let her husband know about it.

Still, it was a
sweet gesture. It would be rude to reject it.

“Thank you,” she
said. Then she added, “I want to show you just how much this means to me.”

The man said
nothing. She looked into his eyes. They seemed to be full of affection.

“Aren’t you going to
tell me
your
name now?” she asked.

The man nodded. “In
a few minutes.
Go
get ready.”

She found it
fascinating, the way he gave orders like this. Somehow, his orders didn’t seem
terse or controlling. His voice and his face were much too pleasant.

She giggled with
delight and headed for the bathroom.

Wait until
Mitzi
sees this,
she thought.
Won’t she just
die!

And she felt sure
that T.R. still had other surprises in store. It was a thrill to try to imagine
what might happen next.

The man almost
laughed aloud when the little whore came out of the bathroom wearing nothing
but the necklace he had just given her.
The
view of her naked body didn’t arouse him. He knew it would take something more
to give him any satisfaction.

He was still
fully dressed, sitting in the big
upholstered chair across from the bed. He smiled at her, as if in appreciation.

“Get in bed,” he
told her.

Without a word, she
climbed between the luxurious satin sheets.

She pulled the
covers around her, looking like a shy little girl.

No,
he thought.
She looks just
like a hooker pretending to be a shy little girl.

He smiled broadly,
and detected the relief on her face. She was trying hard to please him. As he
got up and walked toward the bed, she moved the sheet downward to reveal her
ample breasts.

She smiled up at
him, and he was struck by how indifferent her efforts left him. Her little
antics were not serving any purpose. Her trusting smile was actually turning
him off.

“Put your hands
behind you,” he said.

She rolled over on
her side, facing away from him, and did as he had ordered.

“That’s good,” he
said. “Just stay like that.”

He had placed his
suitcase on a table near the bed and now he drew what he needed out of it.
Sitting on the bed behind the hooker, he deftly tied a rope around her wrists.

“Oh, my,” she
exclaimed. But she made no complaint. He was sure he wasn’t the first john who
had enjoyed tying her up. And after his show of generosity, he deserved to do
whatever he liked with her. And he would do exactly what he liked.

“Now sit up,” he
said. “I’ll help you.”

“All right,” she
said. “What do you want to do next?” She was giggling again, perhaps a little
nervously, he thought.

“Don’t turn around,”
he said.

On his knees behind
her on the bed, he stroked her hair.

“That’s nice,” she
murmured.

Then he slipped the
plastic bag over her head. She wasn’t giggling now. Stunned, she sat still for
a moment. Then she began to struggle. He held the bag there forcefully. She
thrashed her legs and kicked off the satin sheets. She tried to reach him with
her tied arms. With his hands he held the bag in place and kept her from moving
away from him.

After a few moments
he whispered, “I’ll tell you my name now.”

But he knew she
couldn’t hear him anymore, so he released her.

Then he sat on the
edge of the bed, looking at the naked and pathetic little pile of a woman lying
there. It had all happened much faster than he’d intended. He’d meant to dally
with her for hours, until after dark. But he’d had to act faster after she told
him that she didn’t have much time.

Not that he was
disappointed. To the contrary, having to improvise and change his tactics added
to his enjoyment. And he’d felt a wonderful sense of connection with her before
he had done it. This killing had given him more pleasure than either of the
others.

Now the pleasure
continued, a silent afterglow of satisfaction. He decided to just sit there and
savor that lovely feeling. The other times, he’d felt rather rushed to get rid
of the bodies. But there was absolutely no reason to hurry this time. He could
just wait here until dark.

And what was he
going to do until then? Well, he could watch television. But no, that didn’t
feel right at all. Chiffon—Gretchen—deserved more respect than that, a little
pampering and attentiveness even in death. The last time he’d been with her, he’d
found her a bit off-putting, and he hadn’t been sure that he liked her. But now
things were different.

He gently stroked
her hair and remembered what she’d said …

“There are too
many hours in a day. I can’t keep myself busy.”

He admired the
sentiment. Really, he did. Most people he knew lived Thoreau’s proverbial “lives
of quiet desperation,” day in and day out. Not knowing what to do with
themselves, they never did much of anything at all.

Not Gretchen. She
had been a worthy victim. There had been good sport in killing her.

Time passed at a
relaxed, meditative pace. He raptly watched the shadows shift over Gretchen’s
body as night settled in. He was surprised at how soon it seemed dark enough to
finish things. The rest of what he had to do was simple drudgery in comparison
to the act itself. Even so, it had to be done.

He pulled a black
body bag out of his suitcase. He’d used simple garbage bags in the past, but
now he thought better of it. A body bag seemed a much more secure receptacle.
He laid it across the bed, then arranged the body inside, still naked except
for the silver necklace.

Then he zipped the
bag up. He stepped out onto the patio to make sure nobody was around. His car
was parked only a few feet away.

He went back inside,
threw the remarkably lightweight burden over his shoulder, and carried it out
to his car. He opened the truck and put it inside.

He went back into
the room and looked around for anything Gretchen had left there. Her handbag
and the clothes she’d been wearing were in a neat pile on the bathroom floor.
Inside the handbag, he found her cell phone, a little cash, some keys, and some
Kleenex. He picked up the phone and stared at it for a moment. He was sure she’d
had no time to make a call, but when anybody started looking for her they’d try
to locate that phone. He put it on the floor and smashed it with his heel. Her
wallet held her driver’s license, some photos of kids, and a little cash. He
tossed it back into the handbag, then he put all her stuff into a garbage bag
to sling into some random dumpster far away from anything that could be
connected to him.

Then he walked
around the room making sure that nothing was left behind, just like any hotel
guest getting ready to leave. He hung a “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on the hallway
door. He wasn’t going to check out right now. He’d come back tomorrow morning
and do that, so that it would look like he’d spent the night here alone. Of
course, he’d checked in with a credit card with a phony name.

Finally he exited
through the patio, got into his car, and drove. As he drove into the deepening
night, he took stock of his current situation. Things were at a dangerous point
now. Because of his sloppiness with Nanette’s body, law enforcement at every
level was now arrayed against him. He was at very great risk.

To her credit,
Chiffon—Gretchen—embraced that kind of risk, positively lived for it. But his
approach to life was different. As a connoisseur and an epicure, he wasn’t out
to live life on the edge. He didn’t want to be famous. He’d be just as happy if
nobody ever found out about these murders. All he wanted was to enjoy the
moment of a woman’s death. It was a private matter between himself and his
victims.

Is that too much
to ask of life?
he wondered.

There was no
question in his mind that he deserved those pleasures.

Such thoughts passed
through his head during the two-hour drive to the lake. He’d chosen a different
lake this time, of course—one that was farther away from Phoenix, where no one
would think to look. This one, too, was an artificial, freshwater lake created
by flooding a deep canyon. He liked to come to lakes like these recreationally,
and he knew this one well.

With his headlights
off, he drove along a gravel road until he found the spot he was looking for.
He made no mistake this time. It was a ledge near the road that hung over the
water, and he knew that it dropped straight down into considerable depths.

He parked, got out
of the car, and looked around the scene. The moon shone but faintly through a
thick bank of clouds. The weather was certainly in his favor.

He got the body bag
out of the trunk. He zipped it open and arranged a number of heavy rocks around
the body. He zipped the bag up again and rolled it off the ledge. It made a
louder splash than he expected.

Suddenly a light
appeared. It seemed to be from a boat a few hundred feet from the shore. He
guessed that someone was nighttime fishing out there. But why had they turned
on the light? Had they heard the splash?

He doubted it. They
were probably changing bait or something. In any case, even with the light, he
was sure they couldn’t make out his form from such a distance. He went back to
his car, got in, and started to drive, keeping his headlights off until he was
a fair distance off.

It’s been a
marvelous night,
he thought.

He felt a bit
melancholy that the whole thing was over. But he promised himself that he’d do
it again soon.