Three Times a Lady

PART IV

TROPICAL DEPRESSION

‘Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says: In My wrath I will unleash a violent wind and in My anger hailstones and torrents of rain will fall with destructive fury.’

Book of Ezekiel, chapter 13, verse 13.





CHAPTER 26

Four months after his exquisitely flawless murder of Dinah Leach down in Atlanta, Nicholas Preston sat in his rental car outside the Cuyahoga County Coroner’s Office in Cleveland, Ohio, on a snowy winter’s night, idly thumbing through a slender copy of People magazine while listening to Boy George work his way through a soulful rendition of The Crying Game.

The cover of Nicholas’s magazine featured a very pretty woman about ten years younger than himself. Short blonde hair framed a beautiful face punctuated by a pair of pale blue eyes. Her milky-white skin would have looked right at home in a Noxzema advertisement within the glossy pages of his magazine. A small brown mole sat just above the right side of her mouth. Her lips were thin but kissable – if you were into that kind of thing, which Nicholas most certainly was not.

But Dana Whitestone was a good-looking woman, no two ways about it. Shit, she was almost as beautiful as Annabeth Preston.

Almost as beautiful as Nicholas himself.

According to the article he was reading at the moment, the FBI agent had never been married. He wondered why. Someone as attractive and successful as her should have been hitched years ago. The combination of her youthful good looks and decidedly cerebral nature would have presented quite the catch for most men: a real piece of arm-candy with a highly functioning brain to match.

Nicholas shook his head. Wasn’t any of his business why she’d never gotten married. He was sure she had her reasons. Still, Dana Whitestone was another one of those people who didn’t quite deserve all the publicity she’d been getting lately. For what? For doing her f*cking job? So she’d caught a few serial killers over the past couple of years and had bumped her head in a minor plane crash where hardly anybody had died at all. Big goddamn deal. What was all the fuss about?

Nicholas pressed his painted lips together in irritation. It would take more than just a few magazine articles singing her praises as the top law-enforcement official in the country to escape his special list.

Though Dana Whitestone didn’t know it yet, she’d be the one to ultimately ensure Nicholas’s own fame. And Nicholas knew exactly how she’d do it, too. Exactly when she’d do it, as well. His mother had spelled out everything for him in excruciating detail; right down to killing blow. And it was an absolute beauty. A worthy conclusion to this thrilling ride. Pretty soon, Dana Whitestone would know how it would all end, too. Know it until she begged Nicholas to put her out of her misery already and just let sweet, sweet death take her away.

Nicholas narrowed his beautiful eyes when the celebrated FBI agent finally stepped out of the coroner’s office twenty minutes later, punching in a number on her cellphone as she did so. No doubt the dumb bitch was giving yet another interminable interview to the press. He swallowed back the acrid flood of stomach acid that rushed into his mouth as Dana Whitestone gleefully recounted her hopelessly boring story for the billionth goddamn time, grinning like the goddamn Cheshire Cat the entire time.

Big mistake, honey. I’m not the sort of woman you should f*ck with. Neither is my mother, for that matter.

Nicholas chuckled softly. He just couldn’t help himself. He was feeling especially catty tonight, no doubt about it. As catty as he’d ever felt in his entire life. And why not? He was looking good tonight. His dress and shoes and jewellery had been selected precisely for the occasion, as had his hair, makeup and underwear – a bright pink Victoria’s Secret thong worn in honour of the late and not-so-great Dinah Leach. Any way you looked at it, he was ready for this.

Still, Dana Whitestone represented the last name on his list. If she was really lucky, she might survive the night due to that annoying little technicality. No guarantees, though, of course.

For now, though, Nicholas would simply have to content himself with watching Dana Whitestone from a distance. Watching her and waiting. When the time was absolutely right, that was when he could spring out from the shadows like a rapist in the night and catch her completely off-guard. Teach her the lesson that Annabeth Preston had taught him so well all those years ago.

Pride cometh before a fall.

That said, it didn’t mean Nicholas couldn’t have a little bit of fun right now, did it? Of course it didn’t. Why should he wait any longer? Why not get the festivities under way while he was looking this good?

Stepping out of his rental car, Nicholas approached the two men in overalls who were loading boxes into the back of the coroner’s office building while Dana Whitestone gabbed into the cellphone at her ear, much too preoccupied with her own story to notice Nicholas’s movements. The men’s pupils widened in admiration as they took in Nicholas’s stunning feminine beauty, causing him to shake his head in bemusement.

Men. They were all the same. Only interested in one thing. Eight years old or eighty, some things never changed.

‘Hey there, boys,’ Nicholas said, sounding exactly like the confident woman he’d always dreamed he’d be. ‘You two interested in making a little bit of money tonight? If you play your cards right, there might even be a couple of blowjobs in it for you, too.’

***

As the older and taller of the two workers present in the parking lot of the coroner’s office – not to mention the tougher of the pair – Larry Randle spoke first.

At fifty-seven years old and on work release from prison for the ninth time, he’d begun to suspect lately that working for a living just wasn’t going to cut it. Too much bullshit to deal with. Too many asses to kiss. Hell, being in prison was actually easier than living in the real world. He wanted to go back to the joint. After all, three hots and a cot certainly weren’t anything to sneeze at.

‘Hell yeah,’ he said, digging his elbow into his partner’s ribs. ‘Some cash and a BJ sounds just about right to us. What do you need from us, honey?’