Forbidden (Southern Comfort) O'Neill, Clark (best way to read books .txt) š
Book online Ā«Forbidden (Southern Comfort) O'Neill, Clark (best way to read books .txt) šĀ». Author O'Neill, Clark
And Clay hadnāt seen one shred of evidence which suggested the man had any type of association, professional or otherwise, with anyone else. Either the man they were searching for had come and swept the apartment prior to staging his accompliceās suicide, or their normal protocol involved living completely separate from one another.
Which was probably the case. The man whoād obviously engineered this enterprise was too smart to spend more time in the albinoās presence than he had to, and he was probably adamant about circumspection in behavior.
Until today.
And now, joy of joys, Clay and the other law officers whoād drawn the short stick that was this case, got to sit through several hours of thoroughly stomach-turning porn, in the hopes that they might A.) Be able to identify some of the girls shown on the tapes, or B.) Find any clues which might help lead them to the dead manās partner.
āTell āem to go ahead with whatever they need to do. Iāve seen enough.ā And wasnāt that the truth.
Kim disappeared through the door, and Clay leaned against the railing, watching the colors of impending sunset dance across the broad expanse of sky over Beaufort Bay. The apartment which William Wayne had inhabited for the past few months was one of four in an elegant old building, a shining example of antebellum architecture from the cityās pre-Civil War heyday.
A graceful collection of curved balustrades, heavy masonry, tabby foundation and waved glass windows, the building was surrounded by both ancient oaks and towering palmettos, and offered stunning views of the water over which it stood watch.
Sailboats, wings unfurled, glided past other pleasure craft on the silent waters, which lapped gently along the seawall in undulating waves. A salt breeze blew in periodically, carrying the scents of diesel and brine, breaking the stillness of the air which hung thick and damp after the earlier storm. Lingering raindrops fell from the fronds of the nearby palmettos in a steady, rhythmic patter. A lone blue heron, unfurled wings more graceful than the sailboatsā, soared high and far into the heavy cover of dusk.
It was too beautiful a view for a degenerate.
Sighing, Clay loosened his tie from his sweat-dampened collar, trying to catch some of the cooling whisper of air as it sighed past. He was hot, tired and disgusted. More than ever, heād like to pack it in and call it a day.
But there was a monster still out there somewhere, who saw dollar signs in a young girlās innocence.
And since he had to get into the forbidden corners in the mind of that monster, he, like evil, couldnāt sleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JR double-checked the contents of his grandmotherās valise, making sure he had everything he needed. The chloroform would suffice until the stronger drug in the syringe could take effect, and he stuffed both into the deep pockets of his housecoat.
The padding he wore slicked his stomach with sweat, and the fake skin on his face and arms itched. But these were minor inconveniences, considering the end goal. He comforted himself with the fact that this was the last time heād ever have to assume the old bitchās persona.
Of course, it was also the last time heād be able to walk about publicly as JR Walker.
It wouldnāt take long, after heād done what heād come to do, for the police to run everyone whoād stayed at the Inn tonight. And even though heād done all that he could to eradicate his trail, eventually the fuzz would get around to putting two and two together. Then theyād show up at his grandmotherās farm with a search warrant.
The place would be empty, but theyād find Billy Wayneās blood on the floor and the walls, and inevitably theyād start a search for sweet little Almaās grandson.
Of course, by that time heād be long gone, with a completely new identity. Maybe this time heād make his transformation a little more final with plastic surgery.
JR Walker, no more.
Heād move around for a while, lose himself in city after city. After the trail had gone cold and the search died off, heād pick a nice spot and settle down.
Maybe get a dog.
Kids liked dogs.
He laughed lightly, thinking how perfect this whole thing had turned out. Heād jettisoned Billy Wayne, whom heād been carrying like excess baggage for too many years, and he finally had the opportunity to mete out a little justice to Tate Hennessey.
He wondered how long it would take for her to figure it out.
Sheād stood there, shaken his hand, and hadnāt had an inkling of who he was.
He had to admit there was a little thrill in that.
He unlocked the latches on the old piece of Samsonite, and studied the size of the space within the hard walls. Sheād come awfully damn close to picking up the suitcase, and then the little bitch might have realized it was empty. And wouldnāt that have been an interesting situation? He could have played the crazy old lady card, but why make anyone suspicious before he had to?
He ran his hand around the inside of the case. It was solid, and air might be a problem after a while, but he wouldnāt allow enough time to pass for suffocation. Heād only gotten one brief glimpse of the kid, as he was being shepherded upstairs for bedtime, because Tate hovered over him like a mother hen. Not encouraged to mingle with the guests. Blah, blah, blah. Paranoid bitch, wasnāt she?
The boy looked like the mother, all dark hair and big green eyes.
And he was small enough to fit in the suitcase.
After milking the old lady ā who was like most normal grandmas, and couldnāt pass up a chance to talk about her progeny ā heād discovered the kidās name was Max.
Of course, it wouldnāt be Max for long.
Like JR, heād have to undergo an identity change. And while it
Comments (0)