The Lady Has a Past (Burning Cove #5) - Amanda Quick Page 0,55
at the start of their association in New York he had believed she was the key to fulfilling his vision.
The threat of an impending disaster had forced them to close down the spa and move west. Initially he had taken great satisfaction in redesigning the game and luring fresh players. But now, once again, disaster threatened, and all because of Guppy.
He made another circuit around the room and stopped to refill his glass. He needed to calm down and think. He and Guppy had not realized the danger when Cage and his wife had checked in, but when Mrs. Cage had insisted that Frampton provide her facial, they had known something was wrong. Guppy had panicked. The result was the botched attempt to get rid of Lyra Cage in the steam chamber.
The arrangements for the routine kidnappings were carefully planned. In the end, no one talked. No one went to the police. But Cage and the woman were a different kind of problem. They had to disappear permanently, and it had to look like an accident.
He picked up the house phone. “Get me Madam Guppy.”
“Yes, Mr. Billingsley,” the hotel operator said. “I’ll ring her suite.”
Guppy answered after only one ring. “Yes?”
“It’s Billingsley. We need to talk. Tonight. The usual place. Usual time.”
He did not wait for her to acknowledge his orders. She would show up. She had as much to lose as he did.
He glanced at his watch. He had a few hours to kill before he met with the bitch. He went into the bedroom, pushed the bookcase out of the way, and spun the combination lock on the hidden wall safe. He opened the door. There was a pile of cash inside that he kept on hand in the event he needed emergency bribe money. There was also a bottle filled with the drug. He took the stuff with him when he traveled to Los Angeles. It made it easy to handle the streetwalkers. They weren’t as satisfying as the socialites but sometimes he needed additional stimulation.
He took out one of the two envelopes inside.
He crossed to the bed, unzipped his trousers, and pulled himself free of the briefs. He dumped the photos onto the bed and shuffled through them, looking for the ones that aroused him the most. He tossed the Merryweather images aside. She had been scared but not scared enough. He had seen the rage behind the fear. It ruined the experience for him. Made him nervous.
He picked up another photograph and studied the image of himself kneeling between the legs of the helpless woman. She was the socially prominent fiancée of a banker. The chain around her ankle was clearly visible. He liked that. The photograph made him look powerful. Potent. The woman was properly terrified.
He started to stroke himself, straining for an erection.
Thirty minutes later, he gave up. He could never come when he was actually with a woman, but afterward the photos allowed him to fantasize his way to a climax. At least that was how it had worked in the past. Lately, however, the pictures no longer stimulated him as much as they once had. He needed something more invigorating, the kind of stimulation he got with the prostitutes. When he was with them he could do as he pleased.
But Guppy would not allow him to do any physical damage to the women who were chosen for the game. She insisted it was too risky. He was forced to limit himself to the photographs.
He had figured out in his teens that his impotence was caused by women. All his life they had laughed at him. It was only when he had them chained to a bed that they finally realized he was the one in control. That was when they cowered and pleaded. That was when he saw fear in their eyes.
He collected the photos, got to his feet, and went to the nightstand. He took the pocketknife out of his trousers and carved a neat slash across the throat of Angela Merryweather.
He felt the stirring in his loins. Excitement rushed through him. One by one he went through the pictures, using the knife to cut the throat of each woman. Within minutes he was in the rush of an explosive climax.
When it was over he sank down onto the bed to savor the aftermath. For a long time he gazed at the photos. After a while he gathered them up and stuffed them back into the envelope.