Marian stared at him, her umber eyes scorched with anger. Seconds passed. A minute. She fell back onto the stack of pillows. Her eyes had gone blank, unfocused. “I guess I can’t deny the irony of this situation, can I?”

“No, you can’t. You’ve been on a self-destructive spiral for nearly two weeks. I’m here to make things easier for you. I’ll even give you a choice. The contents of that bottle—or this.” He revealed the gun he’d brought to emphasize her alternate option, never doubting she’d choose the one that fit his purpose.

A lone tear trickled from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “You’re right, you prick. I just don’t give a damn.”

Two hours later James crept out of Marian’s house, after making sure he’d left behind no trace of himself after deciding not to get creative and make her leave a suicide note.

When he crawled back in bed with the drugged blonde, he rolled up against her back and nibbled on her neck, his turgid cock almost painful with the urgency of his hunger.

“Mmm,” she purred, as she turned over and climbed on top of him.

62             

With Christmas over, Lisa, like many of her clients, sunk into a post-holiday depression—that, and fretting about the bizarre pact she’d made with TJ the night of the tequila, as she’d come to think of that memorable night. But Eric’s party was coming up; maybe she could scrape up some enthusiasm for the event.

The affair, a ‘50s-‘60s themed New Year’s Eve celebration, was held in the showroom of Eric’s classic car business. The third year of the event, it came complete with a DJ playing rock and roll, dance contests, and partiers decked out in vintage costumes.

TJ shadowed Wilson whenever she had time. It wasn’t an intense surveillance, but she’d wanted to get a feel for his routine. She’d heard from a friend on the force that he’d broken up with the chief’s daughter Claire, but TJ saw the couple meet for lunch the day before Christmas. Not what she’d wanted to see; she didn’t want to have to worry about the woman’s safety. She knew Claire to be a good person. Even without knowing he was a murdering fiend, TJ wondered how Claire had ever hooked up with a creep like Wilson.

She’d agreed to go to Eric’s party. Dressing in ‘50s style seemed absurd but might be fun. Lord knew they all needed—and deserved—some fun.

The thermometer dipped to minus twelve by six o’clock on New Year’s Eve. The party was in full swing when TJ arrived, parking illegally in the lot next to the bank across the street from Eric’s showroom. She shivered as she ran to the door, the bitter wind icy on her bare legs. One good thing about the ugly saddle shoes, they worked well on the slippery ground. The short leather jacket she wore did little to keep out the frigid air, but it was the only thing in her closet that had worked over the wide, pink poodle skirt.

Stanchions with red velvet roping bordered the showroom, arranged to provide plenty of room for dancing and still protect the cars. The dance floor already sprouted dancers trying to look—and dance—like teenagers from the rock and roll era.

“TJ!” Lisa laughed, when she saw TJ come in. “You look so cute!” Lisa wore another version of the skirt, yellow with a long Dachshund appliqued above the hem. TJ had only agreed on the costume after Lisa offered to have them made up for them.

“Yeah, yeah. Rollie got my hair into this ponytail thing. I gotta return the hairpiece though.”

She thought it all a little outrageous, but maybe with a drink or two she could get into the spirit of things. She hadn’t seen Jeff or Eric yet. “Where are the guys?”

“Eric’s been running around keeping everything going, and I don’t know where Jeff is. They’re going to have dance contests and karaoke later. He may be hiding out, trying to avoid getting roped into one of those.” Lisa grimaced. “I’m not crazy about them either. Maybe he’ll share his hiding place.

Shannon appeared, squealing, “We have to do a song together! It would be so neat!”

Lisa and TJ were saved from bursting Shannon’s party bubble by telling her that wasn’t going to happen, when a tall, young man sporting an Elvis-style pompadour asked Shannon to dance. She winked back at them as she followed him to the dance floor.

TJ turned to Lisa. “Let’s go get a drink and get in the party mood.”

“Sure. As long as it’s anything but tequila.”

TJ, worrying Lisa would back out of their arrangement, hurried her over to the bar. Thirsty guests, dressed in getups from the ‘50s, surrounded the bar, where the drink specials were the old favorites: Singapore Slings, Tom Collins, Screwdrivers, and Harvey Wallbangers.

After they’d picked up their drinks, TJ maneuvered Lisa to a quiet corner. “Been watchin’ Wilson.”

“What if he sees you?”

“He won’t see me! I’m not following his every move. Just want to get to know his routine.”

“It’s dangerous. If he starts to suspect we believe he’s the killer, he may try to go after you. Or me—again. Just because the police are working on the case now, it doesn’t guarantee our safety.”

“You’re right, but I want to be ready to make my move on him.”

Lisa gulped her drink. “Your move? Did you think I’d changed my mind?”

“Thought it was a possibility.”

“I haven’t. We can’t allow him to continue murdering innocent women.”

“He knows too much now—he’ll change how he’s doin’ things. Anybody could be his next victim.”

Lisa’s hands trembled, the ice cubes in her drink rattling. “That’s a frightening thought, isn’t it? I’ve been hoping he’d be forced to lie low for the time being.”

Jeff approached them wearing black slacks, white shirt with collar turned up, and black leather jacket. His curly hair was combed up on the sides, and rolled onto his forehead, Fabian style. TJ thought he looked sexy, but didn’t voice the compliment.

“You two ladies look cool and solid,” he said, attempting to mimic the parlance of the decade. He looked at TJ. “How did your hair grow so fast?”

“Magic!” She laughed. “Rollie magic.”

Appearing fascinated with TJ’s new look, he asked her to dance. She handed Lisa her drink, and followed him to the dance floor. The song, slow and sensual, encouraged couples around them to press together, arms circled about each other. TJ reveled in his closeness. He smelled so good. Not of any fancy cologne or aftershave, but his shirt smelled like soap and softener and his hair of shampoo. Clean, masculine smells. The dance floor thickened with couples, forcing them closer. TJ’s arms crept up around his shoulders and she felt his arms circling her back, his breath on her neck.

He whispered, “You feel so good.”

Aroused, she lowered her face to his chest, enjoying the moment. This can’t last. She had to be prepared. The aftereffect of what she and Lisa had planned would involve separation from the others. All the more reason to enjoy the night.

Eric took a break from watching over the party long enough to go to the bar for a drink. He found Lisa there watching the dancers and holding two drinks.

“What have we here, a two-fisted drinker?”

“TJ went to dance.” Lisa desperately wanted to have a good time tonight. Forget all about that monster James Wilson and what she and TJ had planned for him. She hadn’t seen Eric in the two weeks since she’d moved back to her house with Shannon.

“This is a wonderful party. Everyone’s gotten into the spirit.”

He looked over the room. “The same guests come back every year, so I must be doing something right. I’m happy all of you are here tonight. I’ve missed our little commune.”

He took the glasses out of her hand and led her to the dance floor.

By eleven-fifty, nearly everyone was on the dance floor, wearing shiny hats and blowing noisemakers. Clutching small cups of confetti, they stood ready to toss it in the air at the peak of midnight.