Dead by Midnight Part 31

"What!" Lorie gasped. "You-you're moving in here with me?"

Mike looked her square in the eye. "That's right."

"But what about M.J. and Hannah?"

"My mother will be staying at the house with them."

"And Abby, what's she going to think about your moving in here with me?"

"Abby understands the situation," Mike said.

"Does she? I'm glad she understands, because I sure don't. How about explaining it to me?"

Chapter 23.

Lorie wasn't sure if she was relieved or not that Cathy and Jack had left so quickly. A part of her wished they had stayed, at least Cathy, for moral support. But on the other hand, she knew that this particular confrontation needed to be solely between Mike and her. His showing up at her door and announcing that he was moving in with her had come as a complete surprise.

No, surprise was too mild a word. Replace that with shock. Yes, that was how she felt. Totally shocked.

"My G.o.d, what were you thinking?" she demanded the moment they were alone. "People are already talking about us, so I can only imagine what is going to happen now."

When he stood there and stared at her, saying nothing, she marched over and stopped directly in front of him. "Why, Mike? Why are you doing this?"

"It's something I have to do," he told her, the words dragging out of him as if they caused him pain.

"And why is that?" She was not going to let him off with such a simplistic explanation. "It's not as if I didn't already have protection. Jack was here. And you have a deputy posted outside."

"Yeah, I know, but..." He hesitated, as if choosing his next words carefully. "I need to be the one protecting you."

She glared at him. "No, you don't. You need to be home with your children. You need to stay as far away from me as you can. Not only do you have a reputation to uphold, which you can't do living under the same roof with me, but you shouldn't put yourself between me and a killer. Hannah and M.J. have already lost one parent. I don't want to be the reason they lose another."

"Are you saying that you a.s.sume because Sh.e.l.ley Gilbert was murdered, someone will try to kill me?"

"Yes, of course, that's what I'm saying. You can't put your life on the line for me."

"But that's just it," he said. "If something happened to you and I knew that I hadn't done everything possible to keep you safe, I couldn't live with myself."

"d.a.m.n it, Mike, where is this sense of responsibility coming from? For nearly nine years, you were barely able to speak to me or even look at me, and when you did speak to me, you made it perfectly clear that you wanted absolutely, positively nothing to do with me."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks for reminding me of what a jerk I've been."

She was momentarily rendered speechless, her mind completely blank.

"I'm moving in and I'm staying until you're no longer in any danger. People can say whatever they want to say. I'm here as your personal bodyguard, not as your lover. If people want to believe otherwise..." He shrugged. "I have to do this. I wish I could give you a better explanation, but I can't."

"Hannah and M.J. will be-"

"For some inexplicable reason, my children seem to adore you. They're okay with my staying here. And my mother encouraged me to do this. She told me to do what I had to do."

Lorie huffed and threw up her hands in frustration, then glowered at him. "What about Abby Sherman? You can't tell me that she's honestly all right with her boyfriend living with another woman, even only as her bodyguard. She's well aware of the fact that the whole town knows all about our past history."

"Abby and I ended things this evening."

"What?"

Mike stayed focused on Lorie, his expression grim. "It was never right between Abby and me. I tried to make it work. G.o.d knows she tried. She's a fine woman, but...I don't love her. And my kids don't even like her. And my mother...h.e.l.l, listen to me, would you? My personal life is none of your d.a.m.n business and yet here I am explaining myself to you."

"You're right about that. Your personal life is none of my business. But your moving in with me is my business."

"I'm staying with you as your protector, to keep you safe. I'm certainly not standing here declaring my undying love for you or anything like that." He glanced down at the floor as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Our personal relations.h.i.+p hasn't changed. You're off-limits to me, the same as you've been ever since you came back to Dunmore."

"Screw you, Michael Birkett! I want you to leave. Get out of my house right now and don't come back."

He looked at her, his brow wrinkled, his gaze narrowed and anger brightening his blue-black eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for the duration, to do whatever I have to do to keep you safe."

Barely able to refrain from hitting him, Lorie uttered a frustrated groan. "d.a.m.n you. You do not get to play the martyr, willing to lay your life on the line and die to protect me. Whatever your reasons for doing this, please don't. If you're doing this to make it up to me for treating me like the dirt beneath your feet all these years, then don't. I absolve you of any sins you think you've committed against me. Go home, Mike. Go back to your safe, uncomplicated, above-reproach life. Take care of your kids and keep looking until you find yourself another Molly."

She'd had it. All she could take. The very thought of having to endure Mike's presence in her home night after night was more than she could bear.

She walked past him until she reached the hallway, and then she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door. For half a second, she considered locking it, but if Mike wanted in, a locked door wouldn't stop him. And in all honesty, she didn't think Mike would invade her privacy. Hopefully, she had persuaded him to leave. But whatever he decided to do-go or stay-she didn't have to deal with him again tonight. There would be time enough for that in the morning.

After kicking off her shoes, she fell across the bed and onto her stomach. Turning slowly onto her side, she released the tears she had been holding in check all day. As she lay there crying, her body instinctively curled into a fetal ball.

After setting the security alarm, Mike picked up his vinyl bag, flung it over his shoulder, and walked down the hall. Jack had given him the security code right before he and Cathy left. Mike paused outside Lorie's closed door. He'd made such a mess of things. In his own redneck, He-Man, take-charge way, he'd barged in and told Lorie how it was going to be. What kind of fool did that make him? If he'd ever stopped and thought about the situation, he would have known how she would react. Lorie had always hated being told what to do. As a teenager, she had rebelled against her father's stern domination and had sworn she would never be any man's doormat, the way her mother was. If her parents had been different, if they had seen her through his eyes, as the beautiful, exciting, free spirit he had fallen in love with, maybe things would have turned out differently for her. But he couldn't lay all the blame on her parents. As much as he hated to admit it-and had fought against the truth all these years-if he had encouraged Lorie's dreams of becoming a movie star, if he had gone to LA with her and been there for her when things went wrong, she would never have made that d.a.m.n p.o.r.no movie.

If he had it to do over again, what would he do?

Hindsight is twenty-twenty. No use crying over spilled milk. What's done is done. A dozen different ridiculous sayings came to mind. A dozen different ridiculous sayings came to mind.

If he had gone to LA with Lorie eighteen years ago, they could have come back to Dunmore together, as man and wife, if her career had failed. They would have built a life together here, the life he had always wanted for them.

But what if she'd made it big? What if she'd gotten just one lucky break and wound up becoming a star? Mike would have despised being thought of as Mr. Lorie Hammonds, the redneck hick husband that she'd brought with her from Alabama. He would have hated the glitz and glamour, the endless parties, the other social events, the premieres, and especially being hounded by the paparazzi.

So, he guessed that if he could do it over again, he'd make the same decision. He had done what he had to do. He had stayed in Dunmore. And Lorie had done what she had to do. She had gone to LA to seek fame and fortune.

Mike walked past Lorie's bedroom and glanced into the other rooms, searching and finding the room that Sh.e.l.ley Gilbert had used. The ABI folks had gone over that room with a fine-tooth comb. If Lorie had a second guest bedroom, he would prefer not sleeping in the room the murdered Powell agent had used.

He slipped his hand along the wall inside the open door of the pitch-black room at the end of the hall and flipped on the overhead light. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it actually was a bedroom of sorts. A mahogany spindle double bed had been placed against the wall and covered with a white spread like the one his mother used on her own bed. He'd heard her call it a Martha Was.h.i.+ngton bedspread. Funny what a guy remembered.

A treadmill occupied the opposite wall in front of the wooden blind-covered double windows facing the backyard. A large desk, probably an antique, had been painted a dark green to match the old Windsor chair that had been painted the same color. A mahogany barrister bookcase stood beside the closet door, the case filled with a variety of hardcover books and paperback novels.

Mike dropped his vinyl bag down beside the bed, removed the four decorative pillows from the bed, and placed them in the armchair shoved into the corner. It had been a very long day. He was bone weary and all he wanted was a good night's sleep. He pulled back the covers-bedspread, lightweight quilt, and top sheet-and decided he really had no choice but to take a shower. The bed linens were light green, the hems of the top sheet and both pillowcases trimmed with lace. A guy couldn't lie down on stuff that fancy without cleaning up first.

After retrieving his pajama bottoms, a clean T-s.h.i.+rt, and a clean pair of briefs from his bag, he headed for the bathroom situated between the two guest rooms. He flipped on the light, closed the door, and turned on the shower. He'd searched through every drawer in his dresser at home before finding the one pair of pajamas he owned. He had stuffed the bottoms into his duffel bag, along with his shaving kit, underwear, and a change of clothes.

Dead on his feet, he nearly fell asleep beneath the warm spray of soothing water, but he managed to wash, step out of the shower, and dry off as quickly as possible. Once dressed in the PJ bottoms and white T-s.h.i.+rt, he gathered up his dirty laundry wrapped in his damp towel and walked out into the hallway. He'd had every intention of going straight to the guest room and falling into bed, but the same stupidity that had brought him here tonight urged him to check on Lorie.

He knocked softly on her door. No response. He called her name. She didn't reply. He grasped the doork.n.o.b and turned it. The door eased open.

She hadn't locked it.

He stood in the doorway and looked into her room, his gaze settling on her bed. She lay there, sprawled sideways, her body semi-curled, one arm draped over the second pillow. Plantation shutters covered both windows, their slats partially open. Only the light from the hall wall sconces and the minimum of moonlight from a crescent moon illuminated her still figure. He took several uncertain steps into the room and then paused.

What the h.e.l.l was he doing?

He was checking on Lorie, making sure she was all right.

She's fine. She's sound asleep. Now get your a.s.s out of here p.r.o.nto.

Walking backward, he eased out of her bedroom and left the door open. If she needed him during the night...Once out in the hall, he turned and moved quietly toward the guest room.

He dumped his dirty clothes in a loose pile beside his bag, then partially opened both window blinds to allow in a little moonlight. After turning off the overhead light, he crawled into bed and pulled the covers to his waist. He lifted up his arms, entwined his fingers, and slipped both hands under the back of his head. He lay there and stared up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling.

Why, Mike? Why are you doing this? Lorie's words played repeatedly in his mind. Lorie's words played repeatedly in his mind.

He had told her the truth, or as much of the truth as he had been able to admit to himself. He was here because he had to be here. If he didn't do everything within his power to keep Lorie safe and the Midnight Killer murdered her, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He had let Lorie down more than once, first when he hadn't been able to make himself leave Dunmore and go to LA with her. And the second time had been when she came home, her life in shambles, her pride destroyed and her reputation ruined. The first time, she had been equally at fault. She could have stayed with him. But the second time, when she returned to Dunmore nine years ago, he could have, at the very least, treated her with human kindness. His mother had pleaded with him to befriend Lorie. Even his wife had wanted him to offer Lorie a helping hand.

A man couldn't tell his mother and certainly not his wife that his bitter hatred for his former girlfriend was deeply rooted in one unbearable fact-deep down in the depths of his heart and soul, he still loved Lorie as much as he hated her. He didn't want to love her. G.o.d knew he tried not to love her, not to want her, not to need her on some basic, primal level. And over the years, he had been able to convince himself that all he felt for her was hatred and contempt. Odd, how a man could lie to himself so easily and could make himself believe what he wanted to believe.

So, what now? Now that he had finally admitted the truth to himself?

He could stop hating Lorie. Actually, he'd already done that.

And he could keep her safe. He could protect her from a deranged killer. He could do what he needed to do. This time, he wouldn't let her down.

Mike tossed and turned, flipping from one side to the other in an effort to relax and get comfortable. He tried resting flat on his back, but that didn't work. He flopped down on his stomach and flung his arms, elbows bent, on either side of his head. d.a.m.n it, he needed rest, needed sleep. But sleep wouldn't come.

When this was all over, when the Midnight Killer had been stopped, when he knew for sure that Sh.e.l.ley Gilbert's murder wasn't in any way connected to Lorie, then he could resume his normal life. But in the meantime, he had to keep reminding himself that he and Lorie had no future together. It didn't matter that his mother liked her or that his kids adored her or even that he still loved her. And it really wasn't about forgiveness. He could forgive her and maybe she could forgive him. He might even get past the fact that every man in the county, including his friends, employees, and neighbors, had seen Lorie naked in Playboy Playboy. But how did he erase the memory of watching her having s.e.x with two other guys?

Face it, Mike, some things just weren't meant to be.

She lay in his arms, her back to his chest, her naked b.u.t.t pressed against his arousal. He nuzzled her neck and breathed in the sweet, floral scent of her hair, still damp from the shower they had taken together. He kissed her neck and her jaw and then moved up to circle her ear with his tongue. She moaned softly and cuddled closer as she grasped his hand and brought it to her mouth. She licked up and down each finger and laughed when he groaned deep in his throat.

"You're wicked," he told her as he turned her in his arms, bringing them face-to-face.

"And you love it." Smiling seductively, she winked at him.

"I love you," Mike said. "I love you so d.a.m.n much."

"Not any more than I love you." Lorie reached up and twined her hands behind his neck. "Sometimes I love you so much it hurts."

He slipped his hand between her thighs and touched her intimately. "Tell me where it hurts, baby, and I'll make it stop hurting."

"Now who's being wicked?" She laughed as he lifted himself up and over her, bracing himself with a hand on either side of her head. "You know where and you know just what to do." She spread her legs in a blatant invitation.

Mike lifted her hips as he delved deeply and completely, taking her with a fierce hunger that equaled their mating in the shower less than an hour earlier. He could never get enough of Lorie. The more he made love to her, the more he wanted her.

She came first, crying out his name as her nails bit into his b.u.t.tocks. That action sent him over the edge, headlong into an explosive o.r.g.a.s.m.

He melted down on top of her and lay there until his heartbeat slowed and the aftershocks stopped rippling through his body. When he slid off her and onto his back, she eased away from him and got out of bed.

"Where are you going?" He held out his hand to grasp her and prevent her from leaving.

"I have to go," she said. "He's waiting for me."

"Who's waiting for you?" Mike sat up in bed.

"The Midnight Killer."

"No! You can't go. I won't let him have you."

She paused halfway to the door, and then turned and offered him a farewell smile. "I have to go. I have to pay for my sins. Once I'm gone, you can forget me. I can never hurt you or disappoint you ever again."

Mike jumped out of bed and tried to catch Lorie before she left the bedroom, but his feet were so heavy that he couldn't move.

"Lorie! I'll never forget you. Never. Please, don't go. Don't leave me again."

She disappeared down the hallway.

Mike's chest ached. His breathing became labored. He tried to move, to run after her, but it was as if his feet were glued to the floor.

If he couldn't stop her, couldn't save her, then she would die.

If she died, he would die.

Then he heard the gunshots. One. Two. Three. Four. And in between each shot, Lorie screamed, each an agonized plea for help.

He cried out her name repeatedly, his voice intermingling with her screams and the gunshots.

Suddenly silence.

He managed to lift his heavy feet and move toward the door. It seemed to take forever to reach the hallway. Halfway down the hall, he felt something wet beneath his feet. He looked down and saw a narrow red stream trickling along the hardwood.

And at the end of the hall-G.o.d, please, no!