Chapter Three
There were very few instances that Alex had seen Dylan scared. Dylan Sanders just didn't get scared. The life she had led produced a malleable personality that hardened with experience, bruised with love.
Alex knew that Dylan's addiction to danger was probably some psychological impulse that had morphed into habit. Unlike Alex, who's 'thrill seeker' factor had emerged out of a desperate search for a way to relieve the boredom that permeated her life, Dylan had grown to live and love danger because she had to. Still, the reasons never mattered. It was the first thing they found they had in common, and the discovery had rewarded her with one of her best friends.
The fact that Dylan's face was now pasty white with what had to be fear was extremely unsettling. She was alone in the dark alley, but her eyes were wide and her form was trembling.
"What's wrong?" It came out demanding and curt, but Alex was too worried, too rushed, too tired to care.
"Nothing." Dylan's head jerked back to the nothingness of the alley. She seemed to be struggling to breathe.
"Dylan-"
"I'm fine!" she insisted. "I'm fine." Another short breath, a stiff swallow, and Dylan stepped forward. "What is it?"
Alex didn't have time to pry. Her hand closed around Dylan's fingers, pulling her back in the direction they had come. "Sandy Chin got stabbed."
Dylan's eyes met hers in a startled gaze. Immediately, she moved with Alex, boots clicking down the dank cement.
"When did it happen?" she asked.
"Just after you ran off," Alex answered. She didn't need to look to know that Dylan wouldn't answer the unspoken question.
In the distance, some fifty feet away, 'The Dancing Harlot' had created a whole new order of chaos. The crowd that before had milled in an aura of sophistication was now tensely gathered, whispering throughout. On the red carpet that led Hollywood's finest in the new exclusive club, a figure that resembled the leading man of the hit dramedy Silverlake, lay mangled, dripping blood.
"Shit," was Dylan's pronouncement.
"Right there with you," Alex whispered back.
Police sirens pounded in the distance, the bright lights from the cars cast shadows across the dark walls. From the crowd emerged a blonde, expression taught with worry. With a shake of her head, Natalie kept her hands out to grab the elbows of each Angel, drawing them back.
"The police are coming," she said quickly. "Let's stay out of it.'
There was enough urgency in Natalie's tone not to ask questions.
Immediately, Alex broke away, the trio moving off like a triangle; one the way she came, the runner past the crowd, slowing down long enough to be curious at the morbid show before speeding off down the alley.
Alex's job was a little harder. Unable to follow Dylan, and not suitably dressed to blend in like Natalie, getting back to the car required her to go a full block out of her way.
Dylan and Natalie were already seated in the Mercedes when she pulled open the door. Casting a quick glance around her before settling in and pulling on her seatbelt, Alex's heartbeat finally began to slow down to a decent tempo.
"We're going to have to go back eventually." Dylan broke the silence. The rebel curled in the back seat with Spike, one hand buried in the dog's mane, the other at her throat, rubbing at her naked neck.
Alex's eyes narrowed.
"We don't need to," Natalie said. Blue eyes stormy with focus, she unlocked Alex's glove compartment, pulling out a scrunchy. "You guys know who he is."
Dylan was quiet, but Alex caught on immediately. "The victim was stabbed."
"The assassin shot with a luger," Dylan said. Through the rear view mirror, Alex tried to catch her expression, but Dylan was looking out the window, face hidden by her curls.
"And at the exact same moment Sandy Chin was stabbed, someone had a problem with hair," Natalie said pointedly.
Alex sucked in her breath. Even with Natalie's talk of ghosts, even with Dylan's uncharacteristic actions only minutes before, she still had trouble believing it.
"It's the Thin Man," she breathed. "I thought he was dead! We saw him fall off that roof!"
Natalie nodded. "Well, if falling from a bridge, getting shot off a mansion, and crashing into a cement underpass won't do it, a little six story plunge should be a piece of cake."
"Dylan," Alex said. Her neck craned to view the redhead. "What happened to his medallion?"
"What medallion?" Natalie asked.
"His medallion, the one she was wearing around her neck," Alex said crisply.
Natalie's mouth dropped open, and Alex knew that if Dylan had ever thought about killing her, it was now. Dylan hadn't mentioned why she wore the medallion for a reason, and Alex would have never asked, but the Thin Man was after Jason.
To hell with privacy or tact.
But Dylan didn't look angry. Impossibly large eyes moved from Natalie to Alex. She pulled Spike closer and sighed, eyes drifting closed as she breathed the dog's scent in.
"It was him," she admitted, words almost buried by Spike's fur. The puppy, as if sensing her turmoil, gave her a tentative lick. "I ran after him, and he was in that alley. He took the medallion, but that's all."
"He didn't say anything?" Natalie's question was impulsive, and when both Dylan and Alex threw her an incredulous look, she immediately blushed. "Nevermind."
"The saber, the gun, the witness-"
"The shoes," Natalie offered.
"That's it then." Slapping at the steering wheel, Alex made a turn that might have been a bit too rough. "It's the Thin Man we're after."
Dylan looked troubled. "That's too easy."
At that, even Natalie turned, almost as if staring at Dylan could make her understand what she had just said. "I don't think we're looking to make it hard."
"Dylan, why would he not be?" Alex asked.
Dylan struggled to think of something. Her mouth pursed, and finally, she slumped against the seat.
"It's the Thin Man," she said finally, almost as she were defeated.
In the awkward silence that followed, Alex felt the foreign feeling of edginess.
It wasn't the first time Dylan had cut herself off from the group, but even now, Dylan's admission had seemed doubtful.
The Thin Man and his kiss and hair pulling had changed things. Him and damned Seamus and every other bad guy Dylan could never quite stay away from.
"Why does no one stay dead anymore?" she whispered angrily.
--
He shouldn't have survived that fall.
Seamus had stabbed him with his own sword.
That should have killed him. He should have been dead to her right then and there.
After all, what the hell was he? A morally ambiguous mute orphan who had switched sides for no apparent reason, kissed her for who knew the hell what-
It wasn't like they could have dated. It wasn't like she could have brought him over to Natalie's for Scrabble Night.
Just the image of the Thin Man standing around the barbeque while Jason talked about the hazards of make-up and Pete burned another burger was enough to make her smile.
It faded just as quickly.
He was dead to her.
And yet, here he was again, with a sting in her neck and a litter of dead celebrities in his wake.
Alex pulled into the Chateau's private driveway, waving off the valets.
"Chances are he's working for someone," Dylan said.
"Our best bet is to start cross checking the victim's personal lives, see if they intersect," Natalie agreed.
Well, if she had to face hers, Alex was going to have to take her share.
Passing a glance at Alex, Dylan said, "And since we don't know where he is or who he works for, we should probably look into protecting Jason."
Alex shot her a glance. Arching an eyebrow, Dylan waited. As if asking for support, Alex looked to Natalie, but the blonde shrugged apologetically.
"Yeah," she said. "We don't know if this is personal, yet."
Alex was beaten by logic and she knew it.
"Fine."
Dylan almost grinned.
"Get out," Alex snapped, but there was no bite in the tone, and when Dylan wrapped her arms around both girls to give them an awkwardly positioned hug, Alex held on to the arm around her throat and brushed her lips against the sleeve lightly.
Natalie's kiss to Dylan was a playful smack against her cheek.
"We'll go full throttle tomorrow," she said. "Even Creepy Thin Men have to sleep sometime."
"I don't know," Alex remarked, "There's a reason they're creepy."
But all Dylan managed was a tight smile at the joke. Slamming the door a little harder than necessary, she shrugged.
"I'll see you later."
--
It was a joke she should have found funny.
But it wasn't.
Dylan didn't know what made her more angry: the fact that her friends made it or the idea that she could actually be bothered to care for a guy who she never really knew.
It was stupid.
Pushing open the door with a hard shove directed by her shoulder, Dylan entered the bungalow.
The place was cluttered, messy with her things strewn around. Natalie's coat was hanging over one of the plush chairs. Alex's boots, given to her when she returned, were tossed in a corner next to the closet.
Dylan smiled. Alex would have a heart attack had she ever seen her boots treated so carelessly.
She crossed the room, picking up the boots and throwing them into the closet, right next to the pile of the hundred or so other shoes she kept around because she had to.
The closet was over stuffed with Angels clothes.
Even the dresser seemed to be bursting at the seams.
Dylan frowned. Rubbing at her neck, at the small welt that had been left when the necklace had been snapped from her, she hissed.
"Well," she whispered. "At least I should be glad he didn't steal another lock of hair. At this rate I'll go bald."
Fingers shifted to the familiar spot. She never had to try to remember the sting that came with the hairs being yanked.
Her face in the dresser, with the hair still curled in her reporter's ringlets and carefully made-up, looked beautifully distant.
She was almost Alex, here.
Eyes drifted down to the dresser, and almost out of their own accord, she found her fingers tipping over a jewelry box made of shells and cast in sand stone.
Nestled inside, tangled in rings and earrings, was a short black lock of hair tied together by a string.
It was just hair.
It belonged to a killer. Just like, it seemed, every other man in Dylan's life, with exception to poor Chad.
She sighed. And even Chad looked the picture of mentally mature compared to what she was thinking.
"Fuck it," she said.
If he was going to do this to her, she was damned well going to understand why.
Stuffing the lock of hair into her pocket, Dylan turned, grabbing her keys, and heading for the door.
--
Jason was so dense sometimes.
Alex had repeatedly told him that, as a celebrity, he needed to be careful with himself.
Anyone could find the spare key he kept inside his potted plant. It was like he had taken every movie cliché from every movie he had been in and decided to use them as a manual for living.
Opening the door and moving inside, Alex found her ex-boyfriend in the living room.
When she did, she nearly laughed with exasperation.
Jason was in the living room, the thousand dollar stereo blasting 'YMCA', his hips shifting merrily as he blasted out the song.
Oh, God. If his fans could see him now.
When he made another shimmy, shifted into a turn, and caught her leaning placidly in the doorway, he gave a rather unmanly yelp, tripped on his microphone wire, and careened into the sofa, tipping it backwards and landing in a pile on the other side.
"Jason!"
Jason Gibbons was still trying to gain control of his heart thwacking against his chest when soft hands lifted his head and placed them on a soft pillow of thighs. Eyes blinked open, and Jason inhaled, suddenly surrounded by what appeared to be two perfectly shaped breasts brushing the tip of his nose.
"Alex?" he whispered dreamily.
"Jason!"
"Alex?!" Eyes shooting open widely, Jason blinked, suddenly struggling up. "What are you doing here?!"
"Are you okay?" she asked, ignoring the question completely.
"I'm fine!" Rubbing his head and moving to the stereo, he shut it off with a click. "What are you doing here?"
Alex, as usual, looked absolutely beautiful and put together. Her hands rested on her thighs, looking up at him with almond eyes that always seemed to be somewhere else.
Never on him.
With a nervous sigh, Alex smiled. "Look, with your costar dying on the redcarpet-"
He winced.
"I'm sorry about Annabeth, Jason."
"Well, thank you, but... you know, you could have called." Jason stuck out his chest, tittering slightly. "I mean, just because someone very close to me died doesn't mean you can come around expecting me to want sympathy sex from you! I have my limits, Alex, and-"
"Jason-"
"Well, maybe if you wanted to just go one round, I could probably-"
"Jason-"
"I do need the comfort and-"
"Jason!" Alex was suddenly in front of him, palm slapped over his mouth to keep him from talking. "I'm not here to give you sympathy sex, you... dork."
"You're not?"
"No!" At the harsh tone, Alex blanched. With a step back, she attempted to calm herself, before managing a stiff smile and shrugging. "I'm here to take care of you for the night. The Angels are going to take shifts until we can be sure that whoever killed Annabeth and Sandy Chin isn't after you."
"You think they're after me?" Jason's voice nearly squeaked, but to his credit, he got over the fear enough to glare self righteously. "It doesn't matter. Alex, look, I can take care of myself."
"Jason-"
"I can! I'm an action start, dammit!"
He crossed his arms. He wasn't budging on this. A man's pride was stake. It was a precious thing.
Alex considered.
"Fine, okay, maybe you can, but if would make ME feel better if you would let me stay."
"Alex-"
"And if you don't I'll tie you up and leave you in the bathroom. And this time," she added when his eyes widened, "I won't remember the safety word."
The actor gulped, and it was such a cute sight that Alex would have smiled had she not been so deadly serious.
--
"You're quieter than usual."
Natalie often wondered where on earth Pete had been hiding the first twenty-eight years of her life.
Tugging on a bone with Spike attached at the mouth on the other side, he looked absolutely beautiful, grinning up at her with his head cocked, very nearly mimicking Spike.
Natalie shrugged, placing the chai tea latte on the counter, and hopping off.
"It's been an interesting night at work," she remarked, settling on the floor next to him, rubbing at Spike's haunches.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
Natalie considered. Pete looked ready to listen, but she honestly wondered how much of it all he would want to know.
"Well... the Thin Man's alive," she admitted finally. "And Dylan's acting tremendously weird, and Alex is really freaked out over Jason but doesn't want to admit it, and nobody stays dead anymore-"
"Nat?" Pete opened his arms, and Natalie settled in them gratefully.
Breathing in his cologne, and rubbing her fingertips gently on his forearm, she continued. "And if nobody stays dead, does that suddenly mean that we're going to have Seamus O'Grady coming over and trying to kill Dylan all over again, and Eric Knox, and if that happens, will Dylan run off trying to save us again-"
"Dylan does have an interesting choice in men," Pete agreed.
"She kissed the Thin Man," Natalie whispered.
"The Thin Man?"
With a distracted nod, she sighed. "Alex told me. And she doesn't understand it, and neither do I, really. Why him? He's a killer! He's proved it again! What about Dylan makes her want to do this?"
From beneath her, Natalie felt the shift of a warm body, and push and pull of muscles, as Pete curled his arm further around her body, pulling her in with a palm flat against her stomach.
"Well," he said finally, "More than likely the same thing that made Alex break up with Jason when she's clearly still in love with him."
Natalie smiled grimly. Craning her next to glance at her boyfriend, she couldn't help but wonder in a half serious joke, "So are we the only two people in this entire world involved in a happy, stable, somewhat normal relationship?"
"Well, I don't know about that," he chuckled. "I can be dangerous. Tonight? I mixed Red Bull and Vodka with Rum!"
She couldn't help but burst into laughter.
He shrugged. "Granted it was a mistake, but... I'm a man on the edge!"
"Yeah, you're a real thrill seeker."
"Only from seeing you, Nat."
She was lucky. Very, very, very lucky.
Pulling him in closer, Natalie's eyes closed.
She blocked out Alex, and she blocked out the Dylan, and everything that was careening out of control on this case in favor of Pete's welcoming kiss.
Just for a minute.
--
Marlin had the same reaction to famous bodies that he did to regular bodies.
Didn't matter if they were extraordinary when they were alive. Dead bodies were dead bodies no matter how dead they were.
Pulling out the body, he shivered in the cold.
Lifeless coal black eyes stared up at him. Sandy Chin had been extraordinary in real life. Marlin would even say he had been a fan. That show of his, Silverlake, critically acclaimed, and he had been given book deals and movie deals, and that new movie of his, that looked pretty good.
But here, he was just... ordinary.
"The Examiner will be up in the morning," said the voice behind him.
Marlin looked. Mary Briggs looked tense and bored. Her eyes had bags under them, but she was trying to combat the sleep by drinking what appeared to be a gallon of coffee.
Definitely smart, but not extraordinary.
"I can tell you right now it's a stab wound."
"Marlin, when I need your help I'll ask for it," she snapped. Coming forward, she stared down at the body. "Damn. Same killer."
"Can't say fer sure. Usually serial killers tend to use the same method of killing."
"I know, Marlin, I am a police officer, remember?" she snapped.
"Right." Desperately ordinary, Marlin swallowed and nodded. "Same region, though," he couldn't resist saying.
Mary pursed her lips. With a sigh, and a growl, she tossed the last of the coffee down her throat and slammed the cup in the garbage bin.
"Go home to your cat, Marlin," she said stiffly. "Being around this many stiffs isn't healthy."
Marlin stood in the same place long after the clickety-click of her heels had disappeared.
Didn't matter if it wasn't healthy.
Everybody in here was ordinary. Just like him.
Sliding fingers over eyelids, Marlin watched the skin cover the orbs, and gently placed the blanket of Sandy Chin's head.
From this angle, he looked just like another dead body.
"In the fridge you go," Marlin said, and shoved hard.
--
Jason's widescreen purchase may have screamed 'Boys and their Toys', but that didn't mean the thing wasn't useful.
Sandals kicked off, feet curled on the couch, and tanktop falling off of one shoulder, Alex looked the picture of relaxation, idly pushing buttons on the remote and pausing once in a while to pop a kernel into her mouth.
"Your dad's not wondering where you are?"
"He went home," she said automatically. She didn't look at Jason. Her eyes were glued to the screen. "Meeting my mom in London to go to a stock holder's meeting there." She pushed another button the remote, and watched the screen jerkily move back.
"Can you please turn that off?"
Alex could understand why Jason wouldn't want to see this. The shooting was gruesome. The paparazzi had caught it in full glory. The way she fell, Jason's arms around her, blood everywhere.
But no one had caught the killer.
Why?
"I can't," she said. "I'm sorry."
His stare burned into the side of her face, but when he pushed off the sofa and slammed the door to his bedroom, she didn't react. Her heart betrayed her, aching just enough for her to drop the remote. Alex took a moment, just a precious minute, to rub at her eyes.
With a steeling breath in, she picked up the remote and once again watched the shooting.
Suddenly, her eyes narrowed, and she fumbled with the buttons.
The pause was grainy, but it was impossible not to distinguish his features from those buried around him in the crowd. She'd know him anywhere, standing there, eyes narrowed, mouth sucking on a cancer stick like it was better than sex.
The pit in her stomach seemed to sink that much lower.
"The Thin Man," she whispered.
--
"Stupid Thin Men and their stupid mute faces with their stupid hair fetishes."
She had absolutely no idea why she was doing this. It was stupid, and he was a killer, and she knew it.
But she was back in the alley with a lock of his hair in her pocket, and a sting in her heart, and she had no idea why.
Maybe it was to kill him. That seemed as good of a reason as any. Completely kick his ass for being a morally ambiguous asswipe orphan who got himself stabbed for the trouble of trying to save her from her vengeful ex-boyfriend.
"You know," she said out loud. "You really should learn to stay dead." Her boots were loud on the cement, acoustics of the dank alley surprisingly clear, despite the smell and the whisper of the rats scuttling around trashbins. Her boots came down on something squishy, and Dylan, wrinkling her nose, decided not to look down. She really didn't want to know what it was.
"I'm just damned tired of playing games, here," she said, louder this time. "So you get your ass out here and let me kick your ass for being a murderous son-of-a-bitch hella-good kisser, or I'm going to fucking find you tonight, and kill you."
It wasn't that she really expected that to work, but her nerves were already on edge, and her heart was already pounding.
When a dark figure emerged from the other side, she caught her breath.
Her palms curled into fists, but her mouth was open, lips quivering in broken shudders, and her heart, good god, her heart, was pounding so loud.
In this alley was either absolution or pure hell, and the figure, wafting in smoke, hidden in darkness, was somehow the representation.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape her past.
"Why, Helen," he said, throwing the butt on the ground and grinning widely. "Didn't think ya had it in, ya. How'd you know it was me?"
She didn't. She took a full step back, and then was somehow frozen in this time, this place. This wasn't what she was after, but she sought a man on the rooftop and she had gotten a man from the rooftop.
One survived, and apparently so did the other.
Standing now only ten feet away and coming closer every second, was Seamus O'Grady.
end chapter