Louise Voss & Mark Edwards 3-Book Thriller Collection: Catch Your Death, All Fall Down, Killing Cupid

Michelle knocked on the door of the hotel’s security room and pushed it open. A bloke in a blue uniform sat in front of a few colour screens showing various scenes from around the hotel. The lobby, the car park, the corridors, the restaurant. He had The Sun spread out before him. Sampson had already checked the papers and was pleased to see the Animal Liberation Front taking the heat for Dr Twigger’s death. Michelle explained to the guard that the detective here needed to see CCTV footage of the lobby from this morning.

Huffing and sighing, the guard played with some buttons on the desk and they watched the silent characters in the lobby go into reverse.

‘She only left half an hour ago,’ Michelle said, ‘so we shouldn’t need to rewind far.’ She scrutinised the screen carefully. After a minute or so, she said, ‘There she is. Play.’

The picture was clear and of high quality. Michelle pointed as Kate walked across the lobby, dragging a pair of suitcases, a small child beside her.

‘The little boy’s really sweet,’ said Michelle. ‘Poor thing.’

Sweet? Sampson didn’t agree. He had no interest in children. He’d hated them when he was a kid and his opinion hadn’t changed as he’d got older. But seeing Kate had a strange effect on him. He became aware of his heartbeat, of the blood flowing through his veins. And he could taste blood in his mouth. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he started to breathe heavily.

‘Are you alright?’ Michelle asked, touching his arm.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Kate.

‘There’s the guy,’ Michelle said, and Sampson felt a more familiar sensation – the desire to hurt and kill – when a man, whose face Sampson recognised with shock – took the suitcases from Kate and walked off with her. They left the lobby and vanished from view.

‘I need to see the car park footage,’ he said.

There were numerous cameras set up around the car park, and it took a while for them to locate Kate and her companion. Finally, they got a view of them getting into a silver Peugeot, though it wasn’t possible to see the registration number.

‘I’m going to need these tapes,’ he said. His mouth was dry and his chest felt strange. ‘I also need to see her room,’ he said.

‘Really?’ Michelle asked. ‘But she vacated it hours ago.’

Sampson’s stare burned into her, drawing a pink flush to the surface of her skin, creeping up from her collarbone. ‘Take me there. Now.’

She led him to the lift, which they rode to the room Kate had stayed in with Jack. She tried to make small talk but he gave her a look that made her shut up. He watched her pale, slender throat bob as she swallowed. She was attracted to him; it was easy to tell. Many women found him exciting, turned on by the strength and danger that emanated from him. Almost all of them regretted it later as they nursed their injuries, or in those last seconds before death. He smiled and showed Michelle his teeth. He would love to bite that milky throat.

He was already excited by the time they entered Kate’s hotel room, but seeing that it hadn’t yet been cleaned made his blood pump even harder. He stood by the bed, barely hearing the click of the door behind him as Michelle closed it. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, the hunter scenting his prey. The room still smelled of perfume, mixed with the faint odour of sweat. He sat on the unmade bed and stroked the sheet where she had spent the night. Did she sleep naked? He pressed his nose to the sheet and took in the sweet, lingering scent of her flesh. He reached out to the pillow where he found a long, dark hair, which he pinched between his fingers, raising it to touch his lips.

‘What are you doing?’ Michelle asked from across the room, her voice tremulous.

He looked up. He had almost forgotten she was there. ‘Come over here,’ he said, patting the bed beside him.

She hesitated, then slowly walked across the room and sat next to him.

‘What have you got there? A hair? Is that for checking DNA or something?’

He didn’t reply. Instead, he let the strand of hair fall and reached out to Michelle, cradling the back of her head in his palm.

‘You’re pretty,’ he said.

He watched as her pupils dilated, listened to the rhythm of her breathing change, become heavier. She peered up at him through her lashes and the bloodlust raged through him. He wanted to strip her naked, throw her down on this bed where Kate had slept, this bed that contained thousands of cells of her dead skin. He wanted to fuck Michelle right there, imagining that she was Kate. He wanted to put his hands around her throat and squeeze, to see the terror in her eyes.

She reached out her hand and put it in his lap, tentatively, then more confidently as she felt the hardness within his jeans. He didn’t look at her. Instead, as she stroked his cock through the fabric – the excitement of doing this in the place where she worked evident in her touch – he pictured Kate doing this to him.

He turned towards Michelle and put his hands around her neck.

Her eyes widened with surprise.

He could do it. Would enjoy doing it. But he also knew that if he killed her here, it would cause complications. He would be on CCTV, as was his car. The police would get involved, come after him. He wasn’t scared of the police but it would slow him down, interfere with the most important thing in his life right now. Finding Kate – and not just because Gaunt had instructed him to.

He removed his hands and stood up, ignoring the pain in his groin.

‘What’s the matter?’ Michelle asked.

‘I have to go.’

As he strode towards the door, leaving a confused Michelle sitting on the bed, he felt a wave of nausea come over him. Kate. It had been sixteen years since he’d seen her, but she still had the same dizzying effect on him.

He loved her.

He hated her.

He wanted her.

He wanted her dead.

Chapter 15 (#ulink_3fe110b0-8cf0-5112-9a68-1f872c66e34e)

Vernon Maddox had been in a terrible mood ever since he woke up. He wasn’t sure whether the knowledge that his ex-wife and son would return from England that day was making him feel better or worse. Worse, on the whole, he decided, reversing his Buick into a very tight space in the Central Parking Garage at Logan Airport. The fact that Kate would be getting a free lift home from the airport in his car galled him no end – he’d only agreed to pick them up because he was having Jack to stay for the weekend. He’d have made her take a cab if he could, but then he would’ve had to pick up Jack from her house, which was even further away. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Kate’s miserable face sitting in the driver’s seat next to him, refusing to talk; treating him like something she’d picked up on the sole of her shoe. Maybe he should have made a sign to welcome her. ‘The Bitch is Back’, something like that.

He managed a tight smile at his own joke – which turned to another frown as he opened his car door, and it banged against the wing of the car next to him, leaving a small dent. He glanced around to make sure that nobody had noticed, hopped back into the driver’s seat, reversed out of the space and into another one across the other side of the car park.

On the other hand, he thought, smoothing down his thinning hair and looking around for the Exit to Arrivals sign, it would be good to see his boy again. Despite everything, he loved Jack to pieces. Always had, always would. His own child; his precious son. He puffed out his narrow chest slightly with pride. It wasn’t Jack’s fault that Kate had turned into a paranoid bitch. No wonder Jack had been acting up a bit lately. He’d have to get Kate back to her shrink, hopefully that would sort her out. All this crud about wanting a divorce; it was ridiculous. She just didn’t know what was good for her. They’d only been separated six months, and she clearly wasn’t coping. Every time he crossed paths with her she seemed grey and stressed, and the lines on her face were getting deeper. She’s really losing her looks, he thought, choosing not to dwell on his own burgeoning little pot belly, greying chest hair, and the gingery beard he’d grown to try and disguise his weak chin. But I’m a decent guy, I’m prepared to do right by her. Besides, it’s a nightmare finding good child-minders in this city.

Vernon took up his position next to the barrier by the sliding doors through Customs. He looked at his watch; twenty after one. The flight had landed on time; at 1.05, he’d called on his cellphone to check. So they ought to be through in another ten, maybe fifteen minutes or so, once they’d collected their bags. He wondered how long it would be before he and Kate had their first argument; they’d probably be quarrelling by the time they reached the turnpike. Maybe sooner, maybe by the time he’d turned onto I-90. It never usually took long for her to blow a gasket over something or other. Plus, she’d probably be depressed from seeing the nuts old aunt of hers.

Vernon couldn’t understand the point of dragging Jack across the Atlantic to celebrate the hundred and fiftieth – or whatever – birthday of some old crust who’d probably scare the living daylights out of him with her toothless sunken face and grabbing claws. OK, so she’d been important to Kate – he understood that – but really, Jack was too young to appreciate it, and Lil was totally past it. She’d been senile for years now, living out her days in an old folks’ home; incontinent, almost speechless, no marbles left whatsoever. Vernon shuddered. Just shoot me before I ever get like that, he thought to himself. Kate would probably pull the trigger, too. And she wouldn’t wait till I was old, either. Ha.

Forty minutes later Vernon was still waiting. He called Kate’s cellphone, but it went straight to voicemail. He exhaled with irritation. She’d obviously forgotten to switch it on again after the plane landed – typical. Then his own phone rang.

‘Yeah – hello?’

‘Hi baby boy,’ cooed the voice on the other end, and Vernon’s face relaxed into a smile.

‘Hey, Shirl, missing me already?’

‘You’d better believe it, big boy.’

Vernon blushed slightly, and ran a finger around the inside of his collar, turning away so that the large Jamaican family waiting at the barrier next to him couldn’t hear the conversation.

‘So when will I see you again?’

‘I told you, hon, lemme sort things out this end, and clear a window for us, say, at the weekend?’

He could hear the pout in Shirley’s voice.