Read Online Midnight Club by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson
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up in her book. Many, if not most, New York City detectives use illegal drugs themselves.
“Let me undress you all the way now.” Silver Hair’s voice was a low, sibilant whisper.
“Not yet. Don’t rush this… Gerard?… There’s something even better we can do. Is that all right? …You trust me?”
“Of course. Whatever you want to do is fine.” Suddenly he was sounding closer to his age. Unsure of himself.
The call girl rose from the bed again. She moved two steps away.
Very sensually, she slid the straps of her gown back up onto her shoulders. She let her long nails slowly trail down her legs, making a long scratching sound.
Stefanovitch thought of a few steamy Hollywood movies he’d seen. Body Heat. A remake of The Postman Always Rings Twice. They were tame and prudish compared with this.
And nothing had even happened yet. Just some foreplay… But the real stuff. Not wooden-Indian actors and actresses playing make-believe.
Midnight? Stefanovitch wondered again. What was Midnight? If it was the Midnight Club, what was the connection? Had the Club come after Alexandre St.-Germain?
Or was someone coming after members of the Club? There was a big difference right there. A huge difference for his investigation.
The blond hooker’s profile was turned sharply to the camera now. Did she know the scene was being filmed? By her employers? By someone else? Her lips parted, and they were ruby red and moist; they opened like an exotic string bag.
Her breasts were erect. If she was faking everything, she was a brilliant actress, much too good to be doing this film. Her palms rubbed against her nipples, blood rushing into her breasts.
With one hand, she reached underneath the gauzy white gown. Her knees were bent as far forward as possible. She was on her toes, her slender ankles arched.
Suddenly, the silver-haired man started to spasm. It was the first time he had lost control. Silver Hair looked as if he weren’t used to losing control. Stefanovitch was almost certain the older man was somebody important, somebody he ought to recognize.
Did he know about Midnight? Did the blond call girl know? Did anyone who visited Allure know the answers he needed?
There was no other sound inside the small office, only what was coming from the VCR.
Stefanovitch hadn’t looked over at Sarah McGinniss for the last several minutes.
“Two thousand dollars a night.” Stefanovitch finally spoke. He felt that he had to say something, to break the tension.
“She’s very clever,” Sarah McGinniss said from the other side of the room. “She never let him touch her.”
23
Sarah McGinniss; Kennedy International Airport
“DADDY! DADDY!” SAM hollered. His little-boy voice was light with joy and expectation.
At that instant, Sarah winced. Her pain was sharp and immediate, almost overwhelming. Roger the Dodger was striding toward them inside the streamlined, crimson and blue TWA terminal. He was straightening imaginary wrinkles in his corduroy sports jacket and trousers. Daddy was home.
His face, as usual, looked nervous and too thin. He finally smiled and waved at Sam, both arms crisscrossing high over his head.
Sarah had to reach inside herself for a deep breath. Roger’s smile made her remember how the two of them had been in the very beginning, for almost six years, actually. She remembered how funny and charming Roger could be, when he was in the mood. Plus the undeniable fact that he had been a good father, a real daddy, right up until the time he had left them.
“Hello, pumpkin.” Roger immediately picked Sam up. In her mind’s eye, Sarah could see him stooping and picking Sam up hundreds of times before that. She noticed how Sam was watching them both, still trying to understand what could have happened two years ago between his mom and dad. Sarah was still trying to understand that one herself.
“How are you, Sarah?” Roger finally acknowledged her. “Looking all summer-brown and pretty,” he
“Let me undress you all the way now.” Silver Hair’s voice was a low, sibilant whisper.
“Not yet. Don’t rush this… Gerard?… There’s something even better we can do. Is that all right? …You trust me?”
“Of course. Whatever you want to do is fine.” Suddenly he was sounding closer to his age. Unsure of himself.
The call girl rose from the bed again. She moved two steps away.
Very sensually, she slid the straps of her gown back up onto her shoulders. She let her long nails slowly trail down her legs, making a long scratching sound.
Stefanovitch thought of a few steamy Hollywood movies he’d seen. Body Heat. A remake of The Postman Always Rings Twice. They were tame and prudish compared with this.
And nothing had even happened yet. Just some foreplay… But the real stuff. Not wooden-Indian actors and actresses playing make-believe.
Midnight? Stefanovitch wondered again. What was Midnight? If it was the Midnight Club, what was the connection? Had the Club come after Alexandre St.-Germain?
Or was someone coming after members of the Club? There was a big difference right there. A huge difference for his investigation.
The blond hooker’s profile was turned sharply to the camera now. Did she know the scene was being filmed? By her employers? By someone else? Her lips parted, and they were ruby red and moist; they opened like an exotic string bag.
Her breasts were erect. If she was faking everything, she was a brilliant actress, much too good to be doing this film. Her palms rubbed against her nipples, blood rushing into her breasts.
With one hand, she reached underneath the gauzy white gown. Her knees were bent as far forward as possible. She was on her toes, her slender ankles arched.
Suddenly, the silver-haired man started to spasm. It was the first time he had lost control. Silver Hair looked as if he weren’t used to losing control. Stefanovitch was almost certain the older man was somebody important, somebody he ought to recognize.
Did he know about Midnight? Did the blond call girl know? Did anyone who visited Allure know the answers he needed?
There was no other sound inside the small office, only what was coming from the VCR.
Stefanovitch hadn’t looked over at Sarah McGinniss for the last several minutes.
“Two thousand dollars a night.” Stefanovitch finally spoke. He felt that he had to say something, to break the tension.
“She’s very clever,” Sarah McGinniss said from the other side of the room. “She never let him touch her.”
23
Sarah McGinniss; Kennedy International Airport
“DADDY! DADDY!” SAM hollered. His little-boy voice was light with joy and expectation.
At that instant, Sarah winced. Her pain was sharp and immediate, almost overwhelming. Roger the Dodger was striding toward them inside the streamlined, crimson and blue TWA terminal. He was straightening imaginary wrinkles in his corduroy sports jacket and trousers. Daddy was home.
His face, as usual, looked nervous and too thin. He finally smiled and waved at Sam, both arms crisscrossing high over his head.
Sarah had to reach inside herself for a deep breath. Roger’s smile made her remember how the two of them had been in the very beginning, for almost six years, actually. She remembered how funny and charming Roger could be, when he was in the mood. Plus the undeniable fact that he had been a good father, a real daddy, right up until the time he had left them.
“Hello, pumpkin.” Roger immediately picked Sam up. In her mind’s eye, Sarah could see him stooping and picking Sam up hundreds of times before that. She noticed how Sam was watching them both, still trying to understand what could have happened two years ago between his mom and dad. Sarah was still trying to understand that one herself.
“How are you, Sarah?” Roger finally acknowledged her. “Looking all summer-brown and pretty,” he
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