Wednesday, November 29, 8:40 p.m.
Reed could see her coming in his rearview. He shouldn't be here. He should have just waited until the morning to tell her. There wouldn't be anything she could do tonight anyway. But he knew she'd want to know. He knew she wasn't the type to… how had she phrased it? To hide under the covers like a little girl.
She slowed the borrowed department car, rolling to a stop next to his SUV. For a moment she sat there, looking at him, then parked her car along the curb. Feeling like he dragged an anchor, he got out and walked up to her car, his hands in his pockets.
She popped her trunk and looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "Something break on the case?" she asked. Inside her trunk were a half dozen grocery bags.
He shook his head. "No."
"Need somebody to tie your shoes or tear your mustard packets?"
"No." He nudged her aside and grabbed the bags in both hands. "Is this all?"
She slammed the trunk shut. "I don't eat much."
Without another word she led him up three flights of stairs and into her apartment. It was sparsely decorated as he"d known it would be. No pictures hung from the walls. Furniture was minimal. The TV was tiny and rested atop an old Styrofoam cooler. This wasn't a home. This was merely the place she slept when she wasn't working.
His eyes settled on the small wooden box on her dinette tabie just before she whisked it and a trifoided flag into her coat closet that was equally bare. That the flag had belonged to her father was not a huge leap. He'd been a cop. He'd get a cop's funeral. His widow would get the flag.
That the box had also been his was logical. That the daughter had the flag and not the widow was telling. But given what she'd shared this morning, completely understandable. How hard it must have been to learn of her father's infidelities while standing at his grave. How much harder for the widow. He thought of how he himself might have felt, learning that Christine had betrayed him. He simply couldn't imagine it.
That Mia Mitchell managed to stay focused at all was testament to the kind of cop she was. "You can put the groceries on the table," she said and he did, all the while wondering how he would tell her that her privacy was on the verge of being threatened.
He unpacked a bag, stacking frozen dinners. "I just got finished meeting with Holly."
Her eyes flashed. "I trust you left Miss Wheaton well and happy."
His temper rose. "I don't like her, either, Mia. And I don't like your insinuation."
She shrugged, fitfully. "You're right. I'm sorry," she muttered. "Doesn't matter anyway." She reached for the stack of frozen dinners and he grabbed her arm.
"Dammit, Mia. What's wrong with you?"
For a split second, the anger in her eyes changed to fear. Then just that fast, it was gone, defiance taking its place. She jerked her arm and shaken, he immediately let her go. "Go away, Reed. I'm not good company right now."
She grabbed the cartons and disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the freezer door open, then slam shut. She reappeared, fists on her hips. "You're still here."
"So it would seem." She stood there scowling, blue eyes flashing, somehow sexier in khaki pants and scuffed boots than Wheaton had been in a suede miniskirt and killer pumps. And he wanted her, scowl and all.
"Look. You seem like a nice man. You deserve better than I've treated you. I'm not warm and fuzzy, but I'm not usually this rude." The smile that curved her lips was obviously forced. "I'll try to be nicer. Let's get this case solved and you can walk away, hopefully none the worse for the wear." She started for the front door, dismissing him.
Not just yet. "Mia, I need to talk to you about Holly Wheaton. It's important."
She stopped five feet away, her back to him. "I really don't care."
He sighed. "About this you will."
She turned to face him, wary. "What's she done?"
"Your absence from the press conference this morning didn't go unnoticed."
She closed her eyes. "Oh shit."
"She knows about the woman you followed, that she's important to you. She has video of her in the crowd. I thought you'd want to know, so you could be on your guard."
Her eyes opened, narrowed. "Goddamn, I hate that bitch."
"I'd have to say the feeling is mutual. Why does she hate you so much?"
"We had a child rape/homicide and she tried to cuddle up to Abe for an exclusive, just like she tried with you at that apartment fire. Didn't matter that Abe is married. Abe and I agreed the best way to get Wheaton off his back was to give an exclusive to somebody else. We talked to Lynn Pope of Chicago on the Town."
"I've seen her show, but I've never met her."
"Lynn's a classy lady. I trust her. When Holly found out she filed a formal complaint with Spinnelli. He supported us, of course, and the next time he had a story, he gave the exclusive to Lynn. So Holly blames me for trying to ruin her career."
"Why you?"
"Because the men couldn't possibly have resisted her on their own. I had to have turned them against her. She's a menace." She sighed bitterly. "She's also good at finding what she wants to know. Most men aren't capable of resisting a pretty face like hers. Most are even less capable of resisting a short skirt or the twitching ass inside it."
There was a compliment buried in there somewhere, Reed knew, because he had resisted. But there was also something else, an acceptance that she, Mia Mitchell, didn't have those same attributes and was somehow less desirable. Which pissed him off, because he was living, breathing, aching proof of just how desirable she was. "Nobody knows about your relationship to the blonde except the men in the room this morning. I won't say a word. Spinnelli, Jack, and the shrink won't say anything, either."
She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. "I know. I appreciate you coming by to tell me. Now I'm really sorry I snapped at you."
Reed wanted to go to her. To take her in his arms and hold her. But she'd pulled away twice and he was afraid she'd make it three times. And he'd be out. So he stood where he was, hands in his pockets. "It's okay." He injected a note of humor in his voice. "If I'd known how much you hated her, I would have let you get your court order."
One side of her mouth turned up sadly. "I knew you were a gentleman."
You've said your piece. Now go. But his feet stayed planted where they were. He couldn't leave her looking so defeated. "Mia, I've watched you for three days now. You care about the victims. If they suffered. Finding them justice. You care about the families. Giving them support and dignity. That's important to me. More important than warm fuzzies and especially more important than a twitching ass in a short skirt."
Her eyes were serious as she studied him from five feet away. "Thank you. That's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."
Now you can go. Dammit, just go. But still he stood. "Although you'd look every bit as good in a short skirt."
Her eyes heated and his heart turned over. "Second nicest."
He took a step forward, testing. She held her ground, but he could see her pulse flutter at the hollow of her throat. At her sides her hands flexed and clenched and he came to a stunning realization. He made her nervous. It was an ego-boosting, courage-building discovery. "About last night," he said. "I knocked you down."
She lifted her chin. "1 know. I was there."
"I haven't been shot at since I was in the army. My reflexes were a little rusty."
She sucked in one cheek. "Not all of them."
It was the opening he'd been waiting for. "So you did notice."
"It would have been difficult not to," she said dryly. "So was it reflex or interest?"
She'd regained her stride, her cocky balance. And somehow that made what came next more… fair. If he'd pressed his advantage when she was sad and defeated it wouldn't have been. "And if I said both?"
She regarded him levelly for a moment. "You could have waited until tomorrow to tell me about Wheaton. Why did you come tonight?"
The moment stretched as he considered his answer, then snapped as with two steps he eliminated the remaining distance that separated them. He slipped his hand around her neck, his fingers up into her hair and did what he'd wanted to do for days. When his mouth covered hers he felt her stiffen, then her arms were around his neck as she lifted on her toes and kissed him back.
He shuddered, as much from relief as release. It had been a long time since he'd held any woman this way. A long time since he'd tasted a woman's lips, felt the surge and surrender in her response. It was sweet, he realized. And familiar, as if he'd been here, done this before. Mindful of her bruised cheek he kept it much lighter than he wanted, much briefer than he wished. Stoically ignoring the coiled want in his gut, he ended the kiss, but held her tight against him.
"I wasn't sure you wanted this," he admitted. "You pulled away from me."
She rested her forehead against his chest. "I know."
It was said so wearily that he pulled back to see her face. "Why did you pull away?"
"Because I didn't want to want this. But I do." Her lashes lifted and it was if he'd been sucker punched. Her blue eyes were darkly aroused. His pounding heart climbed into his throat and with difficulty he forced it back down so he could breathe.
"Why? Why don't you want to want this?"
She hesitated. "How much time do you have?"
Time. Shit. "What time is it?"
"A little past nine. Why?"
"I promised Beth I'd pick her up at nine and that's clear on the other side of town."
She nodded. "I understand. We can talk more later."
He grabbed his coat from the old sofa and took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back around to face her. "She'll be fine for another few minutes. In fact, she's probably happy I'm late."
Her lips curved. "So how do you propose using another few minutes?"
"Doing what you don't want to want." He caught her chin and tilted her face up and this time she met him more than halfway, instantly taking the kiss to the next level. Hot and wet and full of motion, it set his body throbbing and left him wanting much, much more. Conscious of the time, he abruptly pulled away, and was gratified to see she was breathing just as hard as he was. "Warn me when you start wanting to want it," he said. "I'll make sure I bring along a defibrillator."
She laughed. "Go home, Solliday. We'll take this up again tomorrow." Her smile sobered a shade. "But not around the office, okay?"
"Okay." He leaned forward for one more kiss, then turned on his heel with an oath. "I have to go. Lock the door behind me."
"I always do."
He paused on the landing outside her door,. "I'll see you at eight tomorrow." With a little physical distance, his mind began to clear. "Don't go out alone tonight, okay?"
She looked amused. "Solliday, I'm a cop. I'm supposed to tell other people that."
He was not amused. "Mia, please."
"I'll be careful."
That was the closest she'd come to capitulation, he understood. "Good night, Mia."
A sober, wistful look flitted across her face. "Good night. Reed."
Wednesday, November 29, 10:05 p.m.
He'd finally come back. It had certainly taken him long enough.
He'd thought his target would wait inside Flannagan's for fifteen minutes, but he'd waited an hour. During which he'd hidden in the back floorboards of the man's car, biding his time.
The first part had been so easy and fast. He'd been early, waiting in the shadows. He'd watched as the man locked his car, which was a total joke. He'd been able to pop the lock with his trusty slim-jim in fifteen seconds. Then he'd gone flat in the backseat, pulling on the ski mask and waiting, visualizing in his mind what had to be done.
It wouldn't be pretty, but it would be fast. And painless. Because his target was his friend and didn't deserve to writhe in agony, like Mrs. Dougherty would tonight. But first things first. Focus. They'd been driving for fifteen minutes. It wouldn't be long now.
He wanted to sigh, but kept it in. He'd never killed someone he liked. There was a first time for everything, but he wasn't relishing the task.
He eased up on his elbow and stole a look out the opposite window. Good, they were on a small road, one lane each way. There was an all-night shopping center nearby where he could steal a car when he was finished. He drew his knife.
He'd sharpened the blade yet again. He wanted it to be quick. Springing to a crouch, he whipped the knife around and held it to his friend's throat. "Pull off at the next light," he instructed, keeping his voice low.
His friend's eyes whipped up to the rearview, wide with terror, but he knew he'd see nothing but the black ski mask. "If you want the car, I'll give it to you. Just don't hurt me."
He thought it was a carjacking, which was exactly what he'd hoped his friend would think. No use in risking identification, should the plan go south. They were off the main road now. The area was a little too populated for his liking, but it would do.
He grabbed his friend's hair and yanked his head at an angle. "Slow down. That's right. Nice and slow. Pull off onto the shoulder. Further. Now stop."
"Don't kill me. Please." He was sobbing. "Please don't kill me."
He frowned. He'd expected him to go with more backbone. What a girl. Maybe he wouldn't make it so painless after all. But his knife was sharp. It would slice deep given the smallest pressure. "Put it in park. That's right. Now roll down the window."
Cold air rushed in, feeling wonderful against his overheated skin. "Take the keys from the ignition." His target hesitated and he put more pressure on the knife. "Do it."
The car's engine went silent. "Now throw the keys out the window."
The keys hit the snow with a muted jangle.
"You won't get away with this," his target said, desperation in his voice.
How cliche. He'd choose his friends more wisely when he started his next life.
"I think I will," he responded in his normal voice and had one moment to savor the look of wild recognition before he yanked straight back and brought the blade across the man's throat. Hard.
Blood gushed. Spurted. Filled the car with its metallic odor. He wobbled the head side to side and found he'd nearly severed it. Cool. He'd never done that before.
He let go of the hair and climbed out of the backseat. With a handful of snow he cleaned his knife, then picked up the keys. Keys made a nice souvenir.
His jacket would have to go. His sleeve was covered in blood. He'd have to get a new jacket at some point. Perhaps when he got to the shopping center, he'd find a car with a coat in it. He'd walk to the shopping center, steal a car and have plenty of time for a nap before the Doughertys. He wanted to be fresh after all.
Wednesday, November 29, 11:15 p.m.
The house was quiet. Beth was asleep and Lauren was on her own side of the duplex. Reed sat on the edge of his bed and shuddered, torturing himself with the fantasy yet again, imagining what would have happened had he not needed to leave. Her mouth had been soft and sweet and hot and urgent all at the same time. Better than he'd imagined. And that was only a few short kisses. When he got her to bed…
She wanted him. He"d have her. Another shudder shook him. God. It hurt, he wanted her so much. He drew the chain from around his neck and held it up, the ring at the end shining softly. He'd worn the ring on his hand for the five happiest years of his life, then another two as he grieved. It was only at the worried insistence of his family that he'd finally taken it off, but it hadn't gone far. He'd worn it on a chain around his neck ever since. Knowing it was there was like keeping a little piece of Christine to himself. Just like Christine's poetry, it kept her alive in his heart. But tonight it wasn't dreams of Christine that crowded his mind. Mia was there, firmly entrenched. She'd stay there until he'd ridden this thing out, wherever it took them. Whatever it cost.
He set the ring swinging, like a hypnotist's coin. He could go over there right now. And have her. The blood was pounding in his head, drowning out all the reasons he shouldn't. He lowered the ring until it hit the nightstand and let the chain pool inside it.
He picked up the phone, hit Lauren's speed dial. "I need you to stay with Beth."
She yawned. "Give me two minutes. I'll be there."
He hung up, guilt for the deception eclipsed by a need that left him trembling. She'd wanted him, even though she hadn't wanted to. He'd find out why.
Wednesday, November 29, 11:50 p.m.
Mia blinked. She'd read that name before. Her eyes were tired. It was time to stop.
She sat back in the hard chair and twisted, stretching her neck muscles. She'd made it through a month of Burnette's case files, specifically the month before Manny Rodriguez was sent to Hope Center. She'd carefully catalogued every name, every place mentioned on every case Burnette had supervised or been associated with.
It was a nasty list. She didn't envy Burnette his Vice clientele. But other than being a nasty list, there was nothing useful or unusual about it. Not a single name or place popped. It was a tedious task, and she still had tons of paper to wade through.
But, as tedious tasks went, it had been a halfway decent way of pushing Reed Solliday and his intriguing mouth to the back of her mind. Well, not the back of her mind, really. More like… dead center. Front row. Hell.
She'd kissed him. And now she knew how he tasted. How his lips felt against hers. How it felt to press against that solid wall of muscle he called a chest. And now, having tasted him, she wanted to taste him again. She wanted it a very great deal.
Goddamn hamburger. She blamed Dana for this. She'd been happily miserable until she'd started craving hamburger. So what would happen when Solliday wanted to go upscale? Move from hamburger to filet? She'd get her heart broken, that's what.
And maybe break his, too. It was a sobering thought. But not enough to squelch the craving. She didn't just want to kiss him. Now that she'd taken the plunge… well, if he walked in this minute, he'd be a very happy man. At least for the short term. She was fairly good at sex, Mia knew. Sex itself had never been the problem. Intimacy was.
She stood up, stretched her back again. She was still sore from Solliday's tackle last night but she wasn't sleepy. There was too much caffeine in her system for her to sleep. So now she would lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and wish she was getting laid.
Damn that Dana. She probably was getting laid, right this minute. It wasn't fair.
She paced restlessly, wondering if Solliday was sleeping. She certainly hoped not. She hoped he was-
A heavy knock at her door made her jump. Cautiously she drew her weapon from the shoulder holster she'd draped over a chair. Holding the gun down at her side, she stood on her toes and peeked through the peep hole in the door.
She huffed out a relieved breath. She opened the door to Reed Solliday, who stood on her welcome mat wearing a forbidding frown. "You scared me to death," she said, bypassing any greeting, then got worried. It was almost midnight. "What's happened?"
"Can I come in?"
Immediately she stepped aside and let him in. He stalked in, his stride almost belligerent. She closed the door and leaned against it. "What's happened?"
He took off his trenchcoat and dropped it on her sofa. He'd shed his suit coat and tie at some point. His shirt was unbuttoned so that a glimpse of coarse dark hair teased. Her heart started a slow pounding in her chest. The pounding got harder when he took the gun from her hand and returned it to her holster. And when he approached her with a hard, predatory cast to his face, the pounding spread low. And deep.
Not taking his eyes from hers he flattened his palms against the door on either side of her head. She was caged in. but there was no fear. Only excitement and the dark thrill of arousal. When he lowered his head and took her mouth it was savage and greedy and left no doubt as to why he'd come back. She let herself be swept away. Just his mouth on hers. She moaned and he jerked his head back. She stood, eyes closed, the door bearing her weight. His breath beat her hair and knew if she lifted her hand to his heart, she'd feel it thunder against her palm.
"I couldn't sleep," he whispered harshly. "I could only think of you. Under me. I have to have you. But if that's not what you want, tell me now and I'll leave."
Her heart physically hurt. Her body was throbbing. He was what she wanted. This was what she needed. Now. "Don't go." She lifted her eyes to his. Then lifted her hands to his face and pulled him down for another bruising kiss that made her knees go weak. He ran his hands down her sides, over her breasts, shaping and reshaping. Flicking his thumbs across her nipples and she shivered. Violently.
It had been too long since she'd had a man's hands on her. Too long since she'd had her hands on a man. She reached for his shirt and pulled at the buttons, yanking at the fabric until she pulled it free. For a full minute she ran her hands over yards of muscle, then raked her fingers through the course hair that covered his chest.
With a muttered curse he grabbed her rear end and lifted her off her feet until their bodies aligned and supporting her weight, thrust against her. He was hard and hot and just where she needed him to be.
No, not exactly where she needed him to be. Not yet. His mouth left hers and kissed a path down the side of her neck.
The hard ridge no longer throbbed against her as he lifted her higher, pulling her legs around his waist.
She opened her mouth to protest, when his mouth closed over her breast and sucked. Hard. She cried out, the protest disintegrating to a moan. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him there, suckling. He pulled away, moved to the other breast and she let her head drop back against the door and… absorbed.
Abruptly he straightened and startled, she grabbed his shoulders. "Grab my coat," he said and she blinked at him.
"What?"
He carried her to the sofa. "Grab my coat."
She clutched one of his shoulders and leaned over to do what he asked. "Why?"
He was already heading back to her bedroom. "Condoms in the pocket."
She dug in one pocket, then the other and pulled out a white plastic drugstore bag. She let his coat fall to the floor and leaned in to nip at his lips. "Got 'em."
He knelt at the foot of her bed, lowered her carefully to the mattress. He stripped her pants down her legs before she could blink and unwilling to sit on the sidelines, she pulled off her shirt. She was reaching behind her for the hooks of her bra when he set his mouth to her, right through the silk triangle of her thong. She fell back against the pillow, clutched the bedspread in both fists, and once again, simply absorbed.
"You're wet," he muttered. "So wet." He lifted his head and his eyes glittered. "I was hoping you would be."
"I was thinking of you."
His brow lifted and he looked like the devil himself, but the image enticed. "What were you thinking?"
Reflex had her lifting her hips, wanting him back where he'd been, doing what he'd been doing. Never before had it felt so incredibly good. "Solliday, please."
"First you talk."
She lifted herself up on her elbows. "That's extortion."
He grinned and licked her through the silk. "Sue me."
She could play the game. "I was thinking about last night. How you felt against me." She lifted her brows. "You're… incredibly well endowed, Solliday."
His eyes narrowed. "Take off your bra."
Her hands steady, she did, pulling her chain and dogtags off with it.
He drew a breath. "So are you." He pulled the thong aside and dragged a guttural moan from her throat with his mouth.
"I thought about your mouth the first day." she said, panting. Then his tongue stabbed at her and she closed her eyes. "Please."
"Tell me if I do something you don't like."
"1 don't like when you stop," she muttered and he laughed. Then got busy again, dragging her higher, winding her tighter, tauter. She bucked her hips and he pressed her into the mattress and sucked and she arched like a bow. The orgasm shot through her like an electric shock, hard and complete, leaving her weak and gasping.
He slapped a condom in her hand. "Do it," he bit out, pushing his pants to the floor.
Mia's eyes widened. Sated for now, she could admire him. "Oh. This is gonna be good."
"Mia, please. I'm not going to be able to hold back much longer." Gently, she touched him with her fingertips and he jerked. "Mia," he said between his teeth.
So she covered him, then gasped again when he slammed into her with one solid thrust of his hips. He held himself still as if he, too, absorbed. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.
"No. I was just… No." She ran her hands over his shoulders. "Don't stop now."
He grimaced. "I'm not sure I could." He started to move inside her and she did her part, locking her ankles around his waist, meeting each thrust. But his pace quickened, and the thrusts became harder, faster. Deeper. And she felt herself climbing again until she came, this time on a wave that seemed to go on and on until once again she collapsed back against the pillow, weak and gasping.
Above her, Reed went still, his head tilted back, his teeth bared, the muscles in his chest and arms quivering. Beautiful, was all she could think. He was simply beautiful. His head fell forward, and slowly he lowered his weight to his forearms and sighed.
She ran her finger along the line of his goatee, breathing too hard to speak. It had been incredible. Earth shattering.
Not hamburger. She closed her eyes, too tired to worry. That would come later. For now, she'd try to take in as much as she could. Store it away for when she had it no longer. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her chin. "We have to talk," he said.
She nodded. "Not right now, though." She'd have this, at least. Unspoiled.
"Later, then." He rested his forehead against hers. "Mia. I can't stay all night."
"I know."
"But… I'd like to stay a while longer."
Don't run from him. See where this takes you. "I'd like that, too." Her mouth curved. "You stopped by the drugstore. You must have been pretty sure of yourself."
He lifted his head, met her eyes, and she saw that he spoke truth. "I wasn't. All I knew is that if I didn't have you I'd explode. I hoped you'd say yes. I'm hoping you'll say yes again."
She nodded soberly. "Yes. Again."
Thursday, November 30, 12:30 a.m.
He was ready. He felt the energy flow through his body, like a fine hum. He'd worked through his plan. Their hotel room couldn't be located any better. All the room doors opened to the outside, but theirs was on the first floor, parking places only yards away.
He gently shouldered his backpack. It held three eggs. One was for the Doughertys' bed. He'd studied and now knew exactly how he'd bypass the sprinkler in their room. He'd investigated stairwells and exit paths and laundry rooms and knew exactly where he'd place the two other bombs for maximum burn, turning the whole hotel into hell. There would be mayhem as people streamed out in their pajamas, crying and terrified. Since there'd be no gas for an explosion, a little mayhem was only fair. The fire department would send three, maybe four trucks. There would be ambulances and flashing lights. The news would come, film would roll. They'd frantically check to be sure everyone was out. Then they'd find two bodies.
His system was revved, still charged from before. He'd killed once tonight. He was on a roll. He'd bagged the bloody coat hours before. He now wore a pair of coveralls he'd stolen from the hotel's laundry room. Master key cards were useful things.
He stood at the Doughertys' motel room door, confident no one would give him a second look. Not that it would matter if they did. Thanks to a wig and a little padding, he looked like a different man. His right hand gripped his very sharp knife. In his left, was Tania's master key card. He swiped it and gently tested the door, frowning when it caught. The Doughertys had used the swing bar for extra security. But no worries. He had considerable experience with these devices. Nothing was truly secure if you knew how to get around it. Sliding the thin blade of his knife through the narrow opening of the door he dislodged the swing bar and slipped in the room, carefully closing the door behind him. It was quiet except for the sound of gentle snoring coming from the bed. He stood still, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.
And became instantly aware of two things. There were no flowers in this room. And there was only one person in the bed. A young woman, not more than twenty-five. A spear of panic went through him. He had the wrong room. Run.
But the woman opened her eyes and opened her mouth to scream. He was too quick. Too powerful. He yanked her head back as he already had once that evening. He held the knife at her throat. "You will not scream. Do you understand?"
She nodded, a whimper of terror escaping.
"What's your name?"
"N-N-Niki Markov. Please…"
His hand tightened in her hair. "What room number is this?"
"I-I don't kn-know." He yanked harder and she let out another whimper. "I can't remember. Please. I have two kids. Please don't hurt me."
His blood was pumping, pounding in his head as he fought to contain the sudden rush of fury. Damn women.
None of them stayed with their kids. "If you have two kids, you should be home"-he yanked again-"with your two kids." He switched on a light and looked at the phone. The room number was the right one. "When did you get here?"
"T-tonight. Please, I'll do whatever you want. Please don't hurt me."
They were gone. Goddammit they were gone. He'd missed them. Fury bubbled. Boiled. Spilled over, eating like acid. "Come on," he snarled. She stumbled when he dragged her toward the bathroom.
"Please," she was sobbing now, hysterical.
He yanked at her hair, bringing her up on her toes. "Shut up." Another whimper crawled from her throat. He couldn't ruin any more clothes, he thought. But he couldn't let her live. She'd tell. He'd be caught. Which was not going to happen.
So he pushed her in the tub, held the tip of the knife to her throat as he turned on the shower, full blast, which was really a piss poor trickle- He grabbed her hair again, twisting her to her stomach. Then he pulled the knife across her throat savagely.
And stood, watching as the trickle carried all her blood down the drain.
As her blood drained, his rushed. Rage seethed until he trembled from the force of it. He'd been denied his satisfaction. He'd been robbed of his revenge.
The Doughertys had managed to elude him once again. He'd find out where they went but he was running out of time. His jaw clenched as he waited for the woman in the tub to bleed out. He'd had plenty of time, until the cops showed up.
Because of Brooke Adler. Because of her stupidity, he would be discovered. It was a matter of time. He didn't have the Doughertys, but by God. he'd have his satisfaction.
He still had three eggs in his backpack and he be damned before he let them spoil.
First, he needed to take care of this one. If he left her here, she'd be discovered by noon tomorrow. The police weren't so stupid not to make the connection between a dead woman who just happened to occupy the Doughertys' old room and a dead woman who just happened to occupy the Doughertys' empty house. She had to go.
He could drag her out, but she was big enough to make it awkward. So he'd have to make her smaller. He held his knife under the miserly stream of water and washed it clean before testing it against his thumb. Good. It was still sharp enough for what he needed to do.