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Sure.
Hope to see you Friday night, but absolutely on Sunday. Have to go.
He added a flower emoji.
When her smiley face emoji popped on his screen, he used his solenoid card to open the pathetic lock on her back door.
People, especially women, were so damn stupid.
He glanced around a house that rated dump on his scale. Still, the good bones, the location made it worthwhile.
In and out, he reminded himself, and moved straight to her home office. He’d uninstall the software he’d installed during his “bathroom break” the previous Monday night.
No bread crumbs left behind there.
Then he’d finish a very profitable few weeks in a matter of hours. Top it all off his way.
She’d see him before she expected to.
He imagined killing her in the parking lot of the bar, beside her car. But if she wasn’t—as she usually was—the last one out, he’d beinthe car, tucked in the back.
Then, surprise! And then the finale. Dump her body, drive thecar to an associate in Baltimore. Make an exchange for the I’m-woke Prius, and be on his merry, merry way.
At least he hadn’t had to fuck her first. Then again, he was a man who knew his marks, and had known straight off Morgan Albright wouldn’t be an easy lay. Saved time, effort, and bullshit.
But boy, she’d been easy in every other way.
With hands covered in surgical gloves, he opened her laptop.
He booted it up, and honestly wondered why the woman didn’t—or hadn’t—spent any of her hard-earned money on newer equipment.
He’d already started the uninstall when he heard the pad of footsteps behind him.
He turned, innocent smile in place, as Nina—definitely not looking her best—stepped up to the doorway.
“Luke?” Voice hoarse, she coughed on the name. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey! I talked Morgan into letting me add some software to her laptop. I came in the back. Didn’t want to wake you.” No question she was sick, he decided, so time to improvise.
And put on his best sympathetic face.
“She said you weren’t feeling well, probably sleeping. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Spring cold. Lousy. My boss sent me home, drove me home. I was just… How did Morgan know I was home sick? Did Angie call her?”
Too complicated, he decided. And she must’ve seen something in his eyes, because he saw something in hers. It said: Run.
Before she could, he grabbed the laptop, swung it hard. It cracked against the side of her head, and the other side of her head cracked against the doorframe.
She barely made a sound.
As she went down, he swung the laptop again—piece of shit anyway—and hit her again.
She’d fucked it up for him, and there’d be no capping it off his way with Morgan now.
So substitution.
“Wrong place,” he said as he knelt down, dragged her onto her back so he could put his hands around her throat. “Wrong time for a sick day, bitch. Wrong girl, but you’ll have to do.”
