“I’m less interested in teen drama and more invested in finding out who’s targeting mega-millionaires and their families.”
“And their dogs,” he added helpfully.
“And their dogs.”
* * *
Seven miles away,the killer positioned Father’s head so that it tilted toward his lovely daughter, interested in what she had to say.
Unfortunately, Sister didn’t know when to shut the hell up, so he’d had to take her tongue. But it was all for a good cause. He patted his breast pocket, pleased that while bagged, the bloody flesh wouldn’t seep through to his dress shirt.
Mother scolded Brother, because he’d been late to the table. Not the boy’s fault, really. He’d had trouble walking without feet.
The killer laughed to himself, giddy with this recent plunder despite the fact he’d gotten the codes too quickly and easily. Sadly, the torture had occurredafterhe’d gotten his information, more for himself than the family.
Who knew Father Millionaire had a heart? Or that he’d sacrifice himself without question for those he loved, considering what he did on his so-called golf trips?
Pausing a moment, locked in the rare beauty of so much togetherness,the killer glanced at the small urn of the Yorkie who’d passed two days ago. They’d really loved the tiny dog, and it showed in the collar they had put under glass and kept on their mantle.
How sweet. And how appropriate that the pooch came back to be with her loved ones at the very end, her dust in a small pile near her old food bowl.
After moving Brother to better accept Mother’s hand on his shoulder—which proved a feat since rigor had set in—the killer moved back to study the picture he wanted to make.
A phone call jarred him from his musings. Irritated, he answered with a curt, “Yes?”
“I need the info.”
“I’ll bring it by.”
“Just send it now.”
The killer scowled. “I saidI’ll bring it by.” He didn’t like sending information via phones and computers, little packets of data going to and fro. Who knew where it really ended up? Inside some toddler’s brain, maybe? Or in a poor puppy’s mind, rotting it from the inside out?
“Fine. But you better not have killed this one. You know how he gets. Hurry up.” The caller disconnected.
The mood, previously jovial, shattered.
Incensed when he should have been ecstatic to continue his play, the killer moved back through the kitchen and paused when he noticed a crack in a doorway that hadn’t been there before.
“Oh, ho. What’s this?” Excited, he stalked closer until he heard faint sobs coming from inside the pantry.
He ripped the door open, and an older woman in a maid’s uniform shrieked.
Laughing, he yanked her out by her hair and shoved her belly down onto the kitchen island.
Then he spotted the gleam of a butcher’s knife next to the prep sink.
“You, my dear, are perfection. Or you will be.”
He cut into her inch by inch, taking his time to make it last.
His cousin could wait.
The killer had his own part to play in their grand mission.
And one shouldneverhurry perfection.
Chapter 2
