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Turk leapt up from where he sat watching a cartoon about a giant red dog. He trotted over to Faith, and she scratched him behind his ear.
They headed for the gym. As they drove, Faith glanced at Michael and saw the same look on his face he wore when they discussed Katherine’s affair. She knew what he was thinking. Katherine was cheating on her husband but wouldn’t leave him. Ellie was cheating on her husband, but would she also refuse to leave him?
You tell yourself that you’ve finally found your someone, and you make yourself believe it.
Like so many things in life, that only works until it doesn’t.
CHAPTER SIX
He tapped his finger on his steering wheel as he stared at the house across the street. His eyes fell to his ring finger, still bare. His fingers were long and slender, or at least he thought so, but neither of the rings he had taken fit, not even past the first knuckle.
That infuriated him. Why did they deserve to have such pretty things? They hadn’t earned them. They had scorned the marriages that gave them those rings. He hadn’t scorned his marriage. He had remained faithful. Why should the cheaters of the world get to wear their trinkets, but he couldn’t?
It was unfair. It was always unfair. Life rewarded cheaters and punished the faithful. It wasn’t right.
He glanced at his hand again and noticed his knuckles were white around the steering wheel. He took a breath and held it a moment before releasing it slowly. He took another breath, then another, and slowly, he felt his anger subside.
It was all right that those rings didn’t fit. He might not have them, but neither did they. They would never wear a ring again. They would never have a chance to disrespect their marriages anymore. He had given them what they deserved.
And he would find his own trinkets. One day, he would find a ring that fits him, perhaps many rings, one for each finger. He smiled and lifted his hand, turning it over and over and imagining it glittering with gold and silver and diamonds.
It wasn’t so much the rings themselves that mattered. It was what the rings stood for. It was the commitment to love and cherish and respect another, but most of all, a commitment to befaithful, to give to only one person the sacred gift of one’s body. This commitment was sacrosanct, and those who didn’t respect that commitment didn’t deserve the symbol of that commitment.
Like Elmore Holland for instance. Mr. Holland had enjoyed a lovely marriage of thirty years to his wife, Lucinda. He had loved and cared for her and stood by her the way a man should.
Then ten months ago, he had moved out and separated from his wife. Since then, he had lived alone in a series of apartments and done everything he could to avoid his wife.
No, no, no, no, Mr. Holland. Not good. Not good at all.
He tapped his finger on his wheel again and stared through the lighted window of Mr. Holland’s new residence—the apartment he rented so he could have his little tart over when he wanted and not be burdened by the presence of his wife of many years.
He wondered if Elmore’s ring would fit his hand. He imagined it would. It would be his third prize, but the first he could actually wear as a proper trophy.
He grinned and got out of the van. The desert air was cool and dry, and a crisp breeze blew across his face. He breathed deeply and exhaled. Tonight was a good night. He made his way to the apartment, keeping his hands in his pockets and his demeanor casual as he looked around, making sure no one was watching him. The windows of the neighboring apartments were all shuttered and dark.
When he reached Holland’s unit, he stooped down as though he was tying his shoe and retrieved the bobby pin and screwdriver from underneath his foot. The screwdriver was small, a jeweler’s tool, and not really the best choice for cracking locks, but stealth was more important than speed.
He slid the bobby pin into the lock, leaning closely and fumbling more than he actually needed to. If anyone was watching him, they would think he was just struggling to get his key in the lock.
In less than a minute, the door latch clicked, and he was inside. He looked around the nearly bare apartment. There were very few places to hide. He supposed he could hide in the bathroom or the coat closet.
Then a better idea occurred to him. With the lights off, the hallway was pitch black. He couldn’t see three yards past the entrance.
Perfect. No noise of a door opening. It was carpeted so no noise of footfalls. It was close enough that he could reach Holland before the older man noticed him.
He replaced his bobby pin and screwdriver then pulled his other tool out from his pants leg. The knife was a military issue Ka-bar. The blade was seven inches long, thick, and robust. It left a deep, wide wound that was impossible to patch, at least in the timeframe his victims had.
He smiled and caressed the blade lovingly for a moment. Then he stepped into the shadows.
And waited.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The receptionist saw Turk and said, “Excuse me, but we don’t allow dogs in here.”
Faith lifted her laminate, and Michael pointed at the cruiser. The receptionist pursed her lips and rolled her eyes with the attitude that only a teenager could muster. Faith ignored her and went straight to the door marked, “Employees only.”
“Excuse me!” the receptionist called. “You can’t go in there! That’s for employees only!”
