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Alexa was in the living room. Clenching the sheet with sweaty fingers, she reached for her phone to call 9-1-1. God help her, she should have bought a gun.
Another noise, something heavy thudded on the floor next door. Or was it above her… or the apartment below?
A scream caught in her throat and she jumped from her bed to run to the front door. But suddenly someone attacked her from behind, knocking her back onto the bed.
The shiny blade of a knife glinted in the dark as it was raised above her.
EIGHTY-ONE
SOMEWHERE ON THE AT
Radcliff finally felt free again. The prison escape had been a piece of cake. Once he’d enlisted the guard to help, his plans had fallen into place.
He breathed in the fresh mountain air. Only tonight, it was stagnant and so sweltering perspiration trickled down his back.
He smiled at his devoted follower. She’d drugged her husband, snuck out, then taken his car and the cash he kept in his home safe and come to Radcliff.
She’d do anything to help him escape. To feel his hands on her. To give her the pleasure of his company.
He didn’t have all night. But he had climbed on top of her and inside her and taken everything he’d wanted. She’d screamed and cried and come, chanting his name as if he’d saved her from her boring pitiful little life.
He smiled in the dark, wrapped her hair around his fingers and tightened his hold.
“Don’t leave me, Dom,” she moaned. “Please don’t leave me.”
He traced a finger down her cheek, her pleas warming his soul. Yet she was sweating all over him and that disgusted him. Women weren’t supposed to sweat on their men.
Gritting his teeth, he was kind enough to let her finish, let her think that he loved her. But a boat rumbled in the distance, the lake water churning and sloshing against the bank as it passed, and his need to move on and meet the others took hold.
The clock was ticking. He’d gotten the message.
PT—party time. Again.
She’d served her purpose.
His time was precious. Not to be wasted coddling her pathetic soul.
He’d dreamt about this reunion ever since the cell door had slammed shut in his face.
His days were numbered. Had been for a long time. Eventually, they’d catch him again. The death chamber awaited. He wasn’t afraid of death. None of them were.
Living on the edge of it made them feel more alive.
But he wanted to go out shining. One last hurrah. One last time they’d all be together. One last sacrifice of an innocent.
He slid the shank from his shoe, which he’d left on the ground. Lifted her head as if to kiss her neck, then raised the weapon and slashed her ivory throat. Dark crimson blood spurted and flowed down her neck. A beautiful sight.
She collapsed onto the ground, and he sawed off a hank of her hair and stuck it in his pocket. Then he dipped his finger into her blood and painted her lips into a smile.
The boat engine rumbled closer. Night animals skittered in the woods.
He dragged her to the water’s edge and left her there, naked and exposed, for the wild animals to enjoy. Wiping his hands on his prison shirt, he hurried to her car, dug out the fresh clothes she’d brought him and changed. He tossed the soiled ones in the lake, not bothering to hide them. He wanted whoever found her to see his calling card.
Seconds later, his adrenaline spiked as he headed toward Widow Lake. He was ready to celebrate.
EIGHTY-TWO
WIDOW LAKE
