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“You have the items?”
She nodded.
“Get them. We’re in a hurry.”
She got to her feet and headed for the bedroom.
He followed.
To his surprise, she climbed up on the dresser and reached for the heating vent.
Huh.She was smarter than he’d expected, yet not bright enough to know what was coming.
Pulling the dingy grate back, she retrieved a black velvet pouch and a bundle of letters held in place by a thick rubber band.
“Hand them over,” he said.
She hopped down and hesitated. “I get my cut, right?” She clutched the items to her pale chest.
“You’ll get your cut,” he said, wrapping his hands around the garrote.
She released her hold. Taking the bag first, he slid it into his upper jacket pocket, then slipped the letters into his pant pocket. “Good job.”
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing her creamy neck. “Thanks.”
Restless energy pulsed through him.
“Are we done here?” she asked, shifting her stance, her arms wrapped around her slender waist.
“Just about.”
“What’s left to do?” she asked, her head cocked, and then she stilled. She took a step back. So she’d finally figured it out.
“No.” She shook her head, backing into the paneled wall. In one movement, left hand to right shoulder, he spun her around and slipped the garrote over her head.
He’d intended to give her the option—the easy way with a gunshot to the head or the hard way with the garrote. But the hard way was far more pleasurable, giving him the best elated high.
It really was a shame. She was a pretty thing.
Five minutes later, he was back in the van, leaving the body behind.
“You got everything?” Casey asked as they pulled onto the street, their headlights off.
Cyrus smiled and handed both items to him. They were a go. The appetite for what was to come gnawed at Cyrus’s gut, but in a good way. It was time to feed the anticipation that had been growing in him for nigh on a year. It was time to scratch that itch.
TWO
CHRISTIAN’S HANDSgripped the rock face. Granules abraded the tender flesh beneath his nails, leaving them raw. Pushing up on the ball of his foot, he strained, his fingers searching for the crag. Finally, his hand landed on the cold surface—only three inches deep. On a sharp inhale and slow exhale, he lunged upward—only the slightest hold kept him from the hundred-foot drop to the forest below. His foot landed on the next hold, and he settled, his muscles hot in the brisk dawn air. Blood throbbing through his fingers, he shifted the weight onto the balls of his feet.
Mapping the next route in his head, he leaped for the next hold. Air replaced the solid rock for the breath of a second, and searing adrenaline crashed through him as the hold slipped away. His pulse whooshing in his ears, he slid down, finally grabbing hold of a crag on his rapid descent. His fingers gripped hard—the only thing holding his body weight and keeping him from the ground far below.
He examined the cliff, looking for a foothold. Something. Anything. Adrenaline raked through him, quivering his arms.Not good. Time held motionless until he anchored his foot on a narrow ledge, small rocks shifting under the soles of his climbing shoes. He kept his weight on the ball of his foot while scanning for a new route up. He exhaled as he found it, but it was going to require another leap of faith.
Releasing his hold, he lunged for a more solid handhold. Grippingit, he worked his way up to another ledge—this one deep enough to settle comfortably onto.
His breathing quickened by the climb, he turned and pressed his back against the volcanic rock—cool against his heated and perspiring skin—and exhaled in a whoosh. Talk about a close one. He smiled. One more adventure down.
He held for a moment, taking in the morning light spreading across what seemed an endless sky. Man, he loved this view. Narrow shafts of sunlight streamed down through the early morning fog, lighting the yellow-and-orange foliage ablaze. Everyone talked about the beautiful fall colors in New England, but for him nothing beat fall in New Mexico, and it was peak season.
