CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Saturday, January 15

1:45 p.m.

Palm Beach

Parnell drove past Pauling’s Oceanview Boulevard address and parked on a side street a block away. Pauling’s condo had a view of the Atlantic Ocean, which meant she was on the East side of the building.

He’d downloaded the real estate files and studied the layouts carefully. He’d wager that he knew more about Pauling’s condo than she did at this point.

He approached from the northwest, where she wouldn’t see him, even if she happened to be watching.

Which she wasn’t.

In fact, she wasn’t home at all.

Unfortunately.

He’d hoped to kill her while he was here. She deserved to die. She’d caused him a lot of inconveniences the past few days.

Maybe she’d come back before he finished moving the money.

Hey, a guy could dream.

Her condo was small. A big room for most of her living activities. Two small bedrooms. Two small baths. And the vault. Which was the only room he cared about.

Entering her building wasn’t simple. She understood security measures, and she’d employed effective ones. But all security systems had one flaw he could easily exploit. The human factor.

He simply waited for one of her neighbors to enter or exit. On a beautiful Saturday like this, he didn’t need to wait long.

Not more than twenty minutes later, two young women, dressed to the nines, constantly chattering on their way out to go shopping, didn’t give him a second look. He stood aside, waiting for them to exit. When they did, he held the door for them, preventing it from closing again.

The privileged little tarts didn’t even say thank you, he noticed.

He slipped inside Pauling’s first line of defense.

The door locked and beeped to signal security cameras were operational. Which was fine. He’d be gone before anyone bothered to check the video.

He climbed the stairs to Pauling’s unit. He pulled the latex gloves onto his hands and his tool kit from his pocket. At her front door, he slipped paper surgical booties over his shoes.

Pauling’s locks were good.

Much better than average.

But not good enough.

He unlocked the door quickly.

Parnell grinned.

Inside Pauling’s apartment, he spent no time admiring the view. He turned right and moved swiftly down the hallway. When he reached the open door to the vault, he was overwhelmed with a sickening sense of déjà vu.

He stared at the sparsely furnished little room as if he’d landed on Mars.

No money. Again.

Which was the first time in many days that Nitro Mack lost control.

He screamed like a crazy kamikaze. He pulled his new knife and used it to slash everything he could find. Upholstery, mattresses, carpets. Anything the knife would penetrate, he sliced to shreds.

While the knife destroyed, he swept the flat surfaces with his arm, knocking vases, jars, bottles, anything perched on any table or counter, to the floor where they shattered and splattered.

By the time he’d finished, the only things left were the cabinets on the walls. He opened the doors and swept dishes, glasses, and food to the ground.

If Pauling had been there, he’d have cut her to ribbons, too.

The whole tirade lasted a few minutes. Afterward, he was breathless, panting like a wild dog. His eyes scanned the destroyed apartment with something like disbelief.

Half of it, he didn’t remember actually doing.

Which was always the way it was when he surfaced again after one of his episodes. While it lasted, he couldn’t think. He didn’t see or hear clearly. He simply destroyed whatever he could find.

He breathed heavily for several seconds. Where was she? What had she done with his money? He’d find her and choke it out of her, if he had to. He was beyond caring now. The bitch had to be dealt with.

He looked down at the slop covering the tile floors. Which was when he saw the flyer with Pauling’s name on the top.

He picked it up. The Beachy Babe. A party yacht. A fundraiser. Today.

He stomped through the crap all over the floor to the patio slider and looked out across Ocean Boulevard to the Atlantic. There it was. He compared the yacht to the flyer. Definitely the same.

He watched the yacht and the people and the jet skis and the Zodiacs zipping to and fro for a while. His breathing slowed. His head cleared.

He knew where to find the bitch. All he needed was a Zodiac.

He might even have time to collect his money if she didn’t waste his time.

Things were looking better.