12

It was strange, he thought, how a person’s possessions could still retain such a part of them after death.

Like Angela’s car, for instance.

It still smelled of her, even now. A smell so ripe and reckless, he could have found it anywhere in the world without any effort at all.

Expensive perfume . . . cigarette smoke . . . strawberry lip gloss and nail polish. Sex and desperation. Longing and sheer bad luck.

Smells that wafted so strong on the wind, even the snow couldn’t dull them.

Sometimes he could still taste her eagerness.

But those memories were becoming more and more of an irritation to him. Taunting him when he yearned to be filled. Tormenting him when he ached to be satisfied.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hasty.

Perhaps he should have kept her longer . . . drawn out the deception more slowly . . . built the suspense to a more shocking and shattering climax.

At least . . . until Lucy was his.

His and his alone.

Ah, Lucy . . .

She was rarely out of his sight anymore . . . never out of his thoughts.

And she so innocently, so sweetly, unaware.

Believing him to be merely an errant breeze, blowing cold across her cheek.

Or the subtle stirring of a shadow coupling with her own.

Or the deep, impenetrable night gazing back at her beyond her sliding glass doors.

How could she know that he was the reason for her emptiness? The longing and restlessness she couldn’t seem to absolve or understand?

So making use of Angela’s car tonight had been gratifying to him in many ways.

Reminding Lucy of their special bond. Their past together that she so wished to forget . . . their inevitable future she could not yet begin to imagine.

And dispelling those last lingering scents of Angela, once and for all. The car belonged to Lucy now, and it should smell like Lucy.

And there was no smell stronger than fear.

He preferred to think of it as a sort of exorcism.

One more move in his Game.

The Game Lucy would never win, no matter how many clues she might unravel, no matter how far ahead she believed herself to be.

The Game with Lucy as his prize.

But that wouldn’t happen for a while yet.

Not when the mere playing of the Game was so much fun.

Especially when one played without rules.