| |
Spectre
I’d already made my decision.
Before I’d even received the first text from Tommy, I’d known I had no interest in killing the woman for him. But his parting shot, that final message had lingered with me until I finally banished them from my mind so I could sleep. I had no problems killing. It would be more honest to say that I enjoyed killing. It was likely a gift from my father, a contribution from both his genetics and his abuse.
Sarge had told me I wasn’t a psychopath in the way my father was and over the years, I’d come to believe him, although if he hadn’t found me when he had, it would have been too late for me. If I hadn’t almost bled to death in an alley, if Alfonse Jordan’s men hadn’t caught up with me, then I would have kept going down that path until I was as twisted and fucked up as Walter Kramer had been.
He’d succeeded in making me into a monster, but Sarge had caught me before I was too far down the path and he’d redirected that hot, burning anger that had driven me to accept a contract on my father.
I wished I could say the anger was gone, lost to apathy and the serenity Sarge had tried to impart, but I’d be lying.
In this aspect, my father had succeeded. Rage was a monster inside me, one that often slept, but certain sights, sounds, scents—that was all it took to awaken that beast. He’d been clawing at the back of my mind ever since reading the witness statements from Brian O’Halloran’s trial. If Tommy had realized what his actions would do, what he would awaken, he never would have called me.
The thought of him getting his hands on the woman I’d seen earlier, hurting her, all to punish a cop who’d brought down serial predators, had teased the monster within into full wakefulness and the burn of anger had simmered under my skin ever since.
The anger was dangerous.
It had made me reckless already when I’d followed Tia Jenkins into the restaurant, and sat at the bar while she ate lunch with a friend. There was something vulnerable about her. Gentle. Compelling. But at the same time, she seemed incredibly bold and that had been surprising.
Very little surprised me.
She’d seen me. Whether she’d realized I was staring at her, I had no idea, but she’d spent a good minute staring at me and it had taken a level of effort not to return that stare because what was in her gaze was something I wouldn’t have expected, and something I needed to pretend I hadn’t seen.
Hot, female interest.
The memory of it lingered with me throughout the afternoon as I went about my preparations and by the time I let myself back into the anonymous hotel where I’d stayed the last few days, I felt like I was walking on a razor’s edge, and below me, flames waited.
I wasted little time analyzing it. I could do several things to alleviate the near palpable rage, but only one was viable right now. Had Tommy been within my reach, I could have just killed him. With the fury chewing away at me, I likely would cross a line, taking more pleasure in the act than I usually allowed myself, making him suffer, bleed, beg. But he was out of reach up in Boston and my current plans wouldn’t let me leave Tennessee.
That also eliminated another avenue for purging the fury. A trip to the brothel I used in Germany would be the most effective manner, but again, it required leaving Tennessee...and the fucking country.
Down to the final option, I stripped naked and climbed into the shower, turning the water up so that it was painfully hot. Pain wasn’t necessary, but it helped. Cock already hard, I wrapped my hand around it and began to stroke, cupping my balls in my free hand and squeezing, tighter and tighter until the pain helped blank out my thoughts, then I eased back and focused on the heavy weight of my dick, the way my hand glided over my skin, the heated splash of water. My breath stayed near level. My pulse barely sped up. Shoulders wedged against the narrow stall, I worked my erection and enjoyed the serenity of a blank mind.
Then I closed my eyes and a memory flash-danced through my head.
Tia. Tia Jenkins, the woman I’d been hired to kill. Standing a few feet away with her friend, a tiny grin at her lips and a blush on her cheeks. Thick, heavy curls falling around her shoulders, breasts rising and falling under an emerald green T-shirt. I’d never cared for the color green.
My father’s eyes, like mine, were green, and the vain bastard had loved to wear shirts that same color and I hated anything that reminded me of him.
But seeing that rich, vibrant shade on her—it was lovely. Her light-brown skin glowed against it.
My cock jerked viciously.
My breathing sped up.
My heartbeat accelerated.
I tried to shove her image from my mind.
It didn’t work.
The memory flash -played on. She glanced at me, a nervous sort of glance, but a hungry one, her full-lipped mouth still curved in that tiny smile.
Fuck.
The orgasm spilled out and I came hard and fast.
Shaken, I looked down. I was still hard. I still hurt. “Fuck.” I continued to pump and the orgasm dragged on and on while the thought of her smile, the way she bit her lower lip loomed larger and larger in my head.
Finally, the raging climax came to an end and I sagged back against the fiberglass of the shower stall, staring at the water puddling and swirling down the drain.
* * * * *
THE HAND JOB HADN’T done it.
I changed into the sole set of clothing suitable for a workout and left the hotel, opting for a route that would take me up the nearest steep incline. I pushed hard at a pace so demanding, I was soon out of breath, the air burning in and out of my lungs. Once I reached that point, I slowed to a jog and caught my breath, then fell into an easier pace.
I couldn’t run myself to exhaustion, not on a job.
But the fiery rage living inside dulled down to a simmer and I could think. By the time I returned to the hotel, I was able to push the beast back into the cage. After another shower, a quick one to wash the sweat from my skin, I dressed and lay down, setting my mental alarm clock to wake in three hours.
* * * * *
I WOKE CLEARHEADED but somewhat bemused about my mental state from earlier. It was something I’d have to figure out, because I had a job ahead of me, one I’d assigned to myself. I finished my preparations for the night, then set about wiping down the hotel room. That morning, before I’d followed Tia to the restaurant where she’d had her lunch date, I’d canceled my plane ticket and used some of the cash I always traveled with to purchase a nondescript dark-gray Honda CRV. I’d met the seller and a friend at a local restaurant and I’d seen his surprise when I arrived alone, but he’d relaxed after a few minutes of bullshitting.
Sarge had taught me how to blend and I did it so well, I might as well be a chameleon. We spent almost twenty minutes doing nothing talking and by the time I asked if I could look under the hood, both had relaxed and we kept talking while I checked out everything. Neither of them had even hesitated when I asked if I could drive it around the block to see how it ran, offering to leave my wallet behind as security. They’d waved it off and ten minutes later, I’d passed over two grand in cash, the owner signed over the title and I left.
I’d driven the rental back to the airport and used a rideshare app to get back to Gatlinburg. I’d have to burn the cover I’d used for this trip, but I’d selected one with that intent in mind already, so it was no loss.
The last order of the day had been a quick trip out to Tia Jenkin’s house. I’d left the CRV in front of the vacant house, one I’d determined was a rental. The plan had been to do some simple reconnaissance. But upon discovering she wasn’t there, I’d decided slip in and familiarize myself with the layout of her home.
That was what I’d told myself.
Now, thinking back to my walk-through of the painfully neat living space, I wondered why I’d lied to myself.
It should have been only an attempt to familiarize myself with the home. I’d spent far too much time wandering each room for that to be the case. She had an alarm system, which I’d disarmed from the back door with my smartphone, using an app I’d designed myself. It basically took the system offline, but the alarm company wouldn’t realize it, because my phone was now working as a clone of the system. It would stop when I left and the system would carry on as if nothing had happened. She wouldn’t receive a notification because as far as the system itself was concerned, nothing had happened.
As I gave the hotel room one final look, I slipped my hand into my pocket and rubbed my thumb over the surface of the business card I’d taken from the stack on her desk. The stack had been crafted in an X, each card alternating angles. I’d taken the top one to study it but instead of putting it back, I’d slipped it into my pocket and readjusted the position before leaving. Now, I tugged it out and gave it another look.
ARTx
.
The lettering was in white, against a rainbow scribble that should have been chaotic, but managed to escape that effect somehow.
Below that was her name, and in smaller print, Art Therapy Classes & Workshops for Children on The Autism Spectrum.
It explained why she’d managed to stay calm while dealing with the prick, the day before. Maintaining calm would be a necessity for therapists.
Sarge had talked me in to seeing a therapist. Twice.
The older woman had reminded me of the aunt in the classic TV show about the sheriff, Andy Griffith. She’d been nice and sympathetic and the moment I realized she’d guessed what had happened to me, I’d told Sarge I’d never go back.
But that had been close to fifteen years ago. I was older and my scars were far better buried.
That hot prickle ran down my neck again, making the hair stand on end, while the ugly, coppery taste of rage flooded my mouth.
“Later,” I told myself. I’d have time to indulge in that darkness later.
I had a job to do.
* * * * *
IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK when I pulled onto the street. I had everything ready to go and planned to be on the road by midnight. Tommy, by now, knew I wasn’t going to take the job. I hadn’t talked to him, but he wasn’t an idiot. He’d called half a dozen times earlier in the day, then sent a few texts. A span of nearly six hours had gone by with no contact. Ten minutes ago, he’d called again. I hadn’t answered. I wouldn’t talk to him until I had Tia safely out of Tennessee.
He couldn’t have gotten anybody decent in place in such a short time. That’s what common sense told me, but I had an unmistakable sense of urgency and I wanted to get this part of the job over with.
Some of the homes around me had their lights off already. Others, like the home of Tia Jenkins, still had lights on. I drove to the house next door, the rental I’d used for cover the previous day. I was using it again, only this time I had a key. Using a credit card associated with this job’s identity, I’d rented the cabin online and hauled in my duffel and an empty suitcase, freshly purchased from a shop in Pigeon Forge. Turning on a few lights, I did a walk-through, taking note of the windows that faced toward her house, closing curtains on other windows and going over the plan once more in my head. I brought up the website for her business and went to the about page, but it provided precious little data and nothing had changed since I’d read it last night.
She had classes tomorrow.
I felt a tug of regret for that. I didn’t like doing things that might upset children.
After checking that the house was secure and as expected, I put the suitcase in the bedroom, leaving the lights on in there and in the bathroom. I also turned on the TV in the living room, keeping the volume muted. That done, I retreated into the kitchen and pulled out a pair of night vision goggles and checked the yard. I caught a pair of eyes glowing, close to the ground, and floppy long ears. A moment later, the rabbit turned and sped away, quickly lost in the grass.
After finishing my check of the area, I tugged the goggles off, opened the window facing her house an inch, then sat down to prepare and wait.
Maybe ten minutes passed. It was close to ten-thirty.
Movement caught my eye and I looked through the large window in the kitchen that faced out over the backyard. I had the blinds open at a slant and the lights in the kitchen behind me were off. Still, I felt exposed. Although my dark clothes and naturally olive skin wouldn’t stand out in the dim room, thermal imaging could pick me up with ease. I knew, because I’d used such tools myself.
It was paranoia, though. That was all.
The property backed up to a slope and the yard itself was a natural decline, allowing for absolutely shitty line of sight. I reached for the night vision goggles but stopped, staring at the back door of the property next door.
Tia Jenkins stepped outside, letting the door close slowly. She skimmed a hand back over her hair, loose now and spilling past her shoulders. As I watched, she stretched, reaching her arms up high over her head, spine arching. Her shirt rode up over her belly, exposing her skin while her breasts jutted out against the fabric. I found myself wondering how soft her skin would be, what it would feel like to stroke my hands over those breasts, down to grip her hips.
She opened her mouth and for a moment, as I watched her so intently, it almost felt like she was speaking to me. But she was too far away. Frowning, I peered into the yard. She had a bright light on the porch, one that lit up the backyard so effectively, I’d already made the decision to put it out after I knew she was asleep. Her bedroom was near the front of the house so she wouldn’t notice when the light suddenly went dark. The bright light, as it turned out, proved to be a blessing.
Earlier, I’d checked for any sign that there was another soul living in that house with her. There had been nothing, not even a goldfish.
But as I watched, a big, fluffy, light-brown dog trotted around the yard, nose to the ground. She started toward the rental property. I blew out a slow, careful breath.
“What the hell?” I said as the animal edged closer, now maybe ten yards away.
The dog’s ears flicked.
“Come on back, Valkyrie. That’s not my property.”
Her voice was faint and the dog lingered another couple of moments, still staring toward the window.
“Valkyrie!” She spoke more firmly and the dog turned away, obediently walking back to the house without a backward glance.
“Fuck.” Skimming a hand back over my naked scalp, I looked at my small kit, then went back to work, just in case.