Killer Career (4 page)

At the sound of footsteps, he crouched and watched through the parted
branch at the bottom of the bush. The two approached from different
directions, first the man from the right, then the woman from the
left.

He knew what would happen next. He fought the urge to jump out and
plead, “Be strong, for God’s sake. Don’t do it.”

His legs trembled, but he remained still. If only she’d leave, then
nothing bad would happen.

Paying no heed to his silent wish, the woman fastened her eyes on the
man’s features, and said, “I love you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her wedding ring twinkled in
the lamplight as they descended to the grass.

Every moan from the woman’s lips carried to the man behind the
bushes. Heat coursed from his neck to his face. His treacherous
member hardened. The torture continued. The lamplight’s glow
revealed the slow unbuttoning of the woman’s sweater, followed by
the lifting of the skirt and the shameless act that followed. What
about her family? If they only knew.

The act went on for an eternity as, with legs grown numb, he crouched
and waited in the undergrowth.

Finally they finished, stumbled upright and rearranged their
clothing. A victim of passion, the man returned a last searing kiss
before he vanished down the path. The woman stood alone, smiling, the
only sound the crickets.

In back of the bush, a cramp shot up the man’s calf. He had to
move. If only she would do something, so the noise wouldn’t carry.
Instead, she stood there with that insipid grin on her face.

He was pitching forward. Wincing, he shifted his weight. A twig
snapped. She turned. He froze, his legs enduring the prick of a
thousand small needles. She squinted, then shrugged and headed in the
opposite direction away from her vanished lover.

Stifling a grunt of pain, the watcher eased up partway and hobbled,
keeping his cover behind the bushes. His leg returned to normal, just
as she reached the next park lamp. Its fluorescent glow lit her
features, revealing a mouth curved upward in satisfaction.

“I’ll wipe that smile off your face,” he muttered, keeping pace
with her.

A glance at his quarry revealed her top button lay open, exposing a
creamy expanse of cleavage. His stomach roiled in anger and protest,
yet his swollen member almost burst.

“Why am I so weak? She means nothing to me,” his mind said, yet
his body told him otherwise.

He must stop the torture. There was only one way to do that. He
inched closer, yet she was still unaware. He drew so near he could
almost taste her.

The time of reckoning had come. He donned his gloves and slid the
silk scarf from his pocket even as he kept pace with her from behind.

Reaching out, he pinched her waist. She turned, still smiling,
probably expecting to see her lover.

With the element of surprise in his favor, he whipped the scarf
around her neck, entangling her golden hair in its folds.

She parted her lips to scream, but instead gasped. He tightened the
hold, pulling her close. A mixture of cheap perfume and sexual body
odor invaded his nostrils and lungs, making him gag.

Despite his revulsion, he stepped closer and yanked harder. Her
surprised look changed to terror, but it wouldn’t stop him. She
deserved this.

The smell of fear hit him full force, upsetting his stomach’s
balance, forcing the bile up his throat. Ignoring the burning
sensation, he swallowed.

Sensing his weakness, she swung at him with her hand. He caught it,
forced her off balance and threw her to the ground. She rolled over
and kicked his shin.

Nausea forgotten, he clutched his leg. Rolling on the grass, he
groped for the scarf. She twisted then landed a knee to his crotch,
making him see stars.

She was up. He could barely move, but he must stop her. Groping, he
latched onto her ankle and twisted. She lost her balance and landed
beside him. He reached for the scarf on her neck. She knocked him
away with her elbow.

Through the tangle of arms and legs, he again sought the scarf.
Feeling its smooth texture, he held tight, grabbed the other end and
pushed each end together.

He increased the pressure. She fought, bucking and squirming, but she
proved no match for his superior strength. Her efforts grew weak,
then stopped altogether as she sagged in his arms. Her eyes bulged.
Her lips turned purple.

Satisfaction filled him. He’d done it. It felt good knowing there
was one less harlot left to lead a good man from his wife.

Now for the worst part. Grasping his burden under the arms, he
dragged it as fast as he could. The woman’s shoes scraped against
the gravel, beating a dirge. He gritted his teeth.

Like a slow motion video character, he inched along. The process
seemed endless. He prided himself on being in shape, yet perspiration
streamed under his arms, across his forehead, around his crotch. His
eyes smarted, but he dare not release his grip to wipe them.
Balancing a dead weight was not easy. And the morbid stench was
nauseating. He knew that smell, but from where? A jarring memory
flitted across his consciousness and faded. With each step, the odor
grew stronger, playing havoc with his weak stomach. If only he could
drop his burden and dash away, but that was out of the question. He
had a mission to fulfill.

A rustling sound from the right froze him. Smell forgotten, he
dropped the woman and threw himself into the opposite bushes. His
eyes and ears strained. Droplets trickled down his back. The evidence
of his guilt lay but six feet away, in plain view of any passersby.
If he were caught, he’d fry.

Two raccoons darted onto the path, then disappeared behind a maple.
Was that what he’d heard? Suppose it had been something else? He
waited to make sure.

The silence lengthened. Every minute seemed an hour. He better get on
with it if he expected to finish the job before daylight.

Cautiously he rose and glanced around. Taking a deep breath, he
stepped back onto the path and reached for his burden. The ordeal
continued.

Ahead, a squirrel jumped from a bush. This time, the man ignored the
commotion and continued hauling the body. Heading for the lagoon, he
passed the wisterias, the wild flowers, the pine trees and the elms.

At the landing, he inched downward until near the water’s edge.
With a sigh of relief, he released his burden down the bank. It hit
with a splash.

Fascinated, he watched the bubbles rise as if trying to cleanse the
slut of her guilt. That would never happen. Her sins were too
enormous. Water could never restore her soul.

“No man will drown in your love again,” he said, and with a grim
smile he turned from the water.

* * *

Tyler blinked. God, he was tired. The acid in his stomach rose,
making him double over. That damn ulcer again.

His abdominal problems had become so pronounced that he’d even
included a weak stomach in his current villain’s makeup. Long ago,
he’d given up trying to keep his health and idiosyncrasies out of
the manuscripts. Somehow they made it in anyway, as if they belonged
there. None of that mattered right now. He only wanted to feel
better. Tyler grabbed the antacid bottle and downed a handful of
pills.

Forever striving to be unique and aiming to be the best, he gave more
and more of himself to each manuscript. He had to. He lived for his
books.

What he most dreaded and craved had happened again. He’d crossed
the bridge between himself and the character and had entered the
flow. The transition was brutal, yet essential. The only way he could
write was to follow it all to its conclusion. This latest excursion
had been a dilly.

The end of the novel lay out of reach, waiting to make his efforts
worthwhile.

He reached for the mug, raised it to his lips and swallowed. Tepid
liquid slid down, making him grimace. Exactly how long had he been
writing?

A glance at the computer clock made him blink. Three thirty. That
explained his exhaustion.

He stumbled upright, but a screeching pain in his temples halted him.
Curse that migraine. He needed peace.

Groping his way through the hall, he sought the haven of his bedroom.
Once inside, his trembling hand reached for the bottle of extra
strength aspirins on the night stand. He swallowed them dry then fell
face down onto the king-sized waterbed. Its soothing warmth lulled
and caressed him, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Chapter Four

Excitement warred with trepidation as Julie entered the foyer of
Harbor View, the condominium jewel of Chicago’s Gold Coast.
Sunlight and chandeliers twinkled across caramel colored marble
walls, depicting elegance at its finest. She smiled in appreciation,
knowing the hefty income from her law firm couldn’t even pay a
month’s rent in this palace. That’s all right. She was satisfied
with what she’d accomplished. Going to law school while working
full time as a secretary hadn’t been easy. Many times she’d
forced her eyes to remain open so she could study for an exam when
her body craved sleep. Getting a law degree and passing the Bar exam
meant too much to give in to human frailties. She wanted a better
life and would not settle for less.

Time spun back twenty-five years. Julie warily watched her father
remove the training wheels from the pretty pink bicycle he and Mom
had scrimped to buy for her.

She’d much rather be safe and keep her training wheels.
Intercepting the look on Julie’s face, Dad paused in his
adjustments and gathered her tiny hands into his giant palms.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear. Anything’s possible when you try
hard enough. If you don’t, you’ll miss out on a lot. Remember, to
really live, you’ll need to take risks.”

He helped her onto the shiny vinyl seat, jangled the bell and gave
the bicycle a slight push. Soon Julie was off, flying down the
street, rejoicing in her newfound freedom. Without that push in the
right direction, she’d have hobbled on her training wheels forever.

In the years to follow, she’d adopted her father’s advice. It had
worked well for her, but not for her parents. An early onset of
macular degeneration robbed Dad of his accounting job and he’d
wound up a telephone solicitor. Mom became a waitress to supplement
their waning income.

Julie had looked forward to easing their burdens, but that pleasure
had been denied her. Her parents’ long deserved vacation had turned
deadly, swiping them from her months before she’d passed the Bar.
Thinking of the airline’s ominous call to her at school still made
her tremble.

Clamping her teeth together, Julie fought back a wave of loneliness.
Though it had been over six years ago, she still couldn’t get over
her parents’ passing.

She must be strong. They’d want her to be happy. Might-have-beens
were for mopers, not doers.

Julie’s steps quickened. She introduced herself to the doorman, who
checked her identification, then led her to an elevator hidden in a
nook.

He motioned inside the open elevator. “This will take you directly
to the penthouse, Miss. The public area will be to your left. Someone
will meet you upstairs to show the way.”

Julie caught a glimpse of Burberry carpeting and mahogany paneling.
What looked like brass ballet bars extended around the cab’s
perimeters. An even more elaborate chandelier than the one she’d
seen in the lobby cast a twinkling glow over the geometrically
patterned cloth lining the walls. As she often did before riding a
strange elevator, she automatically checked for and found the hatch,
located a few feet to the right of the chandelier. It was important
to know how to get out, just in case.

That clear in her mind, she reached to press a lit button. The
doorman stopped her. “That one leads downstairs to Mr. Jensen’s
private garage. You want the one beside it. That will take you to the
penthouse, Miss.”

“Thanks.”

My, my, Jensen had his own garage. Lord knows what this little
luxury costs him. Deeded parking spaces alone were outrageous in this
area.

The elevator swayed as it ascended. Her heart skittered and banged.
She was trapped. The floor numbers flew by in dizzying succession up
to sixty, speeding higher and higher.

She was at the mercy of moving cables, which at any moment could
stall or break. She might dangle for hours in this opulent cell or
instantly plunge to her death. Still faster and higher she climbed.
Perspiration clung to her forehead. She felt faint. Memories of
another time and another elevator flashed through her mind. She
wasn’t there now, but the knowledge didn’t help.

You can do this, you’re perfectly safe. The Great Tyler Jensen
wouldn’t own just any old elevator. He’d make sure it worked
.

At thought of the enigmatic mystery writer, her mouth dried.

With barely a jolt, the cab stopped, signaling the journey’s end.
Julie breathed a sigh of relief, which caught in her throat at the
realization that any minute she’d face Jensen.

She conjured up a wild scenario which made her heart flip. The
mystery writer had invited her here to attend a very private
workshop. She was the only student and the lessons were far removed
from writing.

Julie hesitated, a solitary figure at the top of the world. The doors
yawned open. What would she find outside? Would it be all she’d
hoped? She better get off and find out before the doors closed and
trapped her. With a deep breath, she stepped out into the foyer where
she was greeted by two sets of thick, tall wooden doors, one to the
right, the other the left.

The doorman had said to go to the left. Before she could begin to
locate a doorbell there or try to knock, the doors swung open,
revealing the sultry brunette from the conference, clad in a crimson
business suit, short tight skirt and tall heels.