Monster (5 page)

She was right.

The sick son of a bitch wanted attention.

-Annie-

I didn't know why I was needling the man.

“I'm sorry, I'll stop pestering you about it,” I said. “I'm being ghoulish, anyways.”

He shook his head.

“Everyone's talking about it,” he said. “It's not just you. It was only natural that you'd bring it up.”

“I hate him,” I said, quietly.

“You should,” he said.

Our eyes met, mine blue, his green. I saw nothing but calm approval in his gaze. He didn't think I was joking or exaggerating.

The Blue Ridge Killer deserved to be hated.

Still, the sicko didn't deserve to take up our entire afternoon with fear. That was probably what he wanted, and I would be damned if I would give it to him.

“New subject,” I said, lightly. “What do you like to do?”

He shrugged.

I tried not to watch his muscles.

“Work,” he said. “Go home. Sleep. Hike. I like dogs.”

“No hobbies?” I asked. “You don't read, play video games, play guitar, anything?”

Quinn looked a little uncomfortable, and I knew that I shouldn't tease him, but it was so much better than talking about the serial killer.

“I like movies,” he said. “I read some novels. Veg out with TV sometimes. I don't know if that counts as a hobby.”

“Sure,” I said. “What do you like to read? What have you been watching?”

It turned out that we had some common interests – spy movies, political thrillers. We both loved the Avengers movies.

We passed the rest of the afternoon like that, drinking, laughing, talking about movies.

-Quinn-

Shit.

I was doomed. I went to bed that night slightly unsteady on my feet, cursing myself for inviting Annie to the porch.

Why did my new neighbor have to be that hot, that fun, that appealing in every way? She could talk about stupid movies and about the killer in our midst without batting one of her long eyelashes. Cool, collected, perfect.

I couldn't get a picture of her out of my head: that long hair standing out around her, those beautiful blue eyes open wide in unseeing terror, naked and bound.

She was exactly the Blue Ridge Killer's type, gorgeous and athletic, lived alone. That dog of hers was some protection, but not enough.

I had to hope she'd take my advice and get a gun.

It was past time for that son of a bitch to get what was coming to him.

In the meantime,  I could protect her. It wasn't like I had anything better to do. No more job, no more dog, no more friends.

It wouldn't do me any good to sit and mope about it.

I could protect Annie.

That that would let me be around her more often, give me an excuse - to me, not her, she wouldn't have to know - to keep my eyes on her trim body, the soft swell of her breast... well, that was just a bonus.

Laying in bed, thinking about her soft body, her sparkling eyes, I felt myself grow hard as a rock.

No woman had ever affected my cock like Annie before.

I mean, I'd been with beautiful women, sexy women, gorgeous women - but none of them made my cock get so achingly hard so fast.

I wanted her more than anyone.

The thought of a world without her in my arms, in my bed, made me scowl.

Someday, I would have her.

I would make myself into the kind of man she'd want, and I'd find myself in her bed. I avoided thinking about what I'd do after that. Would she expect marriage and babies?

No matter what she did to my cock, I wasn't that type of man.

I tried to banish the thoughts from my mind, focusing on the image of her lips closing around the head of my cock.

It only took a few desperate strokes to turn the image into my release, spilling all over the bed.

Fuck.

Now I had to change the sheets.

-Annie-

Quinn was watching me.

It had been a week since we'd hung out on the porch together, drinking and chatting, and I didn't know what had changed.

I was sure, though.

Quinn was watching me.

I could feel his eyes on me when I left the house to walk Urso. By the time I got back, he was usually in the front yard, sleeves rolled up, doing something manly and productive. Clipping back bushes. Mowing the lawn. Scrubbing the side of the house.

It was too many times to be a coincidence.

I tried to tell myself that I didn't pay attention to him, but his strong body, gleaming with sweat, did things to my own body that were better not to think about.

He didn't try to follow me when I left, but he kept an eye on my comings and goings.

I didn't like it.

I kept my curtains closed. I finally put up blinds in the smallest bathroom, the one I rarely used and hadn't thought could be a privacy issue.

Anywhere someone could see in, though, I covered up.

On the second floor, I made sure the curtains were lightweight, so plenty of light could still come in. I loved the sunlight streaming into my house, and resented everywhere the curtains made dark.

What the fuck was he on about?

Was he trying to seduce me? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

It had been way too long since anything like that had happened to me, I didn't think I knew the signs any more, but... He was always in a tight t-shirt, doing something handy.

Maybe that was all it was.

Harmless. Even a little flattering.

Not that it would work, of course. I didn't feel like being seduced. I didn't need anyone in my life or in my bed.

I had a hundred-dollar vibrator that plugged into the wall and gave me shuddering, blissful orgasms whenever I wanted them. What the hell did I need with a man?

It occurred to me that there were things my Magic Wand couldn't do, like cuddle with me in the afterglow, but...

Nothing worth calling in Quinn Markham for.

Besides, Urso curled up on the couch with me to watch movies, and he didn't steal the popcorn unless I told him he could. That was all I needed, right?

Coming out of the house when I did was one thing. The soundproofing was okay, but not amazing. I could hear his front door open and close in my apartment. He had to be able to hear mine. After the second time I actually saw my new neighbor watching me out the window, though, I wasn't even a tiny bit flattered.

I thought about confronting him.

"Hey, asshole, keep your eyes off me," I would say. Or maybe "Hey, prick. Keep your prick in your pants."

Something always stopped me, though.

I wasn't sure whether it was lust or fear.

Part of me wanted Quinn to be trying to seduce me, part of me was afraid that... oh, fuck. It sounded so silly. So ridiculous.

Finally I realized that I needed to talk it over with Heather. She always helped me understand what was going on. I liked to think that I did the same for her.

I marched into her cafe and glanced around, making sure it was empty and ready for a chat.

"Heather," I said.

"Annie," she replied, equally serious, but with a gleam of humor at her eye.

"I think my neighbor might be the Blue Ridge Killer."

-Quinn-

I tossed and turned, waking up in a cold sweat.

This was why I didn't nap. Even when I worked night shift, naps just made me feel more tired and angry with the world. Not that I needed help to feel that way. Seemed to be my default state. At least, lately.

Now, I didn't even have Dragon's warm presence, or the hope of talking Cynthia into helping me forget with her body.

I was alone in a shitty apartment.

It was fucking miserable.

I stretched out, trying to force myself to relax a few more minutes, get some actual rest.

Fat chance.

I was just thinking about Dragon, about his goofy smile. I didn't need to go to the gym for most of my workouts like a lot of the guys.

I'd just grab Dragon's leash and my car keys and off we'd go.

We must have traveled most of the trails in two counties together. Did about four miles a day, longer on weekends.

I envied Annie, some.

Not that I wanted her dog taken away, or anything, but fuck me if I didn't want mine back by my side where he belonged.

I'd trained him, I'd raised him, I'd taken him to the vet.

He was my goddamn dog.

Just because the county had paid for him as a puppy didn't mean shit.

They didn't even know his name.

I'd have paid every penny back if they'd let me take him. Didn't matter how much. That's what credit cards were for.

Didn't matter, though.

Government property.

I was so fucking sick of that force and their rules.

Most days, I didn't even miss it.

-Annie-

“Okay, say it again, you think what now?” Heather asked.

She'd sent me to a table, gotten me a mug of tea and a plate of cookies, waving her hand dismissively at one of her teenage baristas when the girl frowned at her for reaching in the case when there weren't paying customers to feed.

She was the boss.

One of the only perks of owning a coffee shop, she liked to say, was giving your friends some free damn cookies.

“I think Quinn is the Blue Ridge Killer,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he's being weird!” I said. “I keep finding him watching me.”

“Like, through your windows at night?” she asked. “Like a peeping tom?”

“Well, no,” I admitted. “Like, when I see him getting into his car, he'll wave, and then he'll stare for a while.”

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Well, he was a cop, and he won't talk about why he left the police department here,” I said. “That's pretty suspicious, right?”

“Why would a cop do anything like those killings?” she asked. “He'd be around people trained to spot his lies and ferret out wrongdoing. Next bit of evidence.”

I wasn't sure I agreed with her about cops not being likely to commit violent crimes.

I'd known enough cops who were arrogant and selfish. Seemed to fit the Blue Ridge Killer just fine.

“Well?” she prompted.

“He's super buff,” I said. “He could totally overpower a teenager.”

“Annie,” she said, way too loudly for my comfort even if the room was all but empty. “Most men can. Hell, even I could probably murder a girl like Laura, over there.”

The girl had evidently been listening, because she looked up, alarmed.

“I'm not going to kill you,” Heather said impatiently to her employee. “We're talking about the serial killer's profile.”

“Oh,” the girl said.

She turned back to her cleaning and, after a pause so she didn't seem too rude, turned up the music in the shop a little bit.

I didn't blame her.

If there had been someone like the BRK around when I was in high school, I would have been scared to death – and sick of adults talking about it.

“You think I'm nuts,” I said, pitching my voice a little low and quiet so that Laura, still behind the counter, couldn't hear me.

“No,” she said, gently. “I think you like Quinn, and you're scared.”

I was, frankly, puzzled.

“Why would you say that?”

“You've mentioned how strong or buff he is like five times. You blush, just a little, when you talk about him. He's the only guy you've mentioned in three years.”

“I talk about men,” I said.

“Yeah, men. Like, twenty years older than you or safely married or even gay. Not
guys.
I can't remember the last time you talked about a guy who you could even potentially date.”

“I don't want to date anyone,” I said. “No point.”

She raised both eyebrows and gave me a stern look.

“Just because you dated crappy dudes doesn't mean they're all crappy,” she said. “Try again. Get back on the horse. You're not afraid of anything else, why does this wig you out so bad?”

“Look, you're engaged,” I said. “I'm happy for you. Really. Doesn't mean everyone needs to be paired off like obedient little turtledoves.”

“Eat a cookie and stop being nasty, “she said.

I scowled, but took a cookie.

“God, this is good,” I said, staring down at it.

“Cranberry pecan,” she said. “With chocolate. You gonna be nice now?”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“It's okay,” she said. “I'm not pissed. Annie, though, honey. You've gotta deal with this.”

“I am dealing,” I told her. “I didn't just try once and give up, you know? What's wrong with finally taking a hint?”

She sighed.

“Not every guy'll care,” she said. “Give Quinn a chance. Get laid, or go to therapy. Join a club. You need more friends.”

“I have friends,” I said.

I was getting embarrassed. Sometimes Heather made me feel like a mulish teenager, stubborn and digging my heels in for no reason.

She had a knack for pointing out when my reasons were excuses.

I knew it was good for me, but I didn't have to like it.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe I shouldn't just cut myself off.