Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
I don’t bother to validate that with an answer.
Her face twist with scorn. “He had a family, a wife and children.” She pins her arms at her sides. “Did you think about that when you slit his throat?”
My chuckle is dry. “He obviously didn’t when he dipped his hand in the cookie jar.”
“Was that a reason to kill him?” she asks with wide, beautiful, disbelieving eyes.
“We had to make an example of him. What would happen if we let everyone think they can get away with taking what belongs to us?” I remove my jacket and fold it over the back of a chair. “Did anyone see you leave?”
“Why?”
“Answer me. This is important.”
She follows my actions with her gaze. “The night guard.” When I unstrap the knife belt, she speaks faster. “He always locks the street door behind me.”
I put the knife belt on the chair and unbutton my shirt. “Do you remember the time?”
Her gaze darts to the work of my fingers. “Twenty minutes after midnight. What are you doing?” Her voice climbs an octave as I pull my arms from the sleeves and drop the shirt on the floor. “Why are you undressing?”
“Did you run into anyone outside?”
“No.”
I’m not worried about the street surveillance cameras. We picked a spot with a dead angle to finish Lewis. As for the ones in the street, Giorgio would already have taken care of those, getting our contact to wipe them clean. It’s a common enough practice in our circles. It’s surprising how much dirty money a computer geek in the bureau can make.
Only one question remains. “Did you call someone on the phone?”
“No,” she says again.
That’s fortunate. If her call was cut off when she dropped her phone, it would’ve been exactly at the hour Lewis died. That would’ve been suspicious. It would’ve required more cleaning, such as making the person she spoke to as well as the records of the cell phone company disappear.
She could be lying, but I believe her. I would’ve heard her voice if she were talking. Anyway, I’ll check her phone to be sure.
“What are you doing?” she repeats when I reach for my belt and undo the buckle.
“Take off your clothes.”
Her lips part but no sound comes out.
“Come on, Anya. I can promise you it won’t be pleasant if I have to cut that dress off of you.”
“Are you…?” she starts, but she loses her nerve before she can finish her question.
I kick off my shoes and take off my socks, letting them fall where they drop. “I don’t force women. I don’t have to.” When she continues to stand there like a statue, I add, “I won’t take anything you don’t want to give.”
“Except my life?” she asks with a bite in her tone.
I don’t tell her I already took her life. Maybe I didn’t take it in the way she means, but there’s no arguing that her days of freedom are over. Life as she knew it ceased to exist when circumstances dealt her an unlucky blow. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time decided her future. There’s nothing either of us can do about it.
Peeling out of my pants, I give her the reassurance she needs. “I’m not going to kill you.”
When I stand in front of her in nothing but my briefs, she cuts a path over me with her gaze. I’m used to women looking, and I’m not shy. I discard the pants on the chair, making sure they cover the knife.
She jerks her face back to mine and asks with loathing, “Only Livy?”
I cross the floor and stop short of her. “If I have to.”
Incandescent ire blazes in her eyes. “You’re a monster.”
My nod is solemn. “I know what I am.”
Seeing that the insult doesn’t faze me, she clamps her mouth shut but continues to glare at me.
“Fine,” I say. “We’ll do this my way.”
When I reach for her arms, she steps away from me.
The sound of a doorbell comes from downstairs.
“Take off your dress, Anya. I won’t tell you again.”
She looks at me as if I’m the muck on the bottom of a slimy river as she turns her back on me before removing the cardigan with trembling fingers.
“Give it here,” I say, reaching for the garment.
In a pitiful act of defiance, she drops it on the floor. My patience is endless. I didn’t get as far as I did in the business for being short-tempered or impulsive. That’s Giorgio.
Smiling to myself, I let the cardigan lie there. I was going to fold it for her, but this looks more authentic.
She toes off her shoes and hovers barefoot in the corner.
“Need help with the zipper?” I ask.
I meant it in the best way possible, seeing how much her hands are shaking, but the scowl she directs at me from over her shoulder is cutting.