He slipped off her quietly, not wanting to disturb her imitation of slumber. He rolled up the stocking mask that had covered his face and dropped it into his bag. He hadnt worried so much about hiding his identity as hed enjoyed the symbolism of it all. He was man at his most base, his most powerful.
And hed been triumphant.
A glance at his watch on the nightstand told him he had only a few hours before his flight. There wasnt much time to savor his victory. But he couldnt just leave.
He picked up his black jeans off the floor beside the bed where hed stripped, and reached into the front pocket. He pulled out a pocketknife with a polished, inlaid ebony handle. It was a thing of beauty, a true find for his collection. He opened it up and tested its weight, appreciating the feel of it in his hand.
Padding across the threadbare carpet, he reached out and lifted a long, silky lock of her dark hair between his thumb and forefinger. Sawing delicately back and forth, he cut the lock from her scalp and lifted the fragrant strands to his nose. Beneath the odors of sweat and fear and that dusty mattress, he smelled the tangy scent of the woman herself.
It would be an appropriate souvenir of their night together.
Unfortunately, I have to be leaving, he whispered to her. He didnt bother with meaningless platitudes. Shed served her purpose. There would be no next time for them. Thank you.
He stuffed the hair and knife into his pocket and went into the tiny bathroom. He chased the roaches from the shower and quickly cleaned himself. In a matter of minutes he was dressed and packed and ready to depart.
But he wasnt done yet.
Shed learned her lesson. She didnt deserve to be found trussed up like a turkey.
Sparing her a few precious moments of his time, he went to the bed and untied her. He pulled her legs together and crossed them at the ankles. Then he freed her bruised wrists and laid them neatly atop her naked belly. He pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed and covered her up, tucking the cover around her, tenderly putting her to bed.
This one wouldnt cause him any more trouble. But that other onethat other one
A fistful of that familiar rage tightened in his chest and made him forget for a moment his triumph here tonight. I was in control tonight, he reminded himself. Not this dead bitch. I was in control.
The anger left him almost as quickly as it had come. He pressed a hand to his chest and expelled a weary sigh. Her time would come. The one who got awaythe one who could spoil it allher time was coming. Sooner than shed ever expect.
He smiled, feeling rational and benevolent and in control once more.
Goodbye, love.
He leaned over the bed and kissed her gently on her cool cheek. Then he disappeared into the night.
SHERIFF HANCOCK, this is a surprise. Jessica peeled off her gloves and dropped them onto the worktable beside the rusted toy wagon shed been cleaning.
Mornin, Jessie. Curtis Hancock slipped his broad-brimmed hat over his salt-and-pepper hair before climbing out of the white official county cruiser. Fine September day, isnt it?
Jessica didnt answer. She rarely judged her days by the quality of the weather anymore.
She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and whistled for Harry who was sunning himself at the far end of the porch. Harry, come. Shaking off his snooze, the big dog stretched and trotted over as soon as she gave him a stern look. She rewarded his instant obedience with a Good boy and a vigorous scratching along his chest and muzzle. Harry, heel.
Together, they walked down to the gravel parking lot while the sheriff adjusted his holster and utility belt around the waistband of his dark-brown uniform. Short and on the stocky side, thanks to his wifes Southern-style cooking, Curtis Hancock was every inch the proper, old-fashioned gentleman. Maybe that, and the fact he was closer to her fathers age than her own, made her relax enough to smile. Can I help you with something?
The sheriff tipped his hat in a polite greeting. Just making some rounds. I like to check on my favorite people in the county when I can. He leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. I let my deputies check on the ones I dont like.
He straightened with a wink and Jessica laughed on cue. Im flattered. She thumbed over her shoulder toward the cabin. I still have some coffee in the pot. Would you like a cup?
No, thanks. He rested both hands near the buckle of his belt, assuming a casual stance. But his dark, darting eyes surveyed her place with a thorough curiosity. Im having lunch with Trudy Kent in half an hour. Were going over security for that big soirée shes throwing tomorrow night.
Security? For a dinner party? Gertrude Wallace Kensington Kent was one of Missouris wealthiest widows and liked to do things in a big way. But as the older womans neighbor, shed also learned that Trudy did them with grace and style. That doesnt sound like her.
Half the countys invited. Itll be more like a political rally, I imagine. She and her son, Charles, are determined that the city not buy up any more property to build a highway or new industrial complex. The Kents have lived in this part of the county since before the Civil War. They intend to keep a pristine countryside.
She nodded. Trudy Kent had a standing offer to buy Jessicas adjoining property if she ever decided to sell. And the business owners who are looking to expand or turn a tidy profit on land sales arent thrilled with Trudys plan. Are you really expecting trouble?
I just like to be prepared so I can control the situation should anything come up. His gaze lit and narrowed at a distant point beyond Jessicas shoulder. Are you going to the party?
His question was perfunctory and polite, but she could tell he was more interested in what he was watching than in her answer. She slowly turned to look over her shoulder, already guessing what had caught his eye.
Sam ORourke.
I hired him yesterday. She answered his unspoken question first. Theres a lot I need to get done. Derek Phillips is busy after school with sports and farm responsibilities so he cant put in the hours he did over the summer.
Sheriff Hancock nodded. Looks like a good worker.
The big man with the shaggy black hair and granite eyes was pushing a gravel-filled wheelbarrow from the barn to her driveway. Perspiration from honest work glistened on his golden skin, making dark patches on his black T-shirt at the center of his chest and the small of his back. His biceps and triceps corded with the effort as he negotiated the heavy load across the bumpy terrain. Though she knew hed shaved this morning, the navy bandanna tied around his forehead gave him a dangerous, street-tough look.
It was all unnerving somehow, having Sam ORourke around the place. Hes doing fine so far. She tried to focus on conversing with the sheriff. At the rate hes going, hell have the driveway, the parking lot and the road up into the woods regravelled by the end of the week.
Though Sam hadnt spoken to her beyond proposing a list of tasks, asking about tools and thanking her for breakfast, she hadnt once forgotten he was there. She made a point of knowing where he was at all times.
But her vigilance wasnt solely due to commonsense safety and a lingering distrust of the man. With her eye for detail, she couldnt help noticing how his faded jeans hugged his lean hips and the solid trunks of his thighs. Sam ORourke was big. She was five-eight, and he towered over her by a good eight inches. He was in shape. His stomach was flat and his arms were corded like a man who worked out. And he was sexy. Not handsome. Not by any conventional definition of the word. Everything about his features was too strong, too angularall set in stone without a smile or laugh line to soften them.