I bent down and grabbed his knife, a four-inch folder with a serrated blade. Phin squatted next to me and picked up my heel, which had broken off.
“Nice. Red is my favorite color.”
I didn’t understand what he meant, because my dress and shoes were black.
Only when we walked outside did I remember that my pan ties were red. My dress must have ridden up while I was kicking.
I felt myself flush, embarrassed, even though I had no reason to be. Phin was a friend. Nothing more.
I kept saying that to myself, over and over, as we walked back to the Crimebago.
CHAPTER 16
ALEX CAN’T SLEEP.
True, it’s only ten p.m. But it has been a pretty full day. She killed two people, got laid, tortured an old friend, killed two more people, flirted in a bookstore, and planned her next murder. She should be exhausted. But instead, she’s wired.
The Motel 6 room she’s in is nicer than the one where she left Lance. The bed is bigger, softer. The pillows fluffier. Sleep should come. But she stares at the ceiling, jaw set, unable to relax. Her mind refuses to shut off. The end is in sight. Not quite the home stretch, but each passing hour brings her closer to her goal. A goal that will fix everything in Alex’s life.
Jack is no doubt on her way. That idiot McGlade is probably with her. And Phin, whom Alex finds dangerously attractive. She imagines having Phin tied to the bed, and predicts she wouldn’t need to use a rubber band with him. If circumstances were different, she might not even need bindings. Phin wouldn’t mind a woman with scars. Perhaps he’d even find them sexy. She senses in him the same predatory nature as Charles, her one true love.
People like Phin and Charles are rare and exotic as snow leopards, and just as hard to catch. Unfortunately, you can’t put an ad in the personals that reads Freakishly scarred serial killer looking for soul mate, must have great abs and enjoy guns, violence, and romantic candlelight dinners.
But Phin is an enemy, and a serious threat, so he has to die. They all have to die. They killed her beloved Charles. They sent her to prison. They took her face.
Alex rolls onto her stomach. The room is dark. The sheets are cool and smell like laundry detergent. She closes her eyes and parts her legs.
Maybe Alex can plan it so she can give Phin a farewell fuck. See how many times he can get it up before she peels off his skin.
McGlade won’t get a farewell fuck. While he’s also an enemy, he doesn’t pose the same danger as Phin and Jack. Alex decides to let him live-after she removes his other hand, his eyes, and his balls. And perhaps throws in some third-degree burns as well.
The idea of burning McGlade makes her tingle. She arches her back, then presses against the mattress.
An ambulance. Or hospital. She’ll break into one sometime in the next few days. Steal some antibiotics, sutures, and a few IV bags. When she gets Harry McGlade alone, she wants to make sure he survives his extensive injuries to lead a horrible, disfigured, unhappy, and very long life.
Getting warm in here. Alex yanks off her cover blanket, reaches down.
Now Jack-Alex has spent hours obsessing over how Jack will die. First, emotional and psychological suffering. Alex wants to make Jack regret becoming a cop. To break her down until she has no will to live.
Then, when the physical suffering starts, Alex will prolong her death until she gets bored. Perhaps rent a cabin in the north woods, keep Jack chained there, visit her a few times a week for some female bonding over extended sessions of excruciating pain. Maybe I’ll pick up a paper, Alex thinks, check the real estate listings for someplace secluded.
Revenge is best served cold, but fantasizing about what she’ll do to Jack makes her hot. So hot that she considers going back to the Old Stone Inn and riding Lance again.
But Alex can’t go back there. Time and again, Jack has proven herself a smart and worthy adversary. While Alex is pretty confident that Jack won’t find Lance in time, she doesn’t want to risk the lieutenant bursting into the room while she’s bouncing toward the Big O.
However, there are other ways for a horny girl to get her rocks off. Ways that are a lot more satisfying than self-gratification.
Alex rolls to the edge of the bed and flips on the light. The drive will take a few hours, but she’s not tired. If her victim is home, and the setup looks good, Alex might even get laid to night.
Sex and death. They go together like chocolate and peanut butter.
She dresses as fast as she can, jeans and a hoodie, grabs the things she needs, and hangs a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob before heading to the car.
It’s time to go looking for a cop.
CHAPTER 17
“SO FAR,” Herb’s voice was tired, frustrated, “not a single bomb squad has responded saying they have a cop named Lance on their team.”
“No hits on the picture?”
I was back in the Crimebago, and warm because of Phin. Not due to sexual tension, or anger, or embarrassment. Phin had been able to fix Harry’s air conditioner.
“You know how hard it is to ID by pic, Jack. How differently people look in different situations. In Lance’s case, he’s got duct tape around half his head and he’s screaming in agony. We might not even recognize him if he was eating a five-course Mongolian BBQ across from us.”
Leave it to Herb to work food into the discussion.
“Any MIAs?” I switched my cell phone from my left hand to my right.
“One. A Detective Don Oakes, EOD out of North Carolina. Didn’t report in today. His lieut said the pic sort of looks like him.”
“Where in North Carolina?”
“ Wilmington. On the coast.”
“You’ve alerted their department?”
“Got an all points on Oakes. They’re bringing in the Feds, suspected kidnapping.”
“Thanks, Herb.”
“Keep me in the loop. And don’t forget my Turduckinlux.”
Herb hung up. Harry plopped himself on the couch next to me. The aftershave smell made me wince.
“Alex told me she went through basic training in North Carolina.” He scratched himself in a bad place. “Makes sense she’d go there.”
Phin folded his arms. “I don’t want to get within a mile of Alex without long-range backup. If we go to NC, we have to leave the rifles behind.”
We’d just spent several thousand dollars of Latham’s money at a local sporting goods store, buying two H-S Precision professional hunting rifles with twenty-six-inch barrels, chambered for.377. But no traveling cases for them, and no time to get any. My watch said 10:30 p.m. Lance would be dead in seven hours. Assuming we could get a late flight out, we wouldn’t have much time to find him.
“You scared of a girl, Phin?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” Phin said.
Harry nodded. “Me too. I vote we stay here, see if something else shakes loose. The WPD probably won’t let us in on the investigation anyway.”
“I agree with Harry. But this is your decision, Jack.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force a brilliant thought. I settled for a semi-apparent one.
“How did Alex get the pigstick?”
Harry made a face. “Duh. She stole it from Lance, who’s on a bomb squad somewhere.”
“Did she just find a random EOD cop and follow him home?”
Phin leaned against the kitchen counter. Or the galley counter, in Harryspeak. “I get it. She knows him.”
“Fatso hasn’t found anyone named Lance on any bomb squad?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“Maybe he’s not civilian.” Harry scratched the stubble on his chin. “Maybe he’s military police. Someone Alex knew when she was in the marines. Those guys would have pigsticks, det wire, all that shit.”