“Before you go in,” Callie says, “I’d like to put some money on it.”
“You’re that sure he’s dead?”
“Yes.”
I think about it. Everything in my experience tells me Sam’s in the bathroom, lying in the tub, unconscious. Of course, this would mean he’s been unconscious a long, long time.
Highly unlikely.
But Callie said Maybe was cool as a cucumber when she left. Crimes of passion leave you edgy, and haggard. Not to mention if Maybe had blood on her clothing, Callie would’ve noticed.
“A hundred says Sam’s alive,” I say.
“A hundred grand?”
“No. A hundred dollars.”
“Make it five hundred,” she says.
“Fine.”
I turn the bathroom door handle, open the door.
36
Callie Carpenter.
CALLIE LOVES WORKING with Creed. When the two of them are together, it adds an element of fun to the job. Plus, they’re unstoppable. Whether it’s something simple, like charging a hotel room, or huge, like attacking an enemy stronghold, they have the perfect chemistry for orchestrating lethal violence.
Callie loves his quirks!
There’s no one on earth she adores more than Creed, though she’d never admit it. She’s naturally in tune with him and has been, since the day he brought her into the business.
When he’s around, there’s nothing she’d rather do than tease or torment him.
Take today, for example. She had all afternoon and evening to think about the best way to fuck with his mind. Being Callie, she managed to come up with five great possibilities. But the one she knew would drive him crazy is if he couldn’t figure out how she managed to pee.
Why would it cross her mind in the first place?
Those who follow people for a living, or spend hours staking out homes, hotel rooms, or businesses, know there’s nothing more important than having a plan for using the bathroom. How many times has a person escaped surveillance at the exact moment the investigator left his post to find a place to pee?
It never fails.
Creed knows this and knows Callie would never take her eyes off the target. Therefore, he’d expect Callie to have something in her handbag. A large to-go coffee cup with a lid, for example.
Which is exactly what Callie used twice while maintaining her surveillance on Sam’s hotel room door.
Knowing Creed would arrive soon, Callie climbed on top of the ice machine, lifted a ceiling tile, and hid her pee cup on top of the adjoining tile. Then she put the first one back in place, dusted the top and sides of the ice machine, to remove any ceiling tile particles that might be visible.
Callie smiles, thinking about it.
Most people would say she’s crazy to go to so much trouble to make Creed wonder how she managed to pee while watching a hotel room door. But Callie knows it’s the little things, the unexpected, unexplained details-that get under the skin of a man like Creed, and hold his interest.
Like the way he thinks she’s a lesbian.
Creed is fascinated by the whole girl-on-girl dynamic.
But Callie’s little secret? She’s just as comfortable being with a man. Would actually prefer a man, if she could find one she could respect. The reason she dates women? They’re easier to find, easier to love. While her looks and strong personality are intimidating to men, they’re catnip to women. Cool, sexy, fun women are easy to find because they approach her. And Callie can accept them for who they are. They don’t have to measure up to some ideal standard.
And they don’t keep score. In other words, if Callie beds both John and Jane Doe, only John will run out and tell all his friends about it. Callie likes to keep her personal life private.
As for men, being around Creed has spoiled her. Of course she’s met handsome, powerful men in her life. But none measure up to Creed. After hanging around Superman, could Lois Lane ever be happy with Jimmy Olsen or Perry White?
Of course not!
But Lois could find any number of fun women to date, and it would never cross her mind to compare them to Superman.
The million-dollar question is, could Callie ever fall in love with a man like Creed?
Of course.
She already loves him!
Naturally she has no current plans to reveal her feelings. Not until she’s convinced he’s ready to settle down. Since Creed’s still enjoying the company of hookers, he’s not even close to being ready.
Callie stormed the room low, while Creed went high. Good as she is, she would’ve been nervous diving into a hotel room unarmed. Especially facing a rank amateur like Sam Case, who wouldn’t be where he should be, or doing what he should do.
Creed took the high position, unarmed.
God, what a thing of beauty he is! Handsome, confident, willing to put himself in the line of fire to protect her. It was a fraction of a second in real time, but when you do what they do, as long as they’ve done it, time stands still, giving a woman like Callie time to admire the athletic grace of a truly amazing killing machine like Donovan Creed. It’s like watching Mikhail Baryshnikov in his prime. You know you’re seeing something special, a once-in-a-generation talent.
He took her breath away. As he does whenever they’re together.
But he’s wrong about Sam.
Creed says he’s alive, Callie says he’s dead.
They bet five hundred dollars on the outcome, and now it’s time to find out.
Creed turns the bathroom door handle, opens the door, steps inside.
Callie pauses, then cautiously approaches.
Creed’s hand becomes visible through the door opening.
He’s holding five hundred dollars.
Which means Callie wins the bet.
She plucks the cash from his fingers, stuffs it in the pocket of her jeans, and enters the bathroom.
37
Donovan Creed.
SAM’S DEAD.
Callie accepts my money with not a hint of joy or satisfaction. One thing about Callie, there will be no “I told you so’s.”
She understands my disappointment.
I look at what’s become of Sam Case and know I started this.
I stole Sam’s wife and ruined his business.
In order to exact revenge, he befriended my daughter, turned her into a killer, and manipulated her into a sexual relationship. I have no idea what occurred between them that would have led her to do this. It would’ve been fitting and so much more satisfying for Sam and me to end our bitter rivalry in a more personal manner.
Seeing Sam like this, it’s hard to picture him as the somber genius and worthy adversary I’ve learned to grudgingly respect.
He’s in the bathtub, naked, tied into a fetal position, looking like some sort of freak show. His arms are tied behind his back, and his wrists and ankles are handcuffed. The scratches on his knees indicate they’d been tied together at some point. She’s put eyeliner and eye shadow on his eyes and lipstick on his lips. A red ball has been stuffed in his mouth, held in place with two elastic straps that encircle his head. A red, rubber tube is hanging out of his ass.
“The tail’s a nice touch,” Callie says, “but she made a mess of his throat. What’s that about?”
“She cut his vocal chords so his screams wouldn’t be heard.”
“She must have knocked him unconscious first, or I would have heard him scream when she started cutting his neck.”
“That sounds right,” I say. “She probably intended to torture him, but didn’t realize he’d choke to death from the blood.”
Callie says, “No offense, but she needs more training.”
I look at her and say, “No one better for that job than you.”
She starts to respond, then changes her mind.
I say, “You’ve got to admire the fact she did all this and walked out the door calmly.”
“No blood on her clothes means she thought ahead,” Callie says. “She must have untied his knees, made him hop to the bathtub, then hit him over the head to make him fall in. Then she removed her clothes, cut his neck, and took a shower to scrub his blood off her body.”