Afraid to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Six thirty. Good?”

“That’ll work.”

She glanced at the clock again. “Good. I still have some loose ends to wrap up.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Lady. It’s a ... duck!”

Idiots!

Morons!

Cretins!

His hands tightened into fists and he felt the rage crawl up his neck, knew his face was heating as he stood and stared at the television screen in his den. His wife was out, thankfully, doing some shopping for dinner or something, so he could watch the news reports of the latest ice-mummy case over and over again, all without having to explain why he recorded all of the news stations and searched for the segments dedicated to the one story.

Aside from the sound coming from the television, the house was quiet. Empty. Snow was falling past the window, and a few cars traveled along the road that wound past the old family homestead. He heard the sound of their engines rumbling as they passed.

Inside his den, he hit the rewind button on the remote for his television recorder. Once more he watched that empty-headed Nia Del Ray, who had recently transferred from Helena to Missoula and now seemed to be KMJC’s local crime reporter. There she was, standing in front of the Enstads’ yard, snow collecting in her hair as she stared into the camera and tried to sound intelligent, which, in her case, was impossible.

The press, like the stupid cops, just didn’t get his art, didn’t understand him. He’d watched the reports of the ice-mummy case online and on the television and, as usual, the cops were at a loss. No one who was reporting or investigating seemed to notice the beauty of his work, the intricacies involved, how much he labored over each tiny detail.

He wanted to toy with them, show them how pathetic they were.

Once again Nia was saying something inane, and behind her, half obliterated by the snowfall, were the two detectives involved in the case. He knew them both. Did Selena Alvarez remember him? Of course she did. They knew each other and he’d introduced himself in the most innocuous of places, the grocery store, a few years ago. He’d come up behind her with his cart and she’d jumped a mile, turned and sent him a look that could kill. She’d dropped a container of yogurt, which had cracked, squirting creamy whey over the shiny linoleum. As she’d bent down to retrieve it, he’d beat her to it, was just that much quicker. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Their gazes locked for just an instant, long enough for him to realize what a sexy bitch she really was. He’d caught a glimpse of her shoulder harness and weapon along with the way her slacks stretched tight over her perfect little rump. “I’ll get someone to clean this up,” he’d said, and she’d let it go, walking away after muttering a quick, automatic “thanks” that held no meaning.

He’d seen her since, of course. Not only in person, but also on the television. During the investigation of the other cases, the ones that had fascinated him. He’d paid such close attention and seen how much more intelligent and sophisticated he was than any of the investigators.

So how had his perfection come to be referred to as the ice mummy? That galled him to no end. His head pounded and spit collected in his mouth as if he might actually vomit. He thought of the ice picks laid out so carefully on his workbench and he felt the urge to grab one and ram it over and over again into a block of ice, into the wooden surface of the table, into the frozen flesh of the woman. Faster and faster and harder and harder, sending ice chips flying, splintering wood, causing the blood to show, a few icy drops flying against ...

Stop it!

The voice in his head roared to life.

Control yourself!

He sucked the spittle that had dampened his lips back into his mouth.

You cannot ruin everything you worked for! You! Cannot! Do not be an imbecile! Do not sink to their moronic levels. You are far superior to any of them. Remember that and hold your mission in reverence!

He was shaking. Violently. It was all he could do to suck in a deep breath through his bared teeth. Slowly, the rage receded, his heartbeat became normal and his clenched fists relaxed.

That’s better. Calmly. With purpose. You have much to do.

He blinked. Heard Nia Del Ray refer to his masterpieces as “the work of the Ice Mummy Killer.”

He held back a string of curses and told himself this was how he had to suffer at the hands of fools. Always at the hands of fools. Had he ever been recognized for his talent and intelligence, he wouldn’t have to prove to them how inferior they were. Though he’d tried, he’d been met with resistance, but wasn’t that the way it was so often.

If only they could see his files, the meticulous histories of those he’d chosen and honored to be a part of his art, then they would see his intelligence. They could then witness how dedicated he was, how thorough. He knew each woman’s life story, her wants, her needs, those whom she trusted, those whom she considered enemies. He understood the fine details of their lives, including their shoe size and choice of perfume. All that information was carefully locked away on a separate hard drive no one could ever access.

His abductions were not random acts.

He’d waited years for the right moment to start this phase of his project, to start the sculpting a

nd displaying his work. His inspirations, the women involved, were all perfect and, as a virile man, he wanted each one of them, had imagined what he would do to them in his bed.

He’d had to restrain himself from fucking the hell out of them, and, to his credit, he had not so much as mounted one, never driven his hard dick deep into their tight little ...

Not now! Don’t go there ...