Hardly making a sound, he removed the screen from the bedroom window. The room was dark, just a slice of illumination slipping through the crack left by the slightly ajar bathroom door. Music pulsed through the house, which would mask any noises he might make.
His blood was dancing through his veins, thrumming in his ears. With gloved hands he tied plastic bags over his shoes. The loud music was the perfect cover as he walked noiselessly across the carpet. Standing in the shadow of the bedroom, smelling the scent of her perfume mingle with the odors of soap and bath oil, he felt a thrill of anticipation. He peered through the crack. She was lying in the tub, eyes closed, unaware that he was near, not knowing that she was breathing her last. The water lapped at the fringe of dark hair at her nape and traces of mascara stained her cheeks. Her lipstick had faded, most of it smudged upon the rim of the empty wineglass sitting on the ledge of the tub.
The jets of the Jacuzzi were rumbling, water pulsing around her, the pile of bubbles on the water’s surface beginning to diminish. He saw her breasts through the suds, large dark areolae only partially hidden, nipples puckering. She was wearing nothing but a necklace, a thin gold chain from which dangled a cross of tiny diamonds that glittered and winked in the flickering light.
Her skin was slick and wet and he imagined running his hands over the most intimate parts of her. He licked his lips, feeling those nasty old sensations of lust rise in his blood. His cock even twitched a bit, anxious for the feel of wet skin against it. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself rubbing it against her glossy skin and could almost feel the bath oil begin to coat the entire length in warm droplets that she would smooth with her hands.
At the thought he nearly groaned aloud.
He was breathing hard, his blood running hot with want, but he forced the carnal thoughts from his mind.
No!
Not her.
Not this one.
Not now.
Not ever.
He had work to do.
Death to dispense.
Mary Beth Carlyle Flannery was only the beginning.
Sweat collecting over his brow, he carefully reached forward and pushed the door open just a little farther, enough that he could squeeze through.
She didn’t move. Her eyelids didn’t so much as flutter. Dark lashes continued to rest against the tops of her cheeks in smooth, twin arcs. If she sensed a change in the atmosphere, she didn’t show it. Yet he was cautious. Wary. Hardly daring to expel a breath.
He stepped closer to the tub.
The floor creaked.
“Robert?” she mumbled as her eyes drifted slowly open.
He leaped forward, his hands instantly around her neck. Startled, her eyes flew wide. She flailed and started to scream. With all his power, using his body as a weight, he shoved her head beneath the water.
She kicked and clawed at him. Her hands swiped his wet suit. Her legs churned the water, slammed against the sides of the tub. She was strong. Muscular. Bucked upward. With adrenaline pumping through her veins she had the strength of an athlete. She wrenched and writhed, gasped and coughed, grabbed at his wrists attempting to loosen his grip
, trying to wound him, desperately seeking to get away.
He held on.
Forced her downward, until the back of her head cracked against the bottom of the tub and her short black hair swirled and danced around her face.
Mary Beth gurgled, churned and thrashed.
Candles flew off the edge of the tub, sizzling into the water, clattering onto the floor, creating waxy pools. She tried to fling her entire body out of the tub, but he held her down, feeling her panic, watching her eyes bulge in desperation.
Frantically, she twisted and turned, trying to squirm away, to wriggle from his grasp.
It was no use.
Water slopped over the edge of the tub, suds flew onto the walls and floor.
She was stronger than he’d anticipated, but his hands held her firmly against the bottom of the tub, steadily cutting off her air.