Death Angel

calmed her down and set her straight about any harm she thought he meant to do to her. Whether or not they ever had any more contact would be entirely up to her-and he knew how that would go.

He checked his watch. He had another twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. If he wanted to know for certain where she was, he could get his laptop from the car and track the locators he’d planted in her phone and vehicle, but he’d bother with that only if she didn’t show up on time.

He settled in a kitchen chair to wait.

ANDIE DROVE PAST her house twice before she pulled into the driveway. She hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but then she didn’t know what he was driving, so she had no way of spotting his car. The cars parked along the side of the street were all dark and silent and, as far as she could tell, empty.

She was taking a chance going into the house. She knew that. He could have followed her home at any time during the past month, assuming that when Cassie had seen him was when he’d first found her. For all she knew, he could have found her months ago. But she had to retrieve her jewelry and small store of cash, because that was what she’d have to live on. She’d have to buy another fake ID, she realized with a sinking heart, and that cost a big chunk of change.

Nothing moved in the dark, silent neighborhood; no dogs barked, warning of a stranger slipping quietly down the street. She could drive away, she thought, or she could go inside. She needed to go inside. He was either there, or he wasn’t. He was either behind that big oak at the edge of the yard, or he wasn’t.

Mustering her courage, she took a deep breath, grabbed her bag, and got out of the Explorer. Normally she locked the vehicle, but this time she didn’t in case she had to run for it and every second counted. The yellow porch light, instead of comforting her, made her feel exposed as she fumbled with the door key, finally managing to get the lock open.

The shabby little living room looked normal. The apartment was as quiet as usual. She stood listening for a moment, but didn’t hear any telltale scraping or breathing. Not that she would, she realized. He was too good for that. Her heart was pounding so hard she wasn’t certain she’d have been able to hear anything over the thunder of her blood, anyway. Her chest felt tight, as if she needed to gasp for air. Just thinking about him did that to her, every time. He didn’t even have to be there to scare her half to death.

The jewelry was in a bag in her dresser drawer. She’d just go into the bedroom, grab the jewelry and throw some clothes in her suitcase, and leave. She’d be out of there in two minutes, tops, and every second she stood there was a second she might not be able to afford. She took another deep breath and strode quickly toward her bedroom.

A hard hand clamped over her mouth while an arm passed around her waist and jerked her back against a body so hard the impact actually hurt her. She hadn’t heard a whisper of sound, felt a rush of air, literally nothing to warn her. He was just suddenly there, behind her, and the blood rushed from her head as he whispered, “Drea.”

26

THICK GRAY FOG CLOUDED HER MIND, PUSHING OUT ALL rational thought. She reacted like a wild animal, hurling herself backward with all her strength, trying to knock him off balance, dislodge the hand that was over her mouth so she could scream, anything to escape. Sobbing wildly, she arched and kicked, clawed, slung her elbows, jerked her head back trying to catch him on the mouth or jaw, none of her efforts coordinated or planned; every move was made by sheer instinct, a rabbit trying to escape the jaws of the wolf. She could hear him saying something, but nothing after that first utterance of her name made any sense at all, or was even recognizable as words.

The darkness was overwhelming, both in the kitchen and in her mind. She knew she’d left the lamp on in the living room but no light seemed to penetrate this far; her terror blinded her to everything except the need to fight, to get away. Somehow, somehow, her desperation lending her strength, she managed to tear herself partly from his grasp. She was off balance, disoriented; when all of her weight abruptly shifted to one side she couldn’t get her feet under her and she fell, somehow getting tangled in one of the kitchen chairs before crashing to the floor. The chair overturned and went sliding; she rolled, trying to scramble to her feet, trying to scream, but she didn’t have enough air in her constricted lungs, and all she could do was make a small bleating noise.

He was on her like a panther, his weight bearing down on her, flattening her to the floor again. Once more his hand clamped over her mouth. She jerked her head, trying to open her mouth and bite him, anything to get free of his iron grip. At the first scrape of her teeth he tightened his fingers on her jaw, applying pressure to a sensitive point that made pain explode through her head.

Even though the pain was almost paralyzing she tried to fight. When she tried to punch him in the head he shifted so his elbows pressed down on her arms, pinning them down. Desperately she wiggled, trying to pull her legs up between them so she could use the power of her thigh muscles to shove him up and away. With a quick swivel of his hips he wedged one of his knees between hers and shoved it to the side; another swivel and he had both legs between hers, shifting his weight from first one side to the other as he slid his knees upward, lifting and spreading her legs until her thighs were helplessly draped across his while his heavy torso held her down.

Horrified, she realized he was aroused; his erection, trapped by his pants, rode painfully against her pubic bone. He shifted, just a little, easing himself downward so he was no longer hurting her there, but she preferred the pain to the feel of that thick bulge riding her as if he were trying to enter her through the fabric of her pants. Dear God, was he going to rape her, too?

She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear that he should hurt her that way. Of all the men she’d ever met, only he had actually touched her, had moved so effortlessly past all her protective barriers that he’d broken a heart she would have sworn was untouchable. He’d taught her differently, taught her the hard way that she wasn’t as impervious as she’d deluded herself into thinking. Knowing he’d been hired to kill her was tough enough, so tough she had broken down to the point that she lost control, but somehow rape was worse, showing not just a lack of feeling but a total sense of contempt. She would rather he kill her outright.

Her futile struggling slowly diminished, and her useless attempts to scream turned into choked sobs. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, ran down her temples into her hair. She couldn’t bear to look at him, couldn’t bear to see his face even if drenching tears had allowed it, so she squeezed her eyes as tightly shut as she could.

And, in that first moment of stillness, heard the deep murmur of his voice. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, his lips moving against her ear. “Drea, be still. I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”

At first the words were as incomprehensible as they had been originally, and even when she finally understood the words she couldn’t grasp their meaning. He wouldn’t hurt her? Did that mean he was going to painlessly kill her? That she wouldn’t suffer?

Big of him.

Anger, life-saving anger, surged through the pain and terror and she somehow lunged one more time, wrenching her head to the side and sinking her teeth into any part of him she could reach, which happened to be the side of his forearm, just past his thick wrist. The hot, metallic taste of blood exploded in her mouth, as if she’d bitten into a penny. He said “Fuck!” in a strained tone, forcing the word between his clenched teeth, and with his other hand he applied pressure to those points in her jaw again. Despite herself her jaw loosened, and he pulled his arm from between her teeth.

“Do me a favor,” he muttered. “If you feel you just have to hurt me somehow, punch me in the eye instead of biting me. At least then I won’t need a tetanus shot.”

Her eyes popped open and she glared at him in outrage. He glared back at her from a distance of about ten inches, just far enough that she couldn’t head butt him, at least not with her limited range of motion. Despite her earlier impression of utter darkness, the kitchen wasn’t completely dark; the light from the living room made a dim, mellow swath across the linoleum floor, let her see the strong shadowed planes of his face and the glitter of his