'They'll work soon. You should see a doctor.'
She hooks a leg over his stomach. He feels himself become aroused, unsure if it's her touch that's causing it, or the thought of peeling off her face.
Or perhaps both.
He smiles in the darkness, knuckles white on the knife handle, ready to finally give in to the nightly temptation. But as he readies the blade, he notes that the pain in his head has begun to subside. Gradually, the sharp throbbing melts away into a dull ache.
Bearable.
For now.
'I'll kill you tomorrow.' He kisses her on the scalp.
The knife goes back under the mattress. He holds her tight and she makes a happy sighing sound.
When he finally falls asleep, it's to the image of cutting her open and bathing his face with her blood.
Chapter 1
'Dammit.'
My fan had died. It didn't surprise me. The fan had ten years on me, and I came into the world during the Eisenhower years. It belonged in a museum, not an office.
Today was the first day of July, and hot enough to cook burgers on the sidewalk, though you probably wouldn't want to eat them afterward. My blouse clung to me, my nylons felt like sweatpants, and I'd developed a fatal case of the frizzies.
The 26th Police District of Chicago, where I slowly roasted, was temporarily without air-conditioning due to a problem with the condensers, whatever the hell they were. We were promised it would be fixed by December.
I hit the base of the fan with my stapler. Though I was the highest ranking female cop in the Violent Crimes Unit, I tended to be useless mechanically. My handyperson skills maxed out at changing a lightbulb. And even then, I had to read the instructions. The fan seemed to sense this, slowly wagging its blades at me like dusty tongues.
My partner, Detective First Class Herb Benedict, walked into my office, sucking on a soda cup the size of a small garbage can. It didn't seem to be helping him cool off. Herb weighed about two hundred and sixty pounds, and had more pores on his face than I had on my whole body. Benedict's suit looked like it had been soaked in Lake Michigan and put on wet.
He waddled up and placed a moist palm on my desk, leaving a streak. I noticed droplets in his gray mustache; sweat or diet cola. His basset hound jowls glistened as if greased.
'Morning, Jack.'
My birth name was Jacqueline, but when I married my ex-husband, Alan Daniels, no one could resist shortening it to Jack.
'Morning, Herb. Here to help me fix my fan?'
'Nope. I'm here to share my breakfast.'
Herb set a brown paper sack on my desk.
'Donuts? Bagels? Cholesterol McMuffins?'
'Not even close.'
Benedict removed a plastic bag containing, of all things, rice cakes.
'That's it?' I asked. 'Where's the chocolate? Where's the canned cheese?'
'I'm watching my weight. In fact, I joined a health club.'
'You're kidding.'
'You know the one that advertises on TV all the time?'
'The one where you get to work out with all of those Olympic bodybuilders for only thirty bucks a month?'
'That's the one. Except I've got the Premier Membership, not the normal one.'
'What's the difference?'
He named a monetary figure, and I whistled at the amount.
'But with it, I get full access to the racquetball and squash courts.'
'You don't play racquetball or squash.'
'Plus, my membership card is colored gold instead of blue.'
I leaned back in my chair, interlacing my fingers behind my head. 'Well, that's different. I'd pay extra for that. How is the place?'
'I haven't worked out there yet. Everyone that goes is in such good shape, I thought I should lose a few pounds before I start.'
'I don't think they'd care, Herb. And if they do, just impress them by flashing your gold card.'
'You're not being very supportive here, Jack.'
'Sorry.' I picked up a file to fan myself. 'It's the heat.'
