I took a deep breath and held it, hoping in my heart of hearts that Herb was right.
Chapter 34
AFTER THE MAN LATHAM ANSWERS ALL of his questions, he ties him up with some extension cords and locks him in his own closet.
A dating service. How mundane. But how convenient for him.
Rather than try to circumvent Jack's surveillance team, all he has to do is wait here at Latham's house, and she will come to him.
He closes his eyes and imagines Jack in her bathroom. Putting on lipstick. Picking out a sexy dress. Perhaps she's even hoping to get laid tonight.
He decides that she will, whether she wants it or not.
The clock creeps up on eight o'clock.
The spider sits in his web and waits.
The fly will be here soon.
Chapter 35
BY SEVEN O'CLOCK I'D HAD MY fill of feeling sorry for myself. I stopped at the cleaners on the way home, but they hadn't even begun my order. After yelling for five minutes at a man who probably didn't deserve it, I got them to do a rush job on one of my pantsuits.
In my book, yelling was always more therapeutic than crying.
By the time I got home and showered, rebandaged my leg, and got dressed, I was late for my date. I called Latham on my cell to tell him.
The line was busy. After putting on perfume, grabbing the bottle of wine I bought Don an eternity ago, and strapping on my gun, I tried again. Busy.
Well, if his line was busy, then at least he was home. I informed my surveillance team of my destination and got on my way.
I was kind of excited. A home-cooked meal with an attractive man was the perfect way to get my mind off things.
After some torturous stop-and-go-stop-and-go, I made it to Latham's home half an hour late. He lived in a charming two-story brownstone, not too far from Benedict's house. I found a fire hydrant, parked the heap, and gave myself a final look-over in the rearview.
Not bad. Maybe I could do with a rinse in the near future, but not bad.
I grabbed the wine and hobbled up his porch. The doorbell rang with a Big Ben chime.
'Come in!'
I opened the door, assuming he was still on the phone. The house was dark, quiet. I sniffed the air, but couldn't make out any cooking aromas.
Next to me, on the foyer floor, a chair was overturned.
Warning bells went off in my head. What if the killer had been following me, and saw me with Latham?
What if the killer was here?
I let go of my wine and reached for my gun -- stopping when I noticed the one already being aimed at me.
'Hi, Jack.' The Gingerbread Man stood at the foot of the staircase, several feet to my left. 'Take out the gun, slowly, and toss it over here.'
Fear swam up my spine, like a cold and clammy fish. My feet had frozen to the floor.
'Where's Latham?' I managed.
'He doesn't matter. The gun. Now.'
The killer smiled and moved two steps closer. He looked vaguely like our composite picture, but more wolfish and grubby. A bandage covered most of his left profile, and his one black eye bored into me.
'I won't ask again. The gun.'
But I wasn't going to play by his rules. In one motion I dropped to my knees and yanked out my .38. My injury screamed at me, but I managed to squeeze off two rounds.
My shots went wide, and the killer ducked into the next room. My leg felt like it had been snapped in half. I watched blood seep through the bandage, but saw no other holes in my body. Had he even fired?
I scooted across the floor and got behind a sofa, my gun trained on the kitchen. The cellular was in my pocket, and I took it out with my left hand.
'Hey, Jack!'
He was behind me. I turned, bringing around the .38, pulling the trigger...
Latham.
He had tape over his mouth, and the maniac was using him as a shield, the gun jammed under his jaw.
I managed to jerk my shot over their heads.
'Drop it. Now, or he dies.'
Latham's face was pure panic, eyes unbelievably wide, moans coming from his throat.
I let the gun fall.
