VICIOUS
He watched her unload the jack, wrench, and spare tire from the trunk of her old Toyota. All the while, Susan Blanchette kept looking over her shoulder. He’d given her the flat tire, his way of welcoming her to Cullen—and an ominous start to the weekend he’d planned for her. Susan had no idea he was calling all the shots. He knew Susan would be coming to Cullen before she did.
And he knew she would die.
He’d been watching her for weeks now, and she continued to fascinate him. He’d seen her coming and going at Dr. Chang’s office. He often parked across the street when she picked up Matthew at Yellowbrick Road Day Care. And sometimes he watched from outside her bedroom window as she climbed into bed alone.
He knew the whole layout of her first-floor duplex. He’d even broken in once. He smelled her hair on her pillow—and thought about how he could touch her and smell her as she was tied up.
He could do whatever he wanted to her.
And maybe after he killed her, he would even taste her blood….
KEVIN O’BRIEN VICIOUS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
John Scognamiglio has been my editor and friend for fourteen years, and he’s the best. Thank you, John! Thanks to everyone else at Kensington for all their hard work and support, especially my pal, the marvelous Doug Mendini.
I’m grateful to my hardworking agents: the lovely and talented Meg Ruley and the talented and lovely Christina Hogrebe. Thanks to all the cool people at Jane Rotrosen Agency, and that includes Peggy Gordijn, for helping make me an International Man of Mystery with all those foreign sales.
Thanks also to Thomas Dreiling, for believing in me. Tommy, you rule.
My writers’ group is terrific, and I’m very, very lucky to share works in progress with generous, supportive friends like Cate Goethals, Soyon Im, David Massengill, and Garth Stein.
For sharing his expertise in psychology, I want to thank my neighbor John Simmons. And for information on boats and boating equipment, my thanks go to Peter Sherman of Orcas Boats.
Many thanks to the following friends for their encouragement or for pushing my books to their friends: Dan Annear and Chuck Rank, Marlys Bourm, Terry and Judine Brooks, Kyle Bryan and Dan Monda, George Camper and Shane White, Jim and Barbara Church, Anna Cottle and Mary Alice Kier, Paul Dwoskin and the gang at Broadway Video, Tom Goodwin, Debbie and Dennis Gotlieb, Cathy Johnson, Ed and Sue Kelly, Elizabeth Kinsella, David Korabik, the cool people at Levy Home Entertainment, Cara Lockwood, Stafford Lombard, Jim Munchel, Jake, Sue, and Conor O’Brien, Meghan O’Neill, David Renner, Eva Marie Saint, John Saul & Michael Sack, the gang at Seattle Mystery Bookshop, Jeannie Shortridge, Dan, Doug, and Ann Stutesman, George and Sheila Stydahar, Marc Von Borstel (photographer extraordinaire!), Michael Wells and the gang at Bailey/Coy Books, and my nice neighbors at the Bellemoral.
Finally, thanks to my family. Adele, Mary Lou, Cathy, Bill, and Joan, you’re the greatest.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
“It’s probably been going on a lot longer than he says, the son of a bitch. I have to be the world’s biggest sap—”
Pamela Milford realized she’d been talking to herself.
Approaching her on the park’s pathway, a fifty-something ash blonde in lavender sweats gave her a puzzled look.
Pamela was pushing Andy in his stroller; so maybe the woman thought she was babbling to her baby. Dressed in a hooded blue jacket, Pamela’s ten-month-old was enjoying the stroll through Volunteer Park on that chilly April night. He’d point to joggers or people walking their dogs, and then squeal with delight. Now he waved to
