Cheyenne nodded as he slipped on a Bon Jovi concert tee and a pair of dark jeans. He wasn’t worried about dress code since it was so late at night.
It was nearing ten thirty when he slipped into the garage. Aidan pressed the button on the wall. The garage door rumbled open, the sudden, loud noise startling him.
Climbing into the car, Aidan pulled out of the drive and stopped at the undercover officers still stationed outside Laura’s house, keeping watch over Cheyenne. The one in the driver’s seat held a large cup of coffee.
“I’ve got to run out for a bit,” he informed them.
“Don’t worry, Agent O’Reilly,” the officer behind the wheel said. He motioned to his coffee. “Double espresso with a shot of Red Bull. My eyes are bulging from my sockets, but I’m wide awake. The little lady will be just fine.”
His partner leaned over with a smile on her face. “I only need my Diet Coke and I’m ready to run up the walls.”
Aidan snickered. “I hear you. Well, thanks, guys. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
As Aidan drove, he called in a request for someone from the crime scene unit to meet him at Jordan’s. After the call was finished, Aidan pressed the button for the motorized window to open, letting the crisp cool air rouse him from sleepiness. He smelled the fresh scent of rain lingering. When he stopped at a traffic light, Aidan leaned over the wheel to gaze at the sky. With lights from the street lamps, it was hard to see, however; he didn’t notice the moon or the stars.
He hoped the rain would hold off until they finished going through Jordan’s yard.
When the light turned green, he pressed his foot on the gas to resume his course.
62
HE WATCHED AS the car pulled away before going to work at jimmying the window open. It didn’t take much for him to break in.
Quietly and efficiently, he set his supplies inside the house and stepped through the living room window. To be sure noise he made didn’t raise an alert, he stood still, listening to the soundless house.
Well, almost soundless.
He could hear the hum of snoring upstairs.
Taking his time, he looked around the living room.
The walls were a muted green, blending with the pastel colors of the couch against the wall. The coffee table held a National Geographic. The big leather chairs sat on either side of the table, and a large flat screen television hung on the wall, facing the couch.
There were various cat figurines lining the shelves.
He stared into the smiling faces of the photos crowded on the table by the kitchen entrance. They were primarily of his target and her family, including a pretty blonde whom he assumed to be the sister of O’Reilly’s girlfriend. It was a shame she wasn’t around—he’d have use for her as well.
The countertops in the kitchen were of red granite, the chairs stationed by the middle island made of wrought iron with a heart carved in the backings. A rack containing various pots and pans hung above the island. The stainless steel refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher all seemed brand new. Next to the fridge, in the corner, sat the wine rack, containing mostly red, but some Chardonnay. The kitchen walls were cream colored. Above the back door hung a decorative sign reading Count your Blessings.
Next, he peered in the downstairs’ half-bath and saw it was wallpapered with black cats. The girlfriend’s sister must have a cat fetish, he decided.
He found the stairs and began to ascend. He needed to go slowly because it creaked underneath his weight.
The first bedroom he came to looked to be a spare with a framed USS Enterprise above the headboard and a poster of dogs playing poker on the adjacent wall.
Then he entered what seemed to be an office. It didn't have a computer but held a desk and a bookcase. Apparently, the sister was a fan of James Patterson and Michael Crichton. He saw a few more photos of his new target and her sister.
The second bedroom he came to was where he wanted to be.
The snoring had grown louder.
He stood in the darkened room, his eyes on the lump underneath the covers. It rose and fell in slow, soft movements.
He made his way to the edge of the bed to watch the woman sleep.
He couldn’t help himself.
He had to do it.
Clutching his hands around the covers, he pulled it back, revealing a thin nightgown that was just a little too tight around her body.
He put his hand on her. She released a soft moan but didn’t wake.
Running his hand against the coolness of her skin, he imagined being with her.
He imagined how exhilarating it would be to put himself inside O'Reilly's girlfriend. Maybe this time. Just this one time, he could make an exception. Break his rules.
But, no.
He had come too far to risk leaving evidence.
“Wake up.”
His voice was soft but clear. He sang it to her. He leaned in close to her lips and brushed his against hers.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
When her slumber proved to be too deep, he frowned and slapped her.
That did it.
She sprung in her bed, eyes wide. When she saw him, for just a second, she froze.
He gave her a smile. “Hi.”
His target was about to scream out, but he was too quick. Clamping his hands over her mouth, he pushed her head to the pillow. He straddled her as her arms and legs thrashed wildly.
With expertise, he held her as he pulled off a long piece of tape and placed it over her mouth. He saw the tears in her eyes as she looked
