“I’ll see you Friday, Gillian. Call the police as soon as you get home and let them know he’s harassing you. I’ve already called Robert’s office.”
Gillian nodded and hurried to her car. She really needed a life of her own.
Chapter 18
Lying on his lumpy cot, he tossed a ball in the air and caught it. The thought of fifty thousand dollars was impressive, but the risks weren’t something he wanted or needed. He didn’t want to go back, didn’t want to be around men like Mike Kilpatrick. He shuddered at the image of Mike’s features as he spoke to him.
A simple job: remove an irritant. One who should have been gone a long time ago. Easy work. His eyes shone with a weird light, almost as though he was getting off on planning the job.
Ignoring the angry creaking of his bed, he rolled over to pick up the phone and dialed the number on a scrap of paper. Maybe he was over reactin’; no harm in checking it out. Right?
“Hello?” Smooth, sultry, the woman’s voice held little warmth.
“Heard you got a pest.”
“Yes, yes I do. Rather large one. It’s my understanding you can help me.”
“Possibly. If I can’t I got a friend. What do you need done?”
“There’s an obstacle between me and a rather large sum of money. I need the obstacle removed. She won’t be a problem at all. Too much of a mouse to do anything.”
His stomach knotted. “Price’s going up. Got a pen? I’ll give you a post office box number in town. Write down the details on what you want done and when and mail ’em to this address. I’ll pick ’em up in two days and get back to you on the price.” He hung up, the receiver hot in his hand. No, he wouldn’t do it.
With a trembling finger he dialed a number, waited, and counted the rings. “Hello, bonjour, Drumheller Royal Canadian Mounted Police. How may I direct your call?”
“I need to speak to someone to report a crime.”
“One moment please.”
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he leaned forward, his head resting on his palm, elbow on his knee. A brusque male voice came on and he straightened. “Yeah, I, um, I had a buddy in jail request I help with a job. You got a pen and paper and I’ll give you what details I have.”
“It’s a woman wants her daughter killed. They live here in town. I made initial contact, will have more information in two days. Do you have anyone who could intercept the mail?”
“We do. We’d like more details if we’re going to stop this woman.”
He leaned back against the wall, smiled, and held the phone closer to his ear. “Sure, sure. Glad to help. I ain’t about to go back to prison.”
* * * *
Gillian slipped her glasses into place and stared at the mirror above her bathroom sink. Her dark hair hung in curls around her face, a touch of makeup highlighted her eyes, and her full lips wore the rose-colored lipstick well. The faint color to her cheeks only added to her appeal.
She looked good. The blue blouse and simple black skirt didn’t reveal more than she was comfortable with and weren’t prudish. Straightening the blouse, she smoothed her skirt into place and turned the light off. She inhaled the smell of salmon and lemon filling the house. It was amazing what she’d managed to get done in just under an hour. She giggled softly at the memory of her boss’ stunned expression when she told him she had a date and needed to leave a few minutes early.
Jack had proven to be unfailingly gallant, their dates worked around the work schedules they had, and she was feeling more than a little spoiled. Dinner, movies, picnics, walks along the river, romantic get-togethers guaranteed to leave her burning for more. She shivered, her nipples hardening at the memory of their phone conversation the day before. “Tonight,” Gillian promised herself as she checked the oven. “Tonight, we’ll see if it’s as good as I remember.” The oven door closed with a soft thud as she turned the temperature off to allow the salmon to rest. She strode through the living room to the massive bay windows and lifted the curtains to peek out.
She flushed as she bumped against the television, pausing to double check she hadn’t left one of her adult-type research videos in the slot. With a sigh of relief, she glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of place, everything had been put away, tidied up, and cleaned. She could smell the faint scent of her wood polish and smiled. Yes, he’d be pleased.
Candles rested on their holders, waiting for the strike of a match. Her computer desk was cleaned off, the only thing visible her desktop protector. Everything was as ready as it could be.
“He’ll be here soon. Dinner is nearly ready. I should get the bedroom ready.” Gillian scurried down the hall to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed and pulled open the bedside table’s drawer. Condoms, lubricant, even a few of those silk scarves. Her hand rested on her abdomen, the vague hope of calming the butterflies going by way of the wind. “Candles!” Shaky fingers lit the columns of wax sitting atop her dresser. The dancing flames gave just the right amount of light for her to feel secure. Blowing them out, she hurried back to the kitchen.
“Why on earth would I have him come here for a date?” She adjusted a plate on the table. Her fingers plucked at imaginary lint from a napkin. A glance at the clock revealed Jack would be arriving shortly, something she was immensely grateful for. Better to get dinner over with quick and painless rather than prolong the agony. Food wasn’t really what she wanted—no, she would rather know if he really wanted her.
Using
