Silly girl. Ashley Cox wouldn’t escape this time. He’d make sure of it. Everything he needed to get the job done, he now carried with him. On fortuitous nights like this, his trench coat might make him look like a secret agent. In fact, he knew it did. He’d seen the way people looked at him with deference when he wore it. They wanted to be him. They were envious. Maybe even intimidated.
Too bad for them. It was his disguise, and if they came too close, they’d quickly find out that its many loops and hidden pockets hid a wealth of not-so-nice surprises.
He stopped in front of the double glass doors his prey had just scampered through. Interesting. Entry required some kind of access card, which he didn’t have. That might be a problem.
The informative yellow plastic tripod standing inside the door declared the lobby elevator wasn’t working. Which meant Ashley Cox was right then running up flights of stairs to her apartment. Probably sweating. Breathing hard. He closed his eyes at the thought of all that luscious panic wasted. Imagining the sweet sounds of her panting, crying, or screaming—he wasn’t choosy—he closed his eyes and recalled the way she’d smelled the last time he’d had her. Almost had her.
Some flowery scent, sweet and rich, mingled with the natural sweeter scent of fear. What. A. Rush. A man could live forever on those vivid, sensual memories. The smell of a woman’s sweaty body when she fought back was a powerful aphrodisiac. If he worked her just right, it was enough to unman him. But when she bled and cried and couldn’t get away no matter how hard she tried… He was a real man then. A supercharged superhero. If people only knew the power that came with killing.
Hmmm. Wonder which floor she lived on. Which room?
As luck would have it—and luck was a large part of everything he did—an ordinary man in coveralls entered through the door marked Do Not Enter at the far side of the lobby.
He rapped on the plate glass window to get the unlucky guy’s attention.
“Can I help you?” the idiot asked through the lobby door he’d just—luckily—opened.
“Why yes, as a matter of fact, you can,” he replied as he stepped inside the lobby. “I just moved to Virginia, and I’m in the market for an apartment. Is there a very long waiting list here? Or are there any apartments available now? May I take a look around?” It never hurt to ask.
“Sorry, man, but this is a secure complex. You can’t just come into these buildings and look around. See that number over there?” The foolish man pointed at the cardstock taped to the door. “Call it and talk to the manager. He’ll know if anything’s available. Not my job.”
He glanced quickly at the posted notice before he swung back around and stuck a finely-honed shiv into the guy’s gut. Like the professional he was, he rammed it higher under the unlucky guy’s ribs, tearing the flesh, muscle, and organs in between. Making sure the guy didn’t suffer now that he was dying. That wouldn’t be fair.
“Secure, huh,” he growled in disdain, his gloved hand now out of the body, wet and dripping. “We’ll see about that.” Because it was almost time to play again, and nothing would get between him and Ashley Cox.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tripp called Mother’s number from the Surgical Center. The moment she answered, he asked, “Could you please arrange for someone to drive Ashley home, or call her a cab? I need to stay with my mom. I’m not going to make it back for a while.”
“She already left. I heard about your sister. Is that where you are now, at the hospital? How’s she doing?”
“Yes, we’re at the Alexandria Surgical Center.” He held off sharing anything more personal with someone who didn’t seem to care. “What do you mean, Ashley left? I told her to stay put until I got back.”
“Guess she doesn’t think you’re her boss. What else do you need?”
Tripp ran a hand over his face, wondering how Mother could sound so cold at a time like this. “Never mind. I’ll find her myself.”
He disconnected the call, afraid he’d say something he’d regret. And worried. He didn’t have a way to contact Ashley. She’d left her purse at his place. At the time, he’d thought that meant she’d trusted him. But wherever she was now, she didn’t have her phone or her can of mace.
Quickly, he thumb-dialed Mrs. Harrison and asked her to check on Ashley for him. He was fairly sure they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers yet. Could she please knock on Ashley’s door, then call him back and let him know she was safe?
“Sure, but what’s going on? Where are you?”
“I’m at the hospital. My sister’s in emergency surgery, and I can’t get away.”
“Oh, no, I hope it’s nothing. It wasn’t drugs this time, was it?” Mrs. Harrison knew about Trish.
“Not this time.” He went for distraction instead of admitting the horrid truth. “Please hurry. Call back as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting.”
“I most certainly will.”
The contrast struck him hard. Here he was asking a favor from a woman who’d suffered her own personal loss today, yet who was on her cheerful way to do him a favor. All because his selfish sister had continually put herself in harm’s way, for the fun, the thrill of it. It was hard not to want to wring Trish’s neck, while, at the same time, he desperately needed her to live.
Like he had since they’d arrived at the scene of her assault, Jameson was sticking close on his left. Alex, Mark, Tucker, Beau, and several other TEAM agents were sitting with him in the main waiting room outside surgery. His mother sat worrying her rosary beads at his right.
“That girl’s going to be the death of us both, Tripp.” Andy didn’t mince words, and
