Killing Fear

But would he have had enough time to kill Anna and disappear? The wounds inflicted would have taken quite some time-they were methodical, cautious, not a frenzied attack. The cuts were to maximize her pain and suffering, both physical and emotional. If Glenn had in fact seen Will and Robin having sex in the bar, he’d only have had fifteen or twenty minutes to cross the street, break in, and kill Anna.

But there had been no break-in. Anna had either opened her door to the attacker, or the killer had a key. All the evidence pointed to the killer already being in the apartment when Anna arrived-her packed suitcase next to the door, for example.

Should he reopen Anna’s case? All on the word of an escaped convict to a glory-hungry reporter?

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed dispatch. “I need a car to pick up Ms. Trinity Lange from Bob’s Burgers and take her home. And sit on her. I’ll get the overtime authorized.” He slammed the phone shut.

“Do not move from this stool until a uniformed cop walks through that door and follows you home. Glenn is playing with you, and when he’s done he will kill you. That’s what cats do to mice, and Glenn has sharp teeth.”

Theodore staked out Sara Lorenz’s house in Rancho Santa Margarita.

His house, he should say. He’d bought it. In fact, he’d insisted that Sara buy a house in the corporation’s name and live there.

Ironically, he’d never seriously considered escaping from San Quentin. The prison was secure, and he didn’t like the idea of being shot in the back. He’d planned on finding another opportunity to escape-such as during one of his appeals. At the time of the earthquake, he still had one more appeal pending. Sara had planned to join him at the courthouse, fully prepared. He had the money to buy people and equipment. He’d been preparing her for this. She had been excited.

There was always the risk that she’d turn on him. That the police had figured out who she was and where she lived. He’d buried the money trail, but letters were still opened and read in prison. He was confident the corporation itself was protected, they’d worked out a code for all corporate business, but what if the cops had somehow traced Sara? What if after his escape she’d had second thoughts? She might think that as long as he was in prison, he was “safe.” On the outside, the stakes changed.

There was only one way to find out where Sara Lorenz stood. Confrontation.

Theodore was good at confrontation.

He watched the house he’d bought. He circled the neighborhood. All quiet. He parked behind the development and walked in, through the hills, into the backyard. He had told Sara no security on the perimeter of the house, but that the password to the security system must be robin. And the doors must open on a security code, not a key.

“After the bird?” she asked with humor during one of their weekly phone conversations. She knew all about Robin. She’d been keeping track of her for years.

“Of course. I’ve always liked robins,” he said.

“Not me. I’m always thrilled when my cat catches one.”

He watched from the slope in the backyard. Dark and silent. A night-light in one of the rooms glowed dimly.

He walked to the back door. The security panel was there, the numbers glowing faintly green.

76246.

Robin.

The red light turned green. He smiled and let himself in. Listened.

Nothing but the faint tick of a grandfather clock somewhere downstairs.

Sara hadn’t betrayed him, which was good because he’d been prepared to slit her throat.

He climbed upstairs without a sound. The double doors directly ahead at the top of the stairs were framed by recessed alcoves which held urns of fake flowers. That must be the master bedroom.

He crossed the upstairs foyer, the carpet plush against his ill-fitting shoes. Sara was supposed to have purchased a closet full of clothes for him.

He opened the doors.

There she was, sleeping. A thick white comforter covered her slim body. Six or more pillows piled around the head of the bed. Everywhere, white. Everywhere, clean. Neat. Orderly.

Just the way he liked it.

He crossed over to the bed, sat next to her.

“Sara,” he said.

Her eyes opened, confused. “Who-” She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dark. “Teddy.”

Sara was the only one he allowed to call him by a nickname. It seemed to be important to her, though he never allowed anyone else to use anything but his full legal name.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and for a moment he felt strange. At a loss as to what to say or do.

“I was so worried about you,” she said, hugging him tightly.

“Everything is fine.” He swallowed heavily.

“You must be hungry. Tired.”

“I’m hungry for you, Sara.”

She pulled back, stared at him. “Oh.” She started unbuttoning the prim little nightgown she wore.

“Stop,” he said. “Let me.”

Instead, he kissed her. She responded fully, as if they had kissed before when the most they had done was touch fingers through the bars of the prison.

That Sara was so eager for him, neither flinching nor complaining when he touched her, turned him on. It had been a long time since he had a woman, and a rush filled him. He didn’t expect it to last-sex was predictable, especially with the same woman-but this was a first for him with Sara. He pulled off her nightgown, but hid her face.

“Tell me you want it,” he whispered in his ear. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you, Teddy. I want you so bad. I’ve been waiting for this night for years.”

Sara had a nice body. Not long and lithe with big tits like Robin, but nice and tight and firm.

He pictured Robin beneath him, Robin wanting him. Robin asking him to screw her, Robin begging him for more.

He slammed into Sara and closed his eyes. His dick swelled and he exploded.

“Yes!” Sara cried, and Theodore didn’t care if she was faking. All he heard was one woman screaming for him.

Robin.

SIXTEEN

The knocking on the door persisted.

Theodore Glenn wouldn’t knock, Robin thought. He’d break down your door, come through the window, grab you in the parking lot.

She hadn’t been sleeping well, but before she was fully awake, her gun was in her hand. She didn’t need to check to see if there was a round chambered; she knew there was. It was nearly two in the morning. She’d slept for all of forty minutes.

She crossed her open loft. Before she looked through the peephole she heard the man on the other side.

“Robin, please let me in. I have to talk to you.”

Will.

She looked through the peephole. Will’s head was low, his hands on both sides of her door. He looked rumpled in his slacks and button-down shirt. He wore no jacket, his shoulder holster exposed.

He pounded on the side of the door. “Robin!”

She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to see him. Today at her club it had been all she could do not to give in to his kiss. Not to let herself be held. Be loved.

Love hurts.