“You’re thin.”
“So are you.”
“If I wear a bag over my head, will you sleep with me when we get home?”
He wondered if she meant sleep, pure and simple sleep, or sex, not so pure, nor so simple, but loads more fun. “Maybe I’ll wear the bag,” he said. “You know, Lindsay, we need to get a start on that huge box of supergigantic condoms the nurses gave you.”
She hadn’t meant sex; he saw that quickly enough. But she was thinking about it now and he looked at her closely, studying the myriad expressions that came across her face. “Okay,” she said, and then yawned.
“I just hope they’ll be big enough,” she added after he’d turned, closing her eyes.
He started, jerking around and looking down at her. He saw a tiny smile quiver on her lips. He saw himself slipping on a condom, saw her smiling at him as he did it, her legs spread for him, and he nearly came right there.
“I’ve got to go get a drink of water,” he said.
Taylor took her home the following morning. She wore sunglasses, at her fervent request, but her hair was soft and shining, so filled with deep waves he wanted to bury his hands and his face in the thick masses.
Fogel brought Missy to the apartment in a patrol car, which, he’d confided to Taylor, tended to make women horny.
To Lindsay’s astonishment and chagrin, by the time she was standing in her own bedroom, she was exhausted.
“No complaints about bed, huh?”
She shook her head. “This is stupid.”
“No, this is recuperation, babe.”
“But what about our wedding night?”
“Our what? Oh, that. I’d forgotten all about it.”
She smacked her fist in his belly.
She slept away the morning and into the afternoon. When she woke, Missy brought her lunch. Taylor wasn’t there, Missy told her, but Fogel was sitting in the living room. He was probably contemplating seduction strategies for Missy.
At two o’clock the phone rang. Missy answered, then called out to Fogel.
Lindsay heard his voice from the living room, but not the words. He came into the bedroom a moment later, grinning, relief flooding his boyish features. “That was Captain Brooks. He says they caught that Oswald creep and I should come on back in now.”
As if this were the first time he realized the meaning of the words, Fogel suddenly sounded very depressed. He looked at Missy and said “Shit” under his breath. “They need me,” he added. He shuffled a moment, then said to Missy, “You want to walk me to the patrol car?”
“Just a moment,” Lindsay said. “Didn’t this Captain Brooks tell you anything else? Who hired Oswald?”
“He didn’t say, Mrs. Taylor. Would you like me to call him back?”
Lindsay saw that Missy was fully prepared to give Officer Fogel quite a treat. She smiled and shook her head. “No, give me the number and I’ll call him. Thank you for your help, and good luck.”
He gave Lindsay the number, then he and Missy wrapped up in coats and left the apartment, arms entwined.
Lindsay dialed. The phone rang once, twice. It was picked up on the third ring, and a man said, “Twelfth Precinct, Johnson here.”
“May I please speak to Captain Brooks?”
“Just a moment.”
She waited. Her breathing quickened. They’d caught him! They’d caught Oswald. Thank God. Now, who had hired him? Soon it would be over, soon Oswald would tell them. Her palms felt wet and cold. Soon, very soon now, she’d know who wanted her dead. Soon now.
Another man came onto the line.
“Hello? I hear you want Captain Brooks.”
“Yes, please.”
“He’s been on vacation for the past four days, ma’am. He won’t be back until Monday week. You a friend of his?”
Oh, God, a lie, a diversion to get Officer Fogel out of the apartment. “I’m Lindsay Foxe Taylor. Captain Brooks just called here to say that Oswald had been caught. He asked Fogel to come back to the station.”
Silence.
Then a sudden explosion of recognition. “Oh, damn! Listen, Mrs. Taylor, you make sure your door’s locked and bolted. I’ll have some men over there in—!”
“What? You mean that—? What’s going on?”
The phone was dead. Completely and suddenly very dead. No dial tone, just silence, deep silence.
Lindsay eased it away from her ear, held it out in front of her, and just stared at it. Then she knew the man hadn’t hung up on her. He hadn’t dropped the phone. Someone had cut the wire. She swallowed and stared toward the doorway. She had to lock the front door. She knew that Missy would have left it unlocked when she’d left with Fogel. Had she even left it open? Was she even now kissing Fogel in his squad car?
Oh, Jesus.
She got up, felt her ribs protest with a vicious prod, but ignored it. Fear made adrenaline flood through her. She ran from the bedroom, her long flannel nightgown nearly making her trip, ran as fast as she could toward the front door.
It opened.
She skidded to a stop, her eyes glued to the now-opening door. She couldn’t move. She could only stare and pray and stare some more.
She wasn’t surprised when the man slipped inside. She wasn’t really surprised that he was holding a gun and aiming it at her. It was the same man from the commercial shoot. He smiled when he saw her standing there, her face bruised, wearing a granny gown, looking white and ill and terrified.
“Hi,” he said. “You’re still around, sweetie, more’s the pity. Lucky little bitch, aren’t you?” He locked the door behind him. “Oh, don’t worry about the girl with the huge tits. She ain’t coming back for a while yet. She’s too busy fucking that cop down in the patrol car. The little gentleman pulled it in an alley so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Who says cops ain’t got no sensitivity? It’s just you and me now. Lord, do you ever look like an ugly duck now. Wouldn’t you rather have died than look like you do now?”
Lindsay felt her insides twisting, heard her heart pounding. Why couldn’t he hear it? Did he hear it, did he smell her fear? It was heavy, metallic. She wanted to gag with the smell of her own fear. Did he enjoy it? Seeing her terror? She heard a voice that was deep and small and it asked, “But why? Why do you want to kill me? What did I ever do to you?”
Bert Oswald just shrugged. “It’s too bad you look like a freak, or you and me could have a little fun before I have to ice you down but good this time. Hey, I’m sorry, lady, but I kinda have to hurry, you know? From the way that cop was moving out of here with that gal, I’d say he’ll probably get his rocks off pretty quick now. Of course, I could have some fun with her when she got back here.”
Lindsay turned and ran. She heard a hard pinging sound. Wood splintered into the wall not six inches from her head. She heard him running after her now, heard another sharp pinging sound—oh, God, it was a bullet—and this one struck her in the arm. She felt a searing streak of iciness, then nothing, blank numbness. She made it to the bedroom, slammed the door, and turned the lock. Because she’d watched lots of television and violent movies, she quickly moved away from the door. It was lucky she did. A bullet struck the door and came flying through, spewing out splinters in all directions.
She plastered herself against the wall, wheezing with fear. She knew she had to think, to act, but dear God, she couldn’t even bring herself to move. How long before he shot the lock off the door? How long before he came in and shot her?
How long did she have?
She opened her eyes and stared sightlessly around the bedroom. Something inside her recognized there was
