“He’s dead, too?” He holds me with his gaze, true interest in his eyes. Could he be a kindred spirit in the true crime realm?
“Right. They found him lying inside the store, stone cold.”
“Oh yeah, I think I heard about that. Poor guy had a heart attack.” Nope, not kindred.
I roll my eyes. He thinks like everyone else. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him how I snuck into the funeral home and had a look at Mr. Martin myself. He had red marks around his eyes. He’d definitely been strangled. No wonder the cops in this town didn’t take Trevor’s disappearance seriously. They couldn’t even see a murder when it was right in front of them. Silas is probably the same.
“I think you should go. I’ve said too much already, and I have work to do.” I stand.
He gets up right along with me, though he doesn’t move toward the door. “Busy finding a killer?”
I wish. “Nope. Real work. I have three trips I need to get booked up before someone steals them out from under me and takes my commission.” That happened months ago. Sarah was always trying to steal my clients. Then she died, too. “Sarah!” I pop up a fourth finger.
He cocks his head to the side. “Who?”
“Never mind. I have work. Clients. Commissions.” Just because Sarah’s gone doesn’t mean that someone else won't try to take my clients right out from under me. I never knew when I signed on to be a travel agent how cutthroat it can be.
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He lifts his hand and brushes the bruised spot again. I drop my eyes, feeling a little ashamed about it.
I should have seen it coming. All this time studying crazy men, and I went out with one not knowing. He was right in front of my face.
“If you need anything, I’m next door.” He drops his hand again.
I walk over and pop all the locks for him. “Be careful. There are bad people out there,” I warn him. I know I sound crazy, but I’d feel terrible if I didn't warn him. He only smiles at me. Totally oblivious to the mortal danger swirling all around.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He heads down the porch stairs. “Lock the door, Jamie.” I close it then re-flip all my locks. I always bolt the door, of course, but it’s sweet he told me to, like he’s worried about me. He should worry about himself. I’m still alive. It’s the people around me that aren't so lucky.
He’s a nice guy. Not into true crime or killers or unsolved murders or sketchy disappearances, but still nice. I only hope he can evade the murdernado that seems to follow in my wake.
3
Silas
“God, did I love till now?” I lean back against my front door after I close it, all my senses attuned to the perfect woman next door. Her curly hair in tangles, her glasses askew, her sweater tattered, and her living room a mess of books and snack wrappers. She makes my heart beat. Gives me purpose.
I used to think my only purpose was to dispose of garbage. People, to be precise. People who preyed on others, who hurt innocents, who betrayed and stole and raped and maimed and murdered. They gave me purpose.
Until her. Until I saw her. An innocent meeting. Totally by chance at the local coffee shop. I’d put in my order and was waiting patiently at the counter.
Then this glorious angel, her hair in an ancient scrunchie and a laptop with a WebSleuths sticker on it tucked under her arm, stumbled in the door, righted herself, then strutted right up and gave a very serious drink order in the sweetest tone.
Smitten. Right then. Like a bolt from above, an arrow piercing that muscle that had never been used for anything except pumping ice water through my veins. Resplendent in a worn Hello Kitty T-shirt and pink leggings, she instantly became my muse, my guiding light.
I press my palm to my chest, my heart rampaging. I was so close to her. Right next to her on that sofa, her soft hair and sweet skin only inches from me.
“She thinks I’m in danger,” I say to my empty house as I shake my head with a smile. The thought of her trying to protect me is too much, and I let out a small laugh. She is everything that is good and right in my world.
I sigh and push off the door. Heading past my living room and into the dining room, I sit down in front of my many screens. The one in the living room is twisted to the wrong angle again. Toby likes to paw at it every chance he gets, the little mischief maker. I change my view to her kitchen.
She’s there, bent over the counter, her nose in a book as she nibbles a PopTart. One minute and thirteen seconds. That’s her favorite level of toasting in her toaster. In mine, it’s closer to 56 seconds. I’ve experimented to ensure I’ll have it right in the future.
Toby hops up next to her, his feline eyes on the camera that Jamie’s never so much as glanced at.
“Mind your business, boy.” I waggle a finger at him.
He blinks.
“Okay, but here it is.” She points at a page in her book and looks up at Toby. “Killers fixate on a person. One person. And then they stalk and kill them. So, why does this killer not fit the profile? All the victims are quite different. The only thread that connects them is me. They all had some sort of connection to my life.”
She offers him a bit of PopTart.
He puts his nose in the air.
“Everything I’ve read says that if the killer is stalking me, then I’m the one that should be dead. But I’m not. So, what does that mean?” She finishes her PopTart, some of the crumbs falling into her shirt. I’ve noticed, when going through her laundry, her sports bras have colorful stains in the spots between her breasts. I eventually realized they’re melted PopTart sprinkles. “It’s Trevor, isn’t it?” She stands and pets him, stroking his furry back. “He’s the killer. I mean, he’s clearly a psycho.” She points to her cheek. “But, then again, he showed up after Sarah was killed, so …” She trails off, still petting the purring Toby.
“I need a good bath and a think.” She swipes her book from the counter and marches to the bathroom.
I pull up that camera.
True to her word, she starts running a bath and strips out of her clothes. I should be a gentleman and look away. I don’t. I never do.
Instead, I reach down and free my cock, fisting my shaft as she bends over to check the water, her plump ass on perfect display. I should be there right now, pumping into her, but instead I wait. She has to come to me. And when she does, I’ll spring my trap and keep her all to myself forever.
Until then, I watch.
She turns, her round breasts jiggling as her nipples harden in the cool air. They’re light pink, the perfect accent to her fair skin, and they would look absolutely perfect covered in my cum. The thought sends a sizzle down my spine and into my sack.
Just looking at her brings me to the edge, but I back off. Enjoying her bath can’t end so quickly, not when I already know exactly how she likes to do her best thinking.
She slides into the water, her moaning sigh making me grit my teeth. Teeth that should be biting her shoulder right now as I claim her, fucking her every which way until she knows we belong together.
When she settles into her favorite spot--her neck on the rolled edge of the tub, her nipples just peaking over the water--she moves her hand between her legs.