Cold Sight (16 page)

The woman—who had never realized that she’d known him previously, the last time he’d lived in this hellhole of a place—chuckled a little awkwardly, not sure what to make of his joke. Just as he’d wanted.

He wondered how hard she’d laugh if she could see what he really thought of her. What would she say if he tore off the nice, easygoing mask he wore, as deceptive and tricky as the ones worn by so many others in this town?

She’d die of fright, he didn’t doubt. So he kept his thoughts hidden, his dreams his own. He smiled and mingled and conversed. And all the while, he glanced at the clock, thinking about what was going on one floor below the ground back in the dark, damp basement. He longed to be there, watching on his closed- circuit monitor, seeing Vonnie’s every move courtesy of a few hidden cameras.

Are you still fighting?

The girl had such amazing strength. That hadn’t surprised him initially; most of them had been strong when he’d taken them. Every one of his guests had been street kids, tough and hardened by their sorry, pathetic lives. And each of them had fought physically, which had provided a few worrying moments and the occasional bruise. Because street kids tended to fight dirty.

That was okay. He’d been a street kid himself once. He’d learned how to fight at a young age, too—though not young enough to stop certain unpleasant things from happening.

Unlike most of the girls, however, he’d also been incredibly smart, learning how to get along, how to do what had to be done in order to fit in, to survive. To thrive, even.

Before now, none of his captives had exhibited that same ability. None had even been clever enough to play his game, to humor him in an effort to get him to keep them alive a little longer. They’d all been full of bluster and rage, then terror and pleas. Until now.

Vonnie was different.

Oh, she’d been full of bluster and rage at first. And she was most definitely terrified. But she’d kept her head about her, pretending to like his stories, playing meek and mild when she’d still had the strength to scream the roof down at the first possible opportunity.

Fortunately for him, the old house he’d lived in as a child had been soundproofed long ago, in the days when
he
had been a frequent captive in the pit. The place now used to house reluctant young women had once been used to discipline recalcitrant little boys. Or simply to rape and torture them.

He knew better than anyone how futile it was to scream. He and Jed had bloodied their vocal cords screaming before realizing it would do them no good. Vonnie had learned that lesson already, too. She was a quick learner. Brilliant. It was almost going to be a shame to kill her.

A pleasurable one, though. Breaking her would give him more satisfaction than he’d had in a very long time.

She had to be wondering if and when he would rape her—and that would probably happen. It always had before. But sexual release was never as pure and perfect as when he choked the life out of the person he was fucking at the very moment of orgasm. And he just wasn’t ready for Vonnie to die yet.

Yes, she’d been a wonderful choice, serving so many purposes while giving him so much enjoyment. Taking Vonnie had been a calculated risk, and judging by the tension here tonight, it had paid off beautifully. In fact, everything had gone beautifully.

“Except one thing,” he whispered with a frown, knowing any passing fan would think he was merely sending up whispered support for their team.

Yes, there might have been one little hitch. One unforeseen circumstance.

Nothing had come of it yet. Maybe it never would. Still, he couldn’t help thinking about that car he thought he’d seen in his rearview mirror as he’d slowly driven down the street to follow Vonnie home from school Monday night. The car whose headlights hadn’t been on.

Had it really been there? If so, why had the lights been off? Had the driver seen him following his target? What other reason could there be for the clandestine driving?

Could just be a careless teenage driver
.

Maybe. Maybe not. The vehicle hadn’t been there a few minutes later when he’d pulled over, clubbed the girl, and thrown her into his trunk; he knew that for certain. But someone could have seen him turn down that street just a few minutes before Vonnie disappeared, and could start asking questions.

Damn it. Not knowing was driving him insane.

He couldn’t put it off, couldn’t wait to see if anything came of it. He had to act, eliminate the threat before it ever became a legitimate one.

Fortunately, the car had had a distinctive shape. He had a pretty good idea of the model, and knew of a few locals who drove them. He also had a good idea of where to go to look for this particular one, and he intended to do just that during halftime. Because if he really had seen that car, on that night, in that area, odds were it belonged to a student from Granville High School. Even better odds said it had been one who’d been at that honors club meeting.

The vehicle was probably right now parked in the school parking lot. Which meant the potential witness against him could be here in this crowd, mere feet away.

His heart thudded; he knew what he had to do. This one would be far different from his usual type, another honors student who didn’t have the background of the Boro to give him or her—oh God, he hoped it was a her—the strength to fight him.

How interesting it would be, bringing Vonnie a play-mate, especially given what he’d asked her tonight:
Will you beg for someone else?

Like he had once begged for Jed after a particularly brutal beating, when he’d thought the younger boy would die?

What would it do to the strong, tough girl if she had to watch while another was tortured to death? Would she plead? Finally break down and stop pretending she liked his stories and wanted him there?

He also wondered about something else. Which would horrify her more—seeing he’d brought her a friend? Or the moment when he took off the mask and let her see the face of her tormentor?

He shivered at the thought, not with fear, not with worry, but with pure excitement.

Like he always did when things were about to get especially bloody.

Friday, 8:35 p.m.

As she’d predicted, the stadium was packed. Easing in a half hour into the game, Lexie and Aidan were able to skirt the crowd so none of the enemies of truth and justice, as she’d begun to think of Dunston and his cronies, had seen her yet. They headed toward the small building that housed the concessions stand and restrooms, and from there would be able to mix with the fans making their way along the track back to the visitor’s-side bleachers. Having a ringside seat to the action on the field, and off it, she hoped Aidan’s impartial eyes would notice something hers might miss.

“Oh, hell, it’s Stan,” she whispered, seeing a familiar face not ten feet from where she and Aidan stood, trying to sidle their way along the outer fence.

“What?”

“Somebody from work.”

“Your boss?”

“Don’t I wish.”

She thought for a second Stan wouldn’t notice her, but his gaze shifted and he suddenly spied her. His eyes narrowed, one lip curling up, and he wove through the crowd of people standing between them, obviously intending to put her in her place.

“Should somebody call the 1970s and tell them they let one escape?”

Lexie sucked her lips into her mouth to prevent a startled laugh from spilling out right into Stan’s face. Damn, Aidan could get off a really unexpected remark now and then.

“Well, if it isn’t Sexy Lexie. What are
you
doing here?” Stan asked, not trying to hide his true personality since nobody who really mattered was close enough to hear. “Thought you were too sick to work.”

“I wasn’t sick,” she replied, keeping her tone pleasant. “I was working at home. I had to do a lot of research and I didn’t want to tie up one of the office computers.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed, as if he didn’t believe her. Or, more likely, he wasn’t happy that Walter hadn’t shared that tidbit with him earlier today. “Well, why did you come tonight? You shouldn’t be here. Nobody wants you around. Haven’t you gotten that yet?”

Aidan moved closer, until she actually felt the warmth of his tall, lean body just an inch away from hers. They weren’t touching, but almost could have been. Heat rolled off him, and she realized he was genuinely angry—on her behalf.

Interesting. Even more interesting was the sense that despite the inch of air separating them, she would almost swear she could feel him pressed against her. Her skin tingled beneath her clothes and her entire left side felt hotter than the right.

Maybe it was just his presence, solid and powerful. Or his emotions—the sudden, roiling anger and his immediate dislike of Stan, combined with his apparent need to come to her defense. They had become almost tangible.

Her breath caught for a second and she let the sensations wash over her. Lexie knew, somehow, that if she stood here long enough dwelling on it, this strange, non-physical connection was going to arouse some very definite physical reactions in her.

Not the time, not the place
. Definitely not the man.

“Who are you, exactly, to tell her where she should and should not be?” Aidan asked, his voice low, his tone as hard as his stiffened jaw.

Stan, though big in the gut, wasn’t particularly tall. He didn’t take a step back, but he did lean backward as much as possible; he was trying to pretend he wasn’t intimidated as hell by Aidan’s glower, broad shoulders, and imposing height.

Knowing Stan didn’t have the nerve to answer him directly, Aidan went on. “As for who wants Ms. Nolan around”—his smile glittered under the field lights, though it held no hint of humor—“I do. Now, do you have any more stupid comments to make?”

Stan’s innate pompousness wouldn’t stand for being spoken to like that, no matter how intimidated he was. He shot Lexie a dark glare. “Who’s he?”

Man, the guy just didn’t know when to quit. Aidan’s voice grew even softer, even more dangerous as he replied, “
He
is a friend of Ms. Nolan’s. He’s also not deaf.”

Stan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“If you have any questions to ask me,” Aidan said,

“you can make an appointment sometime next year. Now, would you get the hell out of our way so we can go sit down?”

Realizing he was outmanned in every way, and that Lexie was doing absolutely nothing to call off her angry companion, Stan took a step backward. He plucked at his sleeve, fussily, trying to appear unconcerned, then said, “See you in the office, Lexie.”

“Sure.”

They watched as the other man turned and hurried away; then Lexie smiled up at her new friend—he’d used the word first, not her. She liked that. Heaven knew she would not have imagined it yesterday when they’d met.

“I am certain I’ll pay for it Monday when he gives me the third degree and plays the he-was-mean-to-me card, but I must say I quite enjoyed that.”

“Not a fan of yours, I take it?”

A barked laugh emerged from her mouth. “Hardly. I don’t think he’d waste a drop of spit on me if my hair caught on fire. He tries every single day to make my life a living hell.”

Aidan’s eyes narrowed and the icy gray overtook the warm blue. His earlier annoyance had segued into near anger on her behalf. “Forget it,” she said. “We’ve got other things to worry about. Oh, by the way, remember those things you can and cannot call me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, uh, Sexy Lexie? Don’t even think about it.” She shuddered, still grossed out that S(a)tan had used the term. “Not
ever
.”

His tension seemed to ease up, as she’d hoped it would. “Sexy, huh? That’s a little cocky.”

She quirked a brow. “You saying I’m not sexy?”

“Uh-uh,” he replied, not even hesitating. “That’s one thing you will
never
hear me say.”

She’d been trying to tease him out of a dark mood, but Lexie had to admit, hearing Aidan say that was a nice side benefit. Especially since his innate sexiness had definitely drawn her attention on more than one occasion.

“Now, shall we try this again? Our target is the opposite side of the stadium.”

“After you.”’

She started walking, drawing in a quick, relieved breath when they reached the small concessions building and were blocked from the view of the home-team bleachers. The relief came a moment too soon, as it turned out, since she almost ran right into another familiar person.

“Kenny!” she said, surprised to see the janitor here. He didn’t seem the type who would like to go out in public, knowing he’d draw his own kind of attention. Her heart twisting with pity, she saw the way he hovered in the shadows of the building, separate from everyone else, trying to remain unobtrusive. Whether for his own protection or other people’s sensibilities, she didn’t know.

“Miz Lexa,” he said, his eyes wide, stricken, as if he feared he’d get in some kind of trouble for doing something as innocent as going to a local sporting event. “I was just watching. Mr. Walter’s girls are doing their cheering, and Mr. Stan’s boy got a little playtime.”

“Of course, I’m sure they appreciate you being here to support them,” she said, smiling warmly. God, she just couldn’t imagine that kind of life, always skulking in the shadows. People joked about journalists living that way, but Kenny’s life was no laughing matter.

“Gotta be here, anyways,” he mumbled, pointing to a groundskeeper’s cart parked between the building and the fence. He apparently had more than one part-time job. She could only imagine how hard it would be for him to come to work and be surrounded by hundreds of teenagers, who could be so incredibly cruel. Fortunately, most adults treated the man with kindness.

“Okay, then, good seeing you,” she said.

He touched the brim of his cap as they moved away, melting into a group laden with popcorn and drinks. As they walked, Aidan murmured, “So what’s his story?”