Killer Career (8 page)

As customary, along with the rest of the congregation, he and Julie
shook hands after the Lord’s Prayer. The moment felt sacred, not
sexual, as if he were pledging his life to her. Dade swallowed a lump
in his throat.

Maybe marriage wouldn’t be so bad. Of course, it would mean
spending time away from the firm and not making as much money, but
the sacrifice might be worth it with the right woman, someone like
Julie. It was something to think about.

Chapter Seven

Tyler grit his teeth, remembering the day before, when he’d stood
before the assemblage of dullards who didn’t share a brain amongst
them. They weren’t the reason for his workshop. They could burn in
hell for all he cared.

He didn’t understand it. He’d seen the excited look in her eyes.
She’d known what he’d offered and had seemed to want it.
Something or, more accurately, someone had to be interfering.
Probably that partner of hers who constantly infringed on her free
time.

His mind whirled from the impatience of the stalk. He craved
fulfillment, yet he, like the less worthy, must jump through hoops to
attain his goal.

No one would stand him up. The more he thought of it, the angrier he
got. For all he knew, she might even be making love to her partner
right this minute.

The fool didn’t deserve her. Julie McGuire was meant to be his.
He’d make sure she had no choice, but for the time being he’d
have to leave her to her own devices. He had a publisher to appease
and a story to finish.

Squaring his shoulders, Tyler prepared himself to enter the other
dimension. His fingers swept over the keyboard as he commanded the
blurred thoughts into focus. He no longer sat in his luxurious
penthouse on Chicago’s Michigan Avenue, but instead, stood five
miles away in the modest, chintz-covered living room of a Lincoln
Park townhouse.

* * *

Clutching the pick tightly, he crept through the semi-lit hallway
into the kitchen. The house was silent, except for the ticking of the
cow-shaped clock directly over the sink. Its hands showed nine
fifty-one.

A cinnamon-like aroma wafted from the cabinets. Pressing the gloved
finger over his nostrils, he stifled a sneeze.

He crossed the threshold and continued down the hallway to a
partially opened bedroom door. Inside, the glow of a nightlight
illuminated a woman’s supine form. A satin sheet covered her from
the waist down. Fascinated, he watched the pear-like breasts rise and
fall in cadence with her soft breaths.

She looked tiny and helpless, warm from sleep. Even in the dark, her
wispy golden hair shone like a halo. Something stirred deep within
him, making him harden. He knew her. Only last night, he’d tasted
her skin. She’d teased and touched him. He’d plunged himself deep
into her warm wetness.

Then she’d spoiled it by saying he wasn’t the only one. For that,
she’d pay.

He stared down at her sleeping form. She was lovely, but he’d not
be dissuaded. With renewed purpose, he inched closer.

A floorboard creaked as he reached the side of the bed. Her eyes flew
open. When she recognized him, she frowned.

“How did you get in? I thought you left the key.”

“Can’t keep track, can you?”

“Don’t cop an attitude. I want you out.”

“I need to do something. It won’t take long. Then you won’t see
me again.”

Her forehead puckered in confusion. He raised his arm to enlighten
her. The pick glinted in the soft light.

Her eyes widened. The veins in her neck expanded.

She jerked upright. “What are you doing?” Her voice sounded
husky from sleep.

“Let’s call it getting even.”

Ah, this was the fun part. Smiling, he waved the pick back and forth
and watched her eyes follow its dancing rhythm.

Like a kitten pouncing at a string, she sprung for it. He laughed and
snatched it away.

She pursed her lips. “I don’t care for your nasty little game.”

“It’s not a game. Say a quick prayer.”

He swung the pick down in a wide arc. She caught his hand and jerked
it in the opposite direction. Her talon-like fingernails dug into his
wrist. He’d underestimated her.

“You bitch,” he said, wincing at the pain.

He’d dole her some of her own medicine. With his free hand, he
grabbed her by the wrist and pushed it sideways until it snapped.

She gasped. His hand was free.

Clutching one palm over the other, she stared up at him, her mouth
twisted in a grimace. “You’re crazy,” she whispered.

“And you’re dead.”

A rush of power filled him. He felt supercharged as, grasping the
pick, he watched her cringe.

The fun was over. With a whoosh, he plunged the instrument down,
straight into her neck.

A soft gurgle escaped, then all was silent. Warm blood skewered onto
his glove, splattered over the sheets. A smell of copper permeated
the room, as the clock in the kitchen chimed ten times. Nine minutes
were all it had taken to slide a human being from this world to the
next - - an awesome accomplishment.

He smiled in satisfaction. He’d purchased his peace. She’d never
torment him or any other man again. It was time to leave. Still, he
couldn’t resist one last look.

Marring what had once been a graceful neck, the pick jutted sideways,
a symbol of primitive justice for everyone to see. One less deceitful
woman to taint the earth.

“Goodbye, my darling,” he whispered.

* * *

Early morning sunlight peaked through the mini-blinds of Tyler’s
spacious office above Lake Michigan. He blinked against the glare.
Damn, he was tired. That chapter of his new novel,
Goodbye,
My
Darling,
had proven incredibly intense.

He felt dizzy, as if he’d been drugged. In a way he had been, but
by something more powerful than any known substance, his imagination.
Like an addiction, something drove him into the fantasy world. He
couldn’t live without it, though each time he emerged, he felt more
drained. The pain in his abdomen made him reach for the antacid
bottle next to the monitor.

As so often happened, bits of reality shifted from one world to the
next. He rubbed his sore, reddened wrist. He’d have trouble typing
tomorrow, but he would. He had to.

Sudden blinding pain shot from his skull to his eyes. His temples
throbbed.

“Oh, God, stop,” he yelled, pounding his fist on the desk. The
pain worsened. The mouse and mouse pad fell to the floor. They could
lay there forever, for all he cared. The way he felt now no money in
the world could force him to reach down and pick them up.

Damn his head. Why must he live with this curse? He’d tried
everything to get relief, but nothing lasted. The antacids controlled
his ulcer. Why couldn’t he find something strong enough for
headaches?

Four years ago, he’d submitted to a battery of medical tests to
ferret out the root of his problem. When they’d come back negative,
the internist offered one final suggestion. “You could try
hypnotism.”

Tyler’s forehead broke into a sweat at the thought and he glared at
the doctor. “I’m not mentally ill. I know your type. You’re
incompetent and can’t do your job, so you make up excuses. You’re
lucky I don’t sue you.”

He scraped back his chair to conclude the appointment. No one would
say he was crazy. Furthermore, he wouldn’t let anyone mess with his
mind.

The doctor shook his head and gave him a pitying look.

The action infuriated Tyler. He glared at the doctor. “You’re
nothing but a quack.”

“Follow my suggestion. It’s all you have left.”

“I’ll see you in hell first,” Tyler said, turning away.

“Your life is already hell,” the doctor’s voice followed, as
Tyler retreated down the hall.

How dare he say that. A psychiatrist was out of the question. Not for
a second would he relinquish control of his mind. He knew what quacks
could do to a person, planting false memories and suggestions.

He’d suffer the rest of his life if he had to. The headaches always
passed. Yes, they hurt, but the alternative was worse.

Tyler never doubted his decision to reject the doctor’s
suggestions.

Still, at weak moments like this, when his head pounded, his vision
blurred, and his stomach cramped, he’d kill for relief.

How ironic that he owned so much yet couldn’t enjoy it. How could
he when any moment another attack might grip him? Damn that doctor.
He should have done his job right.

A nagging voice inside of him said he could still consult more
doctors, but what if they agreed with the first? If there was
something major wrong with him, he’d rather not know.

Chapter Eight

After finally getting to sleep in her own bed Sunday night, without
the smell of Dade’s aftershave distracting her, Julie was ready for
Monday. The deluge began a few blocks from the downtown Chicago
commuter train station. Umbrella-less, already in “In Between
Land,” three blocks between the train station and her office, she
had no choice but to continue on.

The wind, a mighty alien being, buffeted her slight figure, treating
it like scrap paper. Buckets of cold water poured onto her head, face
and eyes, over her clothes and into her shoes. Dodging puddles, she
raced the remaining way to the office.

Once inside the building, she breathed a sigh of relief, followed by
a shiver, as a frigid blast of air conditioning hit, plastering her
wet blouse and skirt to her skin. Water squished in her shoes.

In front of the elevator, she found Dade, once again the early bird.
In one hand, he carried a dripping golf umbrella. With the other, he
held the door open. At sight of her, his eyes widened.

Her breasts were taut and cold, pressed tightly against the flimsy
fabric of her wet silk blouse. How much did he notice? Probably too
much.

It was only Dade. She’d known him for years. He’d seen her in all
sorts of clothes, even his own shirt. It didn’t matter, right?

“Don’t say it,” she said. “I look like an entrant in a wet
tee shirt contest. The worst part is, since I don’t have any cases
up today, I didn’t even bring a suit coat to warm me up. It wasn’t
supposed to rain, was it?”

Dade shook his head and smiled. “I’m surprised at you, Julie. You
actually believe the weather man? What kind of lawyer are you? If
he took an oath, he’d be indicted for perjury.”

Julie smiled. “You’re right. I should know better.”

“That’s okay. I kind of like the wet look,” he said, with a
wide grin.

“Watch it, you letch.” Another shiver escaped her. Suddenly she
felt washed out and shaky. Earlier in the shower she’d suffered
another dizzy spell.

Dade’s smile turned serious. “You don’t look so good.”

“No woman likes to hear that.” She made a dour face, as she
tried to ignore the unexpected stab of hurt.

“Hey, don’t take it that way,” Dade said, automatically tuning
in to her wavelength. “What I mean is you might be coming down with
something. I’ve got an extra shirt in the office. You can wear that
until your clothes dry.”

“I don’t think so,” Julie said with a wry grin. “That would
certainly make an impression on what’s left of our office staff.”

The elevator stopped on the 12
^th
floor.

“Tell you what. You go inside. I’ll run over to Walgreen’s.
They always have sweats there. I’ll be right back.”

“Then you’ll get wet.”

“No problem. My monster umbrella will protect me from the evil
forces of nature.”

“Are you sure you want to go back out there? I could wait until it
stops.”

“Anything for you, oh wet and wonderful partner.”

She gave him a playful shove. “All right, nut, go. In the meantime,
I’ll dry my hair with my handy dandy mini hair dryer.”

* * *

Julie was unplugging the hair dryer from the socket, when a knock on
the bathroom door signaled Dade’s return. Thank God it hadn’t
taken him long. Her clothes felt cold and clammy. She was completely
chilled.

Smiling, he handed over a sweatshirt, sweat pants, underwear and
socks. “I guessed on the sizes.”

“Don’t worry. Anything will do. You’re a lifesaver. I can
hardly wait to get out of these wet clothes.”

He flashed a suggestive leer. “Don’t let me stop you.”

She put her hands on her hips. The wetness made them slide, but she
did her best to look stern.

“You can leave now. Remember, you’ve got Anderson up today.”

“Spoilsport,” he said, flashing a regretful look before closing
the door.

* * *

Julie emerged refreshed, with the cuddly sweatshirt warming her skin.
The thick socks caressed her chilled toes.

Dade had already left. Julie’s secretary, Dee, and Pam, the
receptionist, laughing and comparing weekend notes, strolled in the
door, and gave her a double take. She didn’t blame them. Monday
wasn’t casual day.

“You were lucky. The rain must have just stopped,” Julie said. “I
got drenched. Dade rescued me with a quick trip to Walgreen’s. Oh,
by the way, there’s something I have to tell you.”

While Julie explained the extent of Nora’s treachery, including the
fact that Dade’s ex-secretary appeared to be missing, the two
office workers looked even more dumfounded than when they’d
glimpsed Julie in sweats.

“What are we going to do? Did she ruin the forms, too,” Dee
asked, her voice rising in panic.

“The good news is I had most of them saved on my laptop computer,”
Julie said. “Unfortunately, I got behind on my backups. Anyway, the
basics are there. For now, we’ll prioritize and split the workload.
Dade and I will type what we can ourselves. I’ll call for a temp to
fill in, until we find a permanent replacement for Nora.”