CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Genna’s nose wrinkled when she entered the apartment.
She’d forgotten to wash the dishes after her last night here, and the sink had grown a plush carpet of gray mold.
She held her breath and opened a window, hoping the spores would escape to fresh air and she might have a chance of surviving the next few hours without developing some horrifying illness.
Just in case, she pulled a bottle of vinegar out from underneath the sink and poured it over the mold.
That stunk too but not as badly as the rotten food and mold growing in her kitchen.
She gave the vinegar some time to work while she moved on to other tasks.
Most of the food in the fridge was expired, so she tossed it into a trash bag and took it and the old trash bag—also forgotten—downstairs to the trash room.
Once a new bag (plum-scented! Why? Who cares!) was installed in the kitchen wastebasket, she tidied up the living room, picking up old trash, wiping down furniture, and vacuuming the carpet.
There were a few new stains, but those would take hours to clean, and they would still leave a shadow behind. She’d deal with it later.
By the time she was finished, the new trash bag was full. She took that out and washed the dishes. That kept her busy well into the night, but she wasn’t going to sleep anyway. She rarely slept her first night back.
By the time she finished cleaning, she’d worked up an appetite.
She didn’t have any food to cook, so she ordered a pizza and plopped on the couch.
This time of night, the cable channels were playing infomercials and reruns of Seinfeld and Star Trek: The Next Generation, so she pulled up Netflix and played the first option under the “We Think You’ll Love This” category.
It turned out to be a war movie starring some A-minus lister whose shine had worn off five years ago. Chris something or other.
The pizza arrived, delivered by a cute, blushing college kid who was adorable enough that Genna almost invited him in. She even opened her mouth to ask if he wanted to come in for dinner.
And that’s when the last of the fog fell away. She smiled at him and said, “Thank you!” then closed the door before he could work up the courage to ask for her number.
The smile vanished as she turned around and set the pizza on the coffee table. She wasn’t hungry anymore. She would eat but not until she was finished.
The lingering remnants of Jennifer Suleiman had cleaned her apartment, which was a good thing, but they had distracted her from her purpose, which wasn’t.
She hadn’t entered the bedroom yet, and Genna realized now that it was the last of Jennifer struggling to avoid the realization that would shut her inside of Genna’s mind until the next mission was completed.
The bedroom itself was fairly clean if untidy. The sheets were rumpled, and the blanket was tossed carelessly to the floor, but both had been washed after the Hayes woman was killed, so they were clean.
Genna stood in the room for a moment, frowning. She hadn’t finished with Crawford. He was still alive when the wolf chased her from the house. He was close to death, but he might have survived. She should find out.
No. If he was still alive, he was out of her reach. The FBI not only found him, but they found Jennifer. Had he identified her? He couldn’t have. She wore the mask. Even without the mask, there was a stark difference between Genna Solomon and Jennifer Suleiman.
You’re panicking. Calm down and think clearly about the situation.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly through her nose.
The FBI suspected her or rather they suspected Jennifer.
But they hadn’t found anything incriminating.
They’d cleared her. That one woman, the one with the dog, wasn’t satisfied, but she was a professional.
She wouldn’t waste time following a lead that had run dry.
It was smart of Genna to let Jennifer take the reins after the Crawford attack.
Her quick thinking had saved them both. Come to the apartment, strip out of the incriminating clothes, shower, change, and head straight to the house.
Even so, she’d beaten the agents by only a few minutes. God, if they’d come any faster…
You’re panicking again.
She took another deep breath. It was over. They didn’t even know about Genna. Only Jennifer, and that woman was nowhere close to being a killer.
Still, she needed to finish cleaning. She needed to remove the evidence.
She stepped into the restroom, and another smell assaulted her. This one was only a few hours old, not nearly so pungent as the mold in the kitchen, but it was strong enough to send a shudder through her. Jennifer must have come back a little while she was reminiscing in the bedroom.
The clothing she wore was in the tub. She frowned at the blood caked into her boots and pants. She should have ordered rubber rain boots. Next time. They sold them at the local hardware store.
In the meantime, she stopped the tub’s drain and started the cold water. Her mother—well, Jennifer’s mother—had taught Jennifer that cold water was better for getting blood stains out. While the tub filled, she retrieved a bag of baking soda and a soft-bristled toothbrush from under the sink.
As she scrubbed the bloodstains out of the boots and pants, her mind drifted to the problem of Crawford.
He was still alive, and he really was out of her reach.
She couldn’t go back for him. She’d have to content herself with knowing that his throat had been damaged enough that he would never live a normal life again.
It was frustrating, but there was nothing that could be done about it.
There was another, though, one more who needed to be punished for his part to play. He didn’t have a dog, so she didn’t need to worry about being interrupted. She could kill him and make up for losing Robert.
And if she killed this one, she would make up for being unable to protect Princess.
As she worked the stains out, her anxiety eased. Crawford was only a little bump in the road. She was still in control. She could still enact her vengeance. She could still make things right.
She finished with the baking soda, rinsed it with cold water, then drained the tub.
She gathered the sopping clothes and put them in a basket among a load of towels.
The pants were clean enough now that they could run through an ordinary wash load.
The boots she would wash in hot water, then work on with the blow dryer.
It would take her the rest of the night to finish, but she wasn’t going to sleep anyway.
She had work to do.