One
“WAIT HERE,” Cyrus ordered.
Cyrus gritted his teeth. So incessant. He shook out his fists.
Only a handful of locations to go and the questions would cease.
He would cease. “It doesn’t take two of us to get what we came for,” he said, hoping Casey would accept the answer and let it drop, but he doubted it.
“I’ve got this. Two of us will only draw more attention. ”
“Fine.” Casey slumped back against the van’s passenger seat.
The imbecile was pouting like a girl. And, that knee.
Cyrus wanted to break it. Always bouncing in that annoying, jittery way.
The seat squeaked with the rapid, persistent motion.
He shook his head on a grunted exhale. If Casey didn’t settle .
. . if he blew their plans. Cyrus squeezed his fists tight, blood throbbing through his fingers.
Too much was at stake. His own neck was on the line.
He turned his attention to the task at hand.
“I won’t be long,” he said, surveying the space one last time before opening the van door.
The lot behind them was dead, the building still.
He climbed out, his breath a vapor in the cold night air.
He glanced back at their van, barely visible in the pitch-black alley.
Shockingly, Casey remained in the passenger seat, his knee still bouncing high.
He shut the van door as eagerness coursed through him. The thrill and rush of the score mere minutes away. Just one quick job and then it was finally time.
He slipped his gloved hands into his pockets. A deeper rush nestled hot inside him, adrenaline searing his limbs. His fervency was for the kill.
He moved toward the rear of the restaurant, where the rental rooms’ entrance sat.
His gloved fingers brushed the garrote in his right pocket, and he shifted his other hand to rest on the hilt of his gun.
Which way would it go? Garrote or gun? Anticipation shot through him.
Rounding the back of the building, he hung in the shadows and then stepped to the door and picked the lock—so simple a child could have done it.
But what had he expected of a rent-by-the-hour-or-day establishment?
Opening the door, he stepped inside the minuscule foyer and studied the two doors on the ground level.
Nothing but silence. He found the light switch and flipped off the ceiling bulb illuminating the stairwell, then crept up the stairs, pausing as one creaked.
He held still, his back flush with the wall, once again shadowed in darkness. Nothing stirred.
Reaching her room, he picked the lock, stepped inside, and shut the door, locking it behind him.
She was asleep on the shoddy sofa, a ratty blanket draped across her. Getting rid of her now might be easier, but what fun was it killing someone while they slept? And he needed to make sure she had the items.
He stood a moment, watching her chest rise and fall with what would be her final breaths, then he knocked her feet with his elbow.
Her eyes flashed open as she lurched to a seated position. She rubbed her eyes. “You’re late.”
Less chance of witnesses.
“You have the items?”
She nodded.
“Get them. We’re in a hurry.”
She got to her feet and headed for the bedroom.
He followed.
To his surprise, she climbed up on the dresser and reached for the heating vent.
Huh. She was smarter than he’d expected, yet not bright enough to know what was coming.
Pulling the dingy grate back, she retrieved a black velvet pouch and a bundle of letters held in place by a thick rubber band.
“Hand them over,” he said.
She hopped down and hesitated. “I get my cut, right?” She clutched the items to her pale chest.
“You’ll get your cut,” he said, wrapping his hands around the garrote.
She released her hold. Taking the bag first, he slid it into his upper jacket pocket, then slipped the letters into his pant pocket. “Good job.”
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing her creamy neck. “Thanks.”
Restless energy pulsed through him.
“Are we done here?” she asked, shifting her stance, her arms wrapped around her slender waist.
“Just about.”
“What’s left to do?” she asked, her head cocked, and then she stilled. She took a step back. So she’d finally figured it out.
“No.” She shook her head, backing into the paneled wall. In one movement, left hand to right shoulder, he spun her around and slipped the garrote over her head.
He’d intended to give her the option—the easy way with a gunshot to the head or the hard way with the garrote. But the hard way was far more pleasurable, giving him the best elated high.
It really was a shame. She was a pretty thing.
Five minutes later, he was back in the van, leaving the body behind.
“You got everything?” Casey asked as they pulled onto the street, their headlights off.
Cyrus smiled and handed both items to him. They were a go. The appetite for what was to come gnawed at Cyrus’s gut, but in a good way. It was time to feed the anticipation that had been growing in him for nigh on a year. It was time to scratch that itch.