Chapter 13
I filled the syringe and stuck it in my back pocket, then followed him to his massive boat that was docked at the marina.
His wife took their daughter to Palm Beach for a senior trip.
She’d be gone for five days. He wasn’t stupid enough to bring his mistress to his home.
But his boat? Yes. His mistress was a realtor, and they had agreed she’d meet him on the boat after her husband left for work.
He was an ER nurse who worked midnights at the local hospital.
How did I know? I followed them the other night to a restaurant in Islamorada, where Lawrence was supposed to be for a work dinner meeting.
I secured the table next to theirs and heard every single word.
I lingered on the dock, pretending to admire the view while I watched Lawrence step aboard his forty-foot yacht.
His phone was to his ear, and he laughed as he loosened his tie.
Then he disappeared, stepping through the cabin door.
A light flickered on inside. Then another.
I glanced around the area. It was dark, and nobody was here.
The parking lot had emptied out a while ago.
I glanced at my watch. His realtor mistress would be arriving in an hour. I needed to get to work. I took small, quiet steps toward his slip, carefully stepped onto the boat, and looked through the small window. He wasn’t in sight, but the cabin door was slightly open.
I stepped inside. He must have been in the bedroom preparing for his mistress.
I opened the door to a small closet and stepped inside, softly pulling the door closed.
Reaching in my back pocket, I grabbed the syringe and held it up.
Footsteps. I heard footsteps. As I peeked through the slats of the door, I saw him open the refrigerator and stare into it, his arm resting on the top of the door.
This was my chance. I quietly stepped out of the closet, walked up behind him, and jammed the syringe into the side of his neck.
I held my coffee in one hand while I stared at the water through the sliding door.
The clouds looked angry today, casting a gray shadow over Key West. The palms swayed back and forth as Mother Nature howled her way into the morning.
A knock at the door startled me from my thoughts.
Furrowing my brows, I walked over, looked out the peephole, and saw Alex standing there.
“Mind telling me why my key doesn’t work?” he said.
“Oh shit. I forgot. I had to change the locks.”
“Why?” He followed me into the kitchen.
“Because the original one broke. I’ll get an extra key made.”
“Phew, I thought maybe you were trying to keep me out,” he smirked.
“I would never.” I reached up and kissed his lips. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you. How was dinner and the movies with Tess last night?”
“It was fun. But we didn’t end up going to the movies. By the time we got to the theater, the show was sold out. So, we hit up a bar for a while and then went and got ice cream.”
“Sounds fun.” He smiled.
“What did you do last night?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know.” He shook his head.
“Well, I certainly do now.” My eyes narrowed.
“I alphabetized my literature books.”
“What?” I laughed.
“See,” he pointed at me, “that is why I didn’t want to tell you. Anyway, I have some good news.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ve been invited to the University of Fort Lauderdale as a key speaker for their literature conference.” He grinned.
“That’s wonderful, Alex. When is it?”
“I leave in a couple of days.”
“For how long?”
“Just two days. I’ll be back before you know it.” He kissed my forehead. “Unless you want to come with me?”
“I would, but Tess is leaving tomorrow for Maine. She’ll be gone the rest of the week and put me in charge of the gallery,” I lied.
“Wow. That’s great. You get to be boss for a few days.” He pulled me into an embrace.
His phone dinged. He pulled it from his pocket, and his eyes widened.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I just got a breaking news alert. They found another body.”
“What?” My brows furrowed as I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.
We’re at the scene of another brutal murder.
The victim has been identified as Lawrence Gearheart, CEO of Stonewall Financial Group.
Our sources tell us his body was discovered last night by Tracy Adams, one of Key West’s leading realtors, on the galley floor, arranged like the other victims. Detectives will neither confirm nor deny whether this was the work of The Last Chapter Killer. Wait.
The reporter tapped her earpiece.
We just received information that the words: This is his last chapter, were indeed carved into his abdomen, which confirms this was another brutal and gruesome attack by The Last Chapter Killer.
“Jesus Christ.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “This is getting scarier by the day. I don’t want to leave you alone with that maniac on the loose.”
“I’ll be fine.” I smiled, placing my hand on his chest. “And I agree. It is getting scarier by the day. But I do have a taser and pepper spray in my purse.”
“You have a taser?” His brows furrowed.
“I bought it after the last young girl was killed. See.” I smiled. “I’m prepared. Besides, I took defense classes a few years back.”