Читать книгу No Ordinary Man - Suzanne Brockmann - Страница 8

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Doris drawled across the telephone line, “when suddenly a mysterious stranger appeared from the shadows of the mist.”

Jess Baxter laughed and peered out the screen door into the small circle of light thrown onto her back deck by the porch lamp. “First of all,” she said to the older woman who was her day care provider and longtime friend, “It may be night, but I’ve got all the lights on, so it’s not dark. Secondly, it’s certainly not stormy, and there’s no mist in sight. And, Rob’s hardly a stranger.”

“He’s hardly Elmer Schiller, either,” Doris countered, referring to the shy, elderly little man who had been the previous tenant in the small apartment attached to Jess’s house.

“No, he’s not,” Jess had to agree. She heard an odd, slow, shuffling, thumping sound that had to be Rob Carpenter, her new tenant, carrying something heavy up the stairs to the deck and to the door of the apartment.

“I mean, when it comes down to it,” Doris said, “what do you really know about this guy?”

“Oh, come on, Doris,” Jess replied, moving back into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of iced tea. “He’s lived down the street for months.” For the past six months, Rob had rented a neighbor’s house while the family was away in Europe.

“Where’d he come from?” Doris asked. “Where’d he live before he moved into the Hendersons’ house? What’s his family like? Where did he grow up? Any deeply rooted psychological problems? Any tendencies towards violence? Does he prefer to use a knife or a gun when committing murder…?”

“You’ve been watching too many bad TV movies of the week,” Jess scoffed, trying not to glance out the screen door as the subject in question went past, carrying another box.

“Might I remind you that there’s a serial killer on the loose?” Doris persisted. “The fact is, you don’t know anything about this guy.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to put ‘Choice of murder weapon’ on the rental application,” Jess said dryly.

“I worry about you and Kelsey,” Doris stated firmly. “Living all alone. Maybe you should get a big dog.”

“Maybe you should take stress reduction classes.”

“This is the guy who comes to your shows all the time,” Doris said. “Right? The guy you’ve told me about?”

“Well, yes,” Jess said, drawing designs in the condensation on the outside of her iced tea glass. “I’ve mentioned him once or twice.”

“A few more times than that, hon. I’ve heard quite a bit about Mr. Rob Solid-And-Dependable-Businessman. Mr. Rob Polite. Mr. Rob Ordinary-Guy-With-Real-Nice-Eyes. I think you’ve got a bigger role than tenant in mind for this one.”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Doris!”

“I think you think this Rob might be good father material.”

“Really, don’t start.”

“Honey, I’m not accusing you of anything wrong,” Doris said. “It’s been two years since you kicked Ian out. It makes sense that you’re a little itchy for some male company. And heaven knows you could use some help both paying the bills and raising Kelsey. But don’t hitch yourself to some guy you don’t really know just to—”

“Doris,” Jess singsonged warningly.

“I mean, if it’s all hot and heavy between you two, if he makes your heart beat harder, then God bless him, but still, make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Doris said, rushing her words in her haste to get them out. “Ian Davis was no prize, but he never got violent—at least not with you or Kelsey. But you always hear about these polite, quiet types who end up taking a machine gun and—”

“Gee, I’m going to sleep really well tonight,” Jess said.

“For all you know, this Rob could be the guy everyone’s looking for—the serial killer,” Doris persisted.

“He could also be Elvis Presley,” Jess said, “alive and in disguise, hiding from his adoring public.”

“Jess, I’m serious.”

“Rob needed a place to live,” Jess interrupted her friend. “There’s nothing going on, and I have no plans for there to be something going on. I needed a tenant. Fast. Both for the money, and for the fact that if Rob didn’t move in, Stanford Greene was going to.”

That silenced Doris. “God,” she finally said.

“Yes,” Jess agreed, pushing open the screen door and carrying the cordless phone out with her onto the deck. “God.”

“That creepy guy who lives next door with his creepy parents?” Doris asked.

“Yes,” Jess said, glancing over at her neighbor’s house. It was in dire need of a paint job and some serious repairs. Creepy indeed—both the house and the people who lived inside. Stanford Greene’s mother had decided that since her baby boy was pushing forty years old, it was high time he got married. She’d also decided that Jess would make the perfect little bride for her baby. When Mrs. Greene had heard that Elmer Schiller was moving out of Jess’s apartment to live with his daughter in Fort Myers, she’d thought that Stanford’s moving in would be a perfect way for her darling son to get to know Jess better. But perfect wasn’t quite the word Jess had in mind. She could just picture pudgy Stanford with his ear pressed to the paper thin walls, listening to every phone conversation Jess had. She could just see him staring at her all day from the deck, rather than from the other side of the wooden fence that separated their two yards.

“I take it all back,” Doris conceded with a shudder. “Well, some of it anyway.”

Jess leaned on the rail of the deck, looking down at the driveway below. The trunk of Rob’s car was open, lit by the dim garage light, but her new tenant was nowhere in sight.

“I’m sorry, am I making too much noise?” a soft voice said, and she spun around, heart pounding. “Maybe I should move the rest of the stuff up in the morning,” Rob added. “I know it’s late, and I don’t want to wake up your daughter.”

Rob must’ve been inside the apartment. But Jess hadn’t heard the door open, or the sound of his footsteps on the deck. It was as if he’d suddenly appeared, instantly standing next to her, conjured up by her vivid imagination.

He was taller than she remembered. And even though he was a good five feet away from her, it seemed as if he were standing much too close.

“You startled me,” she said breathlessly.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again.

His eyes were brown. They were average brown—neither deep chocolate nor tawny amber. Just…brown. They were level and steady and mostly hidden behind circular wire-rimmed glasses. But every time Jess met his gaze, something very hot and very dangerous sparked. This time was no exception.

His hair and face were slightly damp with perspiration. But he hadn’t bothered to roll up his shirtsleeves, and his tie wasn’t even loosened.

Despite the protestations she’d made to Doris, Jess found Rob Carpenter incredibly attractive. She wouldn’t admit it to her friend, but she couldn’t deny it to herself.

On the surface, he seemed so…average. He had conservatively cut brown hair, brown eyes, a medium build. He always dressed the same way—like a computer programmer. Tonight he was still wearing his work clothes—khaki slacks and a long-sleeved button-down shirt with a bland tie. In an elevator full of businessmen, he would blend into the crowd—nondescript, nothing special.

Unless you looked more closely.

His shoulders were broad beneath his crisp white shirt. His body was slender, and his pants hugged his backside almost sinfully. Undeniably, the man had a great butt. And a great smile. His teeth were straight and white, and his cheeks crinkled charmingly at the edges of his mouth. He was much better than average-looking. In fact, behind those glasses and that unremarkable haircut, he was remarkably handsome. His face was lean, with a strong jaw and a straight, nearly perfect nose. His lips were beautifully shaped, and his smile made his brown eyes sparkle with amusement. Yet there was always a tinge of sadness behind that smile, a hint of tragedy in his eyes.

Maybe that was what Jess found so attractive. Maybe it was the mystery that seemed to linger around him.

Or maybe it was simply the fact that outwardly Rob was a polar opposite to Ian Davis, Jess’s ex-husband. The truth was, from his short brown hair to the tips of his well-polished businesslike shoes, Rob appeared to be everything that manic and out-of-control Ian, with his Hawaiian shirts, his long, curly blond hair and his ice blue eyes had never been.

“Jess, are you still there?” Doris asked.

She was staring at Rob. Jess knew she was staring, and she forced herself to pull her eyes away. “Doris, I’ve got to go,” she said into the telephone.

“Just remember what I said, hon.”

“Goodbye,” Jess returned firmly and punched the off button on the phone. She turned back to Rob. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” he said in his quiet, accentless voice.

“You’re hardly making any noise at all,” she told him. “I heard you pull into the driveway while I was on the phone and I meant to come out and ask if you needed any help. Can I give you a hand with the rest of your things?”

“No, that’s all right.” Rob looked over the railing at his car in the driveway below. “I don’t have that much stuff, and I’m almost done. There’re just another couple of boxes.”

“I can help you with them.”

Rob shook his head. “No, really. They’re both too heavy. They’re my free weights. I didn’t pack ’em real well—I just threw all the plates into a couple of crates.”

Free weights. Rob lifted weights. Funny, she would have never known. If he had a weight lifter’s physique, it was hidden underneath his loose-fitting shirt. At first glance he looked so much like a computer nerd, barely capable of lifting a too heavy briefcase, yet here he was, bringing weight-lifting equipment into her apartment.

Her apartment? His apartment now. He’d signed a six-month lease just this afternoon. For the next six months, Rob Carpenter was going to be her closest neighbor.

As she gazed up into his eyes, Jess felt again that spark of awareness, that whisper of heat.

But he turned away. “Well…I’ll, um, get the rest of my, uh…”

“I’ll get some iced tea,” Jess offered, heading for the door to her kitchen. “You look like you could use something cool to drink.”

“That would be nice,” Rob said, stopping at the top of the stairs and looking back at her, smiling very slightly. “Thanks.”

He moved silently down the stairs as Jess pulled open her screen door.

Doris was right about at least one thing. Rob did make Jess’s heart beat harder. Just one little smile, and her pulse was pounding.

She got another glass from the cabinet and pulled the ice cube tray from the freezer. She added several fresh cubes to her own glass, still sitting out on the counter, as Rob moved quietly past the door, carrying a large, heavy-looking box filled with free weights. The box looked awkward and unwieldy, yet he carried it easily, as if it weighed almost nothing.

He moved silently past the door again, heading back toward the stairs as Jess took the iced tea pitcher from the refrigerator and filled both glasses.

What did she know about this man?

Jess knew that Rob worked as a software consultant for some local computer company—she couldn’t remember the name—and that he traveled rather extensively throughout Florida and the southeast, sometimes taking as many as eight or nine business trips in a single month.

She knew that he had moved to Sarasota from up north—which city or state, Jess couldn’t say. She didn’t think he’d ever mentioned it.

She knew he had nice eyes, that he was polite and quiet, maybe even shy.

And that he drove a staid, dark gray Taurus sedan.

He liked to listen to folk music, and he’d attended nearly all of her gigs. He’d come when she played her guitar and sang at local clubs, often bringing along one of the guys from his office—a friendly man named Frank—but never showing up with a date.

She knew Rob liked the food at the China Boat, the small restaurant three blocks south. She’d seen him carrying bags of takeout as she’d driven past, after picking up her daughter from Doris’s after school day care. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean he liked the China Boat’s food. Maybe it simply meant that he didn’t like to cook.

They’d really only spoken a few times. Unlike his friend Frank who was very chatty, Rob never stuck around her gigs long enough to talk, as if he were somehow afraid to impose.

That wasn’t a lot to go on, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture Rob Carpenter fitting easily into Jess’s life. Her life and Kelsey’s. Her six-year-old daughter actually knew Rob better than Jess did. Kelsey’s best friend lived next door to the house Rob had been renting. Kelsey had told Jess that Rob had often come into her friend’s yard to play baseball with the two children and her friend’s dad. Rob apparently had a natural way with kids. Kelsey—who was usually so reserved around men, thanks to Ian—adored Rob. He’d given both children nick-names—her friend was Beetle and Kelsey was Bug.

Sure, Doris was right. Jess didn’t know much about Rob’s past. But Kelsey liked him, and that was worth quite a bit in Jess’s book.

As Jess put the iced tea pitcher back in the refrigerator, Rob moved past the door again, carrying his last box. Moments later, he tapped softly at the screen.

“Come on in,” she said.

He opened the screen door quickly and came into the kitchen without bringing in any of the bugs that were circling the light—not an easy feat. He carried in her evening newspaper. With a quick smile, he handed it to her.

“I was wondering which side of the driveway you wanted me to leave my car on,” he said. “Or if you’d prefer that I parked on the street.”

“The driveway’s fine,” Jess said, putting the paper down on the kitchen counter and handing him one of the glasses of iced tea. “Just don’t block the garage in case I have to get out before you leave in the morning. And if you ever have anyone stay overnight, any…” She was about to say girlfriends, but she paused, suddenly uncertain. What if he was gay? He couldn’t be, could he? No, from the way he always looked at her, she had to believe that he wasn’t. Still… “Any friends,” she continued, “Just have…them…park on the street.”

Rob noticed her carefully genderless sentence, and he fought hard to keep his reaction from showing. Jess actually thought that he might be gay. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel insulted. Or feel relieved.

Because here he was, standing in Jess Baxter’s kitchen. She was not more than six feet away from him, dressed in a short-cropped T-shirt that didn’t quite meet the waistband of her cutoff jeans. Although she wasn’t very tall, her legs were long and slender, and standing there like that in her bare feet, with a narrow strip of smooth, tanned stomach showing between her shorts and her shirt, she looked like something out of a beach boy’s fantasy.

Her short dark hair curled softly around her heart-shaped face, and her eyes had to be the darkest shade of brown he’d ever seen in his entire life.

The first time Rob had seen her, when he’d first moved to Sarasota, to this neighborhood, he’d known that she was someone he should stay far, far away from. When he’d first spotted her with Kelsey, he’d fervently hoped that she was happily married. He prayed that she had someone that she loved, someone who adored her, someone who would protect her.

Naturally, she was divorced, a single mom. She wasn’t seeing anyone, wasn’t even dating. His bad luck just never seemed to quit.

Still, he’d kept his distance. But he couldn’t keep from watching her. He noticed her when she played in her yard with Kelsey. He watched her when she worked in her garden. He spied her when she grocery shopped, early every Thursday morning, like clockwork. He’d even watched her cooking dinner through her uncurtained kitchen window. He also went to her shows, and listened to her play her guitar and sing.

She had a smile as sweet and welcoming as a warm spring morning, and eyes as mysterious as the darkest night sky. Her voice, with its gentle southern accent was velvet—husky and soft and unbearably, achingly, painfully sensual.

When the Hendersons had written him of their impending return, he should have moved clear across to the other side of town. This woman didn’t need the kind of trouble he brought with him. But she had seemed as desperate to find a tenant as he’d been to find a place to live.

“You want sugar in that?” Jess asked him, gesturing toward the tall glass of iced tea she’d handed him as she crossed to the cabinet and took down a sugar bowl. Her jeans shorts fit her perfect derriere snugly and she swayed slightly, naturally, as she walked. Sweet God, if she only knew what he was thinking, she’d be convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt of his heterosexuality. “Or would you like some lemon?” she added.

“Sugar,” Rob heard himself say. “Thanks.”

He should be getting out of there. He should go into his new apartment and organize his things, set up his weight-lifting gear, watch some mindless television sitcom. He should be leaving Jess Baxter alone, not standing in her kitchen, looking at her legs, thinking dangerous thoughts. Instead, he sat down across from her at her kitchen table.

“You know, I realized I don’t know that much about you,” Jess said, taking a sip of her iced tea and gazing at him with her bottomless dark eyes. She pushed the bowl of sugar and a spoon in his direction.

She was going to ask him some questions. Some personal questions. Rob stirred sugar into his glass, carefully keeping his face passive, fighting the hot surge of anger that pulsed through him. God, he hated questions. He hated lying, he hated all of it. He hated his entire life, loathed what he’d become. Boring, he reminded himself. Make yourself sound unbearably boring. She’ll change the subject soon enough. “There’s not that much to know,” he said blandly. “I work for Epco, Inc., downtown. I work with computers, you know, software consulting. It’s pretty mundane.”

God, he hated small talk. But that’s all he ever did—all he ever could do. It was too risky to have any kind of real conversation, too nerve-racking to say anything that would make someone take a closer look at him. So he always stuck to small talk. Always. For the past eight years, he’d had his real conversations in his head, with himself. Sometimes he felt well on his way to being certifiably nuts. But he had to keep his interactions with other people to a minimum. He had to be boring. He had to remain invisible.

“I travel a lot,” he added, “but I only see the insides of office buildings.”

Jess nodded, still watching him. “That’s too bad.” Her eyelashes were amazingly dark and incredibly long. And she didn’t look the slightest bit bored. In fact, she looked interested. More than interested. Attracted. Beautiful, vibrant, sexy Jess Baxter was actually attracted to dull, mild-mannered, boring Rob Carpenter.

Her cheeks flushed very slightly as Rob met her eyes and held her gaze, wondering if she could see past his disguise, wondering if somehow he’d slipped and given himself away. She looked away, embarrassed or nervous. Damn straight she should be nervous around him.

“With my schedule, I don’t have time for anything besides work,” he added, hoping she’d pick up his double meaning. He didn’t have time for anything else, especially romance. He couldn’t risk the sweet intimacy of a lover’s quiet questions or the expectations of shared secrets and whispered confessions.

Jess took another sip of her drink, removing a stray drop of tea from her lips with the tip of her tongue. It was sweetly, unconsciously sexy on her part, and Rob felt his body respond. Man, it had been too long…

“No hobbies?” she asked, one elegant eyebrow arching upward. “No clog dancing classes?”

Rob had to laugh at that. “No,” he said. “Sad to say, I had to give it up.”

“Music, then,” Jess prompted. “You must have an interest in music—I’ve seen you at some of the folk festivals, and at some of my gigs. You even brought along that friend of yours—Frank. I appreciated your helping pad the audience.”

Rob nodded. “I like music,” he said. That was true, but he’d really gone to those festivals and concerts expressly to see Jess sing. “But I never brought Frank. We’re not friends—more like acquaintances. We both happened to show up at one of the folk festivals and we got to talking—we both work at Epco.”

Jess nodded, taking a sip of her iced tea. “How about movies?” she asked. “Kelsey and I saw you a couple of times at the Gulf Gate Mall theater.”

Now this was something he could talk about. Rob smiled and let himself relax a little. But only slightly.

“We love going to movies,” she continued, pushing a stray curl back behind one ear. “We go to everything a six-year-old can see, that is. I’ve become a Disney expert.”

“I’m more into Pulp Fiction than Pocahontas myself,” Rob admitted. “I’m a Spielberg fan. And I like James Cameron, too. He did the Terminator movies, remember those?”

“Aha.” Jess smiled at him as she took another sip of her iced tea. “You do have a hobby, if you watch movies enough to be a fan of a specific director.”

“I don’t know, it’s slightly more passive than clog dancing,” Rob said, smiling back into her warm brown eyes. God, she was pretty.

“So is stamp collecting.”

“You win,” he conceded. “I guess I have a hobby.”

“We also saw you in Books-A-Million,” she said. “Buying a stack of books about two feet high.”

“I also like to read. Fiction, mostly.”

“But I didn’t see you move in boxes and boxes of books,” Jess said, resting her chin on the upturned palm of her hand as she continued to gaze across the table at him.

Rob shrugged. “I don’t usually live in a place big enough to keep bookshelves. I read ’em, then donate ’em to a local nursing home.”

Her big dark eyes softened. “That’s sweet.”

God, he could lose himself in those eyes. He could just fall in and disappear forever, drowning, suffocating, pulling her down with him. They’d both simply vanish, never to resurface.

“You moved down here from up north,” Jess said, wondering if he could hear the breathlessness of her voice, wondering if he knew it was caused by the way he was looking at her. “Didn’t you?”

Across the table, Rob nodded, pulling his gaze away from her and giving his iced tea another spoonful of sugar and another stir. She’d been wrong about him, Jess realized. She’d thought he was shy, but there was nothing in those brown eyes that suggested shyness. In fact, his gaze was confident and steady. Rob Carpenter wasn’t shy at all. Just…polite. Reserved. Quiet. And as attracted to her as she was to him.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“All over the place,” he answered, glancing up at her and giving her a ghost of his earlier smile.

Could he be any more vague? Jess took another sip of her tea. “I grew up here in Florida,” she said. “Out on Siesta Key. My parents still have a beach house there. I use it sometimes when I’ve got a gig at the Pelican Club.”

He didn’t comment or offer any information on the location of his own childhood. He just watched her.

“My folks are up in Montana right now,” Jess continued, more to fill the silence than because she thought he’d be interested in the whereabouts of her parents. “They’re retired and doing the RV thing. You know, the enormous silver cylinder on wheels? Camping without the nasty outdoors part?”

That got another genuine smile out of him. And a response. “They’re in Montana, huh? It’s pretty out there—different from Florida.”

“I’ve never been to Montana,” she admitted. “Have you?”

He nodded, yes, but didn’t elaborate. She’d asked another faintly personal question that he wasn’t going to answer at any length. Apparently, he was willing to converse about superficial things but he didn’t like to talk about himself. But then, to her surprise, he actually volunteered some personal information. “I lived out west for about a year and a half.”

“So you really are from all over the place,” Jess said. “Where did you grow up?”

His smile faded quickly, but he still gazed at her. There was something else in his eyes now. It wasn’t amusement. It had a harder edge. Maybe it was alertness. Or was it wariness? Why should a question about his childhood make him wary?

“Jersey,” he finally replied. And as if he somehow knew that he was being too vague again, he added, “Near New York City.”

“Really?” she said. “Where exactly?”

“Just across the Hudson River.”

So much for “exactly.” “Does your family still live up there?”

“I don’t have a family.” He was still watching her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, instantly backing down.

“I’m not.” He said it so matter-of-factly, it took her a moment for his words to make sense. How could he not be sorry that he didn’t have a family?

The first thought that occurred to Jess was that Rob Carpenter didn’t want her to know the name of the town he’d grown up in because he’d done in his entire family and was now living under an alias, on the lam. It was a thought that would have made Doris proud. It was also ridiculous. Wasn’t it…?

The man was clearly hiding something. Wasn’t he? Or was he simply a private person, unwilling to talk about personal things to a near stranger?

Rob gazed across the table at Jess. She was watching him steadily, warily. He knew he made her nervous, he could see it in her eyes. But he could also see her attraction to him, too. It simmered between them like something living, ready to devour them both.

He knew without a doubt that if he reached across the table and put his hand over hers, she wouldn’t pull her own hand away. And he could only imagine where that one touch would lead. But that was part of the problem. He could imagine. He could see it quite clearly.

Rob pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. “I should get going. Thanks for the drink.”

Jess stood up, too. “Feel free to drop by anytime,” she said. “Kelsey and I are home most evenings.” She shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans shorts, a sweetly nervous gesture that exposed another half inch of her flat, tanned stomach. “We’re neighbors now. I hope we’re going to be friends.”

Friends. Rob put his hand on the screen door’s handle. He and beautiful Jess Baxter were going to be friends. He couldn’t help but wonder just how friendly she intended to be.

Damn, he shouldn’t have moved in here like this. For Jess’s sake, he should have gone far, far away. Because he knew damn well he wasn’t going to be able to resist her. If he was reading her right, and she was attracted to him, he didn’t stand a chance at keeping his distance. If she made even the smallest attempt to seduce him, he’d surrender. He was strong, but he wasn’t that strong. And where would that leave him? Where would it leave Jess?

Rob stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him. “Thanks again.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond. He turned and headed for his apartment door, down at the other end of the deck.

He liked Jess more than he’d ever imagined. It had nothing to do with the physical attraction that drew his eyes in her direction all the time. It had to do with her warm smile and her friendly conversation, and her funny, easygoing outlook on life.

Yeah, he liked her, and he’d seen an answering attraction in her eyes tonight—for her sake he should clear out right now. He should just get in his car and leave.

JESS RINSED THE ICED TEA glasses and put them in the dishwasher, feeling oddly unsettled. She’d set out to find some facts about her mysterious tenant, but all she had now were more mysteries.

He had no family and yet he was glad about that.

He grew up somewhere near New York City, but when she’d asked him where exactly, he’d continued to be vague.

Jess picked up the newspaper that Rob had brought inside, and went to check on Kelsey. It was supposed to be Kelsey’s job to bring the afternoon paper in each evening, but occasionally her daughter forgot. It was all part of being six years old.

Kelsey was fast asleep, the bedsheets twisted around her like some kind of Roman toga. Jess smiled, pushing Kelsey’s damp brown hair back from her warm, round, freckled face. She hadn’t expected that her quiet conversation in the kitchen with Rob would disturb her daughter. Kelsey would remain sound asleep throughout the noisiest thunderstorm. The kid could sleep through anything.

It probably came as a form of self-protection, from the days when Kelsey’s father was still living with them. Ian Davis, with his shaggy blond curls and mocking blue eyes was the first violinist and concert master of the Sarasota Symphony Orchestra. He was flashy, arrogant and selfish. And interminably loud and often rudely, nastily abusive. Jess’s ex-husband was jealous as hell, and would start a fight with her over something as innocent as a friendly smile she gave to the attendant at the gas station.

Yet fidelity wasn’t in Ian’s vocabulary when it pertained to himself.

Jess could still feel the giddy sense of freedom she’d felt on that day two years ago, when she’d packed up Ian’s things and sent them to the SSO office with a letter from her lawyer.

She carried the newspaper into the living room. Doris had been wrong. As tough as things were financially, Jess didn’t need—or want—a man around. She and Kelsey were getting along just fine on their own.

Of course, Ian still didn’t agree. According to him, their relationship was in no way over. He came around constantly and left the key to his condo in her mailbox, on her porch, in her car. Did he really expect her to come crawling back to him? Jess would send the key back, but she’d just find it again several days later. Finally, she tossed it into her junk drawer. Game over. Let Ian think he won.

As Jess set the paper down on the coffee table, the headline caught her eye. As usual, it was about the Sarasota serial killer. It was amazing. Sarasota wasn’t that big a city. Sure, there was crime, but nothing ever like this. It was disconcerting to think that a madman was out there, prowling the streets, hunting down and killing young women.

The latest victim was twenty-two years old. She had come home from graduate school for spring break, to visit her parents. Her body had been found, raped and murdered, in her own bedroom. Jess shivered as she read the interview with the police.

The killings had been going on for six months now, although the media and the public had only known about it for half that time. The FBI were closemouthed about whether or not they had any suspects. They warned all area residents—women in particular—to keep their doors and windows locked, and to avoid going out alone, particularly at night.

Jess stood and locked the front door.

Of course, with Rob Carpenter living in the attached apartment, she should feel safe. The walls were so thin, she wouldn’t have to scream very loud for him to hear. Unless of course, she thought with a wry smile, remembering Doris’s words of warning, Rob himself was the Sarasota serial killer.

But that wasn’t really such a funny joke. True, Doris was probably just being melodramatic as usual, but the fact remained that Jess didn’t know very much about Rob at all. He was a stranger. On top of that, it seemed oddly coincidental that he should have moved to Sarasota six months ago—right before the murders started.

Jess mentally gave herself a shake. Oddly coincidental? She was getting as bad as Doris. Sure, he had moved to Sarasota six months ago. But so had lots of other people. It wasn’t odd, it was just plain coincidental.

Rob was just a nice, quiet guy who didn’t like to talk about his past. No big deal. Jess didn’t like to talk about her marriage to Ian. That didn’t make her an axe murderer. Maybe Rob had been married to some stinker. Maybe he’d had a lousy childhood. Maybe he just wasn’t comfortable talking about his personal life. He’d opened up quickly enough when she’d asked him about movies and books. Of course, that was just glorified small talk.

Rob was just a nice, quiet guy.

Still, Jess stood up and locked the back door anyway.

THIS PART WAS THE BEST. He had brought the rope, of course, and the knife. He loved the look on her face when he tied one end of the rope around his own ankle. And he loved it even more when he told her to tie the other end around her leg.

But first, he ordered her to get herself ready—to put on her makeup while he got undressed.

She was crying by then, but that was okay. They always cried around this time.

She would stop soon.