Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

you these so that you’ll understand what we’ll be doing while you’re busy.” He took the scissors and started to jab them into my eye. Julio lunged. “Don’t do that.” Warren raked my face. I felt the sting and the wet of the scratch. Involuntarily I made a little sound. “Ohh. Just like Libby. I guess we’ll have to stuff you, too. Bring me a sock.”
    I slithered till I found one, brought it back, and let him stuff my mouth. Julio’s rage filled the room, thick as motor oil. I could feel it, erratic and dangerous, building steam.
    “Now back to business, Rebecca, dear. Close your eyes.”
    Julio tensed. It was as if someone had played a high-frequency note that wouldn’t stop.
    “I’m going to give you an eyelash trim.”
    From my end, it wasn’t so bad. Not being able to see the scissors, I hadn’t a sense of sharp-pointed things close to my face. In fact, it was kind of a relief to be able to tune Warren out for a few minutes. But from Libby’s whimpering and Julio’s heavy breathing, I guess watching was a little nervous-making.
    “Open your eyes now.” I obeyed. “You’re ugly, Rebecca. That really made you ugly.”
    I nodded in a way that I hoped he’d find properly submissive. Who cared if I was ugly?
    To Julio he said, “You know, I really enjoyed that.”
    “You’re sick.”
    “Yes. Before we leave here, I want to make sure you know who you’re dealing with. I have killed two people and I enjoyed it. I will kill more if I need to. I just want you to know that. We’re leaving now. Rebecca will drive. You will ride in the front seat with her. I will ride in the back with Libby. It would give me the greatest pleasure to shoot this child through the heart and watch her die.”
    My ears rang. Dear God, he couldn’t be saying that.
    “If I see that you have jeopardized my chances, I have nothing to lose by killing her—and I will have the pleasure of claiming a third victim. Is that clear?”
    Julio said, “Warren, you don’t sound like yourself.”
    I didn’t know him well, but that was my impression, too. He sounded pompous and professorial. I didn’t realize he had such presence, could be so sure of himself.
    Warren said, “I’m not myself, Julio. I have come into my own.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “Your house, of course. But one question. Where is Esperanza?”
    “At Amber’s. Sleeping over.”
    She was safe. It was something to hang on to.
    Warren ungagged me, untied my ankles, and let me rub them awhile before attempting to drive. They hurt a lot. While I recovered, he ripped out the phone.
    “Rebecca, pick Libby up. We’re going in your car.”
    “I need my keys.”
    He searched my purse, tossed it over.
    He made Julio walk ahead and get in the shotgun seat. Then he got in the back with Libby, holding the spear gun on her, as I walked around to my side, and started the car.
    When we arrived, he made me tie Julio’s ankles, and then he tied me, wrists and ankles. He sat us on Julio’s pathetic couch, and then, taking Libby and the spear gun for insurance, went on a tour of the house. He came back pointing a revolver.
    “Shit!” said Julio. “My mama told me not to buy that thing.”
    “Cut the conversation. Where’s the pizza?”
    “Pizza?” said Julio. “I thought that was a joke. Rebecca and I—”
    “You didn’t get the pizza?”
    “No.”
    “You idiot!” He slapped Julio’s face with the pistol. Libby made an animal sound. “I was going to ungag her,” he said. “But you can forget that now.”
    Warren went into the kitchen.
    “Warren! I could make you something.”
    He came back with chips and salsa, stuffing them into his mouth mechanically. “You can cook, Rebecca?”
    “Some things.” The salsa gave me an idea. “How about
huevos rancheros
!
''
    “So you can cook, can you? Very interesting.”
    “Shall I make you something fabulous?”
    He looked at his watch. “Oh, by all means. But not yet. We have to go out again—as soon as the party’s over.”
    That had a nasty sound to it. “What party?” I asked.
    “The one at the aquarium. What do you think this charade’s about?”
    For a long time he didn’t say another word—just stared into space. That was okay. He wasn’t torturing Libby.
    But after a while, she began making urgent noises in her throat.
    “What does she want?”
    “Why don’t you ask her?”
    He pulled the gag out. For a moment Libby didn’t speak, seemed to be adjusting to the feeling of