In Death 18 - Divided in Death

ever do.”
    “Been a long day, all around. Boots off.”
    “I can get my own boots off.” She brushed his hands away. “Deal with your own.”
    “Ah yes, a pair of my precious shoes, soon doomed to the recycler.”
    She had to admit, he had a great smirk. “If you don’t watch your step, pal.”
    She stripped off the boots, the jacket, her weapon harness, then crawled into bed.
    “You’d sleep better without the clothes.”
    “You get ideas when I’m naked.”
    “Darling Eve, I get ideas when you’re wearing riot armor. All I’m after is a bit of sleep, I promise you.”
    She wiggled out of the jeans, the shirt, then gave him a mock scowl when he slid in beside her, drew her against him. “Don’t even think about engaging thrusters.”
    “Quiet.” He kissed the top of her head, snuggled her in. “Go to sleep.”
    Because she was warm, comfortable, and her head was perfectly pillowed on his shoulder, she did. A moment after he felt her float off, he followed.
    ———«»———«»———«»———
    How could things have gone so wrong? How could it have fallen apart when it was all so perfect, so meticulously planned? And executed, he reminded himself as he huddled in the dark.
    He’d done everything right. Absolutely everything. And now he was hiding behind locked doors and shaded windows, in fear for his life.
    His life.
    There’d been a mistake. That had to be it. Something had gone wrong, somewhere. But it made no sense.
    He calmed himself with slow sips of whiskey. He hadn’t made a mistake. He’d gone into the brownstone at exactly the right time. His skin sealed, his clothes protected by the thin, clear lab suit, and his hair covered with a zero-contamination skullcap. There would be no trace of him inside the house.
    He’d checked the house droid to verify it had been shut down for the night. Then he’d gone upstairs. God, how his heart had pounded. He’d been afraid, almost afraid, he amended, that they’d be able to hear the wild beat of it over the music, over their own moans as they’d fucked.
    He’d had the stunner in his hand, the knife in the sheath on his belt. He’d liked the way the sheath had bumped against his thigh. Anticipation.
    He’d moved quickly, just as planned. Just as he’d practiced. One shot between the shoulder-blades, and the first half of the target was done. Maybe, just maybe he’d hesitated a fraction of a second then. Maybe, just maybe he’d watched Felicity’s eyes, and had caught the shock in them an instant before he’d rammed the stunner between those beautiful breasts.
    But he hadn’t hesitated after that. He hadn’t.
    The knife now, drawing steel out of leather with a sexy little swish. Then the killing. His first kills.
    He had to admit he’d liked it. More, much more than he’d expected. The feel of the knife driving into flesh, and the warm wash of blood.
    So primal. So basic.
    And so, well, easy, he mused as the whiskey soothed his nerves. So easy once you got started.
    He’d set the stage then, and he’d been very, very careful. So careful, so precise, he’d been barely finished when Reva had arrived, when his alarm had beeped quietly to signal she’d begun to disengage the security.
    But he’d stayed calm, he’d stayed cool. Silent as a shadow, he thought with some pride, as he’d waited for her to come into the room.
    Had he grinned when she’d marched to the bed, spewing temper? Maybe he had, but it hadn’t affected his performance.
    One quick spray of the anesthetic, and she’d been out.
    He’d added a few touches there. Genius, really. Dragging her into the bath to get her fingerprint on the sink, smearing a bit of blood on her shirt. And he thought the knife stabbed into the mattress spoke for itself.
    It was so Reva, after all.
    He’d left the front door ajar, just as planned, when he left. She should’ve been out long enough for security to find her on the routine check. All right, all right, maybe that had been a small miscalculation. He hadn’t sprayed enough, or he’d wasted a little time with the extra touches.
    But even that shouldn’t matter. She was charged. Blair Bissel and Felicity Kade were dead, and she was the only suspect.
    He should’ve been away by now. His accounts bursting with fresh money. Instead, he was a marked man.
    He had to get away. He had to protect himself. He wasn’t even safe here. Not completely safe. But he could fix that. He could fix that, he realized, and sat up