Kiss the Girls

and
untouchable.
Tonight he was going to change all that. He was going to take her.
    Carefully, silently, he removed the metal grill in the ceiling. Then he crawled out of the wall and down into Coty’s sky-blue-and-pink bedroom. His chest felt constricted, and his breathing was quick and labored. One minute he felt hot, the next he was shivering and cold.
    Two small plastic trash bags covered his feet and were secured around his ankles, and he wore the light blue rubber gloves that the Pierces’ maid used for housecleaning.
    He felt like a sleek Ninja warrior and looked like Terror itself with his naked handpainted body. The perfect crime. He loved the feeling.
    Could this be a dream?
No, he
knew
it wasn’t a dream. This was the real deal. He was actually going to do this! He took a deep breath and felt a burning inside his lungs.
    For a brief moment, he studied the peaceful young girl he’d admired so many times at St. Andrews. Then he quietly slipped into bed with the one-and-only Coty Pierce.
    He took off a rubber glove and gently caressed her perfect, sun-bronzed skin. He pretended that he was smoothing coconut-scented suntan oil all over Coty. He was rock-hard already.
    Her long blond hair was sunbleached and felt as soft as rabbit’s fur. It was thick and beautiful and smelled forest-clean, like balsam.
Yes, dreams do come true.
    Coty suddenly popped open her eyes. They were shiny emerald green gems, and they looked like priceless jewels from Harry Winston’s in Boca.
    She breathlessly said his name—the name she knew him by at school. But he had given himself a new name; he’d
named
himself, re-created himself.
    “What are you doing here,” she gasped. “How did you get in?”
    “Surprise, surprise. I’m
Casanova,
” he whispered against her ear. His pulse was racing off the charts. “I chose you from all the beautiful girls in Boca Raton, in all of Florida. Aren’t you pleased?”
    Coty started to scream. “Shush now,” he said, and smothered her small lovely mouth with his own. With a loving kiss.
    He also kissed Hannah Pierce on that unforgettable evening of mayhem and murder in Boca Raton.
    Shortly after, he kissed thirteen-year-old Karrie.
    Before he was finished for the night, he knew that he really was Casanova—the world’s greatest lover.

The Gentleman Caller

    Chapel Hill, North Carolina, May 1981

    H E WAS the perfect
Gentleman.
Always a
Gentleman.
Always unobtrusive and polite.
    He thought about that as he listened to the two lovers talking in sibilant whispers as they strolled near University Lake. It was all so dreamily romantic. It was so right for him.
    “Is this a good idea, or is this too dumb for words?” he heard Tom Hutchinson ask Roe Tierney.
    They were maneuvering into a teal blue rowboat that was gently rocking alongside a long dock on the lake. Tom and Roe were going to “borrow” the boat for a few hours. Sneaky college mischief.
    “My great-granddaddy says drifting downstream in a rowboat doesn’t count against your life span,” Roe said. “It’s a great idea, Tommy. Let’s go for it.”
    Tom Hutchinson started to laugh. “What if you do other things in said boat?” he asked.
    “Well, if that includes aerobics of any sort, it might actually extend your life span.” Roe’s skirt rustled against her smooth thighs as she crossed her legs.
    “Then stealing off in these nice people’s boat for a moonlight ride is a good idea,” said Tom.
    “
Great
idea.” Roe held her ground. “The best. Let’s do it.”
    As their rowboat left the dock, the Gentleman slipped into the water. He made no sound. He listened to every word, every movement, and every nuance of the lovers’ fascinating courting ritual.
    There was almost a full moon, and it looked serene and beautiful to Tom and Roe as they slowly paddled out into the glistening lake. Earlier in the evening they had gone out for a romantic dinner in Chapel Hill, and they were both dressed to the hilt. Roe had on a pleated black skirt, a cream-colored silk blouse, silver shell earrings, and her roommate’s dress pearls. Perfect boating attire.
    The Gentleman’s best guess was that Tom Hutchinson didn’t even own the gray suit that he had on. Tom came from Pennsylvania. He was an auto mechanic’s son who had made it to captain of the Duke football team, and had also managed to keep a grade index bordering on 4.0.
    Roe and Tom were the “golden couple.” It was just about the only thing that students