Chapter Sixteen

He sat in his car for hours, waiting for Teegan to come out. She never showed up.

Whore.

That whole innocent persona was nothing but a façade, concealing her true, slutty nature. Of course she was whoring herself out, especially when the guy obviously had money. Typical woman.

It was going to be impossible to stalk her properly if she hooked up with this guy. His house was probably like a fortress, if the surrounding real estate was anything to go by. She had made it so easy when she was at her place, but this was going to be a problem.

There was only one way to take the edge off and that was to go trolling. Normally he didn’t like picking up hookers. They were too easy. A man needed a challenge in his line of work. It helped to hone the skills.

Reluctantly abandoning his true quarry for the moment, he turned the car around and headed downtown. Twenty minutes later the neighborhood went from well-manicured lawns to city streets and graffiti.

He couldn’t believe his luck when he saw the redhead up ahead. This one was new. He hadn’t seen her on the streets before. Maybe she was new in town. Long red hair and legs that went on forever. She was perfect. Finally, a challenge.

He pulled up next to her, giving her his benign boy-next-door smile. “Hey, do you need a ride somewhere?” He put on his best ‘How can I help you, ma’am?’ smile. He’d gotten good at this game. Practice makes perfect.

She rested her forearms along his open car window, bending down to give him a nice look at her cleavage, just enough to reveal a light dusting of freckles across her chest. He wondered if her tits had freckles too, or if her skin there was flawless alabaster. He would’ve bet those nipples were tight and pink, freckles or not. God, but she was beautiful.

“Sweetheart,” she purred, “I’m looking for a hell of a lot more than just a ride.”

“You mean, you’re out here wor-working?” he stuttered in disbelief. “But you’re so beautiful.” Some elusive shred of mercy stirred deep within him; an unfamiliar emotion. What could have happened that was bad enough to prompt this beautiful creature to leave the safety of her home to sell her body on the street?

“Hard times don’t discriminate and my beauty is the only thing I’ve got going for me right now. I’m married to an asshole and going through a divorce. The asshole isn’t supporting me. Girl’s gotta eat. So what’s it gonna be, big guy? Time’s money and right now I don’t have either.”

Being married and going through a divorce was just about the only reason he could think of for a gorgeous, classy woman like her to be out on the stroll. But he still felt a creeping sadness settle over him. “S-sure,” he stuttered again before swallowing hard and licking his lips with barely restrained hunger. She was classy, which made her seem impervious to the commonality of those other whores working the streets for drugs and money.

He wanted to experience her body under his before she became like all the others from years of selling themselves for money and drugs. Their blank stares, pasty skin, and rotted teeth sickened him. She, on the other hand, intrigued him with her beauty and story of life’s hard knocks. She deserved better.

Maybe he could save her. Maybe he could claim her body inside and out, then when he was done with her he’d take the breath from her body while she was in her prime, before she became like all the others. He was well aware he had the power to do so. And, boy, what a feeding frenzy the media would have with a story like this.

“Cat got your tongue, baby? Do I make you nervous or something?” she asked as she got into the car. As she settled into the seat, her skirt slid up her creamy thighs, almost revealing all her feminine mysteries.

“To be honest with you, ma’am, I think you do. What’s your name?”

“You can call me Rene.”

~~~

Turner listened as his partner and lover, FBI Agent Rene Murphy, talked her way into the john’s car. Turner and Rene were working a serial killer case and had resorted to hitting the streets undercover in an attempt to find the infamous killer known as ‘Mummy Man’. He rolled his eyes at the name the press had bestowed on this one. The press never failed to name serial killers, which only fed into their egos when they already thought they were too smart to get caught.

He followed the john’s car at a judicious distance. Turner’s car was set up more like a mobile office and the computer he’d installed ensured he was able to listen in as well as track his most prized possession: Rene. Every time this fucker told her how beautiful she was, his possessive instincts roared to life.

She was a beauty. When she’d dressed to go onto the stroll, Turner had wondered where the hell she was going to put her gun. In true Rene fashion, she’d slipped that bad boy into a holster on her upper thigh. Sexy as hell. It had been all he could do not to strip her down to nothing but her firearm and mark her in the most primitive, caveman way possible before they headed out. But there hadn’t been time. He’d be sure to make up for it later that night. His cock was completely on board with his plans.

Rene’s voice cut through his fantasies about what he was going to do to her when they got off work tonight. “Hey, stop up here at this gas station so I can get a pack of smokes.”

“You don’t smoke, Rene,” Turner chuckled under his breath. “What are you up to now?”

“Oh. Okay,” the john agreed, sounding a little flustered. “Sure, but I’ll have to help you get out. Um, that door handle doesn’t work.”

Okay, that sent up a red flag. Turner pulled up next to the other car as soon as they pulled into the convenience store parking lot. A passenger not being able to get out of a car just upped the ante. He wasn’t a gambling man, especially when it came to his woman.

Turner jumped out of his SUV, opening the passenger side door of the john’s car before the car had even come to a complete stop. Maybe he was overreacting but to hell with it.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“You tell me,” Agent Turner said as he flipped his FBI credentials out so the man could see them. Rene joined her partner where he was now standing by the driver’s window. “Any reason why you’re picking up prostitutes in a car that doesn’t have a functional passenger door handle? Looks to me like maybe you’re planning on passengers staying awhile, whether they want to or not.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely curious about that one, too, being that there’s a serial killer on the loose,” Rene side-eyed her partner sarcastically.

“It’s a good thing you told my partner about that door. She’s unstable, man. If she’d tried to get out and that door didn’t open, she’d have shot your ass, no questions asked.”

“Listen, I’m harmless. I’m just looking for some action.”

“Do you think he’s harmless, Rene?”

“Nah. Do you?”

“Nope. Anybody who tries to trap women in their car is anything but harmless. If he was harmless, he’d have told you that door was broken before you even got in.”

“But I did tell her,” the man whined. Of course he was lying but going to jail hadn’t been part of his plan when he picked up the beautiful redhead.

Agent Turner walked to the back of the car, pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and wrote down the man’s license plate details. He walked back to the front of the car. “License and registration,” he said curtly. He held his hand out, taking the items after the man nervously handed them over. “You’re acting awful nervous, Mr. Reed. Brian Reed,” he said as he wrote the name down in his notebook.

“You guys are FBI. It isn’t like being pulled over by the cops.”

“You mind if I take a look in your trunk?”

The man’s attitude immediately changed. “Yes, I do mind,” he said defensively. “I keep my roadside emergency kit perfectly organized and I won’t have you messing it up.”

“So your trunk is perfectly organized but your door won’t open from the inside. Interesting.”

“That’s a matter of money. I can’t afford the repair at the moment. Now if that’s all, I’d like to go home now. So unless you have some reason to hold me, I’ll be on my way. I’m not in the mood for a date anymore.”

“You do that, Mr. Reed, and get that door fixed,” Turner said as he returned the man’s license and registration.

The agents watched as the car backed out of the parking space and pulled out into traffic. They’d be keeping a close eye on Mr. Brian Reed.

~~~

Brian’s heart was thundering against his ribs and thudding in his eardrums. He felt lightheaded as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. That had been a close call. Had they looked into his trunk they would have found a supply of plastic wrap and a supply of gauze along with a black suitcase known as a killing kit.

After a brush with law enforcement, and with the redhead out of the equation, playtime was over. It was time to make his move on Teegan. He just needed to pick a time when she wasn’t at her new boyfriend’s house.

He pulled into her neighborhood after ensuring he hadn’t been followed. It was a perfect night with a crescent moon so darkness was assured as the crickets sang in the background. Neighbors were busy with their nighttime rituals of watching their favorite sitcoms or bathing their kids after dinner.

He pulled around to the back of the house. With no security system it would be easy to break one of the small panes of glass. He reached under his seat for a hand towel, wrapping it around his fist as he walked to the mudroom door. One punch through the glass and he was reaching in turning the deadbolt.

It always amazed him how people could live blissfully behind their false facades of security with nothing but a pane of glass separating them from the evils that lurked in the shadows of the night.

His steps were slow as he walked into the living room. Everything was so perfect, so clean. It infuriated him. He grabbed a picture off the wall, breaking it over his knee. It was easy after that to destroy her possessions. Room by room, he broke anything he could get his hands on. He reached in his jacket pocket for the can of spray paint he’d brought with him.

Despite his frustration with her prolonged stay in the gated community, he’d still convinced himself that she’d be home by now. But, no, she wasn’t here like he’d thought she would be. Might as well wreck her world the way she was wrecking his with her slutty behavior. Even better, he needed a trophy; a memento he could take with him.

He jogged up the steps to her master bedroom. He stepped toward the chest of drawers but then thought better of it and changed course. The laundry hamper in the corner of the room called out to him, promising clothing that had touched her most intimate parts. As he opened the top of the hamper, he inhaled harshly when he saw the lacey intimates scattered within. He pressed a pair of pink panties to his nose and inhaled. He hardened as her delicious, musky scent filled his nostrils. He began to stuff them in his pocket, then changed his mind and slid them down the front of his pants, beneath his underwear so they were in direct contact with his dick. He smiled as he imagined driving home with her pussy juice clinging to his dick.

He went over to the bed and lifted the pillow, knowing that women often kept nightgowns there. Sure enough, she had tucked a nightie beneath her pillow, so he took it. It was her favorite, too; the one thing she would surely notice if it were missing. It was the first step in his plan to intrude on her life, her stability, and her sense of security. He decided that old saying was true: you really do only get one chance to make a first impression.