Breaking into a house was a lot harder than it looked on
TV.
Elise McBride held the small flashlight in her mouth,
smoothed the warped edge of her credit card with her
fingers, and tried to shove it between the door and the jamb
again, with no luck. All she managed to do was take off
another layer of plastic and shred the magnetic strip.
Fantastic. Getting a replacement card while she was
traveling wasn't going to be any fun.
Defeated, Elise dropped her head against the cool wood of
her sister's front door and tried not to cry in frustration.
After days with no contact from her gabby sister, Elise was
sure Ashley was in trouble. The deep kind.
Her gut churned with worry, warning her that something
was wrong. Ashley had a tendency to disappear, wandering
off on bizarre, artistic tangents with whatever hot guy was
at hand, but never for this long, and never without
returning a phone call.
Elise had left dozens of messages on her sister's phone
over the past few days, and not one of them had been answered.
The police had promised her they'd check Ashley's home,
but what if they'd forgotten, or lied to Elise just to get
her to stop bugging them? What if she was inside, hurt or
unconscious and unable to reach a phone? What if she was
lying in a hospital somewhere with amnesia, unable to call
for help because she couldn't remember who she was? What if
she'd driven her car into a ditch, gotten trapped, and no
one had found her yet?
Stop it. Get a grip. All that doom-and-gloom stuff
sounded like Mom talking. If Elise had listened to her,
she'd believe that everyone died in a ditch wearing dirty
underwear after being attacked by boys who only wanted one
thing.
Ashley was fine. She had to be. Elise just needed to
figure out where she'd gone this time, and the key to that
mystery was likely inside her sister's tiny house.
Elise briefly thought about breaking a window, but it was
around three in the morning. Haven, Illinois was as still
and quiet as the cool morning air, and she was afraid one of
the nearby neighbors would call the police if they heard
breaking glass. She wasn't about to get hauled to jail for
breaking and entering while her sister was in trouble.
Maybe Ashley had stashed a key somewhere. Heaven knew
she was always forgetting or losing things. Including keys.
After years of being coddled by family, Ashley was on her
own now, developing coping mechanisms to combat all her
flighty, brainless habits-like misplacing keys. At least
that's what she said. She'd told Elise many times how she
was fine living on her own and didn't need a keeper, no
matter how much Elise worried.
And she did. Every day. She worried that Ashley would
get lost in a particularly engrossing series of paintings
and forget to eat. She worried that Ashley would be driving
along, see a bird she wanted to paint, try to follow it, and
crash her car into a tree. She worried that Ashley would go
home with the wrong man one of these days, and rather than
spending a fun weekend in bed, she'd become a victim.
Ashley was way too trusting with men, way too easily
swayed by a sweet smile and a confident wink. One of these
days, it was going to get her in trouble.
Maybe it already had.
Elise had to get in her house and find out.
The front porch was littered with springtime lawn
ornaments and pots of flowers-both fake and dead. A dozen
wind chimes hung in stillness, though Elise wished for a
wind to kick them up and cover any noise she was making. A
blown glass globe sat in a wrought iron stand right next to
the door. The base of it was mosaic tile depicting a
stylized peacock-Ashley's design, no doubt.
Elise tipped the stand, shined her flashlight under it
and took a look, praying she'd find a key. No luck. She
searched under all the flowerpots, sculpted frogs, lawn
gnomes, and even the doormat with no success. Her
flashlight beam bobbed over the porch, glinting off the wind
chimes.
Frustration and a growing sense of panic gripped Elise
hard. A cold sweat formed along her spine, making her
shiver in the cool May air.
She was going to have to break a window. There was no
help for it. She couldn't stand around out here in the dark
when the key to her sister's disappearance might be right
inside that door.
Elise clamped the slim flashlight in her mouth to hold it
while she took off her jacket. She could use the fabric to
mute the sound of breaking glass and hope that the neighbors
were all heavy sleepers.
She tipped her head back a bit when she slid the jacket
off, and the silhouette of a key appeared on the porch
ceiling. Elise followed the beam of light to the small wind
chime dangling near the door. It was made from a variety of
household bits, including a tarnished knife, a can opener,
chunks of broken colored glass and wire. Everything was
painted in lazy swirls of color that Elise instantly
recognized as Ashley's work. Even the key was painted.
Surely, Ashley wouldn't be foolish enough to dangle the
key to her front door in plain sight? It had to be an old key.
Then again, this was Ashley. If the key was at hand when
she went into that creative zone, she wouldn't have thought
twice about using it.
Being careful not to make a racket, Elise gripped the
wind chime in her hand to keep everything quiet, and eased
it from the suspended hook. She separated the key from the
rest of the piece, and slid it into the lock. It went in
easily and turned without effort.
Ashley's front door swung open and Elise stood there,
dreading that first step. If she failed to find her sister
now, it was completely her fault. She couldn't blame it on
a locked door.
Part of her was terrified she wouldn't be able to find
Ashley. The rest of her was terrified that she would, and
that it would be too late.
Pretend you're not afraid. That's what she always did
whenever the story she was covering got dangerous. She'd
straighten her spine, pretend she wasn't queasy and shaking,
and move on. As a freelance reporter, she had no choice but
to move on or go hungry, so she moved. But the stakes were
higher this time. Her sweet, too-trusting sister needed
her, and she couldn't fail.
Elise stepped inside.
#
Trent Brady's flighty neighbor was out of town again, but
someone was creeping around her house all the same. At
three in the morning.
Cop instincts he'd tried for two years to kill came
roaring back to life, making him reach for his gun. Of
course, there was no weapon strapped to his hip, nor would
there ever be again, but it was a reflex he hadn't been able
to stifle.
Trent set the sleeping pill he'd been about to swallow
aside. It wouldn't have worked, anyway. They never did.
Through his kitchen window, he watched the intruder's
flashlight beam dart around clumsily. Whoever he was, this
guy was a novice. Judging from what Trent could see of his
build, he was young, too-just the right age to learn a lesson.
A slow smile pulled at Trent's mouth. It had been a long
time since he'd had the pleasure of educating a youngster.
He'd almost forgotten how much he missed it. Almost.
It only took him a few seconds to slide on a pair of
jeans and shove his feet into grass-stained sneakers. He
was out the door before he realized he hadn't called the
police. In all the excitement, he'd forgotten that it was
no longer his duty to deal with this. No longer his right.
Trent turned around, made a quick call to his buddy on
the Haven police force, but refused to wait for him to show
up. Little Ashley McBride was a sweet kid, even if she
couldn't remember what day of the week it was. He wasn't
going to let some punk trash her place when he was able to
stop it.
The fact that said punk might have a gun when Trent
didn't, didn't even slow him down. Maybe an action like
that deserved some careful thought, but he'd do that later.
Much, much later. His life was bad enough without adding a
bunch of psychobabble crap on top of it.
He hurried across the street and slipped silently onto
the porch. The front door was closed again, but a slow turn
of the knob told him it wasn't locked.
Amateur.
Trent eased inside, listening for which way the intruder
had gone. Ashley's house was an artistic mess, with
canvases stacked everywhere. Every horizontal surface was
covered with clothes, paints, brushes or papers. There was
more furniture in her living room than there was in his
entire house, leaving only a narrow walkway open for him to
navigate.
This whole neighborhood had been built in the housing
boom after World War II, and Ashley's house was an exact
copy of his own, so he had the advantage of knowing the
layout, even in the dark.
A low scraping sound came from the back bedroom, like
someone was rummaging around in there.
Trent's body flooded with adrenaline and he slid into
that comfortable space where each heartbeat stretched out
for an eternity. The rush of strength and clarity nearly
made him giddy, and he realized it had been way too long
since the adrenaline junkie in him had gotten his fix.
The streetlights outside shone through the front window,
outlining the entrance to the hallway. His eyes had
adjusted to the dark enough that he could see vague shapes,
but little else. He crept toward the bedroom where he'd
heard the sound.
A thud followed by a muffled hiss of pain came from the
back room. Trent eased through the doorway just as the
intruder stood up from a crouch.
He was only three feet in front of Trent, and a sudden
rush of instinct took over Trent's body as he moved. He
grabbed the kid and shoved him hard against the door. He
used his body to pin the kid there while he took control of
the intruder's hands and any weapon they might hold.
The kid let out a high shriek of fear that was cut off
too soon, like he'd run out of air. He struggled, fighting
Trent's hold, but wasn't strong enough for it to do any
good. Those struggles did, however, press the intruder's
breasts against Trent's bare ribs.
Breasts? For a brief second, shock rolled through him,
freezing him in place. The intruder was a woman, not a kid.
Not that it mattered. She was still breaking the law.
She used his moment of surprise to wrench one hand free
of his grip, and slammed her fist into the side of his head.
The blow rattled his cage, but didn't slow him down. He
recaptured her hand and leaned his weight into her harder,
crushing her ribs.
Her knee came up toward his groin, but they were too
close for the blow to have any force behind it. She kind of
grazed his thigh, but it was enough to make him want to
prevent it from happening again, just in case she got a
lucky shot.
He spun her around, twisting her arms behind her, and
leaned his weight against her. She tried to head-butt him,
but the top of her head only came up to his chin, so all she
hit was his collarbone. Her pale hair was tucked into a
bun, which cushioned the blow. Trent doubted he'd even have
a bruise.
He had to give her an A for effort, though. She was
completely outclassed, apparently weaponless and alone, and
yet she kept fighting.
Her foot slammed down hard on his toes, and pain screamed
up his leg.
"Bad move," he told her as he wrenched her arms higher,
putting enough force on her shoulders to make a grown man cry.
She let out willowy gasp of pain that was so feminine it
made Trent feel like an ass for hurting her. Not that she
would have thought twice about hurting him, given the chance.
He let up, releasing some of the pressure, which only
proved how soft he'd gotten over the past two years. Soft
and useless.
"Let me go," she ordered. The fact that her words came
out as a breathless whisper robbed them of some authority.
"Not gonna happen. Who are you, and why are you here?"
"I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you in
my sister's house?"
"Sister?" Oh, crap. Not good.
Trent turned her around, a lot more gently this time, and
looked at her face. It was hard to see in the dim light,
but the flashlight she'd dropped created enough of an
ambient glow that he could make out the basics. Her mouth
wasn't quite as full and pouty as Ashley's, but she had the
same dainty chin and nose, the same pale eyes and hair.
"What's your name?" he asked her, just to be sure.
"Elise McBride."
Trent knew that name. He'd heard Ashley talk about the
revered Elise often enough he remembered it. He let go of
her like she's sprouted quills. "I'm so sorry," he rushed
to tell her. "I'm Ashley's neighbor and I thought you were
breaking into her house. Did I hurt you?"
She rubbed one shoulder, sagging against the door,
breathing too fast. "I'm fine. Heck of a neighborhood
watch you have here."
Well, hell. He'd gone and fucked up good this time. And
the sirens in the distance told him that in a few minutes
his humiliation would be complete.
#
Elise couldn't stop shaking. For a moment there, she was
sure that she was about to witness what had happened to her
sister, up close and personal. She'd thought she was going
to die, that the man who had complete control over her body
was going to kill her.
And there hadn't been a thing she could do to stop him.
Suddenly, Ashley's disappearance became even more
sinister. In that one brief moment of helplessness, Elise
had gone from hoping to find her sister safe and sound, to
knowing that she was fooling herself indulging in that kind
of fantasy.
Bad things happened. That nagging itch in her gut told
her that Ashley had been a victim of one of them.
Her whole body trembled, and it was still a little hard
to breathe. Her lungs felt flat, heavy. The surge of
adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her sagging and queasy
in its wake.
Sirens outside grew louder, but she couldn't bring
herself to face the police just yet. She had to get a grip
and regain her composure. She didn't want to look like a
wilting flower when she demanded that they help her find Ashley.
Elise straightened her shoulders, which ached almost as
much as the back of her head. Whatever the hell this guy
was made of, it was tough stuff. She'd nearly imploded her
skull trying to bash him with it.
Not the smartest thing she'd ever done.
"Sit down a minute," he said, urging her toward Ashley's
bed. "You look a little shaky."
Elise sat down, grateful to have the solid surface
supporting her trembling legs. "Who are you?" she asked him.
"Trent Brady. I live across the street."
The name was familiar, and it only took her a second to
place him. "Ah. So your Ashley's hot lawn guy." She'd
talked about him so often that Elise was beginning to wonder
if Ashley was making him up. No guy was as helpful as the
Hot Lawn Guy without wanting something in return.
"Uh. I mow her lawn, yeah."
"And fix her car, and get rid of wasp nests, and repair
broken garbage disposals. She talks about you all the time."
He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as
if she'd embarrassed him. "Ashley likes to talk."
Elise couldn't make out much in the dark, but she'd felt
enough of Trent's body pressed against hers to know the guy
was in great shape. He was helpful, and apparently modest
about it.
It was a wonder Ashley hadn't fallen in love with him at
least three times by now, but she'd always said he wasn't
her type. Maybe he was gay.
He reached over to flip on the light.
"Don't bother. I already tried. The fuse must be blown."
"I'll take care of it," he said. "As soon as the police
get here and I sort things out."
Elise heaved out a weary sigh, dreading the job she had
to do now. "They were on my list of people to talk to,
anyway. I guess now is as good a time as any."
Suspicion tightened his voice. "Talk to about what?"
"About my missing sister and what they're doing to find her."
Chapter Two
Elise met the officer at the door to her sister's home.
He was in his fifties, she guessed, with short
salt-and-pepper hair and a matching moustache. Although he
wasn't wearing his uniform, his car bore the emblem of the
Haven Police Department.
He looked her up and down briefly, then his gaze went
over her shoulder to the man standing just behind her.
"Morning, Trent," he said. "Wanna tell me what's going on
here?"
"Sorry, Bob. False alarm. I thought she was a kid out
for a little B and E."
Officer Bob's mouth turned down at the corners as he
looked at her. "Did you break in?"
"No. This is my sister's place. I used a key." All of
which was technically the truth, even if it didn't convey
what really happened.
"Good. It's too damn early for paperwork," said the
officer. "And trouble. What's your name, ma'am?"
"Elise McBride, Ashley's sister."
"Ah. You're the one who called in the missing person's
report."
"Yes, sir. That's why I'm here. To find Ashley. I'm
hoping you can help."
In the houses around them, people wakened by the sirens
peered out lighted windows.
The officer's thick chest collapsed on a heavy sigh.
"Let's take this inside, kids. No sense in making a scene
on the front porch."
Elise stepped back to make room for the officer, grazing
Trent's bare chest with her arm. The heat from his skin
soaked into her, and until now, she hadn't realized she was
cold. Stupid nerves.
He moved out of her way, taking all that warmth with him,
and the officer shut the door behind them.
"Why's it so dark in here?" he asked.
"A fuse blew," said Trent. "Happens all the time. I'll
take care of it." He crossed the room like he lived here,
opened a door and went downstairs.
Elise briefly wondered just how close he'd been to Ashley
that he knew her fuses blew often, and exactly where to go
to fix them. Her sister told her about all her
boyfriends-in great detail, much to Elise's dismay. In all
those breathless ramblings, Ashley hadn't mentioned Trent as
anything more than Hot Lawn Guy.
"So, Ms. McBride. How ‘bout you tell me why you showed
up here at three in the morning?"
Elise shrugged. "I got off the plane in Chicago, rented
a car and drove here. It took as long as it took."
"Where'd you come in from?"
The power came back on, bathing them in light. From the
kitchen, an appliance beeped, begging for attention. The
ceiling fan in the living room started spinning in a lazy
circle.
Elise blinked as her eyes adjusted. "Hong Kong."
His bushy brows lifted. "That's a long way off. Do you
live there?"
She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in one of the
windows, and the sight of her frizzing bun made her cringe.
She'd been traveling for hours, and every one of them
showed in her hair.
Elise worked the hairpins out of the knotted mess of
curls, and untangled them with her fingers. "Sometimes.
I'm a reporter. I was working on a story."
As soon as the word reporter came out of her mouth,
Officer Bob flinched. "You're not going to be stirring up
any trouble here, are you?"
Elise knew exactly what he meant, but pretended
ignorance. "Trouble? What do you mean?"
"I mean you starting stories about women disappearing
from Haven."
"A woman has disappeared. I'd say that's newsworthy,
wouldn't you?" He didn't have to know that wasn't the kind
of story she usually covered-that her work was mostly about
the changes in foreign economy with a bit of fun stuff throw
in on the side, just to keep her interested, even if it
didn't pay the bills. Let him think that his town's dirty
laundry was going to be aired for the world to see. Maybe
it would get him to cooperate.
"We don't know she's disappeared," said Trent from the
top of the stairway. "Ashley has a tendency to run off for
days at a time."
Elise turned her head to give him hell for talking about
her sister in such a flippant way, but the words stuck in
her throat.
Hot Lawn Guy was more than just hot. He was scalding.
He wasn't wearing a shirt, but for him, covering up
should have been a crime. Golden skin stretched tight over
delicious slabs of muscles. His shoulders were wide and
heavy, his arms thick and long. The ridges in his stomach
stood out every time he breathed. But the beautiful part
was that none of that was a show. He hadn't removed his
body hair or oiled himself up, or sprayed on a tan. He
wasn't coiffed or groomed. In fact, he was in desperate
need of a haircut.
He wasn't trying to look good. He just did.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," muttered the cop. "Would you
put on a damn shirt? You make the rest of us mere mortals
look bad."
"In a minute," said Trent, staring at Elise. His eyes
slid over her from top to bottom and back again, making her
wish for a hairbrush. "I think the lady here was about to
say something."
Yes, she was. Elise couldn't remember what it was, so
she ripped her eyes away and tried to concentrate.
"Trent's right, Ms. McBride. We had a couple of officers
check things out when you reported her missing. They
questioned the neighbors and everyone said the same thing.
She goes away for days at a time. It's not unusual."
"Yes, but she never goes this long without phoning me."
"Maybe her phone broke," said Trent. "Maybe she's low on
minutes and doesn't want to pay the overages."
Elise refused to let his good looks intimidate her. She
did, however, keep her eyes fixed on his face. It didn't
help much, since the man's face was a compilation of
fascinating masculine angles, and nearly as attractive as
the rest of him, but she managed to maintain her focus.
"Ashley can't go a day without talking to me. She tells me
everything. She would have borrowed a phone, or called
collect from a payphone-something-if she was okay. I'm
telling you that this is not like her. It may appear to be
normal to her neighbors, but it's not. If it was, I
wouldn't have abandoned the job I was on and flown halfway
across the world to find out what's wrong."
Trent's blue eyes flickered with interest. "When was the
last time you spoke to her?"
"Friday afternoon."
"Trent," said Officer Bob in a warning tone. "If you
want to investigate this, you know there's always a job
waiting for you, but so long as you're not wearing a badge,
I want you to stay out of it."
Trent all but snarled. "We've talked about this. I'm
not going back into police work."
"Then go home. Mind your own business."
His mouth tightened until his lips all but disappeared.
"Fine. I'm going."
Trent slipped past them, the muscles in his back tight
and his hands in fists. Elise tried not to stare, but had
no choice. The man's ass was like a magnet, drawing her
gaze. Not that she minded the view.
She had no idea what was going on between these two men,
but she really didn't care. All she cared about was finding
Ashley. If the officer thought Trent would be in the way,
then she'd avoid him.
Even if it meant not getting to see that magnetic ass
ever again.
#
Trent had never squirmed before in his life, but there
was no better word for what he was doing now. His whole
body was crawling with anxious need. He wanted to hear what
Elise was telling Bob so he could throw out his opinion. He
wanted to be a part of the investigation, to help find Ashley.
He wanted to be useful again for something more than
digging holes and trimming grass.
Too bad what he wanted no longer mattered.
Bob reminding him of the open job offer on the Haven
Police force was a cheap trick, and Trent was sure the man
knew it.
Most of an hour had passed, and his neighbors had finally
gone back to bed. Their houses were dark again, just like
Trent's. Though unlike Trent, he figured they were all back
in their beds, snug and warm. Instead, he was standing in
the dark, staring out his kitchen window, hoping for a
glimpse of something that would tell him what was going on
across the street.
Sure, chances were that Ashley had just found another one
of her random men and hooked up with him for a long weekend,
but what if he was wrong? What if she really was in trouble?
It was none of his business. He wasn't a cop anymore.
Protecting and serving was someone else's problem. He
needed to get some more sleep so he'd be able to install
that sprinkler system tomorrow. Digging ditches. That was
his job now.
At least the work had honed his body to the point that
women took notice. That was definitely one of the perks of
manual labor. Especially when the woman noticing had the
kind of compact curves that fit into a man's hands just
right. Ashley was wisp thin, and walked around covered in
paint more often than not. She made him think of grade
school kids and butterflies. Her sister, on the other hand,
was all woman. She wasn't very tall, but everything was in
the right proportion-some more right than others.
He could still feel her breasts against his chest. No
silicone there.
As if it mattered. He wasn't getting involved. Not with
whatever had happened to Ashley, and certainly not with Elise.
Across the street, Bob Tindle got back into his cruiser
and left.
Trent gripped the countertop to keep himself from calling
Ashley's house to see what Elise and Bob had talked about.
None of his business.
Then why the hell couldn't he walk away from the damn
window and try to get a couple hours of sleep before work?
A minute later, Elise walked out, locked the door and
headed for her car.
Trent was halfway across the street before he realized
he'd left his house.
Elise saw him coming and halted at the door of her rental
car. "What do you want?"
"What did Bob say?"
She looked at his bare chest and lifted an irritated
brow. "Ask him yourself."
"He won't tell me. Said it's none of my business."
"Then why should I tell you?" She tucked some of her
blond hair behind one ear. The wild nest of curls had been
brushed and tame, leaving behind silky waves that fell past
her shoulders.
"Because I might be able to help."
She cast a yeah, right look his way. "How? I don't need
any gym equipment modeled."
Trent ground his back teeth to keep from spewing out the
angry words he wanted to fling her way. He hated feeling
useless, but seeing that uselessness reflected in Elise's
eyes made his chest burn with frustration. "I used to be a
cop."
"Used to be?"
"Yeah."
"But not now?" she asked with more than a hint of suspicion.
"No."
"Why not?"
He was not going to talk to her about that. Not in a
million years. "Long story."
"Another time then," she said, opening her car door,
preparing to leave.
Trent had to stop her. He had no clue why he felt so
frantic about this whole mess, but he did. Maybe it was the
adrenaline rush she'd given him earlier. He wanted more.
He didn't want her to walk away and leave him out of all the
fun.
"Wait," he said, grabbing her arm. "Where are you going?"
Her shirt had short sleeves, baring the silky-smooth skin
of her arm to his touch. His fingers nearly encircled her
biceps, but her feminine muscles were firm and strong under
his grip. He fought the urge to slide his thumb over her
skin so he could get a better feel.
"To look for Ashley's car."
"It's late."
She gave him a look that screamed duh. "Not in Hong
Kong. I'm still on their clock. Can't sleep."
"Hong Kong?"
"That's where I was when Ashley went missing."
She flew all the way here to check on her sister? She
really was worried.
"Let me go with you." The words fell out of his mouth
without going through his brain first, which wasn't at all
like him.
She stared pointedly at his fingers around her arm.
Trent let her go, but couldn't help but let his fingertips
slide along the delicate skin of her inner arm as he did.
It was a dirty trick, but it was worth it. It had been a
long time since he'd felt anything quite so soft as Elise
McBride's skin.
"Haven's fairly small. I can manage on my own."
"It might be small compared to Hong Kong, but the town
sprawls all over. You'll never find your way."
Elise shrugged. "Ashley talked about all the places she
liked to go. Since I have ovaries, I'm not incapable of
asking for directions."
Trent ignored the jab at his gender. "At four in the
morning? There aren't a whole lot of all night gas stations
around once you get away from the interstate."
She stared at him for too long. "Why should I let you
come?" she asked. "You don't believe my sister's in trouble."
"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. Either way, I know this
town a lot better than you do."
"I'm used to strange towns. I'll manage."
"It'll be faster if you have a tour guide. Faster is
better, right?"
One side of her mouth lifted in a grin. "Spoken like a
true man."
And just like that, his mind went there, to that lovely
place where sex with a woman like Elise was more than a
fantasy. It was a short trip that ended with her impatient,
humorless snort.
"Get in. I don't want to waste any more time."
#
Gary Maitland smoothed the blond curls off his wife's
forehead. Even though Wendy's eyes were closed, he could
still recall the vivid shade of blue, and the way they used
to sparkle when she laughed. Or cried.
"I can't stay long, but I wanted to visit you before I
went to work. I've been so busy, it's been hard to find
time to spend with you the way I should."
He traced the delicate arch of her eyebrow, stroking her
as he spoke. He wasn't sure whether or not she could hear
him, but these visits were more for him than they were her,
anyway.
Since the accident, he missed her so much he ached.
Filling the void she'd left behind had been impossible, but
he'd managed to find a way to cope and move on with his life.
"You'd like what I've done to your parents' place. The
pond is so much bigger now. Deeper, too. I kept the dock,
though-the one we used to sit on at night when we were
dating all those years ago."
They'd done a lot of things on that dock-none of which
her parents would have approved of. Those planks of
splintered wood held a lot of memories for him.
That dock was the first place he'd ever made her cry.
She'd been so beautiful under the moonlight, with tears
glistening in her eyes. It was one of the memories he held
closest to his heart-one of the many memories he used to get
through each day.
"I've renovated the basement, too. There's lots of room
for guests now, so you won't be lonely when I'm at work."
Speaking of which, Gary checked his watch. He had more
than an hour's drive to get to work from here, and it was
nearly time to go. Besides, his fingers were getting numb
from the cold.
He leaned down and kissed Wendy's forehead. "I'll bring
you something special tonight. I've found just the perfect
gift for you."
Wendy would never be the same again, but he knew his wife
well enough to know what she liked.
She always liked to be around people. His little social
butterfly would flit from one person to the next, making
everyone she met smile. Now that she was no longer able to
go out into the world and make new friends, the least he
could do was bring them to her.
She didn't have to know that the presents he brought to
her were his leftovers-the women he found lacking. Telling
her that would only upset her.
Gary pulled the sheet back over his wife's head and
walked out of the giant freezer where he stored her remains.
He made sure the door was locked and pocketed the key.
Now that Wendy was dead, his search for the perfect woman
was consuming him. The void her death had left inside of
him had to be filled. The emptiness was eating him alive,
and he had to make it stop, and the only thing that would
fill him up again was the perfect woman.
He hadn't found the right woman yet, but he refused to
give up hope. The perfect woman was out there somewhere,
and Gary was going to find her.