LITMIR.BIZ

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rearview mirror again without angling her head.

      If it was he, what was he waiting for? Why hadn’t he made a move? He could grab her at any time. He could break into her apartment while she slept. That was what he’d done with the other women.

      Celia had been asleep in Resa’s second bedroom. She hadn’t heard anything. Hadn’t known anything was wrong until a musty cloth covered her face. At that point, Celia’s account of the attack became sketchy and disjointed. Resa figured it was just as well if she didn’t remember the specifics.

      The back of her neck prickled. She felt his eyes on her as the car inched closer—closer. She fought the urge to hunch her shoulders. She was gripping the steering wheel so tightly her hands cramped.

      “Come on, you monster,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Do something. Just give me one good look at you.” She glanced in her driver’s-side mirror. “Come a little bit closer.”

      She squinted, trying to make out the letters and numbers on the front license plate. But the suburban street was too dark.

      After she’d seen the car last Tuesday, she’d called the police and spoken to the detective who’d handled Celia’s case.

      Detective Clint Banes had been polite and concerned about her fear that she was being followed, but he’d been careful not to give her false hope. He didn’t have enough manpower to put a twenty-four-hour watch on her, he’d said. Not even enough for a night watch.

      You’ve got to be careful, he told her. Don’t go out alone. Get his license plates. Or at least the make of the car. If it is the Lock Rapist, and we can ID him through his vehicle, we can find the evidence to put him away.

      He offered her the chance to come in and view photos of cars to try and pick out which one was following her. She’d thanked him and hung up.

      She turned at the entrance to the gated community where she now lived, apprehension squeezing her chest. She had to stop a few feet ahead to swipe her entry card. She reached up and made sure her car doors were locked.

      What would he do? Last week he’d turned just as she approached the well-lit apartment complex. Was he bolder this week? What would she do if he pulled in behind her?

      If he did follow her up to the gate, she’d be able to see the color of his car, maybe even get his license plate.

      But she’d also be vulnerable. The few seconds before the gates opened were plenty of time for him to jump out of his car and grab her.

      She pulled up to the card reader, her card ready, and glanced in the mirror.

      The dark sedan slowed down then continued on without turning. He drove under a streetlight, but the light’s glow wasn’t bright enough to give her a clue about whether the vehicle was black or dark blue or some other color.

      At least he’d given up for the moment—or gotten tired—or received a cell phone call. Whatever the reason, he was gone for now.

      Hardly daring to breathe, she swiped her entry card through the slot, keeping an eye out behind her. As soon as the gates began to swing open, she pulled forward.

      The gates closed silently behind her. She was safe.

      A shiver racked her body. Quickly, jerkily, she pulled into her parking place and ran up the stairs to her apartment.

      As she closed and locked the door behind her, the feeling of safety dissolved into fear as her brain replayed what had just happened.

      Her hands flew to her mouth as her throat closed up, threatening to cut off her breath.

      She wasn’t safe. The Lock Rapist knew where she lived.

      EARL SLATTERY quietly unlocked the door of the modest clapboard house. He sneaked in, eased the door closed and put on the chain. So far, so good.

      He’d had a profitable evening. He’d found out where Theresa Wade lived. With a little judicious sneaking around he’d discovered a breach in the fence on the back side of her apartment complex. He had all the information he needed.

      Now if he could just make it upstairs to bed without his wife waking up—

      Bright lights blinded him. He jerked violently and whirled.

      “Earl, where have you been?”

      He cringed at his wife’s strident tone. He’d have thought he’d be used to it after twenty years of marriage. But no. It still shredded his nerves like a cheese grater.

      “Hi, honey,” he said, giving her an innocent smile. “I told you I’d be working late tonight.”

      “You install security systems. It’s after eleven. You expect me to believe you’ve been wiring somebody’s windows and doors all this time—in the dark?”

      Earl went over to her and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “I do what my boss tells me to do, sweetheart—”

      “You do what I tell you to do. And don’t feed me that sweetheart crap. I’m sick of your whining and I’m sick of your lies. Don’t forget my promise. If I ever find out you’re cheating on me I’ll cut off your—”

      “Mom—I’m thirsty!”

      “Well, at least you’re home. See if you can shut those kids up, will you?”

      “Sure thing, sweetheart. And maybe after I take a shower, we can—” he waggled his eyebrows at her.

      She cowed him with a disgusted look. “This time of night? Get home on time to help me with the kids tomorrow and we’ll see. Meantime, you need to get up in the morning and get the kids off to school. I’ll be too tired.”

      Earl escaped upstairs, nearly tripping on a toy car on the floor in the hall. He fetched his youngest son a drink of water and told all three children to settle down and go to sleep. He stood at the door and watched the three of them bedded down in the same room.

      “Someday,” he whispered. “Someday we’ll have a great big house. Each one of you will have your own room, with your own TV.” Things he’d never had living with his grandpa after his mom was murdered.

      He stepped into his bedroom and stopped cold. On the floor in front of the closet was his wife’s old hard-sided suitcase. His heart jumped into his throat. That meant only one thing.

       It was time! She was leaving!

      Thank goodness! The flame inside him had been building. Day by day it grew until his insides sizzled with the heat. He shook his head and licked his lips. It seemed as if the burning started sooner and built faster these days. He was having trouble controlling it for six long months between Mary Nell’s visits to her mother.

      If he were lucky, maybe they’d leave before the weekend. As soon as she and the kids were out of the house, he could begin to prepare.

      He took out his wallet and extracted the tiny worn envelope from a secret pocket. For an instant he looked at the faded postmark and the almost unreadable address on the front of the envelope. Mrs. Hannah Slattery. His mom.

      He touched the name, then peeked inside. There was the lock of honey-blond hair. And beside it the few precious golden strands that remained of his mom’s hair. He brought the envelope to his nose and inhaled.

      He loved the smell of freshly-washed hair—blond and soft like Mom’s. He squirmed and tugged at his pants. Damn that woman of his. He needed some relief.

      Carefully, he tucked the envelope back in his wallet. Soon he’d be able to replace the lock of hair. Then he’d be okay for a few more months.

      He headed for the shower. It angered him that his wife turned her nose up at him. In the whole time they’d been married, she’d never done anything when he wanted to. It was always her timetable. Sometimes he wondered what she’d do if he used her to ease the inferno building inside him.

      He

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