It would have been so much easier to just grab her and kill her, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to be close to her. He wanted to know that he was what she thought of when she climbed into bed each night. He wanted to have her in his arms again. He wanted to touch her, to feel her, to hold her. He wanted her.
He wanted her so badly it consumed him.
It was literally all he could think about.
It had been too long.
The urge to give in and just go to her and take her right here and now was overwhelming, but he fought it. He was so close now. It wouldn’t be long until she was his. Only this time she was going to be his forever. He wasn't giving her up again. Not for anything. He would rather die.
But death wasn't going to be necessary. They would be reunited soon, and this would bring him one step closer.
Quietly, he slipped from his hiding place. Getting inside the house hadn’t been hard. He’d simply waited until the man had popped outside to dump some trash in the garbage can and then crept inside. Once in the house, he had hidden himself away and waited until the timing was perfect.
Now he tiptoed down the hall and stopped outside the last room on the right. The nursery. The ticket to getting what he wanted. He fiddled with the knife in his hand. He hadn’t killed with one before. He’d used the rock with Nicole Carmichael, a gun with Oscar Yla, but he’d thought a knife could be an interesting choice this time.
He eased the door open and stepped inside. The nursery was nauseatingly pink. Pink walls, pink carpet, pink drapes. Fairies in pink, yellow, purple, and green had been stenciled on the wall. The furniture, a crib, a changing table, a bureau, and a rocking chair, had all been painted white. The rocking chair was filled with an assortment of stuffed animals. The room screamed cute, and hehatedcute. He’d been forced to endure more than enough of it to last a lifetime.
Blocking out the cuteness overload, he walked to the crib. The little girl sleeping inside appeared to be around six months old. Not surprisingly, the bedding was pink as was the little sleepsuit she was dressed in.
Reaching down, as soon as he touched the infant, her eyes popped open. His hand recoiled and he froze, positive the baby would begin to squawk, but she didn’t. Instead, she stared up him with large brown eyes as though studying him, trying to figure out who he was and why he was in her room.
Taking advantage of his stroke of good luck, he lifted the baby and cradled her with one arm, leaving his other free to wield his knife. Before his luck could change, he hurried from the nursery down to the kitchen. He found the man right where he expected to—busily preparing the evening meal for the family. Predictable people were the best to kill, they kind of did half the work for you.
“Put down whatever you have in your hands,” he ordered.
The man at the counter froze but chose not to comply with his instructions. Instead, he turned around slowly, even as one of his hands scrambled across the counter in search of a weapon.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned.
The man paused, but then his hand began to move again.
He heaved a sigh. It was annoying when people didn’t listen and do as they were told. Very annoying. He much preferred obedient people. “I warned you once. I won't do it again. Stop moving or I kill her.”
This got the man’s attention, his hand stopped trying to find a weapon, and he turned quickly the rest of the way around. As soon as he was facing them, the man’s gaze sprung immediately to the baby.
“Are we on the same page?”
The man was afraid, desperately terrified, but trying to hide it. He gave one short, sharp nod.
“Take two steps away from the counter.”
The man did.
“Show me your hands are empty.”
Again, the man complied, lifting both hands and holding them up, palms out.
This was too easy. The man was younger than him and had him well and truly beat when it came to physical physique and strength. If he wasn't holding a knife and a teeny tiny little hostage, then he wouldn’t stand a chance of winning this. But hedidhave a weapon and a hostage, and he was going to win this, and then he was going to win the grand prize.
“All right, let’s make our way to the living room. Slowly, keeping your hands where I can see them. Try anything stupid and I kill her. No hesitations. She’ll be dead before you reach me.”
Fear and anger crossed the man’s face, hatred seethed in his dark eyes. But he nodded his acquiescence and walked without incidence through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the living room. He had chosen this room for the specific reason that it held the most number of family photographs. No one had ever accused him of being subtle, and he wanted to drive home the point as blatantly as he could.
“Down on your knees,” he ordered.
The man did.
Behind them baby gurgled.