Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [543]
He searched the shelves, trying to relax, trying to concentrate on his shopping. He chose several jars of jelly. The twelve ounce would work fine. Then he noticed a large jar with olives. He hadn’t seen these before. He picked it up to examine it, thirty-two ounces and a nice wide mouth with a screw-on lid. He put it into his cart next to the cans of soup and loaf of white bread. Mayonnaise. He remembered he was out of mayonnaise. If only it came in a larger jar, and now they were selling it in sixty-four-ounce plastic containers. Plastic just wasn’t sufficient.
He tried to get his mind off the e-mail, off the rage it had made him feel. It was stupid, stupid, stupid to play games with him, to pretend to be Joan Begley. She was out to destroy him. They were all out to destroy him. That old man. Even that FBI agent. He didn’t trust any of them. They were all out to get him. But they couldn’t. No, they couldn’t destroy him. Not if he took care of them first.
That made him smile. Yes, one by one he would take care of his enemies. They had discovered his dumping ground, but he could find other places. That made him feel back in control.
He started down a new aisle. Someone said the old man had Alzheimer’s disease. He hated the way they had said it, like it was something that they were supposed to feel bad about. Like they felt sorry for the poor old guy.
He wondered what it looked like. What would something like Alzheimer’s disease look like? Did it make parts of the brain shrivel up? Did it discolor it in any way? He wouldn’t mind seeing that, taking a look.
Last time a large pickle jar had worked just fine, and he started to look for a similar one. Yes, Steve Earlman’s brain fit perfectly in a large pickle jar and so would Luc Racine’s.
CHAPTER 49
Luc heard something. A noise had awakened him. He propped himself up on one elbow, glancing at Scrapple sprawled on his back, feet in the air at the end of the bed. Either he was imagining things again or his dog was totally useless as a watchdog.
He listened, trying to hear over the thumping of his own heart. Maybe it was only the FBI woman downstairs, Julia’s friend. He wasn’t used to having anyone else in his house. Maybe he just wasn’t used to the normal noises that came along with having someone else in his house. She had promised not to call Julia. He hoped she kept her promises. He didn’t want Julia worrying about him. He didn’t want her running home just because she felt sorry for him. He didn’t want her—
Holy crap! Something moved inside his closet. The night-light in the wall socket made it difficult to see. He squinted. The closet door was open about a foot. He never left his closet door open, always made certain it was closed. And now he could see a shadow inside. Yes, someone was inside his closet. Oh, Jesus! The guy had never left. He was standing inside Luc’s closet. Standing there, waiting. Probably waiting for Luc to fall fast asleep.
He eased himself back down into the pillows, pretending he was going back to sleep but positioning himself so he could see the closet door. He listened again, only this time it was impossible to hear anything. His heart thundered in his ears and his breathing seemed hard to control. He had to think. What did he have close by that he could use as a weapon? The lamp? It was plugged into the wall and too small. His eyes darted around the room—looking, searching for something, anything—always returning to the shadow. Did it move again?
What the hell was wrong with Scrapple? The dog stayed on his back with not so much as a snort, let alone a growl. How could that dog have not sensed this guy?
Maybe