Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [4]
His lips twitched. “Maybe I’m not most people.”
She couldn’t argue with that and wasn’t about to try when another pain, sharp enough that she had to double over, cut through her. “Oh . . . oh . . . geez.” She placed a hand against the glass-topped table and sucked in her breath. Again, she was perspiring, this time feeling a little faint.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” She was shaking her head. “You’d better leave. I’m sorry—oh!” She sucked in her breath. This time her knees buckled, and he caught her, strong arms surrounding her.
“You need help.”
Before she could protest, he picked her up and carried her unerringly to the bedroom. “Hey, wait a second. . . .”
“Just lie down,” he said calmly.
She didn’t have a choice. The bedroom was spinning, the bedside lamp seeming to swirl in front of her eyes. Man, she was sick.... Oh, wait ... a new panic rose in her as he lay her on the mussed bedcovers. The mattress gave slightly with her weight.
“I don’t think . . .” He left her for a second, and she thought about trying to escape. Something about his appearance at her back door was all wrong. She knew it now, despite the agony roiling through her insides. Her meeting him at the bar, the illness, him showing up on her patio ...
Jesus, had he turned on the shower? She heard the rush of water and a creak as the old pipes were shut off. What was that all about?
Before she could move, he was back, holding her cell phone out to her. “I’ve already called nine-one-one,” he said and she attempted to reach for the phone but couldn’t. She tried to force her arm upward, but her fingers were limp and useless as her arm flopped back onto the mattress.
Oh, God, oh, God, she had to get away. . . . This was sooo wrong.
He set the cell next to her face, on the quilt her grandmother had pieced for her when she was ten....
From the bed, with its tangle of blankets and sheets, she looked up at him and saw him grin again, and this time she was certain there was no mirth in his smile, just a cold, deadly satisfaction. His once handsome face now appearing demonic.
“What did you do?” she tried to say, though the words were barely intelligible.
“Sweet dreams.” He walked to the doorway and paused, and she felt a chill as cold as death.
“Nine-one-one,” a female voice said crisply from the phone. “Please state your name and emergen—”
“Help,” Shelly cried frantically, her voice the barest of whispers. Her mouth wouldn’t work, her tongue thick and unresponsive.
“Pardon me?”
“I need help,” she tried to say more loudly, but the words were garbled, even to her own ears.
“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you. Please speak up. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“Help me, please! Send someone!” Shelly tried to say, now in a full-blown panic. Oh, God, help me! The room was swimming around her; the words she wanted to cry out were trapped in her mind. She managed to jerk her arm toward the phone but it slid off the bed and to the floor.
Her head lolled to one side, but she saw him standing in the doorway, staring back at her. The “killer” smile had slid from his face, and he glared at her with pure, undisguised hatred.
Why? Why me?
Evil glinted in the eyes she’d found so intriguing just hours before.
She knew in the few last moments of her life that her death hadn’t been random; for some godforsaken reason, he had targeted her. Theirs hadn’t been a chance meeting in the bar.
God help me, she thought, a tear rolling from her eye, the certainty of death dawning. From the doorway, the mysterious stranger with his disturbing smile stared at her as she drew in a slow, shallow breath.
A voice was squawking from the phone on the floor, but it seemed distant, a million miles away. She watched as he came closer again and placed the vial of pills at her bedside. Then, while staring into her eyes, telling her silently that he was the cause of her death, he slowly and methodically began stripping her of her clothes....
CHAPTER 1
Balancing a cup of coffee and a chocolate macadamia nut cookie from Joltz, the local coffee shop, in one hand and the case