Creep - Jennifer Hillier [41]
Blinking the lenses into place, his face was complete. Now it was time for the rest of him.
He padded his midsection with soft foam that added ten pounds, securing the pads around his abdomen with thin Velcro straps. It softened his lean frame into the body of someone who wasn’t fat, but who probably didn’t hit the gym often enough to be considered fit.
A light application of skin stain darkened the backs of his hands and forearms, enough for the long sleeves he planned to wear.
Time to get dressed.
The outfit, like the mask, had been selected well in advance. Dark blue denim jeans and a fitted black dress shirt highlighted his new love handles perfectly. Because he was a stickler for details, he’d even bought new underwear. Normally he wore boxers, but tonight he was donning tight black cotton briefs. The soft material so close to his skin made him feel very aware down there, and he knew Sheila would pick up on that.
To complete the ensemble, he slipped on a black corduroy blazer and scuffed leather boots. The left boot had a three-quarter-inch-thick rubber insole—just high enough to change his gait as he walked, but not so uncomfortable that he couldn’t run if he needed to. From a drawer, he chose a pair of eyeglasses with thick black rectangular frames and tinted lenses. Tinted glasses could draw suspicion, but tonight they’d be fine. He wouldn’t be surprised if several people—Sheila included—showed up to this meeting in sunglasses.
And now for the finishing touch: a light spray of Burberry cologne. It had taken him two hours in the department store to figure out the right one. He spritzed it lightly on his neck, inhaling the clean, masculine scent. Citrus and musk. Morris had been wearing this exact cologne during the fake interview. Which meant Sheila liked it. Perhaps she’d even picked it out.
Ethan assessed his appearance one last time. Such a full disguise was probably unnecessary—he could certainly have planned this night differently and done away with the mask altogether—but he wanted to indulge himself. Why not? Disguises made him feel omnipotent.
Tonight, though, there was another reason: he wanted Sheila to know just how fucking good he was.
He smiled at his reflection. He’d transformed himself from a twenty-three-year-old white male into a light-skinned black man, late thirties, with clean-cut bone structure and soulful, knowing eyes.
Handsome, strong, confident. The perfect bait.
Ethan jogged up his basement steps and moved quickly through the main level of his home. The four-thousand-square-foot rambler was nothing like the dingy apartment he shared with Abby in Seattle’s university district. For one thing, this house, nestled in the sleepy suburb of Lake Stevens, was all his.
He’d bought it two years before, shortly after he and Abby had settled in at PSSU. It was the best decision he’d ever made. The house made it possible to separate his university life from his other life, as he sometimes thought of it. It had a huge, airy basement—hard to find in the Northwest—which was perfect for his needs. And the thick forest of trees behind the house made it easy to slip in and out of the neighborhood undetected.
Flicking off all the lights, he opened his back door slowly and peeked outside. Houses were on either side of him, but they were separated by at least fifty feet of trees. Thankfully, interaction among the neighbors was low—Briar Woods residents were just snooty enough to avoid each other unless it couldn’t be helped.
It was almost six o’clock. The McClellans, the workaholic neighbors to his left, still weren’t home. She was an attorney with her own practice in Everett, he was an orthodontist here in Lake Stevens. No kids. They almost never made