Cross - James Patterson [83]
He just didn’t think so.
Not today.
The front door hadn’t been locked. They would have locked it, especially if this was a trap and they wanted it to look good.
The couple he’d spotted in the bedroom had looked too natural, too much in the moment, and he didn’t believe anybody—except maybe himself—was slick enough to create that kind of setup and honey trap. That couple was upstairs humping their brains and vital fluids out; there was very little doubt about it in his mind.
As he climbed the front stairs, he could hear the pleasing sounds of their screwing drifting down to him. Bedsprings coiling and releasing, the headboard hitting the bedroom wall.
Of course, it could be a recording.
But the Butcher doubted it, and his instincts were usually very, very good. They had certainly kept him alive so far, and they’d made a lot of other people dead.
Chapter 109
AS HE REACHED THE SECOND FLOOR, his heart was beating a lot faster, the moans and assorted bed noises had gotten louder, and he started to smile in spite of himself.
Peculiar thought. He was remembering a scene in this movie called Sideways that had completely cracked him up at the time. The shorter character, who was basically a drunk, had to retrieve the other schmuck’s wallet, and he needed to sneak into a bedroom where a couple of tubby lowlifes were rutting like pigs in a trough. The scene was pretty great—hilarious, totally unexpected too. Just like this was going to be. For him anyway.
So he turned a corner and peered into the bedroom, and he thought to himself, Surprise, you’re both dead.
The man and woman were in pretty good shape. Well toned and athletic, nice tight asses. Kind of sexy together. Smiles on their faces.
They seemed to like each other, which made it good for them. Maybe they were in love. They definitely appeared to like the sex, which was a good, sweaty workout. The blond guy was going deep, and Melinda seemed to like it that way just fine. The whole thing was kind of a turn-on. Melinda had on white kneesocks, which Sullivan got a kick out of. Did she do it for him or for herself? he wondered.
After a minute or so of watching, he cleared his throat. Ahem, ahem. Order in the fuck-room.
The coupling couple jumped apart, which was no easy trick given the corkscrew position they’d been locked in a couple of milliseconds before.
“Wow—you two!” he said, and smiled pleasantly, as if he was here doing a survey on extramarital affairs or something. “Really going at it. I’m impressed.”
He kind of liked the two of them actually, especially this Mel. No doubt about it, she was a looker for her age. Nice body and face—sweet face, he was thinking.
He even liked the way she didn’t cover up and stared right back at him, like What the hell do you think you’re doing here? This is my house, my affair, none of your goddamn business, whoever the hell you are. So get lost!
“You’re Melinda Steiner, right?” he asked, pointing the gun at her, but not in a threatening way. What was the point of threats, of scaring them any worse than he had to? He didn’t have it in for these two. They weren’t the Mafia; they hadn’t come gunning for him or his family.
“Yes. I’m Melinda Steiner. Who are you? What do you want here?”
She was definitely kind of feisty but not being totally obnoxious about it. Hell, this was her house, and she had a right to know what he was doing here.
He took a few quick strides into the room and —
Pop!
Pop!
He shot the blond male in the throat and forehead, and he dropped off the bed onto the Indian-style area rug on the floor. So much for keeping in good shape so that you live longer.
Melinda put both hands to her mouth and gasped out loud. “Oh my God.” But she didn’t scream, which meant this was mostly about the sex. They were screwing, but the two of them weren’t in love, not even close. Watching her face now, he didn’t even think she liked Blondie all that much.
“Good girl, Melinda. You’re thinking on your feet. He didn’t feel a thing. No