Silver Falls - Anne Stuart [99]
No, Caleb had always thought David didn’t have the stones to do what needed to be done.
David couldn’t help it—he giggled. If he wasn’t more careful with his beloved antique straight-edge razor he’d definitely be missing one himself. He had to watch it, but it was getting harder and harder to find areas of his skin that weren’t already marked with scars. He had to be careful—Rachel had never felt the elegant tracings when she’d disobeyed him and tried to put her arms around him when they had sex. He couldn’t afford to let anyone see them—it would raise too many questions with his next girlfriend.
He was going to have to get rid of Sophie, which saddened him. Because of that bitch he’d married, everything was too rushed, and Sophie knew he’d taken her. She’d fought him before he managed to knock her out with the chloroform, and he’d almost strangled her right there and then.
But he had self-control, when so many people didn’t. And for Rachel, knowing that Sophie would die wouldn’t be nearly as painful as seeing the girl in his control. Caleb and Rachel would suffer as they’d made him suffer.
He’d be gentle with Sophie, because he knew that she loved him. Oh, she pretended she didn’t, because she knew her mother would be jealous, but he could see beneath her standoffishness. She was younger than the other ones, and he liked that. He liked the innocence. That silly teenager in San Francisco, the one who’d led him to Sophie, had been exciting. But nothing compared to sweet, sweet Sophie. He looked over at her. She was still unconscious. He’d forced the stuff down her throat, to keep her quiet, and he may have given her too much. Which would be a shame—he wanted her awake. But if she didn’t wake up, there’d be others.
He wondered how young he could safely go. He didn’t want to hurt himself if they were too small. That wouldn’t be very pleasant.
He heard the crash of metal on metal from a distance, and a smile wreathed his face. Caleb had left the car, his car, the one he’d bought for Rachel, halfway down the driveway. Rachel must have slammed into it.
It couldn’t be the police—he would have heard the sirens. She was coming. He was really quite cross with her, the most uncooperative of women. She’d tried hard in the beginning—he could give her credit for that. But it hadn’t taken her long to start rebelling, trying to change his ordered life and his ordered house.
Though she had given him Sophie, and for that he would always be grateful. She was still going to suffer—she’d know that the fire would take her and she would die screaming.
Part of him would regret that, quite sincerely.
He heard her running up the front stairs, loud and graceless, and he made a face. Sophie would never be so clumsy. Sophie would never be so rude.
He knelt down beside the young girl, pulling her limp body into his arms, stroking her long, golden hair.
And when the front door slammed open, and Rachel stood there, muddy, furious, he smiled up at her, as he stroked and he stroked her daughter.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t get here in time,” he said. “Close the door behind you. It’s chilly. You wouldn’t want our Sophie to catch a cold.”
And to his utter amazement, his wife came at him, a kitchen knife in her hand.
20
Rachel froze where she was. David was sitting on the floor, her baby daughter cradled in his arms, and he was holding a gun to her head. Her silky blond hair flowed over his arm. His expression was almost genial.
“Do drop the knife, Rachel,” he said. “I don’t want to shoot her. I despise blood, but you’ll find that I can’t be pushed. Drop the knife, kick it out of the way, and then sit, right where you are.”
She had no choice. She could see Caleb on the floor behind him, unconscious, bleeding, tied up, and she could only