Speak No Evil_ A Novel - Allison Brennan [53]
She’d been so trusting. Came right out, got in his car, and wham! He had her.
Jodi knew him, of course, but not as well. And with Angie dead he wasn’t so naive as to think Jodi wouldn’t be at least somewhat on alert. It was better to assume than to screw up, right?
So he’d set up the webcam and drugged the two-liter bottle of diet Coke, the milk, the orange juice, the bottle of white wine. Every open container in the refrigerator. He’d watch the kitchen, see when she poured herself something to drink, and wait.
The anticipation was almost as good as the real thing. He wished he could have gone home to watch, but the library was only a couple blocks from Jodi’s apartment, and he didn’t want to risk taking too long or getting stuck in traffic before he was able to get to her apartment. And he had his own private nook here. No one could see what he was working on. He used his own laptop, not the library’s computer, and he could see everything.
As soon as Jodi drank what he’d drugged, he’d leave. The few minutes it would take to get to her apartment would be just enough time for the sleeping pills to make her drowsy.
Abby had a late class every Wednesday. While she usually went out after her class, he couldn’t count on it tonight. Not when Angie’s funeral was tomorrow night and Jodi was home. Alone.
Come on, Jodi! Don’t fuck this up. Don’t mess with me. I’m going to have you no matter what.
Another lying bitch, acting like a sweet, nice girl and nothing but a slut like Angie.
Jodi came on-screen, the cheap webcam distorting her image. But he knew it was her. She opened the refrigerator and he held his breath.
She retrieved a bottle of beer, twisted off the cap.
No!
He couldn’t drug the beer. It wasn’t fair, it fucking wasn’t fair. How dare she screw up his entire plan! He’d been waiting for tonight, planning for tonight, had everything ready.
He slammed down the top of his laptop.
“Is everything okay?”
He jumped, turned, and saw that Becca had walked over to him. He’d been so focused on watching Jodi that he hadn’t noticed her standing right there, at the side of the table. Had she seen his screen? What if she knew what he had planned?
Her face didn’t give anything away, but she was a liar. All women were liars. Her tits were right at eye level, her low-cut blouse hinting at the flesh beneath.
“Yes. I’m sorry.” He glanced away from her, pulse racing.
“What’s wrong?” She sat down in the chair next to him, put a hand on his arm. He looked at her small, slender fingers and the pink nail polish with tiny white flowers glued on. And he knew this was a sign, an omen. Becca didn’t normally work on Wednesdays, but she was here tonight.
Becca was his.
He looked back up at her, his face long and sad. “It’s my cat, Felix. He died today.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. How did he die? Was he old?”
He shook his head. “I found him on the front porch. He was bleeding.”
“Hit by a car?”
He began to get into the story he was creating, based in part on a long-ago truth. “That’s what I thought at first, then I took him to the vet. The vet said someone shot him with a BB gun. He found sixteen pellets in Felix.” He looked at her with dry eyes. “How could someone do that?”
She hugged him. “I’m so sorry. Do you know who did it?”
“I can’t prove it, but I think my brother did it. He always hated Felix.” He didn’t know why he said that, but it worked. She squeezed his arm, her eyes full of compassion. Her fingers were so soft . . .
The librarian motioned for Becca, and she stood. “I have to get back to work. Take care of yourself, okay? Losing an animal is hard. People don’t realize how much we grow attached to our pets. And you should definitely talk to your brother. That was cruel.” She gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek and went back to work.
Slowly, methodically, he packed up his laptop. He walked to his car, heart racing. If Becca worked her regular hours, she’d get off in less than an hour.
He would be here when she did.
Suddenly, losing his opportunity to take Jodi didn’t anger him as much anymore. There was always