Read Online Safe at Home (Warm Springs Trilogy Book 1) by Christina Kirby - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christina Kirby
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to play. After all, he did like a good game. His reflection in the elevator’s doors showed the man everyone would see, a man in a repairman’s uniform. Unimportant, ordinary, forgettable. The door chimed and opened to the lobby. A jolt of adrenaline surged through him. He stepped onto the marble floor with his tool box and crossed to the security desk, careful to turn his face away from the camera mounted in the corner to his right.
“Good evening, sir. May I ask who’s called you this evening so I can check our records?” The middle aged man at the desk studied him over the rim of his glasses.
“George Davis in room 812.” He waited while the guard clicked the computer mouse and compared the information.
“Very good, sir. Please use the elevator on the right and go straight up.”
Didn’t he ever get tired of waiting on these people with their money and meaningless little lives? Besides what was the point of having a security guard there? “Tell them what they’ve won, Johnny. Your spacious condo comes with a window and a false sense of security.” It had been so easy to get in. Once around the mail boxes, a simple phone call, and he was on his way.
When the elevator doors slid open on the desired residential floor, he stepped off and headed for the end of the hall. The hall was deserted. The only sounds were his own faint steps on the carpet. After knocking and waiting a moment, he opened his tool box and proceeded to let himself in. He knew her routine, but better to play it safe. He didn’t have time for such inconveniences as nosy neighbors.
He studied her apartment. Clean, no doubt by the hands of someone other than the owner. He felt a sharp pang in his chest as he thought of his mother spending her entire life on her knees cleaning up after these yuppie scums. As the anger began to take control, he took a deep breath and relished in the thought of what he was about to do.
He stepped down into the open living room with its fireplace at one end and overpriced furniture throughout. To the right was the kitchen and on the left, a hallway leading to the master bedroom.
He took his time searching through her personal things before moving to her bedroom, but he didn’t sit on the bed. He didn’t want to leave any evidence. He looked in her closet, smelled her clothes. They stank of money. He let his disgust fuel his rage. Next, he went through the drawers in her dresser and slid his hands over her silky negligee. He sneered at the thought of some man wanting to see that middle-aged cow in something with lace.
The stupid bitch, all the nice things in the world wouldn’t be able to make her tolerable again after he was finished with her. Shutting her lingerie drawer, he moved to the nightstand. It held all the usual things, a flashlight, magazine, lotion and then he saw her address book. He studied it line by line, not only the ‘P’ section, but every letter, until he found an unnamed address tucked in the back. He tore out the page and replaced the book back in the drawer. After he had what he wanted, he moved back to the living room to prepare.
He covered his shoes, clothes, hands, and all of his face except for his eyes. He was pleased when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Solid white. Perfection. Then he heard the sound of her boisterous voice outside the door.
“I would just love to meet you for lunch. We never get to see each other anymore.” Her voice was pouty, like an overindulged child’s.
A key turned in the lock and she was there. “Love you, mean it, bye.” She tossed her cell phone on the counter as she walked to the refrigerator. He knew the instant she saw what he’d done. Her hand froze with a water bottle halfway to her mouth and she spun around in alarm. Confusion was etched in every line of her face as she tried to make sense of what she saw. Her furniture was rearranged, pushed haphazardly to the side and replaced by a large tarp with a chair in the middle. She
“Good evening, sir. May I ask who’s called you this evening so I can check our records?” The middle aged man at the desk studied him over the rim of his glasses.
“George Davis in room 812.” He waited while the guard clicked the computer mouse and compared the information.
“Very good, sir. Please use the elevator on the right and go straight up.”
Didn’t he ever get tired of waiting on these people with their money and meaningless little lives? Besides what was the point of having a security guard there? “Tell them what they’ve won, Johnny. Your spacious condo comes with a window and a false sense of security.” It had been so easy to get in. Once around the mail boxes, a simple phone call, and he was on his way.
When the elevator doors slid open on the desired residential floor, he stepped off and headed for the end of the hall. The hall was deserted. The only sounds were his own faint steps on the carpet. After knocking and waiting a moment, he opened his tool box and proceeded to let himself in. He knew her routine, but better to play it safe. He didn’t have time for such inconveniences as nosy neighbors.
He studied her apartment. Clean, no doubt by the hands of someone other than the owner. He felt a sharp pang in his chest as he thought of his mother spending her entire life on her knees cleaning up after these yuppie scums. As the anger began to take control, he took a deep breath and relished in the thought of what he was about to do.
He stepped down into the open living room with its fireplace at one end and overpriced furniture throughout. To the right was the kitchen and on the left, a hallway leading to the master bedroom.
He took his time searching through her personal things before moving to her bedroom, but he didn’t sit on the bed. He didn’t want to leave any evidence. He looked in her closet, smelled her clothes. They stank of money. He let his disgust fuel his rage. Next, he went through the drawers in her dresser and slid his hands over her silky negligee. He sneered at the thought of some man wanting to see that middle-aged cow in something with lace.
The stupid bitch, all the nice things in the world wouldn’t be able to make her tolerable again after he was finished with her. Shutting her lingerie drawer, he moved to the nightstand. It held all the usual things, a flashlight, magazine, lotion and then he saw her address book. He studied it line by line, not only the ‘P’ section, but every letter, until he found an unnamed address tucked in the back. He tore out the page and replaced the book back in the drawer. After he had what he wanted, he moved back to the living room to prepare.
He covered his shoes, clothes, hands, and all of his face except for his eyes. He was pleased when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Solid white. Perfection. Then he heard the sound of her boisterous voice outside the door.
“I would just love to meet you for lunch. We never get to see each other anymore.” Her voice was pouty, like an overindulged child’s.
A key turned in the lock and she was there. “Love you, mean it, bye.” She tossed her cell phone on the counter as she walked to the refrigerator. He knew the instant she saw what he’d done. Her hand froze with a water bottle halfway to her mouth and she spun around in alarm. Confusion was etched in every line of her face as she tried to make sense of what she saw. Her furniture was rearranged, pushed haphazardly to the side and replaced by a large tarp with a chair in the middle. She
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