Vicious
He watched her unload the jack, wrench, and spare tire from the trunk of her old Toyota. All the while, Susan Blanchette kept looking over her shoulder. He’d given her the flat tire, his way of welcoming her to Cullen—and an ominous start to the weekend he’d planned for her. Susan had no idea he was calling all the shots. He knew Susan would be coming to Cullen before she did.
And he knew she would die.
He’d been watching her for weeks now, and she continued to fascinate him. He’d seen her coming and going at Dr. Chang’s office. He often parked across the street when she picked up Matthew at Yellowbrick Road Day Care. And sometimes he watched from outside her bedroom window as she climbed into bed alone.
He knew the whole layout of her first-floor duplex. He’d even broken in once. He smelled her hair on her pillow—and thought about how he could touch her and smell her as she was tied up.
He could do whatever he wanted to her.
And maybe after he killed her, he would even taste her blood….
Books by Kevin O’Brien
ONLY SON
THE NEXT TO DIE
MAKE THEM CRY
WATCH THEM DIE
LEFT FOR DEAD
THE LAST VICTIM
KILLING SPREE
ONE LAST SCREAM
FINAL BREATH
VICIOUS
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
This book is for my friend and fellow author,
David Massengill.
John Scognamiglio has been my editor and friend for fourteen years, and he’s the best. Thank you, John! Thanks to everyone else at Kensington for all their hard work and support, especially my pal, the marvelous Doug Mendini.
I’m grateful to my hardworking agents: the lovely and talented Meg Ruley and the talented and lovely Christina Hogrebe. Thanks to all the cool people at Jane Rotrosen Agency, and that includes Peggy Gordijn, for helping make me an International Man of Mystery with all those foreign sales.
Thanks also to Thomas Dreiling, for believing in me. Tommy, you rule.
My writers’ group is terrific, and I’m very, very lucky to share works in progress with generous, supportive friends like Cate Goethals, Soyon Im, David Massengill, and Garth Stein.
For sharing his expertise in psychology, I want to thank my neighbor John Simmons. And for information on boats and boating equipment, my thanks go to Peter Sherman of Orcas Boats.
Many thanks to the following friends for their encouragement or for pushing my books to their friends: Dan Annear and Chuck Rank, Marlys Bourm, Terry and Judine Brooks, Kyle Bryan and Dan Monda, George Camper and Shane White, Jim and Barbara Church, Anna Cottle and Mary Alice Kier, Paul Dwoskin and the gang at Broadway Video, Tom Goodwin, Debbie and Dennis Gotlieb, Cathy Johnson, Ed and Sue Kelly, Elizabeth Kinsella, David Korabik, the cool people at Levy Home Entertainment, Cara Lockwood, Stafford Lombard, Jim Munchel, Jake, Sue, and Conor O’Brien, Meghan O’Neill, David Renner, Eva Marie Saint, John Saul & Michael Sack, the gang at Seattle Mystery Bookshop, Jeannie Shortridge, Dan, Doug, and Ann Stutesman, George and Sheila Stydahar, Marc Von Borstel (photographer extraordinaire!), Michael Wells and the gang at Bailey/Coy Books, and my nice neighbors at the Bellemoral.
Finally, thanks to my family. Adele, Mary Lou, Cathy, Bill, and Joan, you’re the greatest.
HAPTER
O
NE
Seattle–April 1998
“It’s probably been going on a lot longer than he says, the son of a bitch. I have to be the world’s biggest sap—”
Pamela Milford realized she’d been talking to herself.
Approaching her on the park’s pathway, a fifty-something ash blonde in lavender sweats gave her a puzzled look.
Pamela was pushing Andy in his stroller; so maybe the woman thought she was babbling to her baby. Dressed in a hooded blue jacket, Pamela’s ten-month-old was enjoying the stroll through Volunteer Park on that chilly April night. He’d point to joggers or people walking their dogs, and then squeal with delight. Now he waved to the blond woman.
It was just after seven o’clock, and the park’s lights were on. The walkway snaked around bushes, gardens, and huge, hundred-year-old trees. Up ahead in the distance, just beyond the greenhouse, was a dark, slightly creepy forest area that Pamela had no intention of exploring.
She usually didn’t take the baby out for a stroll this late, but she was furious at her husband right now. Throwing on her pea jacket and grabbing her scarf, she’d told Steve to cook his own damn dinner. Then she’d loaded Andy into his stroller and taken off for the park.
“He’s adorable!” declared the lady in the lavender sweats. She squatted down in front of Andy, gaped at him in mock surprise, and laughed. “Oh, you’re just so cute, you take my breath away!” She caressed Andy’s cheek. “And where did you get that gorgeous curly red hair?”
“Not from me,” Pamela said, with a strained smile. Andy had inherited his father’s red hair.
Pamela’s chestnut brown hair used to cascade down past her shoulder blades. But she’d gotten it cut short after Andy’s birth. Along with the excess pounds from her pregnancy, the haircut made her look frumpy, more like she was forty than thirty-one. Though she’d lost most of her postnatal pounds, she was still waiting for her hair to grow back.
Perhaps Steve had also been waiting for her hair to grow back—before he started to pay attention to her again. The baby had put a crimp in their love life; all the spontaneity and the passion had dissipated. She’d half expected that.
But Pamela hadn’t been prepared for what she’d discovered this afternoon.
She was an editor for the
Seattle Weekly
, and usually spent her lunch hours at Andy’s day care. But today, she’d decided to surprise Steve at work and treat him to lunch at Palomino. Lombard-Stafford Graphics was only four blocks from the
Weekly
offices. Steve wasn’t in his cubicle, and the office was nearly empty. A thin young Asian woman with a pink streak in her hair and a nostril stud, two cubicles away, tersely explained that Steve and everyone else were in a meeting. It was supposed to let out any minute now.
Pamela sat in his cubicle, twisting back and forth in his swivel chair as she waited for him. A “fish-tank” screen saver illuminated his computer monitor. Pinned to the grey cubicle wall were a
Far Side
calendar; Steve’s football team portrait from New Trier High School in Winnetka, Illinois; a cartoon picture of Homer Simpson; three photos of Andy; and one photo of her—back when her hair was still long.
Pamela got tired of waiting and decided to leave him a note and then take off. But first, she wanted to change his screen saver.
Back when they were first married, Steve gave her—as a joke—a 5 x 7 photo of exercise guru Richard Simmons and faked an autograph:
You make me sweat! I feel the heat! XXX—Richard.
Two days later, Pamela surprised him by taping it to the steering wheel of his car. A few days after that, she found he’d left the photo for her in the refrigerator’s crisper drawer. The joke had gone on for weeks and weeks. The Richard Simmons Wars, they called them. They’d had time for such silly stuff back then—back when their relationship had been passionate and fun.
Pamela reached for the computer’s mouse. She’d go on the Internet and find a photo of Richard Simmons and turn it into his new screen saver. Chuckling, she imagined Steve as he tried to explain to his coworkers why he had Richard Simmons for his screen saver. She clicked the mouse.
That was when Pamela noticed an e-mail from [email protected], and the smile ran away from her face.
Jill Pondello had been Steve’s girlfriend at New Trier High. Evanston Properties was probably a real estate firm or something. And Evanston was close to Winnetka; she knew that much. Pamela glanced up at Steve’s high school football team portrait. He still clung to the memories of that time. Steve would be going back to Winnetka in three weeks for the Class of ’83 Reunion. He’d asked if she wanted to come, but Pamela had figured she would be bored to tears at the festivities and stuck with her oppressive in-laws the rest of the time. She’d told Steve he could go alone.
It had never occurred to her until that moment in Steve’s cubicle: He couldn’t really be trusted. Pamela stared at the computer screen and clicked on the
OPEN MAIL
icon:
Hey, Mister,
Ha! I can’t believe U still remember making out in Debi Donahue’s basement rec room & the pink panties! U naughty boy! Do U remember what we were listening to??? Air Supply…Even the Nights Are Better.
Maybe I should ask the DJ to play it at the reunion & see if it puts U in the mood again! I’m so glad we’ll be doing dinner together after—just the 2 of us. Maybe I can persuade U to stay a few more days.Like U say, we have a lot of catching up to do. I’m counting the days until I see U (19). I can’t wait! Give me another call, OK? E-mails are fine, but I really like hearing your voice.
XXXXXXXXX—Jill
“What the hell?” Pamela muttered, hunched in front of his computer monitor.
From what she could discern, Steve and this slut, Jill, had been talking on the phone and e-mailing—at work—for a while now. Did this woman even know he was married—with a ten-month-old baby?
Well, if she didn’t know, she certainly would now.
Pamela hit the reply key. Her fingers worked furiously on the keyboard:
Dear Jill,
Steve won’t be coming to the reunion after all. He needs to spend more time with his wife and 10-month-old son. Perhaps you can hook up with some other former classmate, someone who is actually single. If you don’t receive any more e-mails or phone calls from my husband, I’m sure you’ll understand why.
By the way, Air Supply was a suck band.
Sincerely,
Pamela Milford (Steve’s wife)
She barely glanced at what she’d written before clicking on the
SEND
icon. Then she stood up so fast, she almost tipped over Steve’s chair. Bolting toward the exit, she heard the young woman with the pierced nose call to her: “Hey, I hear the meeting just got out! Steve should be back any minute now!”
But Pamela ignored her and hurried toward the elevator. Tears welled in her eyes, and she felt sick to her stomach. She jabbed the elevator button. When it didn’t arrive right away, she took the stairs—five flights. She just had to keep moving.
There was still time to go to Andy’s day care.
More than anything, she longed to be with her sweet baby boy. His adorable face always lit up whenever he saw her walk into the day care’s nursery.
“I mean it, he’s just adorable,” said the fifty-something jogger in the lavender sweats. “Just look at that smile!”
Pamela wished the lady would stop touching Andy’s cheek. It always secretly bothered her when strangers came up to Andy and started touching him. Fawning was fine, but not touching. God only knew where that lady’s hand had been.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” the woman chimed, brushing Andy’s chin with her finger. The baby squealed.
Pamela inched the stroller forward. “Wave good-bye to the nice lady, Andy!” She managed to smile at the jogger. “Have a great night.”
“Bye-bye!” the woman cooed to Andy as she backed away.
Glancing over her shoulder, Pamela nodded at the blond woman. She turned around again and then stopped dead. Just up the trail, she spotted a tall, lean man emerging from some bushes by a curve in the pathway. She just glimpsed his silhouette. Then as quickly as he’d appeared, the lean figure ducked behind an evergreen tree.
Pamela froze. For a few moments, she just stood there, staring at the towering evergreen. Her hands tightened on the stroller’s handles. She thought about heading in the opposite direction, maybe catching up with the blond woman. At least there was safety in numbers.
Andy let out a bored little cry.
“We’re heading on home now, honey,” she said nervously. Pamela’s eyes were still riveted to the evergreen’s trunk. She couldn’t see the man, but she knew he was behind there, waiting.
She glanced around for other people in the area. Pamela noticed an attractive young brunette strolling up another path that intersected with the one she was on, right by the giant evergreen. Dressed in a trench coat, the young woman was tall and willowy with long, wavy hair. She had a cell phone in her hand and was too busy flipping open the mouthpiece and pulling out the short antenna to watch where she was going. She passed under an old-fashioned streetlight that illuminated only that section of the trail. Soon the young woman would be in the shadows of the big evergreen.
“Miss?” Pamela tried to call to her, but her throat closed up. Her warning was barely a whisper. Her hand came up to her throat as she watched helplessly. The young woman got closer and closer to the towering tree.
“Miss?” Pamela said, louder this time. Her voice cracked. “Excuse me…”
All of a sudden, the dark figure leapt out from behind the evergreen.
Pamela screamed.
So did the young woman. And then she burst out laughing. “You idiot! You almost made me drop my phone.” The man put his arm around her, and they kissed. “I was just about to call and ask what was keeping you….”
Pamela caught her breath and then pushed Andy onward. Her heart was still racing. She’d almost made a fool out of herself.
Arm in arm, the young couple strolled up the path toward Andy and her. As she passed them, Pamela noticed the girl glancing down at Andy in his stroller—and then at her. “That’s me in a year and a half,” the girl whispered to her companion. “I’ll be pushing around little Justin Junior. I’m going to be her….”