Killer Scents (9 page)

Becca got that
familiar
nagging feeling again
as they turned to leave
. This time, she slowly turned her head, but found nothing out of the ordinary except for the back door closing
behind someone
.

Randy continued talk
ing
to Jacob
as they passed through
the remaining
greenhouses
.
There were
ten to twelve students and another three or four older
men
work
ing in each structure
. Nobody stood out. In fact, most
left Becca with the distinct impression
they were disrupting the day
-
to
-
day flow of beauty in the making.

A
man standing at the back entrance
caught her attention
.
Becca’s instincts told her it was the
same
guy
she’d seen a few times before. He
towered over the
older
man
he talked to, and his thick
blond
hair further set him apart from
the dark
-
hair
ed
students.

Are you following me? If so, why?

“Jacob, who is that guy standing
there
at
the back?” The words had just left her mouth when the stranger
looked at her
and quickly slipped out
the door
.

“What guy?”

“He was just there. I
also
saw him at the
last
two stops.
A t
all
guy with
blond wavy hair...?”

Jacob diverted his gaze, but not before she caught
the
fear
in his eyes.

“I don’t know. I have almost one hundred guys here. It could be anyone.”

So
why does the fact I saw him
make
you so uncomfortable?

The
distinct
roar of a
Harley
being kicked to life reached her ears. Both she and Randy bolted outside. The glint of their own
bikes
brought a
united
sigh of relief. Puzzled, they scanned the area for another bike.

“Do
any of the students or workers here
ride
a
motorcycle
?

Her senses were now on high alert.
Maybe a tall
,
blond guy?

Jacob
furrowed his brow
. “I don’t think so. I definitely would remember seeing a bike here on the farm. I know my boss
had a motorcycle
back in the day, but I hardly think he’s in
any
condition to kick one over.”

Randy heaved a sigh. “Well, I think we’ve seen enough for now. Do you think we can talk to the professor again?”

“Why don’t
we take a walk up to the house and see?”

Becca trailed behind, grateful for the time to sort her thoughts.
How did he ride out of sight so fast? Unless he’s still here...
.

Chapter Nine

Carol Tate
wa
s a creature of habit, making his plan a lot easier except for one small problem he hadn’t taken into account. Given her profession, she’d be well
-
versed when it came to The
F
lorist, nixing his usual ruse of delivering flowers.

The big
shot attorney worked an eight
-
hour day, never arriving home later than half past five. She’d change out of her stuffy lawyer clothes
and
into yoga pants,
a
t-shirt and white runners.

Her nightly jog always took the same amount of time, giving him an hour to get into her house unnoticed. Surprisingly, Ms
.
Hotshot never locked the door behind her.
If
the old lady neighbor wasn’t nosing about, he’d be able to slip inside easily.
If she was, he’d just have to put an end to her busybody ways.
His pulse raced, excited about the change in plans
. He
eagerly anticipat
ed
the look on Carol’s face when she found out she had an unexpected visitor.

Carol stepped outside, closing the unlocked door behind her. She looked up and down the street while putting in her ear buds and jogged down the steps and off into the neighborhood.

He reminded himself
of why he was there to begin with. He couldn’t afford to slip up due to having way too much fun. His fingers touched the cool leather of the journal in his bag, and he leaned up against the wall and opened it to the bookmarked page.

How many pedophiles, rapists, and abusers are out on the street because of a defense attorney with no moral
s
and
a
perfect track record? Am I fooling myself in thinking I can help her? Have I put my own well-being at risk by knowing too much? I have to admit, she scares me.

With a
final
nod, he tucked the journal back in his bag and looked up and down the street, paying special attention to the neighbour. Once he felt confident no eyes were on him, he scurried around the corner of the bungalow, up the front steps, and into the house.

Carol Tate certainly didn’t spend her money on interior decorating. Everything looked plain an
d
extremely minimal
:
a leather sofa,
a
medium
-
sized flat
-
screen television and a glass coffee table. The only semblance of a personal touch came in the form of a black and white abstract painting centered on the wall behind her couch.

Nothing
spectacular
,
just like the owner
.

He took a leisurely stroll through the tiny house, taking all of ten minutes. Inside a walk-in closet the size of most people’s bedrooms
,
h
e discover
ed
some of her vast fortune.
T
he tailored suits and Gucci shoes were definitely quality items, but also very plain. The only punch of color in the entire closet was a formal ball gown in vibrant red, adorned in frosty crystals.

Where would a woman like her
wear
a dress like this?

He held the
garment
in front of him in the full
-
length mirror.
I’d bet my last dollar she went to this event solo.
He flared out the full skirt.
I look good in red.
Carefully, he
returned
the dress
to
the exact same place
.

Now, where shall I hide? Do I stand on the other side of the door and point my trusty revolver in her ston
y
face?
A smile played at the corners of his lips
,
and he nodded, leaving the room in search of the perfect hiding place.

Within minutes of finding a spot,
the front door opened and closed. Carol Tate sang to herself
on
her way to the bedroom. He knew she was undressing and would head straight for the shower. The thought of her
being
naked repulsed him, but he could think of no better way to mortify the always
-
in
-
control ball breaker.

The second the shower door closed behind her, he
left his hiding place in the pantry to ready
the living room for her big surprise.

“Hello? Is somebody out there?” She stepped out of her bedroom, clutching her robe closed
and
inch
ing
her way down the short hallway to the living room. “I know someone is here
.
”

She’d heard the music and undoubtedly suspected she wasn’t alone. Her jaw dropped
upon seeing
the
white orchid
in an empty
brandy
bottle in the center of her coffee table
. Her gasp as her gaze settled on the
tumbler of amber liquid
, made his day.

Carol Tate shrieked and ran for the front door
,
fumbl
ing
with the locks
just like he knew she would
.

“Oh
,
my God
!
S
omebody help me!”

Before she could call for help in earnest, he came up behind her and pressed the revolver to her temple.

“Shhhh....” He put his mouth next to her ear and gave it a flick with his tongue. “Guess who?” He spun her around, pinning her against the door.

She
had
already
gathered her composure and
now
glared into his eyes. “Listen, if you are who I think you are, you don’t have to do this. Let me represent you and I promise you won’t spend a day behind bars.”

His laughter
filled the room
. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve got a gun to your head and you want to cut a deal?”

“Wait, I’ve seen you some place before. Yes, it was
—”

Her words were cut short with her skull meeting the butt end of his gun. Before she crumpled to the floor
,
he wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her over to the couch.

“Shit! Why didn’t I think of that? Of course she’d have a photographic memory.” All of the deviations from his original plans made him uncomfortable. 
He
sifted
his fingers
through his hair
and
paced back and forth, matching each step with a calming breath.

He
straightened his stance
and went straight to work, binding her hands and feet before ta
p
ing her big mouth shut. Several minutes later, when her pathetic whimpers reached him, all of his tools sat in perfect order on the coffee table.

H
e stood
behind the couch and watched her
struggle against her bindings
.
She momentarily froze, staring at t
he items laid out beside her.
All of a sudden h
er ass came up off the sofa
,
and she maneuvered
in
to a sitting position.

“Now, now, you know I can’t allow that.” He sauntered over, his gun pointed directly at her head. “
Lie
down.”

She refused.

He stood before her and ran the shaft of his revolver in a straight line from under her chin, down the valley between her heaving breasts. His gaze matched hers. “I said,
lie
down.”

The first sign of tears pooled in her eyes as she slowly dropped to the side and lifted her legs onto the couch. Her words muffled behind the tape.

Another length of rope served to tie her thighs together
.
A
fter which he taped her head down and straddled her. The lawyer pleaded with her eyes, tears spill
ing
out and disappear
ing
into her hairline.

“I’m going to take this tape off,
so
for your own good, keep that big mouth of yours shut.”
H
e ripped the tape off of her face, taking skin from her lips
, too
. She began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it for this long without repercussions? It’s bad enough you
helped
set free
all of those sick fucks
back into society, but did you really have to involve her? Do you get off on intimidat
ing
people, instilling fear in them?” He picked up a stack of money from the table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about? Involving who?”

“Was it all just for the money?” He wadded up the first bill and stuffed it in her mouth before leaning forward and whispering in her ear.

“Errrrrr...
,”
she growled in frustration,
attempt
ing
to free herself.