With Cruel Intent (21 page)

her childhood, her strict upbringing from

parents who obviously loved her and

wanted only the best for her, and the many

miles that now separated them. The

feelings of joy and fulfillment, although

not always present, had been more readily

apparent since her move, however, she

longed for someone to hold her hand, a

strong hero who would sweep into her life

and transport her to a place of love and

ecstasy that she only could imagine.

With her eyes closed, in that state

between sleep and cognition, she could

almost see him. His broad shoulders,

muscled arms testing the limits of the

uniform he wore, sworn to protect God

and country. A light smile parted her lips

as the pleasant thought floated through her

mind, causing a burning in her bosom,

providing hope to a once hopeless

passage. In the shadow cast rental room,

her mind still fully engaged with the man

of her dreams, she said a little prayer, not

aloud but with the faith of a child she’d

possessed years ago, “Father, if you are

there and you do know who I am, would it

be too much to ask for someone to come

my way that would love me, take care of

me and treat me like someone special.” As

her thought passed from this dimension to

the next, she saw him for only a split

second. The man of her dreams, brown

hair under his tilted cap, profile only, but

a distinctive dimple in his left cheek.

“What could she possibly be

doing, she’s been just laying there for

more than a half hour,” he thought, posed

on the balcony of a home less than a block

away. He’d been lucky to find a place

with no one home for the evening, which

gave him the vantage point he needed to

see directly into her room. “Tonight is for

me,” he thought. “No agenda, no

hazardous duty pay, just for me.” The

viewfinder filled with the shadowed

image of the woman on the bed. Click.

He was not quite sure what he’d

expected from this ‘Peeping Tom’ routine.

The pictures taken from the safety of the

van continued to excite him and give him a

sense of power, however, skulking in the

dim fading light of day did not provide the

same pleasure that confronting her face to

face had. He again found her in the

viewfinder and extended the telephoto

lens, he could see her hand on her chest,

“Perhaps she is thinking of me the way I

have her since our encounter,” he thought.

As he sat back in the wooden chair

provided by the unknowing homeowners

and looked across the distance from his

perch to her room, he wondered what it

would be like to possess such a rare

creature. He thought of the pictures of her

walking with the young guy from the

library and imagined himself taking that

role. It was not entirely unlikely; he was

not a bad looking guy. In his line of work

he had to keep himself in tip top shape and

there’d been nights when he’d walked

away from the bar with the best looking

woman in the place, even if she was a

little more tipsy than he preferred.

Before long he got tired of waiting

for something to happen, a couple more

pictures were taken for good measure and

he left the relative security of the balcony

and walked the few blocks to his van and

headed home. The drive had been one of

unrestrained fantasy. Why was this

woman, that he did not know, having this

affect on him? The short and not overly

friendly exchange they had in the library

was not one made of dreams.

He found her attractive and

intriguing; the soft spot she had for

‘authentic’ patriots kind of pulled at his

heartstrings and helped him remember the

man he used to be. He harkened back to

days in the field with his dad before he got

sick and the times they had shared hunting

the backwoods near their home and the

long, lazy days on the banks of the river

catching catfish. His mother had passed

when he was young; cancer had taken her

from his life, but not his memory.

The thought of her standing at the

kitchen sink, welcoming him home from

school, the smell of fresh baked sugar

cookies still lingering in the air, were as

vibrant now as the day he reflected on.

She was quick to bring him inline but

equally quick to offer a loving hug. His

dad had been much the same and he

missed the time together and had been

bitter when his father had also been taken

before his time. Solace had come at a

critical time for him, the passing of his

father and the void that created had been

partially filled by Virginia May, a

farmer’s daughter he’d known from his

youth.

Red hair, pale, freckle covered

skin, an innocence that he had found

refreshing. She had brought passion, and

what he thought would be lasting love, to

his life when he thought all was lost. They

lived in the home in which he was raised,

lived off the land and farmed what they

could to make ends meet. It was not an

abundant life but a satisfying one as far as

he was concerned. He was unaware of her

discontent until it was too late.

The hours he spent caring for the

land, the animals and making a living for

them were hours away from her and it was

more than she could bear. She needed

constant reassurance and the meager

existence they were scraping out was less

than she’d dreamed of having. Raised in

difficult times, her parents had always

provided food on the table and adequate

clothing but there was nothing exquisite

about her surroundings or belongings, and

she longed for that. Surely there was more

in store for her, and in her own mind, she

had settled and wound up in the same

circumstances as her parents.

Virginia May knew he loved her,

would give his life for her, however, she

was unable to cope with the many hours

spent alone, ultimately what the redhead

did with those hours led to their

destruction. The day of her departing

haunted him still, the fancy SUV sitting in

the driveway, her bags by the door, a

simple lunch on the table as she always

did when he came home for a quick break

from the fields. A dark, handsome man

had stood near the Escalade, pacing back

and forth, checking the time on his Rolex

repeatedly. Not much of an explanation

other than she’d found new love and was

moving on but, “they could still be

friends”, she’d said, with a parting,

pathetic kiss on his cheek. She might as

well have ripped his heart from his chest

and crushed it under her heels.

The love of his life gone, his

parents taken suddenly from him, his will

to live destroyed, he’d been forced to sell

the farm to survive. He retained the house

and a few acres surrounding the structures

but everything else was gone. The funds

from the sale had provided sustenance but

not for long. He’d had hours and days

filled with rage and resentment and no

outlet until, one late night, he’d watched

To Catch a Thief
and his destiny was set

in motion.

He’d get back at that rich bastard

that took his Virginia May and every other

money grubbing scumbag that he could

find. He’d set things right and all would

be well. His energy and anger toward God

and man were funneled into perfecting his

craft and it had paid off. His first target

had been Virginia May’s home. What a

thrill that had been, rifling through their

belongings, knowing what he did of her

wants

and

desires

had

been

overwhelming, as he stood in their

bedroom imagining what took place there.

The crime had actually been easier

than he had imagined, valuables were

plentiful, access barely unrestricted and

unloading the items a breeze. A newfound

career with untold benefits, the thrill of

the hunt ever present had paid off for him

over the past ten years. He was free from

a criminal record, except in his heart, and

the scattered bank accounts only needed

one final deposit to set him free.

There was no question that the

librarian, Blanche 'Whatever', had caught

his attention due to her similarity to

Virginia May, but there was more to it

than that, and he was sure he’d seen it in

her eyes. She wanted him. His sloppy

performance at the library was suspect,

and the exchange disconcerting, but there

was no mistaking the glint in her eye as he

had left. In his mind it was unmistakable.

There had been an attraction there, but

what to do from here. She knew him as a

handicapped vet with poor vision and a

cane. He suspected his performance and

disguise would not linger in the woman’s

memory, but when he appeared before her

as himself she would be unable to resist

the connection. The thought of how that

may play out occupied his mind until he

returned home.

Entering the hidden desk area he

could see a message was waiting on the

restricted cell phone. He dialed, “Where

are you? You’re suppose to have this

phone with you at all times, is that

understood? Don’t phone me back. I’ll be

busy but we want two quick outings back

to back on the heels of what you did last

night. By the way, good job, the press is

going nuts and the police won’t release

any information. A wonderful little panic

is starting to develop, keep it going. Won’t

be any package of info for these next two,

sorry, no time. Do something on your own,

we’ll leave it up to you, but keep it within

the same zone we’re working with. If you

have any questions you can try me

tomorrow.”

“Finally,” he thought, “I’m tired of

having to pick on these common folk,

‘bout time somebody with some cash paid

the price.”

* * *

The dreamy librarian eventually

found the energy to pull herself from her

fantasies and returned to real life. She

really needed someone tonight, if not to

hold at least to talk to. The thought of Mrs.

Muir or Caroline came to mind, but she

just didn’t have the will to spend another

hour talking about fruit salad or the latest

soaps. She considered going for a walk

but the assault at the bus stop prevented

her from mustering the courage to venture

out, at least not alone.

Jasper and his powerful chest

flashed through her mind, remembering

that tomorrow night she needed to attend

the bodybuilding competition. The idea

both disgusted and titillated her at the

same time.

“Hope I don’t embarrass myself,”

she thought as she pictured all the buff

men in tiny little Speedo’s displayed

before her. “No, better not contact Jasper,

that would be way too forward. Maybe

Seymour. Could pretend I was curious

about the project we’d worked on

together. That’s a plausible reason for a

call, right?” she surmised, running ideas

through her head as she paced her room.

“But what would his mother think, a

mature woman like myself phoning her

younger son? Screw it, he’s cute and I

know he’s got the hots for me, a quick

phone call won’t hurt, I’ll keep it very

professional.”

Blanche could feel her pulse

quicken, anxiety rising, breath coming in

shorter, faster intakes and exhales, her

hand shook slightly as she picked up the

phone and dialed.

A woman answered, “Hello,

Wood residence.”

“Must be his mother,” she thought.

"Why couldn’t Seymour have answered?"

“Yes, hello, I was wondering if I