Page 5 of A Very Killer Christmas
Panic sticks to my sweaty hands and coats my tongue with a bitter taste. I don’t know how to stop myself from babbling like an idiot.
“No. Only an attic, and it’s small. So, what’s your plan? We both hide in the attic and pretend no one’s home when the police knock on the door? They’ll find us. An attic is a pretty obvious hiding place.”
He curses, and the knife presses back to my throat. I close my eyes, releasing a shaky breath. I am scared, but not as scared as I should be. Some wires must have crossed in my brain, because I keep thinking that this is a bitnice.To be held close like this.
I had no idea pressing against another body could feel so good. Once this is over, I’ll have to reevaluate my way of living. Maybe try dating.
“You talk too much,” he says. “This house is practically invisible from the road. No one will think to check here.”
I huff with a bit of disdain. Becausereally.No wonder he’s being chased by the police. If I decided to kill someone, I’d make sure the body wasn’t discovered until days later. This must be a very sloppy killer. Maybe it was a crime of passion.
“What?” he says through gritted teeth, the knife still at my throat. It doesn’t even twitch. His hand is shockingly steady.
“I mean, what if you’re wrong? What if someone does check here? You’d be in a pickle. The police are pretty good at this, you know. At least, from what I see on TV.”
His chest rises at the back of my head as if he forces himself to take a deep breath. The air tumbles out of him in a whoosh before the knife slowly pulls away from my throat. I clear it, trying to erase the memory of sharp metal pressing to my skin.
He steps away and turns me fast. My back presses to the wall, and the man blocks my view, his forearm leaning on the wall above my head. I see my pale reflection in the faceless visor of his helmet.
“Well, what doyouthink I should do, smart girl?”
His voice is biting and hostile, but I see my reflection smile wanly in response. It’s not logical, but I kind of want to help him. He could have killed me and he didn’t. That means something.
“Well, you have a solid disguise. Maybe just take it off?” I say.
He scoffs in disbelief. My face heats. Not what I meant.
“And no one will recognize you,” I clarify. “If they do come in, you could pretend you’re visiting or something.”
He releases an impatient breath. “That would require me to trust you, and I don’t.”
I think it through, watching my reflection. I wish I could see his face. If he does kill me, I’d rather know what he looks like so I can haunt him as a ghost.
Before I gather my wits, he pushes away from the wall and grabs my wrist. “Come on, smart girl. You’re going to tell me where you keep zip ties.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure. You could try grandpa’s tool box.”
He stiffens. “Grandpa? Does he live here?”
I look away. The grief I’ve suppressed for the past six months wells in the pit of my stomach. “No. Just me.”
He’s silent as I furiously blink the unshed tears away. When I finally look at him, the helmet is thoughtfully tilted to the side. I clench my teeth and raise my chin, daring him to say something about my pitiful breakdown, but all he does is pull me out of the room.
“Show me that toolbox.”
Chapter 3
Prudence
“This is excessive,” I say, trying to loosen the zip ties securing my wrists to an exposed pipe in the bathroom.
I’m sitting on the cold tile floor in the dark while my captor shuffles somewhere ahead, a shadow among shadows. The weird thing is, I’m not scared. He was gruff while tying me up here, but his hands were gentle. Not once did he cause me pain.
“Will you just be quiet?” he asks with annoyance. His voice sounds clearer, because his helmet is off, but it’s too dark for me to see his face as anything other than a blob of paler shadow.
“Look, I’m not an idiot. I won’t try to run out of the house screaming for help. Untie me, please. I have bad wrists.”
The darkness shifts as another swathe of lighter color emerges. I swallow and squint to see better.God.He’s taken off his shirt.His chest is bare, and while I don’t see much, the very awareness that I’m locked in the bathroom with a half-naked man sends a panicky thrill down my back. I pull against the ties, which hold, of course. Before I can stop it, a whimper pulls out of my throat. It’s a tiny sound, yet it’s enough to make him stop moving.
