Killing Fear pb-1

by Allison Brennan

  She turned her gun over and over in her hands. “I will kill you, Theodore Glenn. I promise, I will kill you.”

  Pickles leapt onto her bed and made her jump. He purred loudly and massaged his paws on her lap.

  She stared at the lamp in her room. Even if she turned it off, she still had the small light in the kitchen on. She hadn’t really tried to be in the dark since the last time she freaked out, and that was years ago.

  She turned off the lamp.

  Her apartment plunged into darkness. Pickles me-owed as her grasp on him tightened. She let go and he jumped down, running under her bed. Her breath came in quick gasps. She tried to focus on the dim light coming from the kitchen, but it seemed to be moving farther and farther away. Her heart raced and she frantically reached out for the lamp, fumbled, knocked it onto her carpet.

  “No, no, no!”

  On her hands and knees she found the lamp and turned on the switch. It flickered and came on. She righted the lamp on her nightstand and hated herself for her fear. Dammit, she was thirty-one years old! She’d faced belligerent customers, hurtful boyfriends, and Theodore Glenn in court. Back then she had testified against him with less palpable fear than she had right now when submerged in darkness.

  Isabelle had suggested a psychiatrist would be able to help with her phobia, but Robin didn’t want to admit that it was a mental problem. How could she expect Will to sleep every night with the lights on? Last night she knew, even after his exhausting week, that he’d been awake half the night.

  For Will, she would find a way to get over this. Maybe with him in her bed, she wouldn’t need a light to feel safe.

  “Sorry, Pickles,” she said to the cat still hiding under her bed. She put the gun down on her nightstand so she could take a hot shower. Water always made her feel better. The ocean, the bath, the shower, didn’t matter what, water was soothing.

  Halfway to her bathroom, the light went out. Damn, the bulb must have been loose when she knocked the lamp off the table. She felt her way toward the bathroom door to flick on that light. Her heart was beating rapidly, but she felt like she was in control. A start.

  Until her hand reached the light switch, turned it on, and nothing happened.

  No bathroom light.

  No bedside light.

  Not even the kitchen light above the stove glowed.

  She breathed deeply, but couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She felt along the wall toward the partition that separated her bedroom from the rest of the apartment.

  Thump. Thump.

  What was that?

  She drew her breath in to scream, but it came out a croak. She couldn’t even scream! She didn’t care if Mario thought she was a fool, she just wanted light. Any light.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dark, the distant glow of the streetlights below cast odd yellow shadows across her ceiling. A shadow moved outside her bedroom window.

  Just the wind. Come on, Robin! It’s just the wind! You’re three stories up.

  Rain in San Diego was rare, but it had been drizzling for most of the evening. The clouds obscured any moon that might have been out. A mist hung above the streets.

  Thump.

  Click, click, squeak.

  “Mario!” Her voice couldn’t shout above a whisper, it was as if her throat had been sewed tight and she was trying to scream through a pillow.

  Her alarm. Yes! Her alarm would alert her security company. Any time the power went out, a silent alarm went off and the security company would send someone if they couldn’t reach her by phone. Her phone didn’t work when the power went out.

  She needed to hide.

  Just get to the door! Dammit, Robin, Mario is somewhere in the building. Get to the door and bang on it. Make noise!

  She was at the edge of her partition. To the left was a wall, to the right open space, then her living area which contained two sofas facing each other. A large lamp was on the side closest to her bedroom. If she knocked it over, it would crash on the hardwood floor.

  A sob escaped her lips. She was pathetic. Scared of a blackout. It was the first rain of the season, for all she knew the relay station had been flooded or something. San Diegans didn’t handle rain well.

  Scrape, thump.

  Cold, damp air rushed into her loft.

  Her bedroom window was open. Someone had opened it.

  Everything happened so fast, she didn’t have time to scream. She felt like her lips were thick and she moved in slow motion.

  She started for the door, sucking in air to scream, then stumbled over the end table, falling hard on the floor. The air rushed from her lungs, the wind knocked out of her.

  For two seconds she couldn’t move. Then she got to her knees.

  “Robin?”

  It was Mario on the other side of her door.

  She opened her mouth to call out to him, then someone slammed her back down to the floor, forcing the air from her lungs with a rush.

  She kicked backward, made contact with hard flesh. Her attacker grunted, grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. Any farther and he would have broken her neck. She couldn’t swallow.

  Cold metal touched her throat. A sliver of pain shot through her body, as if her neck had been burned. Warm blood slid down her skin.

  “One word and I’ll kill you.”

  Theodore Glenn.

  “Robin!” A key turned in the lock. Mario had a set of keys, but she’d slid the security bolt. To make her feel safer. Instead, her own fear had trapped her inside with a killer.

  Glenn yanked her up, his left arm tight around her waist, his right hand holding the knife to her throat. He moved soundlessly through her apartment toward the open window.

  Robin felt like laughing hysterically-or breaking down in tears. For years she’d trained with a gun. Took self-defense classes, qualified for a concealed carry permit, practiced drawing her gun quickly.

  But when she saw the shadow, her only thought was to run. She didn’t even think to grab her gun on the nightstand. Fight or flight, and she’d chosen flight without consciously thinking about it. How pathetic was that?

  Mario banged on the front door.

  Crunch.

  Glenn pulled her to the window next to her bed, the rain blowing into her room, dampening everything.

  Her nightstand was to the left of the window. She needed to buy time for Mario to get in. As Glenn maneuvered her through the window, she reached down, feeling for her gun.

  Her fingers skimmed the barrel.

  Glenn pulled her to the ledge. She reached out for her gun. A pain unlike anything she’d felt sunk into her side.

  “Don’t think about fucking with me, Robin,” he growled in her ear.

  He also had a knife in his left hand, and this one had cut into her side. Her head swam, her fingers slid across the gun, and suddenly she was pulled onto the narrow ledge of her building with Glenn.

  She should push them both over. Kill him with her.

  Will.

  She pictured her lover finding her broken body on the street below. She couldn’t do that to him. Just as important, she didn’t want to die.

  Bide your time. He could have killed you inside. He had the opportunity, but he didn’t.

  The drizzle had turned to a steady fine rain, and in only a few seconds Robin was damp. Out of the seven days of rain San Diego got every year, why did one have to be tonight?

  Theodore held her tight. He pocketed his knives and held her tight with his right hand. She fought, bit his hand, and tried to jump back in through the window.

  He backhanded her, and her head hit the brick facade. She shook it, the pain intense, blood dripping into one eye, and hadn’t yet recovered when he forced her onto a rope ladder he’d hung from the roof.

  “Stop being stupid, Robin.”

  From below them, Robin heard noise in her apartment. She slowed her ascent, but Glenn picked her up and put her over his shoulder. She was looking at the sidewalk below, and it was rapidly moving fa
rther away as Glenn practically ran up the shaky ladder. He wasn’t even holding her, had balanced her on his shoulder, and she found herself grabbing his shirt, fearful of falling headfirst onto the concrete more than three stories below.

  When he reached the roof, he held her legs tight against him and ran, walked right onto the roof of the building next door. She cried out, screamed, kicked-anything to get away. He was too strong. Dammit, so was she! She was a dancer, she lugged kegs in from storage. She fought twice as hard, reaching around and clawing his face.

  “Argh!” He threw her off his shoulder and kicked her in the jaw. She rolled on the gravel roof, stunned. He hauled her up again and whispered in her ear, “You’ll pay for that, Robin,” as he hoisted her back over his shoulder.

  The fall had disoriented her and she shook her head to clear her thoughts. They were on yet another roof. How had they gotten there? Had she blacked out for a minute?

  She heard sirens in the distance. Glenn laughed. “Too late.”

  They were at the edge of the building. He was going to throw her off. Was that his plan? All that drama for this?

  Something white was coiled on the edge of the roof. A rope. What was that for?

  He took her off his shoulder, but didn’t let go of her arm. Robin jerked away, stumbled, but Glenn didn’t loosen his grip. He attached the rope to his belt, grabbed her by the waist, and jumped right off the building.

  “She’s gone.”

  Will listened to Mario tell him how Theodore Glenn had kidnapped Robin right from under his nose. SWAT director Tom Blade was pushing one hundred miles an hour to get them back to San Diego as fast as possible.

  He didn’t want to believe that Glenn had gotten to Robin so fast, but it fit the time line. Hell, he had hours to plan it. He may have had it all worked out days ago. Waiting for the right time.

  The only thing Will was certain of was that Glenn would kill Robin. The question remained as to where and when.

  Will pictured Sara Lorenz’s shredded body and the rage that had caused it.

  He’ll kill her soon. He won’t be able to stop himself.

  Will closed his eyes, focused on the messages Glenn had left for him and Robin. His twisted desire to watch his victims suffer. His taunting of Will. His talk about Romeo and Juliet.

  Romeo and Juliet. Robin wasn’t dead, not yet. Glenn wanted him to think she was, so Will would do something stupid, blinded with grief. But Will knew Glenn wanted to kill Robin in front of him. That would buy him precious time.

  Glenn had the opportunity to kill Robin in her apartment. Why didn’t he?

  Because Will wouldn’t have found her. Mario would have seen her body first. That wouldn’t have given Glenn any satisfaction. He planned on taking Robin somewhere where only Will could find her body.

  Hurry home, William.

  “Commander Blade, take me to my house. Now.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Robin’s head throbbed and though she tried to keep alert on the drive, she knew she had passed out for at least a few minutes. When she woke, they were parked in an area that seemed familiar. It wasn’t until she was out of the car, heard the waves rolling up the quiet beach, and recognized the row of closely built homes, that she knew exactly where she was.

  Will’s place.

  Glenn pulled Robin across the middle of the front seat and out his door. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, and she didn’t want to think about what was in it. Knives? Bleach? What had he planned for her? He was parked two houses away, and kept a knife at her back to prevent her from screaming. She was just as fearful of other people’s lives as she was of her own. If someone tried to help her and Glenn killed them…she didn’t want to think about it.

  But the street was empty. Nearly midnight on a wet Sunday night. No one to help. No one to see her struggle.

  She opened her mouth to scream and his hand covered her lips. She bit him. He continued to hold her tight.

  “Whoa, girl, save the festivities for bed.”

  Bed? What did he plan on doing? Raping her? She almost laughed. Rape? This was all about power? Control?

  Of course it was. Ever since he walked into the club, a year before he killed Bethany, he’d been trying to control Robin. His quiet manipulation. The way he watched her. The women he dated-all friends she cared about.

  He’d always been trying to control her. And his lack of control over her had set him off.

  She struggled. She was strong, a dancer, a fighter. She could run fast, faster with her life in danger. Just get away…

  She kicked back, connected with his balls, and pulled away from him.

  He grabbed her leg and yanked hard. She hit the grass, her head bouncing off the ground. If he hadn’t hurt her earlier, she might have had the strength to get away. Dammit, Robin!

  She struggled and cried out and he put a long piece of duct tape across her mouth.

  Before she knew it she was inside Will’s place.

  The last time she’d been here was the day he asked her for the second time if she had been sexually involved with Theodore Glenn. She’d walked out right after that, never to look back except in her dreams.

  The house was the same, for the most part. A few pieces of furniture looked new, but he still had the barely worn white Berber carpeting. One thing that drew her eye was a familiar painting hanging on the main living room wall.

  It was one of hers, a piece Isabelle had sold over a year ago.

  A rush of emotion filled her. For a split second, warmth and love strengthened her.

  She would survive. She had to, not only for Will but herself. To keep the rare love they had alive and burning.

  Glenn slammed the door shut, bolted it.

  “We’re home, Robin.”

  She struggled against the duct tape. He removed it in one pull and she gasped from the pain.

  “I saw you fuck him right here.” He pulled her through the living room, past her painting, to the small dining table next to the kitchen. “I stood on his patio and watched. You couldn’t see me because it was dark. That night I killed Jessica. That night I imagined killing you.”

  She swallowed uneasily. She remembered that night with Will. They’d been desperate lovers, so needy for each other. They hadn’t waited to go upstairs. The clothes came off and they made love on the table.

  It made her physically ill to know that her sexual relationship with Will had been observed and exploited. Glenn had watched them here, at the bar, where else? How could she have been so blind to his obsession before?

  “You couldn’t get off on your own, you had to watch other people having sex?” she spat out, bracing for a blow.

  Instead he laughed. “You like to perform. You knew all along I was there.”

  “Like hell I did!”

  “You fucked him for me.”

  “I love Will.”

  Glenn’s face reddened, and he said in a low growl, “Really. That’s why you’ve had such a successful relationship for the last seven years. Remember, I had a spy on you. But I know Will is obsessed with you.”

  “You’re the obsessed freak.”

  “I would have gotten away with all of it if someone hadn’t fucked up that crime scene.”

  “What?”

  “You identified me off that sketch, all because you didn’t like me,” he said, angry.

  “It was you.”

  “But the cops had nothing on me,” he said as if she hadn’t spoke. “Nothing. The evidence was thrown out after I killed Bethany, and there was nothing to tie me to Brandi or Jessica.”

  “Except someone caught you leaving Brandi’s house!”

  “That was your lies. And I had an alibi for Jessica.”

  “A drunk cop who fell asleep. You took the damn picture!”

  He laughed, played with the knife in his hands. “But I didn’t kill Anna. Someone planted evidence after killing her. And that is what sent me to prison. I should never have been convicted. My plan was brilliant. Perfect. They
’d never have caught me.”

  She shook her head. “All this because I wouldn’t sleep with you?”

  He backhanded her so fast she didn’t realize it until she was on the floor, tasting blood in her mouth.

  “You thought you were better than me. I would have made you a queen. I would have taken you out of that pathetic strip joint and made you somebody. But you would rather flirt with seventy-year-old drunks than a young, virile man like me.”

  “I’d rather flirt with anyone than a twisted fuck like you.”

  She pulled herself onto her knees, shook her head to get rid of the ringing.

  “You think you’re so smart. Bethany thought you were-and I quote-‘a total bitch’ because you told her she shouldn’t be sleeping with customers. And Brandi was jealous-she wanted your body, your hair, your attitude so badly. She wanted to be you.”

  “You’re wrong.” Robin pulled herself up and leaned against the kitchen counter.

  “She was six years older than you, already on the downswing. She wanted me because I made her feel young and sexy. You should have seen her face when I tied her up. At first she thought it was just another sex game and she got excited. Until I carved into her tits. She was the first I used bleach on. Do you know what it feels like when bleach is poured on an open wound?”

  Robin couldn’t help but picture Brandi lying tied to her bed, bleach poured over fresh wounds. She shuddered uncontrollably.

  Glenn opened his bag and Robin jumped, swaying. Tried to run, but her head felt thick. He easily grabbed her, yanked her arm toward him and made a shallow two-inch cut on her forearm. She screamed out. He held her arm while he pulled out a small jug of bleach, pushed down on the cap, twisted, and it popped off.

  “Feel for yourself, Robin.”

  She screamed when the caustic liquid hit her open wound. Glenn grabbed her mouth and held tight. She bit him, tears streaming down her face from the pain. He didn’t let go.