I hesitate, not wanting to bring him into this mess. Not wanting him to think I am crazy.
What does it matter? I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m dead anyway. Dead girl walking.
I don’t want him to get hurt.
My eyes lock with his. There’s warmth and compassion. He waits—waits for me to begin.
I open my mouth, and I start. The words tumble out. All my angst and trepidation are unloading onto Jake.
The pupils of his eyes are augmented, and his mouth drops open when I tell him I’m on the short-list to be murdered.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alec
Levin comes to work but isn’t in her Impala, if that’s still what she’s driving.
She exits from an orange Dodge Dart, her brown hair twisted up in a bun and wearing street clothes, jeans, and a tee.
Whose car is this?
I make out the Uber symbol.
Did she spend the night with that man?
I pull his business card out of my pocket, a crushing urge to rip it up and toss it out the window overcomes me.
On a whim, I block my number and dial Jake’s number. The number goes straight to voicemail. Probably a good thing. I have no idea what I will say.
The resort is spread out with lots of walkways, and I head into the lobby, cap down, shades on, and grab a map from the concierge desk and start to acquaint myself with the resort.
Where did Levin go is the main question on my mind.
There are three pools—one lap, one adult, and one with waterslides. I pass a tennis court and grab a racket laying haphazardly in front of the fence.
Immersing myself into these surroundings is a must.
There’s an employee entrance, and I scope that out. My diligence pays off, and a couple of minutes later when I am glancing at the events board for the resort, I see Levin exit the employee entrance.
She’s now dressed in what I can only discern is her uniform. White tennis skirt, Lacoste polo, hair now in a rigid bun instead of a messy one, and Converse sneakers.
I move behind a palm tree, so she doesn’t see me, examining my racket, head down, shades covering my face.
She’s with a Hispanic woman who’s easily pushing forty. They are walking and talking, but it’s the trickling fountain beside me that drowns out their conversation.
I keep an eye out and watch where they head.
Levin stops in Villa 17. Then knocks on the door of Villa 18. She’s in there for a few minutes. Then Villa 19. I wait impatiently, but she doesn’t exit.
A maid pushes a cleaning cart past, one wheel wobbling. Still no sign of Levin.
My irritability grows. I start to sweat. It’s still so damn hot.
But then a man exits Villa 19. The one from last night. Jake Hunter.
He’s dressed in a suit again carrying a briefcase. He looks distraught. I watch him pull his cell phone out and punch in a number.
I hear him say, “Detective.”
What the fuck.
Why’s he on the phone with a cop?
My paranoia sets in. A coincidence, maybe? But this hits too close to home to be a coincidence.
Levin still hasn’t exited the villa. Is there another way out?
Jake doesn’t come back.
The maid service is making their way to Villa 19. They knock. No answer. They enter.
Glancing around to ensure no one’s watching, I head in that direction.
This is my way in.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Levin
Jake’s the perfect listener. He doesn’t interrupt, except for clarification at certain points. He is stoic, and though his eyes widen, and he wrings his hands, he doesn’t act histrionic. Exactly what I need.
Tears stream down my face at parts in my story, namely the gruesome discoveries of Heidi by her roommate and then Eric’s violent death. My voice shakes, but I soldier on telling him only the highlights if you can call them that.
The blanket wrapped around me envelops me, and so does Jake’s comforting stare. He doesn’t make any sudden movements, but he takes my hands in his when I’m done speaking.
“Levin,” Jake’s soothing voice says, “I have a friend who works in the PD here. He’s a detective. I’m going to call him. I know you want to get proof, but your life isn’t worth it.”
I nod my head, knowing he’s right.
“I hate leaving you right now, but I have an afternoon meeting with the board,” Jake says. “I don’t want you going back to your place. Stay here.”
I begin to protest but stop. He’s right. I’m safe in his villa. At least for now.
Jake squeezes my hands and stands up. “Call my cell if you need me. I’ll be back in a few hours. If there’s anything you need to pick up from your place, we can go tonight.”
I give him a taut smile. He caresses my cheek and grabs his briefcase before he heads out, his footsteps hesitant, his body language unsure as he doesn’t want to leave me here.
My body refuses to move from the couch, and I sit and cry for a couple of minutes, releasing the pent-up frustration and dread that’s taken over my life.
He isn’t gone long before there’s a knock on the door. Through the peephole, I can see it’s the maid service.
I’m in my uniform, and I quickly wipe my cheeks of their tears and start organizing Jake’s clothing as they come in and clean.
It doesn’t take them long as his place is barely lived in, the bedding the only sort of disarrangement in the place.
As I finish up the closet, Amada calls and asks if I can meet her in the employee lounge. I head out the French doors in the master bedroom as they go directly onto the path, and this keeps me out of the way of the cleaning crew.
The two women holler at me as they are leaving. The door clicks shut behind them. As I am shutting the French door behind me, I hear the door open again and a thud as someone enters, but I don’t turn around. Maybe they forgot cleaning supplies in the room?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alec
I wait until the maids head out. There’s two of them, both speaking in Spanish. I assume Levin will follow behind them, but when she doesn’t appear, I exhale racking my brain as to where she could’ve gone.
I am perplexed at this—is she in Jake’s bed waiting for him to return? A conniption fit is threatening to erupt. I grab my left ear and twist it hard tugging it. The buzzing in my ear’s starting, reminding me that I’m like a dam about to burst, the negative energy threatening to release a shit storm of emotions, all detrimental to my well-being.
And Levin’s.
When Jake left, he was clearly dressed for the office. Solar energy, I think it was. What a scam.
As the maids exit, I pounce. I pretend like the room is mine and nod to them. I hand each a twenty-dollar bill and smile. They are appreciative, they giggle and say something in broken English. The cart they are pushing is full of extra items and towels. I shrug my shoulders to the door and motion that I don’t have my key.
There’s a pause as they glance at each other unsure if they should let me in.
I make the motion of a shower since I am sticky and sweaty and have the tennis racket in hand. I find another fifty in my wallet and hand it over. That does the trick. They use their card, and I enter Villa 19.
Wondering what good explanation there could be for Levin never coming out, my eyes drift over the front room. It is a big room, with an overstuffed armchair, matching footrest and couch that take up a majority of it. There’s the requisite side lamps and a small kitchenette with a mini-bar.
I stride over to the desk. There is an invitation to a gala tomorrow night for a Mr. Jake Hunter and his plus one. Is my bride his plus one? I ball it up in my hand.
A lone key card is next to the phone. I snatch it up and put it in my pocket. This should come in handy, you little minx.
Besides the invite, I see nothing else of interest. A laptop bag is on the chair, but besides that, the place is
empty.
I rummage through the laptop bag, but nothing but a charger and a few errant receipts are stuck in the front pocket.
I hear a squeak and then a clunk.
Someone is here.
I make my way into the other room. There is a light on in the master walk-in closet. Nothing but men’s clothes hang in their apathetic dry-cleaning bags.
I realize I am carrying the racket in the other hand and set it down.
There is no one in the bathroom, no women’s items are strewn on the counter. I notice two toothbrushes on the sink. That’s odd. Maybe one is for a travel bag and one is from the hotel?
I get on my knees and check under the bed, half expecting to see Levin’s brunette hair peeking out from under the bed skirt. Nada.
That’s when I notice the French doors leading out to the patio are slightly ajar. They are behind a billowy curtain, and the door is out of alignment.
I sit back on my heels.
So, she was here. And it’s obvious she’s on the lam from me.
This answers my questions.
You bad, bad, girl.
I bite my lip and throttle my hands imagining them wound tightly around her neck.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Levin
After I catch up with Amada in the employee lounge, I decide to go back to my place and get my car. I have to meet Mark later this afternoon, and as far as I know, the man who followed me is still expecting me to be in the Impala.
It’s broad daylight, and there are lots of people out and about walking their dogs and strolling through the condo complex.
I decide to run inside and pack the few items I have, so Jake and I don’t have to come here in the dark. I shudder involuntarily, thinking of Alec watching my every move.
When I get back to the resort, my thoughts are jumbled as I park the Hyundai and walk back to Jake’s villa.
The sound of kids splashing in the pool is missing due to the time of the year. It’s fairly quiet for October, though some guests are walking to the spa.
I use the key card that I was provided on my first day to enter Jake’s villa. It’s not as welcoming without Jake in it.
The shades are drawn, and the dark is inviting as I walk through the place, my thoughts tripping over each other. Why did Jake have to be so damn handsome? And kind? And a distraction from my nomadic life?
Though I’m feeling calmer, a distraction of reality television or a warm bath to wash away the muscle tension seems like the perfect idea. Lucky for me, I don’t have to choose. There is a television hanging in the bathroom, it’s placement right where I can see it from the bathtub.
It’s a sunken jetted tub, and I plug the drain and turn on the faucet. Water pours out, and I busy myself taking off my uniform and setting my clothes in a neat pile. I consider locking the door but don’t because Jake still isn’t due for a few hours.
My body settles in the warm water, and my eyes flutter shut, the exhaustion of the last few weeks is apparent. They stay closed savoring a break from the light and the tears that threaten to start again.
The television is on, and though I hear the sound, it is background noise, a remedy for my churning thoughts.
I don’t hear the click of the front door as it unlocks, the door handle turn, or the footsteps on the padded carpet.
There are ten seconds of heaven where I am tuned out. Ten seconds too many.
The door to the bathroom is flung open and slams against the wall hitting the foiled wallpaper.
When I open my eyes, I already know, but I don’t want to. I pray it’s Jake, and he’s excited to share some good news.
It’s not Jake standing over me. It’s him.
Chapter Thirty
Alec
She looks so forlorn in the tub, unmoving. I’d think she was dead if I didn’t know better.
Her eyes are closed, hair up on top of her head, resting in a catatonic state.
They don’t fly open even when the door does.
I half-expected Jake to be in the tub with her. I’m glad he’s not as that just would complicate matters.
She opens them languidly like a cat lazily flicking their eyes after a nap. She doesn’t open them at once, but slowly lifts her lids to meet my eyes. They flash with recognition and fear.
I ready myself for a scream that doesn’t come. It’s as if my presence has sucked all the air from her lungs.
We stare each other like a contest to see who can last the longest.
Enough.
She squeals as I reach down with gloved hands grasping her around the throat as she tries to fight me.
Her skin is wet and slippery—a bad combination for my leather gloves. She’s not in the best position, so her blows don’t do anything but anger me. I’m tempted to squeeze her neck until her veins pop and she goes limp, but that would defeat the purpose.
I haven’t decided on her punishment yet.
She looks at me, dead on, as her irises lose their luster, and I relax my hold on her. When she finally stops thrashing in the water, I stuff the rag with chloroform in her face shoving it down her throat as she chokes, her body flailing in the water.
I know it will take a few minutes to kick in. In the meantime, we can watch these housewives and their drama. I hate to admit it, but I find the women on these reality shows to be entertaining and mean-spirited. They know how to stay relevant, and I admire them for that.
“Baby,” my voice is tender. “You know you belong to me. What made you think you could just leave?” I wait for an answer and then laugh as I realize she can’t respond.
She’s passed out, and her body would have slid down in the tub if I didn’t have her locked in my arms.
Levin still looks beautiful even dead to the world. Like a mannequin, freckles spread across her nose, pale skin luminescent, hair gathered on her head, tendrils falling out of her bun.
With her eyes and mouth closed, she resembles a delicate life-size doll. I can’t wait to play with her. She seems so pliable now that she isn’t fighting me. If she hadn't fought my love, this never would have happened.
Despite her perfect physique, she’s heavier now that she’s dead weight. I glance around trying to decide if I should bring anything with me. I take her purse and check for a cell phone, but the one I locate isn’t her iPhone—it’s a flip-phone straight out of the early 2000’s. The car keys to a Hyundai Sonata are laying on the counter, the rental agency’s keychain attached to them.
Hmm, so that’s why I couldn’t find you.
I’m worried someone will see me leave with her, so I decide on exiting out of the French doors. It is fairly secluded back there and leads to the parking lot. I don’t want to run into a pesky patron, especially when she can’t walk or talk. The door will automatically lock behind me so there would be no sign of forced entry.
To get her out of the tub, I have to pull her out being careful not to slam her head against the fiberglass side. I’m tempted to hold her under the water and drown her, but dollar signs keep me in check.
A silk bathrobe is hanging on the hook behind the door, so I put that on her body after I towel dry her off. I can’t leave with her naked—at least the robe gives me something to grip.
She might as well be a sack of potatoes from the way I carry her propped over my shoulder. Carefully, I glance around before stepping out into the sunlight. Jake made the right decision to leave when he did. I wish I could’ve done this tonight with darkness as my witness, but opportunity doesn’t knock every day.
The suburban is parked close by, and I put her in the cargo space, a blanket covering her.
And then I call George.
“I got her.” If he could see me, he’d see the mile-wide grin claiming my face.
“What do you mean?” He turns down the noise in the background.
“She’s in the back of the SUV.”
“How is she?” George is alert now.
“Good. We had a nice, long talk, and I think we’re
on the same page now.” I smile through the phone. It didn’t matter that our conversation was wordless—one-sided—if you will.
“What’s the next step?”
“This sounds crazy, but I think we’re going to get married and put all this nonsense behind us. Seems like the logical next step, don’t you think?” I don’t wait for him to respond, his opinion unwarranted and unnecessary.
“Is that right?” George is floored at the turn of events but keeps his voice even.
“Yep.” I buckle my seatbelt. “I’m taking her to the house I rented. How ‘bout you round up a priest for us?”
George whistles. “Damn, that’s fast. You still got the touch.”
“And, George,” I say, “I hope you’ll do me the honor and be the witness and best man.”
“Of course.” George hangs up already moving on to the next task.
I admire the man and his willingness to be a team player.
There’s a home in the mountains, not far from the resort Levin is working at, and that is the next stop. It is secluded and guarded, yet close to the city—a perfect combination of peaceful and remote.
On the drive there, I play some Mozart and try to relax, my fingers thumping the steering wheel.
Since there is a guard gate at the entrance to this particular group of homes, the road to the house is well lit. I don’t want the security guard to ask any questions or see her body. I pull over on a deserted stretch of road and get out.
To be extra safe, I roll her into a ball. Her breathing is slow and labored. I tie her hands with rope just in the off chance she wakes up before we arrive at our final destination. Then I secure her feet.
I get back into the driver’s seat and crank the radio. I am done with Mozart and his symphony. I need uplifting. The rap music gives me a headache, and I can’t stand today’s country ballads about the good old days. There’s an oldies station playing a song that’s fitting for the moment.
Because You're Mine_Psychological Thriller Page 12
