“Stop,” he told her.
“Ohh …” He watched her put two and two together and was annoyed yet proud of his irrepressible wife.
“Don’t say it,” he warned.
“Another rock … maybe?”
“If you start spouting your theories, everyone in the department will think I’m talking to you.”
“You’ll just have to convince them otherwise.”
“I’m not saying you’re right, but there are parts of the investigation we want to keep under wraps. You understand?”
“I won’t compromise you. I promise.”
But she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. When he tried to argue some more, she put a finger to his lips and, with her free hand, grabbed hold of his tie, leading him on quiet tiptoes to the bed.
“Nikki …”
“Shhh.” She then pushed him playfully onto the mattress.
Well, okay. They could argue more later.
Then his cell phone pinged, announcing that a message had come in. He yanked the phone from his pocket, intending to check the message later, but as he set it on the nightstand he read the message glowing brightly on the screen. Two words. From Toby Yelkis.
Fuck off.
Chapter 12
The dogs were restless. Pacing in their kennels.
Occasionally whining.
With a harsh command, he shushed them, then slipped past the cages to the door secreted in the floor of what had once been a granary, when his grandfather had owned this land, long before the barn had been converted to the kennels where his hounds now paced.
Satisfied the dogs had settled, he quietly unlocked the trapdoor and slipped down the stairs. He was still excited, his blood pumping, exhilaration in his nerves and muscles. He tried to quiet his accelerated heartbeat, but the electricity sizzling through his body made calming himself impossible. He still could see the look of surprise and horror on that supercilious woman as he’d plunged his knife into her neck. And to think she had actually tried to wound—no, kill—him with that ridiculous little pocket pistol.
Pink, no less.
The gun was a vanity object, like her false eyelashes, bleached hair, and ridiculous, expensive feline—all trappings of the life she led. The fake life she paraded to the world. Holier-than-thou and a sinner of outrageous proportions.
It had been oh so satisfying to watch her realize that she wasdying, that she would leave this earthly world and have to face her own personal judgment day as she met her maker.
All her sins would be revealed.
Locked in his private space, he reminded himself not to fall into Mavis Greenlee’s trap, that he shouldn’t revel in his own accomplishments, not even if he was doing God’s bidding. There was no time for personal glorification.
He lowered himself onto a coarse straw pillow on the floor, bowed his head, and closed his eyes, reminding himself that he was but a vessel of the Lord, that he should not and would not allow his ego to overshadow his mission.
“I am your servant. All that I do is for you,” he whispered over and over as his mantra, until the adrenalin rush in his veins had evaporated and he was breathing evenly again, his composure intact, his mission clear.
His was not a blood lust.
His was a calling, and he had to remember that.
But just in case he got ahead of himself, he leaned backward and opened the cabinet where his weapons were stored.
He eyed them all.