Page 95 of Killer Love

Sofia Lutrova.

This is only the beginning, lyubov’ moya.

One Zappia down. The rest will fall in time, but first…

Never let a snake loose in Moscow.

Chapter 29

Fox

There are countless ways to die.

Some are more pleasant to think about than others. I don’t know anyone who would turn down a chance to go in the middle of the night, calm and warm, asleep in their own bed. In any case, it all ends once the heart stops. No heartbeat, no life. Everything else shuts down without the heart.

So, why am I still alive?

It’s beating, I suppose. But it’s not nearly as nourishing as it should be. It feels more like the ticking of a clock. A mechanical machine of rusted old parts just moments away from… stopping.

I’ve thought about ending it myself. It would be easy. I know how to make it painless, a luxury I’ve rarely afforded my victims.

But then I think of her, and I change my mind.

I drive slowly down the dirt road. These Iowan farm roads are a bit twistier than I expected they’d be, but at least it’s secluded. Civilization is long gone by the time I spot the farmhouse. Two stories tall. Pure, white paint. A single rocking chair on the front porch. Across from it lies an old cabin that appears as solid as the house itself. I can’t say the same about the rugged, old barn farther across the field.

I park the car between the house and the cabin. Gravel crunches beneath my boot as I step out. I immediately know I’ve made the right choice. The sound it makes is loud. It practically echoes on the wind before fading off into nothing. This kind of silence is exactly what I’m looking for.

“Can I help you?”

A woman stands in the front doorway, lingering safely behind the closed screen door. She’s older, possibly as old as my grandmother, and looks just as sweet. A husky dog sits at her feet with his snout pointed right at me, teeth slightly bared.

I quickly remove my hat and sunglasses to put her more at ease. I’m not here to make enemies.

“Hello,” I greet. “Are you Mrs. Clark?”

“Depends on what you’re selling,” she says.

“I’m not selling anything,” I say as I slowly reach behind me for the newspaper in my back pocket. “We spoke on the phone. I’m here about the rental.”

Her brow rises. “Fox?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She shifts to the side and casually sets her concealed shotgun down by the doorframe. “Sorry,” she says. “Can’t be too careful. A lot of dangerous guys out there.”

I smile. “I don’t blame you.”

“Sammy, stay.” She snaps her fingers twice at the dog as she opens the screen door. “I said, stay.”

The dog whimpers, obviously a little upset as she steps out onto the porch alone. I’d argue with him, but he’s just doing his job. Also, he’s not wrong. I can smell the blood on my hands, too.

Mrs. Clark steps down off the porch and gestures toward the cabin. “Wanna take a look at it?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She walks with a steady gait, though it’s obvious that she’s favoring one side. Hip injury, I’d guess. Maybe arthritis. Other than that, she seems spry and, based on our previous phone conversation, mentally quick. Almost reminds me of Caleb.

We reach the cabin and she holds the door open for me.

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