Page 7 of Preying Game

Chapter 4

Time for some fun, Arthur Hayward thought, as he leaned back in the comfortable chair in his book-lined library. Things had been going very well, but they had fallen into too much of a pattern.

He thought about his current guest in the underground portion of his estate. She was the best he’d ever worked with. Fit and able to improve. But soon she must reach even her limit.

He got out the pictures he’d taken of her when she’d first arrived. She had been in good shape then. Now she was beyond even his expectations.

She’d been groggy when he’d driven onto the estate and pulled into the three-car garage. He’d put her back to sleep with another dose of happy juice and taken her down to the examination room in the private jail he’d constructed.

First he’d taken off her clothes. Then he’d snapped some photos. He’d touched her body, stroking his hand over the silky skin of her thigh, the curve of her breasts, hoping the touch would stir him. He felt some kind of sensual awareness, but nothing like what he had felt in the old days.

As he pulled a modest nightgown over her head and slipped her arms through the sleeves, his mind flashed back to his marriage. He grimaced, preferring to think of the present and not the past.

He knew Renee hadn’t liked his hunting trips to game ranches in the West and safaris to Africa, but he’d set her up like a queen in this mansion.

When he’d found out the ungrateful bitch was stepping out on him, he’d started planning his first murder.

He’d done a superb job of pretending that everything was okay and that he wanted to share his African adventures with her. It had been easy to make her death look like a bad-luck lion attack—especially in a country where the rich white American was king. That was fifteen years ago, when the thrill of murder had not been his only sexual outlet.

For a ten years, he’d sampled the charms of many women, until high blood pressure had deprived him of the ability to function.

He gritted his teeth, trying to cut off the next thought, but it leaped into his head like a cat pouncing on a mouse. He had been about to say—“like a normal man.”

But if you looked at it in the right way, he had never been a normal man. He had always been a cut above the guys who were content to live by the rules.

Too bad his moron of a doctor hadn’t been able to do a thing about his blood pressure, besides putting him on pills that kept his dick limp, along with a goddamn boring “healthy diet.” A diet he was sharing with his current guest, the lovely Alice Davenport.

He’d been able to observe her for weeks before he’d scooped her up. And he’d chosen her for her looks as much as her athletic ability. Why not destroy beauty as part of your pleasure?

All his life, he’d taken what he wanted. If he could no longer do it sexually, there were other ways he could attain the feeling of satisfaction. Once he had loved fucking women. Now he loved seeing them dead at his feet—after a long foreplay, longer than anyone could enjoy in a sexual encounter.

And soon the pas de deux would begin.

oOo

Alice had made contact with the man named Jonah at night. Was there any use trying to reach out to him during the day?

Maybe it could have worked, if she’d been able to concentrate. Unfortunately, most of her waking hours were taken up with tasks that required her attention. It might seem strange to think that physical training needed so much focus. But she had to stay sharp not to screw up. The facility where she was being held was large. Part of the complex housed a big gym. Weirdly, one of her jobs was bouncing a basketball on the wooden floor, then running toward the hoop and making a shot. Although she tried her best, she had never been good at basketball. And she was relieved when a whistle blew and she was allowed to return the ball to the rack at the side of the room and rest for twenty minutes.

Her next activity was different but no less taxing. A stout rope with knots dangled at one side of the gym, and she had to climb to the top and then down again. This time she had some leeway. She climbed more slowly than was strictly necessary, stretching out the task. But by the time she was finished with that, her arms and legs ached.

“Lunchtime,” Hayward’s voice rang out.

She sighed with relief, leaning against the wall.

“Shower first.”

When he said the words, a shiver went through her. He only asked her to shower during the day when he wanted to meet with her in person. Was he going to declare that her training had come to an end? And then he would hunt and kill her—like he bragged he’d done with five other women.

She looked wildly around, wishing there was something she could use as a weapon. But she knew she was hardly going to assault him with a basketball.

On stiff legs, she headed for the corridor that led to her cell. There was no point in resisting. He would just hurt her if she refused to do his bidding. It flashed through her head that if he hurt her badly, maybe she wouldn’t have to star in his diabolical hunt. But then what? He would probably be angry that he’d put in all this time training her—and gotten nothing out of it. She shuddered. What if he thought of some substitute amusement? Like killing her slowly?

Feeling as though she was caught between driving her car over a cliff and driving it into a bridge abutment, she stopped at the water cooler and drank several paper cups full. She’d been hungry when she’d finished the exercise session, but her appetite had disappeared.

Teeth clenched, she headed for her cell. As soon as she stepped through the door, her gaze swung to the bed. Confirming her suspicion, she saw that while she’d been in the gym, Hayward had laid out clothes. She saw a modest yellow blouse. A flowered skirt. Slip-on shoes. Surely he couldn’t be intending to hunt her wearing those. Bringing the outfit into the bathroom, she got undressed, discarded her gym clothes, and stepped into the shower.

She clung to her analysis of the situation while she stood under the bracing spray. Again she dried her hair as best she could with the towel, then put on the outfit. The blouse and skirt fit perfectly. And she was sure they were a little smaller than the clothing she’d been wearing when he’d captured her. She’d lost weight on the diet he was providing and the exercise regime. The irony made her want to laugh. Like most women she knew, she was always trying to lose a few pounds. He’d forced her to do it—with no conscious plan on her part.

---