Page 17 of Shiver

Well, she hated him, too. He was a bully, a cretin, a scourge of the earth. The very last thing she wanted was for him to touch her. She placed a hand over her fluttering heart.

The very last thing.

* * *

Damn that woman!She had to be the most exasperating female he’d ever met with those big blue eyes and tremulous lips. She looked tempting enough to ravish—almost. Until he reminded himself what a chameleon she was, an expert manipulator. She wouldn’t work her charms on him. He was on to her game.

Riley splashed cold water onto his face then stared at his reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes and a hard grimace exposed his fatigue and hopelessness. He had to get hold of himself. He wouldn’t get her to crack by flying off the handle. He must get his emotions in check and be smart. He had to have something to tell Mac and his dad when he went home. Anything. He couldn’t go home empty-handed.

In the mirror’s reflection, he saw a room behind him. He stood just outside the door and listened down the hallway. Silence. In the room, a desk littered with papers surrounded an expensive desktop computer. He didn’t know computers very well, but he could tell that this was an impressive setup.

He approached her desk and glanced at the papers lying next to the keyboard. All double-spaced pages with the name Miller in the header.Miller?More pages lay face down in the top tray of a laserjet. He picked them up and scanned the first few lines, his gut tightening as he continued to read.

From the shadows, he watched the blonde sashay down the stone tiles of St. Peter Street. Plastic gold-and-green dice bounced on her chest as her turquoise pumps clickity-clacked in rhythm with her sway.

“Hey, lady, looking good tonight. Want me to read your fortune?”

The woman glanced at the tarot card readers lining Jackson Square, then threw a cute one a wave. “No, thanks. Tonight I make my own fortune.”

“I just bet you do,” the man responded, laughing.

He watched their exchange, then saw her steal a glimpse behind her, searching for whoever had been following her as she’d left the Café Du Monde and headed toward Bourbon Street. His footsteps had been steady, but in the darkness, she hadn’t been able to make out the source. He’d made sure she wouldn’t.

She slipped her hand under her jacket and shifted the Glock in her waistband. He knew she was carrying; what cop wouldn’t when in the Quarter alone? The way she was dressed, he guessed she was trying to lure out the night stalker who’d been cutting up whores. He’d been watching her for over an hour, if anyone was helping her, he’d have known it. It was foolish of her to go it alone—foolish for her, advantageous for him. Tonight, she’d get more than she bargained for.

She turned right down Royal, heading for a more isolated street. He smiled at his good fortune. This time of night there were too many hosts standing outside trendy bars and restaurants, hoping to draw in the tourists.

His heartbeat rose in anticipation. Excitement crawled along his skin as she turned left onto Orleans Street, once again heading toward the raucous noise of Bourbon Street. Here, no one would hear her scream.

He closed in. Her quick furtive glances behind her betrayed her fear. She could feel him hunting her. He enjoyed this part of the game, perhaps even more than the kill itself. She quickened her pace. He left her.

From his new vantage point, he watched her turn again. She stopped and listened, becoming aware that his footsteps had fallen silent. She let loose a deep sigh, and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly as she shook her head. She continued up the block to Bourbon Street, toward him. People up ahead laughed and stumbled their way down the neon alley. She visibly relaxed even more.

As she approached, he stepped out from behind an old-fashioned cast-iron lamppost. Alarm chased across her face. She reached behind her, grasping the Glock’s handle.

“Hey, Michelle,” he said softly and gave her a disarming smile.

She squinted into the dull light from the dirt-encrusted lamp, trying to get a handle on him. Recognition dawned. She relaxed, dropping her shoulders. “Hey. What’s up?”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Just heading to Bourbon Street.”

“It’s not safe to be out here alone. Let me walk you.”

“You know I can take care of myself.” She took a quick glance behind her, then threw him a smile. “But I don’t mind the company.”

They’d only taken a few steps before he motioned to a doorway on the right. “What’s that?”

She peered into the darkness. Before she could turn back, he seized her. His big hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing as he shoved her up against the wall. She clawed at his wrists. He could feel her heart hammering with fear. She let go of his wrists and tried to reach behind her for the Glock.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he hissed.

He twisted the beads around her neck, applying more pressure, squeezing harder. Her eyes widened as she choked for air. She slumped forward. He pushed her back, grabbed the gun, and pocketed it.

Breath surged back into her lungs and she gulped it. The blade flashed in the dim light from the streetlamp. In one swift movement, it was over and she slid down the wall. He took something gold and shiny and slipped it around her neck. A gold heart with a rose etched across the front dangled between her breasts, nestling amidst the rivulets of blood seeping from her throat.

Riley swayed as pain and confusion obscured his vision. He stormed through the house, a burning rage pushing him beyond control. He slammed the wad of papers bunched in his hands onto the table. “I want the truth and I want it now.”

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