Page 35 of The Perfect People

“Maybe Lachlan should be here instead of halfway across the globe getting his rocks off with Lady Afulu,” Nicole replied bitingly.

“Oooh!” all three women said in collective glee as they high-fived each other.

As they did, none of them noticed that he had suddenly switched from massaging Nicole’s shoulders to squeezing her neck. He heard her gasp and felt enormous satisfaction at the sound. His one regret was that he couldn’t see her face.

But a moment later, he got a thrill when he saw something almost as great—the shocked faces of her friends. And then, when Nicole swung her elbow back into his rib cage, hoping to break free of him, those shocked expressions turned to horror, especially when they realized Nicole wasn’t able to break free. He might not have washboard abs like her. But he was work-strong, and no amount of swung elbows or stomped feet was going to deter him.

He was actually a little disappointed. Had he wanted to, he could have broken her neck right then, but that wasn’t the goal. He was waiting for one of them to scream for help and had to soften the grip around Nicole’s neck in the interim.

It wouldn’t do to hurt her so badly that she had to go to the hospital. He wanted her scared but not incapacitated. He wanted her frazzled but not enough to call the cops or cancel the party. Were these idiot friends of hers going to ruin that? What would he do if they just continued to stand there in open-mouthed senselessness?

“Help!” one of them finally screamed. “He’s choking Nicole!”

That broke the dam. All three of them started screaming and within seconds there were four people on him, tearing his hands off Nicole’s neck. None of them were as big as the blond guy from last night and no one looked like they were ready to punch him. But two guys, both smaller than him, did muster up the courage to shove him toward the side door.

A woman standing nearby quickly opened it and they pushed him out. He stumbled down the two steps, losing his balance and nearly falling onto the pavement before catching himself. The door slammed closed behind him. He heard it lock as one of the guys yelled, “Get out of here or we’ll call the cops!”

He looked around. This side of the house, with just a narrow walkway dividing it from the one next door, was devoid of people, probably because it was dark with limited access to the house. He waited there for a second, wondering if a group of guys would burst out, with fireplace pokers in hand, ready to beat him to a pulp. But other than one woman who peeked through a curtain to see if he was still there, there was no reaction at all.

Unsure whether to be relieved, angry, or disappointed, he turned and walked down the path to where it ended at a small gate that connected with the Strand. He hopped the gate and found himself among a swarm of people milling about in front of Nicole’s house, some waiting to get in, others just loitering.

About thirty yards away, he did see an MBPD officer approaching the house, shouting futilely for people to clear the Strand so pedestrians could get by. Not wanting to push his luck, he adjusted his jumpsuit, turned the other way, and began walking in the opposite direction with a smile on his face.

He wasn’t stressed. After all, he knew he’d be back.

***

He returned an hour and a half later, in fact. Just after 11:30, he wandered into the house the same way he had before, through the front door. Only this time he was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap pulled low to cover much of his face. He looked like half the other guys at the party, which as expected, had swelled in size from before. The only difference was the latex gloves he wore, which no one noticed.

Unlike earlier in the evening, this time he made his way through the crowd without any fanfare, drawing as little attention as possible. He took the stairs to the second floor, where he pretended to wait in line for the bathroom until the hallway was empty. Then he jimmied the locked door of the bedroom that Nicole shared with her husband, who she’d revealed was not in town tonight. He poked his head in.

“Anyone in here?” he called out. “All the other bathrooms are full. Is it okay if I use this one?”

There was no reply. He quickly stepped inside, closed the door, and locked it again. Then he moved to the bathroom, and from there into the walk-in closet. He found a spot in the dark left corner in the back, behind some of Nicole’s long dresses, where he could sit down and still remain hidden.

It might be quite a long wait and he didn’t want to stand up for what might end up being hours. He settled in, resting his back against the wall. Then he took a long, deep breath, finally allowing himself to relax. The hard part was over. Now there was just anticipation, followed by the fun stuff.

The party was just getting started.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“You’re kidding, right?” Jessie asked in disbelief as she sat in the passenger seat of the car.

“No,” Susannah told her. “Check my bag if you want to.”

Jessie did just that, grabbing the small backpack from the backseat and unzipping it. Sure enough, her partner had brought a set of spare clothes along for the day. Susannah had generously offered to pick her up and they were on their way to Manhattan Beach, hoping to beat the heat by arriving earlier than they had yesterday.

“Do you really think you’re in danger of having another ocean-related incident?” Jessie asked, stifling a laugh.

“Who’s to say?” the detective replied. “All I know is that if something does go down, I’ll be prepared, and you’ll be stuck traipsing around in some soggy slacks.”

“You do know there’s this thing called ‘stores,’ Susannah?” Jessie asked, unable to control her giggles now.

“Stores are for the weak, Hunt,” the detective replied, trying to keep a straight face.

At that, they both broke out in laughter. Jessie was happy for the emotional release. Though she didn’t say it, she was relieved to be driving to the beach, pursuing this case with Susannah, despite the woman’s quirks, and even if they hadn’t made much progress.

At the very least it was a way to take her mind off how little progress they were making in the Clone Killer case. If she wasn’t trying to solve Shasta Mallory’s murder in Manhattan Beach, she’d just be spending her Saturday morning staring in frustration at the corkboard in the Central Station bullpen. Here, she feltsomeforward momentum.

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