Absolute Fear. Lisa JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
around him, unclipped the small case attached to his belt, and in one swift motion dangled the metal cuffs in front of his face as she kissed the lobe of his ear. Her teeth scraped the diamond stud he always wore. “And so will you, Detective….”
CHAPTER 6
The Reviver was agitated. Ready. Every nerve screaming through his body.
It was time.
At last.
He couldn’t wait.
Anticipation propelled him. Bloodlust snaked through his veins.
On silent footsteps, he crept through the undergrowth and followed a sagging, dilapidated fence line. Dressed for battle, his weapons belted to his body, he edged ever closer to his prey. A fine mist rose, adding another layer of camouflage to the already dark night.
In the distance, across a lonely field, he spied the farmhouse, windows glowing faintly. His pulse quickened. He told himself to be careful, to tread lightly; he didn’t want to make a mistake and suffer the wrath of the Voice.
Not this time.
God had spoken to him, and His instructions were clear.
Stealthily he slipped around a spindly pine tree.
A sharp hiss cut through the night.
His hand went to the knife at his belt before his eyes adjusted and he spied the thick, furry body of a raccoon. It had reared up on its hind legs, its nasty little teeth bared, its masked eyes glaring at him defiantly.
Stupid animal. It would serve the fucker right if he sliced its throat, killed the damned creature out of spite and left it for vultures and crows.
But he couldn’t risk anything that wasn’t planned. He had to remain focused. His orders had been succinct. The Voice of God had been specific and strong, telling him exactly what to do while the other irritating, whining voices had buzzed like white noise. The killing would begin soon enough.
Eyes glittering, the raccoon lowered itself onto all fours and lumbered awkwardly deeper into the underbrush and brambles, as if it hadn’t known how close it had come to death. His lips curled, and his fingers itched to grab his hunting knife.
Good riddance.
As the vermin disappeared from sight, he focused his attention to the house where his victim was waiting.
Unknowing.
With renewed purpose, he stretched the sagging barbed wire, slid through the opening, then took off at an easy jog across the open field. The night was cool for May. Rising clouds of mist swirled from the damp ground, and the air was fresh and clean from the recent rain, filling his nostrils with the smell of moist earth.
It had been a long, rewarding day.
And he’d caught glimpses of her.
Eve.
Beautiful.
Seductive.
Deadly.
Oh, to want her, to feel her pliant, soft body beneath his. To smell her. Taste her. Feel the heat of her skin rubbing anxiously, eagerly against him. He would love to hear her moan, see her writhe in fear and ecstasy as he mounted her, claimed her, thrust so deep into her she’d gasp and the cords of her beautiful neck would stand out…inviting. He would do anything he wanted to her beautiful body, and she would accept him, understand their destiny. She would kneel before him, licking her already wet lips…ready to take him in.
He felt his cock twitch, threatening to harden, and he clamped his jaw tight.
There was no time for this kind of fantasy, not yet.
Later…Oh, yes, later…
For now, he had to concentrate.
He had work to do.
She would wait.
He knew where she was.
Earlier, he’d followed her. After assuring himself that she had indeed driven into the city and not to this remote farmhouse, he’d turned off the freeway on the outskirts of New Orleans, doubling back a bit and driving unerringly to a spot where he could park his truck. His pickup was now hidden behind a dilapidated old barn on a forgotten piece of soggy farmland near the swamp.
From the truck’s hiding place, he’d walked nearly two miles through thickets, woods, and open pasture. He’d seen the massive dark shapes of dozing cattle, startled a flock of sheep into bleating for a few seconds before he’d slipped from their pasture, and crossed two streams, ever intent upon his mission.
The Voice had warned him that there might be a dog guarding the premises. If so, he would take care of the mutt as easily as he would kill his victim. The Reviver would have to be wary. He slipped his bowie knife from its leather sheath then held it in his mouth.
Through the thin veil of fog, he loped up a small rise to the far side of the pastureland and spied an aluminum gate. Too noisy to open or climb over. Again he stretched the wire between the fence posts and slipped noiselessly to the other side.
He paused.
Listened.
Stared into the darkness.
He sensed no one outside, heard only the sound of his own heartbeat and the soft sigh of the wind rustling the branches of a willow tree and causing an ancient windmill to creak as the wooden blades slowly turned.
The house was only thirty feet away.
The porch light was off, but there was no dark shape lying near the door, no sound of a dog padding in the darkness, no smell of canine feces or urine or hair.
Ever wary, his hand on the hilt of his knife, the Reviver walked noiselessly through the weeds then hurried across parallel ruts of a gravel and dirt drive. At the garage he paused, every muscle tense. Slowly he swept his gaze over the unlit floorboards and stairs of the back porch. Still no mutt was visible.
Good. He pulled on a pair of thin black gloves and stretched his fingers. Then the waiting was over.
On the balls of his feet, he silently crept up the stairs to the back door. Paused. Checked the windows, peering through the glass. The kitchen itself was dark, but enough light spilled into the room from the hall. The room was neat. Uncluttered. Except for the bottle of whiskey, uncapped and sitting on the counter. Good. Just as expected. The Reviver moved his gaze slowly over the rest of the neat expanse and located the tiny light glowing on an area that was obviously used for a desk. Plugged into an outlet and next to an open notebook that was either a calendar or day planner or the like was a cell-phone charger with the phone inserted, the tiny red light glowing like a beacon.
He moved to the door.
Above the thin doorjamb he found a hidden key.
Just as the Voice had told him.
Barely breathing, the Reviver inserted the key.
With only the tiniest click of metal against metal, the lock gave way and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Perfect.
He pocketed the key and took his knife from his mouth, holding it ready. Barely breathing, he stepped over the threshold and into the dark kitchen.
He was inside.
Eve made the call.
Dressed in her cotton nightgown and robe, she stood in the kitchen, warming one hand on a cup of green tea and holding her cell phone to her ear with the other. She’d promised Anna Maria she’d phone, and even though it was closing in on eleven, she was going to make good.
“Hello?” Anna’s voice was clear and chipper. Of course. She was a night owl, always had been, and didn’t understand people who rose before dawn.
“Hey, it’s me. I made it back. Safe and sound.”
“I