Dead end.
Which more or less summarized the life and times of Lee Coburn, who would leave the world with seven brutal murders as his only legacy. Seven victims who hadn’t been given a chance, who’d died before they knew what had hit them.
Swearing beneath his breath, he rubbed his temples. He was tired. No, more than tired. Weary. Weary of loading and unloading those goddamn trucks. Weary of the sad, one-room apartment that he’d been living in for the past thirteen months. Weary of life in general, and of his life in particular. As he’d told Gillette’s widow, if he died, which he probably would soon, he’d be dead, and none of it would matter.
But hell if it didn’t matter now. As he lowered his hands from his forehead, he realized he wasn’t quite ready to let the devil take him.
“Get up.”
She stirred, rolled to her side, and pushed herself into a sitting position. He reached down. She studied his hand for several seconds, then clasped it and let him pull her up.
“What did you mean?”
Her voice was breathless and shaky, but he knew what she was referring to. Instead of addressing the question, he propelled her toward the hallway and then into her bedroom, where he released her hand. Going to the bed, he whipped back the comforter, which had been spotless, but was now stained and grimy because of him.
“I gotta lie down, which means you gotta lie down.”
She stood where she was, looking at him as though she didn’t understand the language.
“Lie down,” he repeated.
She moved to the bed, but stood on the opposite side of it, staring across at him like he was an exotic animal she’d never seen before. She wasn’t acting right. All day long, he’d been studying her reactions to things he said and did, so that he would know what her weaknesses were and what fears he could tap into in order to manipulate her.
He’d seen her terrified, supplicant, desperate, and even pissed off. But this was a new expression, and he didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe she’d banged her head on the floor when she was fighting for control of the pistol.
“What you said about Eddie…” She paused to swallow. “What did you mean?”
“What did I say? I don’t remember.”
“You said that the thing you’re after had got him killed.”
“I never said that.”
“That’s exactly what you said.”
“You must’ve heard me wrong.”
“I didn’t hear you wrong!”
Well, good. She was acting normal again, not like a zombie had taken over her body. Her compact, shapely body that had felt real good against his.
“Eddie’s death was an accident,” she declared.
“If you say so.” He turned away and started rifling through the heap of clothes he’d removed from her bureau drawers earlier as he’d searched them.
He sensed her approach only a heartbeat before she grabbed him by the arm and brought him around to face her. He allowed it. She wasn’t going to stop with this until she got an explanation. Not unless he gagged her, and he really didn’t want to do that unless she forced him to.
“What did you come here to find?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me, damn you!
“I don’t know!”