Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
About the Author
WiDō Publishing
Salt Lake City, Utah
www.widopublishing.com
Copyright © 2014 by Clarissa Draper
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher.
Cover Design by Steven Novak
Book Design by Marny K. Parkin
Print ISBN 978-1-937178-56-7
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014908663
for Isaac
Chapter One
Monday June 17, 1991
Creatures of habit are easier to catch, and beautiful Edie Grace was as predictable as a James Bond love affair. For three weeks, he studied her, peering into her life . . . her soul. He enjoyed her youthful movements, so graceful and delicious. She now belonged to him.
Through the front window, he watched Edie jump onto her sofa and sit cross-legged in front of the television. As an avid fan of Wheel of Fortune, her fisted hands move up and down in front of her chest as the wheel went round. As the needle passed every number, she mouthed one thousand, one thousand and finally called out a letter in turn.
G as in girl.
He smiled. Yes, and what about B as in beautiful or D as in dead? Oh, the hours he had stood watching were about to end. Excitement filled his stomach and his heart beat rapidly. He longed to be inside—with her. No, he must be patient; he knew the perfect time.
Show over, she picked up the remote control and shut off the television. Her head fell and he knew she hated what she had to do next: cook herself dinner. From his current vantage point, he could only see half her kitchen, so he crawled around the side of the house and behind the perfect bush—a bush that hid him from the house, the neighbor’s house, and the street. It also had a perfect view of sweet Edie in the kitchen. He felt fortunate she wasn’t a gardener. Her bushes were allowed to grow out of control. Fifty men could hide in her gardens. The spot nearest the kitchen he had picked with care—he needed to be able to see her without her seeing him. The grass under his feet was worn down in the shape of a large cloud.
Edie opened the cupboard over the sink and chose the third book from the right—Cooking for One. She threw it down on the worktop and flipped through the pages one at a time.
No, no, no, she shook her head at each page. Occasionally she would pause, open her refrigerator, and rummage through. After a few seconds, the door would thump closed, rattling the glass bottles inside, and she would flip through the pages of the cookbook again. Reaching the end of the book, she slammed it closed and pushed it off the edge of the kitchen worktop. Finally, she opened her freezer for a ready meal and after her oven was heated, placed it inside and left the room.
Soon.
He looked at his watch. About now she would be back on her sofa.
When he returned to the front, he bent down and retrieved a bag he had hidden under a bush. A large blue workbag filled with all the needed supplies. He felt round inside and pulled out a coil of wire neatly placed within. He slid his fingers along the entire span. Perfect as always.
With his gloved right hand, he slowly turned the handle to the front door. It opened easily and quietly, without a catch. He knew she often forgot to lock her front door. In the past three weeks, she had only locked it three times. Twice she left the keys hanging from the lock outside. A single female living alone. If only she understood the dangers in the world.
The smell of baking roast beef and gravy hit him as he walked down the hall toward the reception room. He moved very slowly, careful not to make any sound on the carpet that covered the length of the hardwood floor. One, two, three, four, he counted his steps, closer and closer he moved toward her. Movement from the living room made him pause, a sound of glass landing harshly and a plastic item dragged off a wooden tabletop. A click followed by loud blaring voices from the television calmed him down; he would not need to be so quiet now.
At the end of the hall, he placed the workbag at his feet and peered into the empty kitchen. No one. He knew exactly where she sat. After taking a deep breath, he stepped into the doorway. She didn’t see him at first, not until he moved closer and stood nearly in front of the television. She looked at the intruder in her house, somewhat confused by the wire in his hand.
Her face betrayed her shock—her eyes widened in horror. The remote control dropped to the floor. She opened her mouth but no words left her lips. He moved closer. Instinctively, she moved back on her sofa, crawling to the farthest edge before she grabbed her legs and pulled them into her chest. Huddled in the fetal position, her head shook like a robot unable to compute.
The tight leggings she wore accented her knees and for a minute, they distracted him. The knees, her knees, they made him pause. They were right there, right in front of him, her beautiful knees. The knees he dreamed about, fantasized about, worshipped, and they were his for the taking.
Finally she spoke, “What are you doing in my house? How did you get in?”
These questions disrupted his thoughts; he looked into her eyes and put his finger to his lips to silence her. Her eyes betrayed her fear and that drove him on. The power, oh the power. She was his now.
Confident, he stepped back and calmly asked, “Are you cooking something? It smells as if you’re cooking something. In the kitchen, I think. It smells delicious.”
She looked down at his hands and the wire, and finally, she said, “Is there something wrong? What are you doing? Why are you here, in my house? I want you to leave . . . immediately.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked into the kitchen. Opening the oven, he knelt down and took a deep breath in. “Delicious. You are a wonderful cook.”
She stood nervously in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her.
“Why are you here? How did you get in? I am going to ring the police . . . leave my house immediately.”