Prologue
Multicolored lights twinkled, softened by the dusting of falling snow. Wreaths abounded, not all of them fake, and the scent from the boughs of the real ones partially masked the exhaust of cars chugging along with their heaters on full blast.
Christmas Day would shortly arrive and children would wake and race excitedly to see what Santa brought them, sometimes followed by disappointment as the spoiled and entitled grubby crotch goblins grumbled they didn’t get more. Or at least my nieces and nephews used to. Was it any wonder I bailed on family functions?
I’d not been to a holiday dinner or birthday celebration in years. Didn’t miss them, to be honest, as they usually included a criticism of my life choices, such as the ever popular, “why don’t you get married?” or “How could you skip having kids? You’re going to end up being the spinster cat lady on your block!” As if that was a deterrent. I liked cats.
What I abhorred? Predators of the human variety.
I didn’t know who lived in the bungalow on the quiet side street. So why then, you might wonder, did I skulk atop the roof of the house, crouched in wait like a skulking vulture?
The reason arrived on foot, wearing a ski mask and nondescript clothing, the kind easily ditched and forgotten. I watched as he sidled right up to the window he’d unlocked earlier in the day when he’d entered the home to check the water meter. The homeowner didn’t notice his subterfuge. Then again, why would they suspect someone who claimed they had municipal authority to enter their house?
He didn’t, actually. The work order, the uniform, everything was fake and all part of how this predator operated. You see, Simon Petrie was a pervert, and tonight his reign of indecent exposure would come to an end.
As to how Simon came to my notice? The police issued a warning. Over the past few months there’d been several reported incidents of a man illegally entering homes via an unlocked window, waking the victim and threatening them with a knife if they screamed. Once the victims promised to behave, Simon then proceeded to jerk off his small cock to a slimy conclusion. He didn’t rape, didn’t even touch—not yet at least. However, Simon the pervert needed to be handled before his crimes escalated. Already he’d gone from exposing himself once every other week, to four times in the past eight days. It was only a matter of time before the thrill of tugging himself to climax for a disgusted audience was no longer enough to satisfy. I planned to end his jizzing career before that happened.
With that mission in mind, and little clues to go on—because the cops couldn’t find a match for the DNA left behind—I visited a few crime scenes. I questioned the victims, then ensured none would remember seeing me. Got a description and a scent. Once I had those, it took me five days of wandering my city before I tracked Simon down, during which time he traumatized two more women.
His terrorizing of women ended tonight. My Christmas gift to the world.
Now, I could have confronted Simon at his apartment. After all, I knew his name and where he lived, but honestly, I found it much more satisfying to stalk and swoop into the rescue before my target committed their unholy crime, and lucky me, he’d dumbly left the address of his next victim written on a pad of paper that also listed future potentials.
Giddy with anticipation, I allowed Simon to reach for the window he’d unlocked and stifled a giggle as he found it latched. My doing. I’d ensured Martha Stewart—no relation to the household goddess!—fastened it shut earlier that evening.
“What the fuck,” Simon muttered as he strained to no avail. The annoyed and stymied perv kicked the snow as he turned around and headed for the sidewalk in a full-blown sulk. Boohoo, I’d ruined his plans.
Quietly, I leapt from the rooftop and shadowed Simon as he made his way to his car, which he’d parked close to the park. Smart on his part, given how many people strolled, jogged, or dragged a dog to do its business through the myriad trails. No one would give the plain sedan a second glance.
Lights blinked as he unlocked his car, my cue to announce my presence.
“Going home so soon, Simon?” I purred.
At the sound of my voice, he whirled and frowned. “Who are you?”
“Given I’m feeling rather festive, let’s go with the Spirit of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I know what you’ve done and what you were about to do. I am also going to make sure it never happens again.” Said with a lilting tone, because I truly was feeling merry about the situation.
“Fuck off, bitch.” He took a menacing step in my direction.
Old me would have been intimated by a six foot three-ish man with at least two hundred plus pounds of muscle and a scowl.
New me laughed. “Oh, Simon. Do you think you scare me? I’ve handled bigger with ease,” I taunted. But I could understand why he thought I’d be an easy target, seeing how he topped me by a good eight inches and outweighed me by at least sixty or seventy pounds.
“How do you know my name?”
My lips curved. “Because I’ve been following you. You’ve been a bad boy, Simon. Congrats on making my naughty list.”
“How dare you spy on me!” He spat as he lunged for me.
A simple sidestep, an extended foot, and oopsies, down went the perv.
Simon hit the cold asphalt face first and immediately popped to his feet yelling. “You fucking cunt. I am going to mess you up so bad.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I crossed my arms and arched a brow. “Come on. Let’s see what you’ve got. Or maybe not. I’ve heard it’s rather small, and I wouldn’t want to pee my pants laughing.” It used to be a problem when I hit menopause and my body suddenly stopped working the way it should.
