She slept so peacefully. Worry tugged at his heart. He wanted her to have a rich, full life. Unburdened by his weaknesses. As if on cue, his hands trembled, felt numb.
Whatever it took, he reaffirmed, he would protect his daughter and his wife.
He slipped from her room, closing the door behind him. He would keep those he loved safe ... no matter the cost.
Down the hall he paused at the double doors leading to the master suite. Still closed. His wife remained angry with him. They had argued again over what was best for their daughter.
He walked away, chose a guest room for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time he and his wife had taken a night apart. After more than two decades of marriage, it wasn’t so unusual to need space. It was the subject of their disagreements that grieved him so deeply.
She would never understand.
This was a situation Jerald would have to handle alone.
No one would understand.
Except . . . perhaps Sarah Newton.
21
Midnight
Hours passed before it was clear to proceed.
The cold finally had gotten to the inept cop hanging around, and he’d gone home.
Five minutes more and tonight’s work would be complete. Fear and remorse would paralyze them all. Efforts to find the killer would intensify.
The bitch whimpered.
“Shut up!”
Stupid, stupid, snobby bitch.
The needle pierced her right eyelid. The nylon thread slid easily through. Pull tight.
Last stitch.
Very nice.
Six stitches each. Neat. Not nearly as much blood as the lips. Or maybe the pills had helped.
Another disgusting moan.
Fury ignited. “I know how to shut you up.”
One, two, three, four carefully prepared pieces. Everything had to be exact. Even in the near darkness, the jewels glittered.
“Now. To crown the queen.”
Tug the mouth open. The bitch had better not bite.
“This is the last time you’ll ever be beautiful.”
One, two pieces tucked deep inside.
The dying bitch coughed. Gagged.
“Don’t you puke on me!”
