Chapter Three
After her shower, Peyton enthusiastically slathered on the lotion inundated with moisturizers. The dry zephyr air zapped all the natural oils from her skin. Her mouth watered from the aroma drifting into the bedroom. She dressed and bounded for the kitchen to help Cole. Her tummy growled. “Wow, the table is already set and everything smells yummy.”
Cole held the chair for her. “Have you taken a gander outside?” After she sat, he settled across from her.
She accepted the meat platter he offered. “Yes, I did. I can’t believe it’s still snowing, but it’s that time of year. If you keep cooking this kind of meal, I’ll welcome your company.” She winked. “When did you become a chef? Last I remember you couldn’t boil water.”
“Self-preservation.” Cole stabbed several veggies in the omelet. “What have you been up to?” He jammed the food in his mouth.
“The usual. You?”
When Cole swallowed, he smirked. “Another deflection.”
“I answered your question, although you haven’t acknowledged mine.”
“Jilly said you had another screenplay project. Tell me about it.” He picked up a slice of bacon with his thumb and forefinger taking a bite.
“Just like you, I can’t talk about my job.”
“Until it’s in the can.”
“Then onto my next one. Enough about me. How did you get time off?”
“We’ve never been able to discuss each other’s work. Maybe that’s why we spent a lot of time in bed.”
“Don’t go there.” She grasped the napkin from her lap and wiped her lips.
“Why not?” His right eyebrow inched higher, and he leaned back in his seat.
“Many reasons.” She rose from her chair taking her plate to the sink. “Walking down memory lane isn’t a good idea for us.”
“Earlier, you responded to me. Admit it, you still want me.”
“Did you really think I’d fall for your charms again?” She rinsed off her plate then placed everything into the dishwasher.
Cole grunted. “No…Maybe. Yeah, I guess I did.”
“You’re an egotistical asshole. If we were the last people on this earth, the human race would end and I wouldn’t give a flying fuck.”
“I know you’re not the same woman I knew three years ago, but I could change your mind.” His eyebrows waggled.
“When ducks fly out of my ass.”
Cole rose and before his clenched jaw ticked, she saw something in his eyes he hadn’t displayed in a long time. “It’s not safe for you to leave so I’ll clean up and otherwise keep myself occupied…wherever you’re not.” He wheeled and strode toward the living room.
Her heart ached to see the hurt in his gaze which transformed into controlled anger. She’d delivered the smart-ass comment out of emotional self-defense. Maybe, it was for the best. Their situation dictated distance between them and she had achieved the goal. Then, why didn’t she feel better? And she sure as hell sounded like a bitch. She would squirrel away at the desk in the bedroom and work, keeping as much space between them as she could. Peyton filled her mug with coffee. She meandered to her laptop and set her mind to the script.
The seat creaked every time she shifted her weight and the blasted click of the mantel clock eked out every God-forsaken second. The cursor blinked and the blank page mocked her. “Argh.” Peyton whirled around in the chair and hit her knee on the corner of the desk. “Ouch.” She rubbed her skin. Cole kept his word, she hadn’t seen him. He had consumed her every thought. “Blast the man.”
She rose and straightened into a lengthy stretch then edged to the doorway and peeked into the living room. Cole’s shoulders spread past the executive leather chair. The folders stacked high on the roll-top desk tipped to one side. When had he carried in his case files? The pen in his hand scratched notes on his legal pad.
Stealthy in her woolen socks, she approached unnoticed, wanting to observe him in action. She loved gazing at his brows furrowed deep in concentration as well as appreciated his cunning expertise in the courtroom.
“I never could tolerate you hovering. Go back to work so I can do mine.” His angry bass voice echoed in the great room.
“Feel like taking a break?” She bit her lower lip expecting him to swivel his seat and peg her with a go-to-hell look.
When he turned, his gaze revealed he wanted her in a worse place. A thick exasperated sigh escaped. “If you’re relinquishing the master bedroom, I could use a shower.”
She notched her chin higher. “You could’ve taken one in the guest bathroom.”
He sprang to his feet. A cross between a growl and a harrumph crossed his lips before he slammed the door.
Peyton plopped in his chair. He’d get over it, she had. She focused on the myriad of files. One in particular caught her eye. Her skin pebbled, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. An eerie familiarity inundated her soul. Her hands trembled. She stretched and retrieved the dossier. The tab read Hendricks, James ML
Her thumb and forefinger flipped the heavy cardboard and the image portrayed a stoic picture of Mr. Hendricks. “Oh my God, Pig Man.” She scanned through the pages.
She chose the next file on top and perused it hastily examining each leaf of information, then grabbed another. After the eleventh, there wasn’t any question in her mind. She methodically returned each to their original position, except one.
“What the hell are you doing?” Cole glowered.
Peyton scrutinized him. Her mouth opened to tell him. She pursed her lips together, rose, pointed, and tried again. Giving up, she closed the legal-size compilation, placed it with the others and retreated to her bedroom. She face planted onto the bed. Her mind wheeled with what she’d found.
The battle of emotions struggled within. Should she tell Cole he was defending a murderer? Could she convince Cole she had witnessed, Hendricks, James ML, the man dressed in black, who had slain every single one of those women—in her mind? Oh and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact, he’s slowly killing me too.
“Yeah, right.” He would celebrate Christmas before he accepted her word. And she already knew what he thought of that particular holiday. Peyton would rather die first than beg Cole to consider her episodes to be true. Wait, Jillian would vouch for her sanity. Surely, she could persuade Cole using logic.
She snorted. He was a stubborn, mule headed, ass…well, a mule and an ass were not exactly congruent…But if she didn’t tell Cole, she’d have innocent blood on her hands.
Within a few minutes, she gathered the strength to face her demons and be at the top of her game to talk to Cole, who was already pissed at her. Peyton entered the living room, angled to the left and secretly studied Cole, perusing his work.
“I’ve always been able to sense your presence and hear you breathe.”
“I never knew that.” Her heart skipped a beat. He had shared something of himself.
Cole raised his chin. “I can’t discuss these cases with you. And why are you standing behind me? That always drove me nuts. It’s like you get a kick out of bothering me.”
Her gut clenched and her blood pressure zoomed; her temple pulsed with each heartbeat. Anger zipped to the depths of her soul. No wonder she could never make their relationship work, he was an ass, not a mule. “With that settled, I have something to say. Your man, Hendricks, is a serial killer.”
He grunted.
She retreated to her bedroom, dug out her cell, and tapped the number. “Jillian, I need to leave. When will the foreman have the driveway cleared?”
Peyton panned the room, noting her belongings. “An hour, great. I’m sorry I won’t be able to stop and say good-bye.” Every time she left, Jill cried, and she didn’t have the strength to endure the avalanche of emotions. “Thanks. I love you too. Bye.”
She shoved the phone in her back pocket. Sixty minutes later, she strode past Cole with her luggage.
“You’re wrong. He had an alibi for every one of the counts against him. What I want to know is how did you identify him? Saw his picture in the paper, on TV or internet news?”
Peyton froze. Tingles shot down her arms to her fingertips and the bags dropped from her grasp. She paused then lowered to the floor and closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
The dark presence slithered over Peyton and covered her like a blanket. The mass penetrated and seeped within, occupying her misty form. An evil miasma wafted to her nostrils and she gasped for a breath.
“Sit in the corner, my sweet thing.” James ML Hendricks instructed.
“I’m not—”
“Shut up, bitch.” Hendricks’ hands wrapped around her neck and he applied pressure to her windpipe.
She grabbed his wrists and fought. A bracelet gouged her palm, and just as she was ready to pass out, he let go. She coughed and sputtered until she had enough oxygen. If her body was in spirit form, how did he choke her?
“As you can tell, I’m getting stronger. Soon you’ll be at death’s door.” A cackle escaped from Pig Man then changed into maniacal laughter. He was definitely Satan’s spawn.
Muffled cries came from across the room. Two young women whimpered. They were possibly in their early twenties, gagged, with their feet and hands bound.
“Why are you doing this?” Peyton shuddered.
“I get more powerful with each one.” He smirked.
“Let them go and you can do whatever you want with me. I won’t fight.”
“What fun is that?” His face lowered within two inches of hers. “I want the terror coursing through their blood and their screams of mercy upon their lips.”
The smell of Boudin sausage assailed her senses again. “Oh, God.” Without a doubt, this was the same man. Peyton prayed for help, of any kind.
“Time for you to go.” He flicked his right wrist.
Peyton’s head whirled until she saw double of everything. Her stomach lurched. Struggling to keep awake, she fought the centrifugal force of the maelstrom. Slowly, she succumbed to the blackout.