Allison Brennan - Killing Fear
Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Allison Brennan - Killing Fear» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию без сокращений). В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Жанр: Триллер, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.
- Название:Killing Fear
- Автор:
- Жанр:
- Год:неизвестен
- ISBN:нет данных
- Рейтинг книги:5 / 5. Голосов: 1
-
Избранное:Добавить в избранное
- Отзывы:
-
Ваша оценка:
- 100
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
Killing Fear: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «Killing Fear»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.
Killing Fear — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком
Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «Killing Fear», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.
Интервал:
Закладка:
Theodore despised Will Hooper. And listening to the press conference on the news, sitting safe in an old, worn La-Z-Boy, and having that asshole cop call him stupid pained him.
Hooper knew damn well he was a genius. It was only bad luck that a witness caught sight of him coming out of Brandi’s duplex. He should have gone in and killed that old biddy when he saw the curtains move. But he honestly hadn’t believed she could see that far away. How was he to know she regularly used binoculars to watch the comings and goings from all her neighbors’ houses?
He’d seen the sketch on the news. It didn’t look enough like him to have him concerned. It could have been anybody.
Then to have that high-and-mighty hypocrite Robin McKenna tell the cops that he was the man in the sketch. Bad luck. It should never have happened. How that slut was able to make the connection unnerved him, and pissed him off. It was a guess on her part, simply because she didn’t like him. She’d made that perfectly clear right from the beginning.
Robin. He closed his eyes and saw her perfect form take shape. The way she moved onstage. Liquid energy. Smooth, perfect, music in motion. He’d wanted her something fierce. He saw in her eyes something he’d never seen before. An intelligence and knowledge that mirrored his. She was better than this, better than a stripper, and she knew it. Her self-confidence rivaled his. Her poise and elegance. Everything about Robin McKenna was a dream dance, an act, an image she wanted to show. Just like him. All he wanted was for her to touch him. Why didn’t she see that they were the same?
But instead of joining him, she’d turned against him. Long before she identified his sketch for the police, she turned on him. Told Bethany he was dangerous. A year before he killed the girl, Robin was warning her.
Smart, cold bitch.
He’d been set up. He hadn’t killed Robin’s pathetic roommate, yet he’d been convicted for that murder as well.
How did he know the bitch herself hadn’t knocked off her roommate to frame him? She’d wanted him out of the picture so badly. And she was cold and heartless enough to kill, of that Theodore was certain. They were two of a kind, and before he was done with Robin McKenna, she would recognize that fact.
He had his list, and he would take care of each person on it in due time. Blood was thicker than water, and he had a score to settle.
His sister should never have testified against him. She would suffer for her betrayal. Robin could wait. Watch him take his revenge on others first. She’d know he was coming for her. She’d know and that fear would fester deliciously under her flawless skin.
He smiled at the thought of Robin cowering in the corner. Waiting for him to come and put her out of her misery. Because he would. And he would not be merciful.
Jenny Olsen slouched into the living room with a tray of food. She was a fat bitch, might have been pretty if she didn’t look like a cow. But she’d been faithfully writing to him in prison these last seven years and she’d told him she’d do anything for him.
He’d called her on it when he showed up on her porch early Sunday morning.
“I hope you like it,” Jenny said, beaming.
Stupid wench.
He tasted the meal. Chicken, rice, carrots, and broccoli. The best meal he’d had in years. Simple, flavorful, home-cooked.
“Delicious,” he said honestly, favoring her with a smile.
She beamed brighter, rubbing her chubby hands together. “Can I get you anything else? A beer maybe?”
“Do you have red wine?” Theodore detested beer, and he dreaded what sort of wine this white-trash female would have on hand, but he hadn’t had a drink in seven years.
Jenny looked worried. “N-no. But I have some Scotch, I think. It was my father’s, before he died.”
“Let’s see it.”
She walked over to the hutch in the dining room. Her small fifties cinderblock house was clean but full of clutter. Knickknacks. Glass figures. Her life, on show for everyone who walked through the door.
Pathetic.
She bent down, fumbled through bottles. She came up with something that actually looked good. “Is this okay?”
“Pour it,” he said.
She did, he sipped. “Not bad.”
He ate and drank, not caring that Jenny watched his every move. She adored him. He could see it in her doe eyes, in her obsequious manner. Wasn’t she the least bit scared? Wasn’t she the least bit concerned that he might kill her?
Theodore wasn’t surprised he’d gotten away yesterday. The only truly hazardous part of the escape was the hour he’d spent in the frigid water of the San Francisco Bay. He’d been victorious partly from luck, partly from intelligence. He’d immediately slipped away from the pack because those other fools were going to get themselves killed or captured. When he finally made it to shore, he’d lucked out that he emerged only yards from a convenience store. Before going to prison, he’d never known how to hot-wire a vehicle, but he’d learned a lot behind bars and it only took him two tries before he successfully stole a truck. He once again felt that familiar jolt of adrenaline, the high from being smart and on the edge.
More good luck was that there was a suitcase in the stolen truck. He pulled out a white T-shirt and wind-breaker. Enough to get rid of his prison duds and look like ordinary Joe Citizen.
Glenn had headed north, then east around the bay, then south down highway 99, because there were more places to stop and hide off the road if necessary. He swapped cars in Fresno, suspecting that the owner of this pickup he had stolen would have reported it missing by that time. Three hours later, he merged onto I-5 near the Grapevine and went over the hill toward L.A. There was no abnormal police presence that he noticed. He stayed just a few miles over the speed limit, drove through the night, and was now only an hour away from his hometown, in the home of Jenny Olsen, one of the many women who had written him in prison. Jenny had said she would do anything for him.
So far, she wasn’t lying.
FOUR
Monday morning Robin arrived at the gun range she’d frequented twice a week for nearly six years. Ten minutes before they opened, she sat in the parking lot, unloaded her weapon, and secured the ammo and gun in a carrying case. For so long, the range had practically been a second home to her. The owner, an ex-cop named Hank Solano, had taught her everything she now knew about guns.
Authorities had recaptured one of the convicts, one had drowned in the San Francisco Bay, but more were still at large. Including Theodore Glenn.
Seven years ago her life exploded. No longer was she anonymous. Her name, photograph, and entire life history had been splashed across the local papers after the murders and during the trial. Two years later she’d bought a building in the gaslamp district-the business owners had worked to change the image by also changing the name from “gaslight” to “gaslamp,” which she didn’t completely understand but went along with it anyway. When she opened The Eighth Sin, the press had done a feature on her.
“FORMER STRIPPER OPENS SEXY NIGHTCLUB.”
It didn’t matter that her girls didn’t strip. It didn’t matter that she had just as many beautiful men on staff as women, or that she was trying something new and innovative, or that she’d gone into the black after two years. All the press cared about was the past. That Robin had been a stripper, that the notorious Theodore Alan Glenn had killed four exotic dancers-her friends, women she cared about-and was given the death penalty.
Glenn’s M.O. was that he had consensual sex with his victims, then later, months after the relationship was over, broke into their homes, tortured, and killed them. Anna had never slept with Glenn, but he killed her anyway.
Читать дальшеИнтервал:
Закладка:
Похожие книги на «Killing Fear»
Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «Killing Fear» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё непрочитанные произведения.
Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «Killing Fear» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.