Karen Rose - Count to Ten

And became instantly aware of two things. There were no flowers in this room. And there was only one person in the bed. A young woman, not more than twenty-five. A spear of panic went through him. He had the wrong room. Run .

But the woman opened her eyes and opened her mouth to scream. He was too quick. Too powerful. He yanked her head back as he already had once that evening. He held the knife at her throat. "You will not scream. Do you understand?"

She nodded, a whimper of terror escaping.

"What's your name?"

"N-N-Niki Markov. Please…"

His hand tightened in her hair. "What room number is this?"

"I-I don't kn-know." He yanked harder and she let out another whimper. "I can't remember. Please. I have two kids. Please don't hurt me."

His blood was pumping, pounding in his head as he fought to contain the sudden rush of fury. Damn women.

None of them stayed with their kids. "If you have two kids, you should be home"-he yanked again-"with your two kids." He switched on a light and looked at the phone. The room number was the right one. "When did you get here?"

"T-tonight. Please, I'll do whatever you want. Please don't hurt me."

They were gone. Goddammit they were gone. He'd missed them. Fury bubbled. Boiled. Spilled over, eating like acid. "Come on," he snarled. She stumbled when he dragged her toward the bathroom.

"Please," she was sobbing now, hysterical.

He yanked at her hair, bringing her up on her toes. "Shut up." Another whimper crawled from her throat. He couldn't ruin any more clothes, he thought. But he couldn't let her live. She'd tell. He'd be caught. Which was not going to happen.

So he pushed her in the tub, held the tip of the knife to her throat as he turned on the shower, full blast, which was really a piss poor trickle- He grabbed her hair again, twisting her to her stomach. Then he pulled the knife across her throat savagely.

And stood, watching as the trickle carried all her blood down the drain.

As her blood drained, his rushed. Rage seethed until he trembled from the force of it. He'd been denied his satisfaction. He'd been robbed of his revenge.

The Doughertys had managed to elude him once again. He'd find out where they went but he was running out of time. His jaw clenched as he waited for the woman in the tub to bleed out. He'd had plenty of time, until the cops showed up.

Because of Brooke Adler. Because of her stupidity, he would be discovered. It was a matter of time. He didn't have the Doughertys, but by God. he'd have his satisfaction.

He still had three eggs in his backpack and he be damned before he let them spoil.

First, he needed to take care of this one. If he left her here, she'd be discovered by noon tomorrow. The police weren't so stupid not to make the connection between a dead woman who just happened to occupy the Doughertys' old room and a dead woman who just happened to occupy the Doughertys' empty house. She had to go.

He could drag her out, but she was big enough to make it awkward. So he'd have to make her smaller. He held his knife under the miserly stream of water and washed it clean before testing it against his thumb. Good. It was still sharp enough for what he needed to do.

Thursday, November 30, 3:10 A.M.

"What the hell are you doing?" Startled, Brooke looked up from the computer. Her roommate stood in the hall, her iPod in her hand. "It's three a.m.," Roxanne said.

"I don't know what to do," Brooke murmured.

Roxanne sighed. "You can't do any more tonight, Brooke. Go to sleep."

"I tried. I can't. All I can think of are bills and loans and debts. I can't sleep."

Roxanne's expression softened in sympathy. "It'll be okay. You'll find another job."

"I don't think so. I've been searching all night. There's nothing open around here."

"You'll find something. Now go to bed, Brooke. You'll just make yourself sick with worry and then you really won't be able to find a job."

"You're right. I know you're right. But without a recommendation from Bixby, it's going to be close to impossible to find anyone who'll even consider me."

"I still think you should sue the bastard, no matter what Devin's lawyer friend thinks."

Devin had called his lawyer friend from Fiannagan"s, but the friend had told him that her claim would be hard to prove and it would take a long time. She didn't have a long time. She only had forty-two dollars in the bank. "I might. But that doesn't help me now. I'm almost broke." She closed her eyes. "You may need to find another roommate."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. I've got to get to sleep. Bach's lullabies work. You should try it." Pressing the earphones to her ears, she headed to her room.

It'll take more than Bach to relax me , Brooke thought. She went into the kitchen and found the brandy she saved for special occasions. It wasn't gourmet, but it was strong enough to do the trick. She downed a glass, then poured herself another and sat at the kitchen table. She sipped at the second glass, despair overwhelming.

She had no money. She couldn't call her parents. They were living on next to nothing as it was. Hate surged. Bixby was a bastard. I did nothing wrong . She gulped more brandy, bitterly resigned. It didn't matter. She'd be out of a job just the same.

She wasn't sure how long she'd sat brooding when she heard it.

Click . She looked up, trying to place the noise. Then walked to the kitchen doorway to stare at the front door. It was opening. With a key. Somebody has my key .

Call 911 . Where was the cordless? She stumbled to the counter, pulled a butcher knife from the block. Oh God . She ran to the living room. Where was the phone ?

Then her mouth fell open as the man came through the door. He held a knife. Recognition was instantaneous, but she had no time to even say his name before his hand flattened over her mouth and he twisted her wrist. Her butcher knife fell to the floor.

Eyes wide with horror, she saw the metal of his long, thin blade before it swept down and pressed against her throat. He's going to kill me . She struggled and the blade pressed a little harder. Abruptly she stopped struggling and he chuckled.

The hand left her mouth, but the knife continued to press and a stifled sob rose in her throat. "I've cut two throats wide open tonight," he said. "Say one word and I'll make it three." He yanked, making her walk on her toes to her bedroom. He threw her down on the bed, drove his knee into her ribs and shoved a ball of cloth into her mouth.

She fought him when he grabbed one wrist and tied it to her headboard, then cried out when he slammed his fist into her jaw. But her cry was muted, she could barely hear it herself. He leaned into her body with his knee, tying her other wrist.

"You've ruined my work, Brooke," he hissed in her face. His eyes were wild, crazy. He couldn't be the same man she knew. But he was. "Now I'll have no time to finish and you'll pay for that. I told you to let it go, but you wouldn't listen. You'll listen now."

He came to his feet and she kicked, hoping to make a noise Roxanne would hear. He bent to his backpack and when he straightened, he held a pipe wrench in his hand.

No ! She screamed it, but nobody heard. When the first blow struck she moaned. With the second she wished she was dead. With the third, she knew she would be.

Grimly satisfied, he zipped the used condom in a baggie, just as he'd done with Penny Hill. He recalled when he took her how her eyes had glazed over from the pain and halfway through she'd closed them, robbing him of the pleasure of seeing her suffering.

He stood over her, sweat dripping down his face. He slapped her cheeks hard and a muffled moan escaped her throat. Good. She was still conscious. He wanted to be sure she had felt everything he did to her, and that she heard every word. "You ruined my work. I may never get my justice. So tonight you'll take her place."