Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

She had not been ignoring him at all. Samantha had simply not been awake to read his messages and realize he’d opened the most important line of communication of her entire life.

How wonderful it had been to sit outside in the night, studying her bedroom window. It hadn’t been the first time, though he wasn’t foolish enough to become a frequent visitor to this neighborhood. He satisfied his craving once a week at most.

On one occasion last summer, he had seen her moving behind the gently billowing sheers as she prepared for sleep behind an open window. He’d held his breath as her silhouette was spotlighted by the bedroom lamp before she’d flicked it off. And had continued to hold it when she moved even closer to the window to turn on the small night-light plugged in directly beneath it.

How nice that he no longer had to wonder what that night-light looked like. It was colorful, stained-glass, delicate. Closing his eyes, he could see it, as well as the pretty jewelry box on her dresser and the framed sunflower print on the wall. He remembered the softness of her bed, the shape of each pillow.

His familiarity with everything in her apartment added depth and texture to his nighttime visions as he sat outside and pictured what she was doing.

Fortunately, she had gone to spend the night Christmas Eve at her mother’s home. Because Darwin had then been able to spend his Christmas Eve indulging in a thorough overnight exploration of Samantha’s.

He had often pictured her in bed, her golden hair against the cream-colored linens, her face softly lit by the glow from the night-light. Imagining climbing inside, surprising her awake, he hadn’t known which he would want to do first: converse with her about philosophy or fuck her until she sobbed.

His body had stirred at the possibility. He had never been a man overpowered by physical needs or messy lusts. But with her, it was different. He wanted her mind, wanted to bend it, even to the point of breaking, if he had to, until her thoughts matched his own.

He also, however, wanted her body. Wanted to bend it to the point of breaking as well, if only he could satisfy the unrelenting craving he’d felt for her for so long.

“Soon,” he whispered, still smiling. “Now that we’ve begun I will most definitely be ‘sticking around.’ ”

Closer than she’d ever imagined. He’d already begun inserting himself in her life in ways she could not even comprehend. Preparing for the inevitable, when he’d have to strip away the dregs who kept her down: her friends, her family, all who prevented her from reaching her fullest potential.

“Not much longer,” he reminded himself, frustrated that he could not reply to her, not yet, anyway. Certainly not from here.

But perhaps it was fortunate after all. She’d kept him waiting; now he’d give her a taste of the same frustration. Let her think about Darwin, grow more interested in him. Until she was almost aching with curiosity by the time he came back around.

“Perfect,” he mused, liking the visual.

It wasn’t as if he had nothing else to do today. Already nearly two-he had preparations to make. Though he had originally intended to dangle his little telephone operator friend for another week or so, he had decided to free himself of that encumbrance. Wendy Cramer was a distraction. Furthermore, she was a loose end.

Not for much longer. The plan for her disposal was in place. While off-site this morning, he had contacted her and set it in motion. Once that was done, he could clear his mind and give all of himself to Samantha. He would be free to reach out to her, to put her out of the torment she would be feeling after a full day of his silence. And he would be so close when he did it.

How fortuitous for him that both women lived in the same city. He could kill two birds with one stone.

Well, literally speaking, only one bird would die tonight.

A bird . He chuckled under his breath at his own wit. Because how his little Wendy was going to fly. She just didn’t know it yet.

Anticipation lifting his spirits, he quickly tidied his desk, removing every item, every bit of paper, until it was entirely bare, as he liked it. His step held a jaunty bounce as he walked to the closet to retrieve his coat, and he couldn’t recall a time when he’d felt more certain about what he was doing.

It was all coming together. Things were truly starting to happen. Tonight, he would reach out to Samantha Dalton again, and continue with his two-part plan.

Teach her. Then take her.

Nothing.

An entire day in a cramped, musty conference room with visible dust motes filling every breath of air, and they had heard absolutely nothing from the unsub they were trying to engage.

What a complete waste of time.

Alec did his best to hide his frustration and his impatience. Samantha had done everything she’d been asked to do and had cooperated fully. The last thing he wanted was for her to think the failure of their plan was in any way her fault. This had been his idea, and the responsibility belonged squarely on his shoulders.

“He posted late last night,” she said, hiding a yawn that punctuated her weariness. They had sent out for lunch, and taken only brief breaks from chairs about as comfortable as park benches. “Maybe he’s a shift worker; he might not even be home from work yet.”

That was a possible explanation, and one he’d already thought of. But it didn’t offer much solace. “Trust me, from what we know about him, he doesn’t sound like a blue-collar shift worker pulling the noon-to-eight. I believe he’s a professional, an executive even. Someone used to power and being in charge. Someone who enjoys controlling other people and has gone from managing their jobs to managing their deaths.”

She blinked, thinking about it, then said, “Don’t give up; it’s still possible. Okay, so he’s a nine-to-fiver, a professional. But if he’s an executive, he works late. And if he’s a commuter and there’s an accident, he could still be sitting on a highway with all the other poor slobs running the rat race.” A slight hint of irony in her voice, she added, “Or maybe he’s home playing perfect husband to an unsuspecting wife, waiting for her to get busy doing something else so he can sneak out and do his nasty laptop business.”

The comment interested him, given everything else he knew about her, especially the golf club-versus-laptop incident she’d mentioned earlier. In other circumstances, he might have asked her about it.

Besides which, she was right. Something like that could have prevented the Professor from returning. Maybe his damn laptop was broken, too.

There were, however, a few other, less comforting possibilities. For instance, maybe Darwin wasn’t the Professor after all.

He is . Alec truly believed it.

Still, maybe their unsub wasn’t interested enough to come back and hadn’t even realized she’d responded. His posting could have been a one-time thing, a break from the boredom of not killing anyone last night.

At least, they hoped he hadn’t killed anyone last night.

There was also a chance he was suspicious about something in Sam’s responses. So far, she had addressed him twice. They had come up with a reason for her to bring him into the conversation again at around five o’clock, after several hours had gone by without any acknowledgment about the first posting. It hadn’t been hard. Her regular visitors had had a lot to say about Darwin ’s comments. Not to mention the lack of heat in Sam’s response.

Hell. Maybe they’d misfired. They’d wanted him to engage in a debate with someone who disagreed with him, without enraging him toward Sam. Who, as she’d admitted, wouldn’t be too hard to find if he got angry enough to look.