Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

No . He was not ready to give up on her yet. “It isn’t a betrayal if she doesn’t know she’s yours.” He kept his voice low. Though no one was close enough to hear, he believed Samantha must be able to sense him. How could she not feel the magnetic pull as strongly as he did? Especially now, when he was so close he could almost reach out and take her?

“I can forgive you,” he told her.

He meant it. It wasn’t entirely her fault. He had been remiss, not acting sooner. A woman as beautiful as Samantha would, of course, draw male attention. He’d assumed her unhappiness over her divorce would keep her locked up at home, licking her wounds, until he was ready to come for her. That was a mistake Darwin intended to rectify very soon.

Not yet. Do nothing for now. Just observe. Wise idea, and he followed his own instincts, wondering, as the minutes ticked by, why the pair had not gone up to Samantha’s apartment.

He began to feel hopeful. Perhaps this was not a romantic date. The driver could be a casual acquaintance giving her a lift home.

Then the two of them turned and looked at each other. The exchange was thick with expectation; they stared at each other with raw intensity. He knew the moment to be a critical one when Samantha lifted her hand, appearing poised to reach for the stranger, to draw him close enough to kiss her lush mouth.

Darwin nearly vomited. Unwilling to witness such a thing, he furiously pounded his hand on the steering wheel, hitting, by accident, the horn.

Her hand dropped. The moment had ended.

Good thing for them. His remarkable self-control might not have lasted if he was actually forced to witness the only woman he had ever wanted in the arms of another man. He could possibly withstand knowing it was happening, but he could not be expected to watch.

So drive away.

He reached into the glove compartment instead. Retrieving his silencer-equipped Beretta nine-millimeter handgun, he dropped it on his lap. Just in case.

Leaning forward, over the steering wheel, he craned to see more of the stranger’s car, desperately wanting a glimpse of the license tag. But from here, blocked by the truck, he couldn’t see any lower than the lid of the trunk.

Suddenly, the passenger door ahead of him opened. He sank farther, watching as Samantha stepped out, her beautiful profile washed with illumination from the streetlight.

The driver’s door remained closed. Tsk ing, he whispered, “Not a gentleman, are you? Not seeing a lady to the door. Who knows what dangers might be lurking in the night?”

A good thing he was here to see to Samantha’s well-being.

Darwin ’s spirits-lifted by the thought that his Sam had not invited the driver in-were dashed when the other door opened as well. Watching in dismay, he saw the tall stranger exit and join her on the sidewalk. The man was young, good-looking.

Darwin lifted the gun. Flicked off the safety.

Instead of curling an arm around her slim waist, leading her up the stairs to a night of carnal pleasure, however, the driver bent into the backseat of the car. When he stood, he held a large cardboard box. It appeared hefty; he had to shift it around to ensure a good grip before turning to follow Samantha to her apartment.

“What are you up to?”

There were any number of possibilities. Perhaps this was merely a friend, helping Samantha with a heavy purchase.

At midnight? Doubtful.

A lover, then, bringing sexual devices, toys with which to play, pornographic images to share in her soft bed?

His bile rose again. Holding his breath, Darwin watched as the two of them reached her floor, releasing it with an angry hiss when she beckoned her visitor inside her home, closing the door behind him. Shutting him, and the rest of the world, out.

“One. Two. Three,” he whispered.

In one minute, he would drive away. Staying here, knowing another would be spending the night in Samantha’s arms, was too much for even him.

“Four. Five. Six.”

He fingered the trigger of his Beretta. Maybe he would drive away. Maybe he wouldn’t.

“Seven. Eight. Nine.”

The tension dragged out with every second. By the time he reached forty, one hand was clenched around the grip of the gun. The other clung to the steering wheel. Which way he would go when he said the word sixty , he honestly couldn’t say. It was as undetermined as the random flip of a coin.

At fifty-five, the apartment door opened. His rival stepped out, no longer holding the box. Samantha remained within. They exchanged a few words. No kiss good night. No warm smile. No intimacy. Then the man walked toward the stairs, and Samantha shut the door.

Good girl .

The tension that had pushed him nearly to his breaking point began to ease; his breath returned; his heart took up its regular beat.

Calm, yes. Relieved, too. But he didn’t relax. Nor did his anger dissipate.

Nothing sexual could have happened in the brief time they were inside, and they had not kissed good night. But there had been that moment, that expectant moment in the car when they had almost instinctively leaned toward each other before the sound of his car horn had pushed them apart.

Not lovers… but not long until they will be .

Revolted by the thought, he put the gun down long enough to turn the key in the ignition, then immediately picked it up again. The Beretta heavy and warm in one hand, he flicked a button with the other, sending the passenger-side window on a quick, soundless descent.

The stranger had reached the well-lit stairs, which faced the street, and began to walk down them. He didn’t look back, or even ahead, instead focused on something in his own hand.

Fool not to watch where you’re going .

Slowly pulling out, he let the vehicle drift forward noiselessly, watching every move the stranger made. By the time Darwin pulled his SUV even with the long cement walkway leading to the stairs, his rival was halfway down. One pull of the trigger away. One tiny little pull.

A flip of the coin.

Yes?

No . Samantha might react badly to having someone she knew murdered on her doorstep. She could retreat out of sight, making it impossible to find her again.

He could do nothing.

Frustrated, thwarted, Darwin pushed the button to lift the window, keeping only the lightest pressure on the gas pedal. His headlights off, he was nearly invisible as he rolled quietly through the night, out of range, leaving his prey unaware of how close to death he had come.

“Damn it! Who is he?”

The speculation would drive him mad. He wasn’t accustomed to Samantha varying her routine like this. First last night, her apartment showing no sign of life at two a.m. Now this.

Maybe she wasn’t home at all last night . Perhaps, like tonight, she had been with him , the rival.

Darwin mulled over the idea, suddenly realizing what else about last night had bothered him: her night-light. It hadn’t been on. Not when he had arrived, not when he’d left shortly after two. Every other time he had visited, it had cast soft illumination through her bedroom window.

So. She hadn’t been home at all. She was seeing someone.

He forced himself not to be disappointed in her. It wasn’t her fault. She was vulnerable, lonely. She had been ripe for the picking, and that bastard in the dark sedan had obviously picked.

There was only one thing to do: Find out who the other man was and eliminate him.

How careless he had been to let his impulsive anger drive him away in such a hurry. He might have been able to see the tag as he pulled up to the car. Though he considered going back, he quickly discounted the idea. Not only was it risky to enter the neighborhood again; he was also several blocks away. The interloper was long gone by now.