nothing out of place. Books lined the walls with shelves that appeared to be older antiques. He couldn’t resist doing a walk-through. He walked into the kitchen that sparkled with the latest of stainless-steel appliances. Once again, everything was pristine. It was the bedroom he wanted to see. His cock jumped at the thought of going through her panty drawer. Maybe he’d have some fun with the bitch before he killed her. Something about the woman being so clean was a turn-on. Most of the women he fucked were hookers who could care less about their housekeeping skills. Page was a woman out of his league, and to fuck her would be like conquering the unobtainable. There was a small hallway leading to the bedroom. He opened the door, and another pristine room came into sight. The bed was adjustable with an antique quilt draped over it. The pillows were fluffed and matched the quilt. A large antique dresser caught his eye, and he walked over towards it. There was an antique handmade burr walnut jewelry box placed on an old handmade lace doily. Clearly, the woman had a love for antiques and history. The jewelry box alone was probably worth five-hundred dollars. He opened the trinket box and expected to hear music and see jewelry. Maybe he could steal something as a trophy—just to have a piece of the woman he would soon abduct and defile. There was no music like he’d been expecting, but it was what the box contained that baffled him. There were various types of keys—some modern, some skeleton, and some once again antique. Was this a collection of keys, or did they unlock something? He had seen an artistic painting of keys in her hallway, maybe she was just a key collector. He’d never heard of ‘key kink’ before, but hey, it worked for him. He picked one up and fingered it. It had a number engraved on it—879 like it was the key to a lockbox.
What would Miss. Page Wordsmith have to hide that was so important and secretive it needed a lockbox. Maybe it was her will, some people kept them at the bank in lockboxes for safekeeping. Perhaps it was the book she’d be publishing. Artists were funny about their work, and plagiarism was a threat. She was a good writer, so perhaps she was smart for protecting her job. She seemed to be a woman who was responsible in all areas of her life—a businesswoman. The more he learned about the woman he was stalking, the more intrigued he became. No wonder Mano had fallen head over heels. This was a particular woman—a different breed. He ran his hands over the dresser that probably cost more than he made on a job of taking somebody out. It was polished to a high sheen. She took pride in not only her appearance but her surroundings as well. He’d noticed when he looked in her SUV that it was detailed, and that discipline seemed to affect all areas of her life. He opened the top drawer, and once more was surprised to see a journal with a lock on it. He opened the key box and found a key that looked like it would fit. He opened the treasure of words she kept hidden from the world. Her writings were about the families she’d met in her work overseas. She wrote about her feelings, with an occasional poem or picture she had drawn. The pages dripped with the love she felt for other lands and peoples. For a moment, he felt like she deserved to live. Maybe she was just telling her story and the story of those less fortunate. He slipped the dairy back in the drawer and purposely left it unlocked. He wanted her to know he’d been there without really knowing it for sure. If she feared him, it would connect her to him without her realizing it. Every time she looked over her shoulder, it would be because of him. He opened another drawer, and another wave of scent overcame him from the sachet she had in her panty drawer. He slowly fingered her intimates as his cock grew in his pants. He was captivated. She had various styles of panties—even the cotton ones with dainty yellow flowers on them were sexy. He picked them up and breathed deeply-taking in her scent. They had been next to the most private parts of her body. He thought about ejaculating