The other two EMTs extracted Dinah Leach’s body and slammed shut the doors before wheeling her into the hospital.
The remaining EMT pounded once on the ambulance’s roof to let Nicholas know he could take off. ‘Thanks a lot, buddy. Good luck in school. I guess I’ll see ya around when you graduate.’
Nicholas nodded and pressed down his foot against the accelerator. Heart thrumming gleefully in his chest, he pulled away from the absolutely perfect final act of his absolutely perfect first murder.
See me around? Nicholas thought.
Not if you’re lucky, pal. Not if you’re fucking lucky.
PART IV
TROPICAL DEPRESSION
‘Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says: In My wrath I will unleash a violent wind and in My anger hailstones and torrents of rain will fall with destructive fury.’
Book of Ezekiel, chapter 13, verse 13.
CHAPTER 26
Four months after his exquisitely flawless murder of Dinah Leach down in Atlanta, Nicholas Preston sat in his rental car outside the Cuyahoga County Coroner’s Office in Cleveland, Ohio, on a snowy winter’s night, idly thumbing through a slender copy of People magazine while listening to Boy George work his way through a soulful rendition of The Crying Game.
The cover of Nicholas’s magazine featured a very pretty woman about ten years younger than himself. Short blonde hair framed a beautiful face punctuated by a pair of pale blue eyes. Her milky-white skin would have looked right at home in a Noxzema advertisement within the glossy pages of his magazine. A small brown mole sat just above the right side of her mouth. Her lips were thin but kissable – if you were into that kind of thing, which Nicholas most certainly was not.
But Dana Whitestone was a good-looking woman, no two ways about it. Shit, she was almost as beautiful as Annabeth Preston.
Almost as beautiful as Nicholas himself.
According to the article he was reading at the moment, the FBI agent had never been married. He wondered why. Someone as attractive and successful as her should have been hitched years ago. The combination of her youthful good looks and decidedly cerebral nature would have presented quite the catch for most men: a real piece of arm-candy with a highly functioning brain to match.
Nicholas shook his head. Wasn’t any of his business why she’d never gotten married. He was sure she had her reasons. Still, Dana Whitestone was another one of those people who didn’t quite deserve all the publicity she’d been getting lately. For what? For doing her fucking job? So she’d caught a few serial killers over the past couple of years and had bumped her head in a minor plane crash where hardly anybody had died at all. Big goddamn deal. What was all the fuss about?
Nicholas pressed his painted lips together in irritation. It would take more than just a few magazine articles singing her praises as the top law-enforcement official in the country to escape his special list.
Though Dana Whitestone didn’t know it yet, she’d be the one to ultimately ensure Nicholas’s own fame. And Nicholas knew exactly how she’d do it, too. Exactly when she’d do it, as well. His mother had spelled out everything for him in excruciating detail; right down to killing blow. And it was an absolute beauty. A worthy conclusion to this thrilling ride. Pretty soon, Dana Whitestone would know how it would all end, too. Know it until she begged Nicholas to put her out of her misery already and just let sweet, sweet death take her away.
Nicholas narrowed his beautiful eyes when the celebrated FBI agent finally stepped out of the coroner’s office twenty minutes later, punching in a number on her cellphone as she did so. No doubt the dumb bitch was giving yet another interminable interview to the press. He swallowed back the acrid flood of stomach acid that rushed into his mouth as Dana Whitestone gleefully recounted her hopelessly boring story for the billionth goddamn time, grinning like the goddamn Cheshire Cat the entire time.
Big mistake, honey. I’m not the sort of woman you should fuck with. Neither is my mother, for that matter.
Nicholas chuckled softly. He just couldn’t help himself. He was feeling especially catty tonight, no doubt about it. As catty as he’d ever felt in his entire life. And why not? He was looking good tonight. His dress and shoes and jewellery had been selected precisely for the occasion, as had his hair, makeup and underwear – a bright pink Victoria’s Secret thong worn in honour of the late and not-so-great