Vendetta in Death (In Death #49) - J. D. Robb Page 0,41
her cheek. “Because I can. Because you deserve it!”
She slashed the prod across his abdomen, watched him convulse, watched his naked body jerk and sway. “You’ve really worked on that six-pack, haven’t you, Thaddeus? Gotta stay in shape to screw all your whores.”
Sweat and blood ran down his face, piss down his legs. “Please stop. Please. I can pay you, anything you want. I have money. I have plenty of money. I can—”
“Do you?” Rage burned through her like a brushfire. “Where did you get all that money, you cheating, lying, thieving son of a bitch?”
All but shrieking it, she slashed, slashed with the prod, until his screams no longer sounded human, until those screams broke into wild sobs.
She had to walk away to compose herself. This wasn’t to be done out of anger, she reminded herself, not out of hot fury, but cold-blooded justice.
“Confess. Admit you’re worthless. Admit you’re a liar. A cheat. Admit you cheated and stole from your wife, a woman who loved and trusted you. Admit you cheat now on the whore you took over your vows.”
She jerked his head up. “Admit all that, and I’ll stop. I’ll let you go.”
“Anything.” His head lolled to the side, so she gave him a light, almost teasing flick with the prod.
“Say it. Confess!”
“I confess!”
“To what, Thaddeus? Say it, say it all.”
“I— Tell me what to say. Please, I’ll do anything.”
“Say you’re worthless.”
“I’m worthless.”
His head lolled again so she had to give him a good slash with the prod across his cheek. His scream tore the air like claws.
She didn’t mind a bit.
“Say you’re a cheat.”
“I’m a cheat.”
The words, barely audible, garbled, pleased her.
“A liar.”
“Yes, yes, a liar.” A fit of coughing had him gasping for air. “Please, I need water. Please, have mercy.”
“A thief. Say it, say it!” She shouted the words like triumph. “You’re a thief. A cheating, lying thief who stole from his wife to live on her money with a whore.”
“I—I stole from my wife.”
“You cheated on her, lied to her, stole from her, tossed her aside like she was nothing. Say it all!”
He struggled and wept his way through it.
She walked away again as he hung limp, half-conscious. And brought back the bucket and the knife.
“Now say her name. The name of the woman you betrayed.”
“Darla,” he mumbled. He opened his swollen eyes. “Please let me go. You said you’d let me go.”
“I did, didn’t I? Say her name again. Loudly, clearly.”
“Darla.”
She smiled at him. “Look at me now. Look right at me. Guess what, Thaddeus. I lied.”
She used the knife.
* * *
Eve’s communicator jolted her out of sleep. As she groped for it, Roarke ordered the lights on at ten percent.
“Block video. Dallas.”
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. The mutilated body of an adult male at 26 Vandam, probable connection to previous homicide. Officers on scene.
“Acknowledged. On my way. Contact Peabody, Detective Delia. Dallas, out.”
She leaped out of bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
While the cat complained, she sprinted into the bathroom, into the shower. Thirty seconds later, she stepped out as Roarke handed her a mug of coffee, then stepped in.
“I’m going with you.”
“There’s no need for—”
“I’m with you.”
Rather than argue, she hit the drying tube, gulping coffee as the warm air swirled.
Moving fast, she hurried to her closet, grabbed clothes at random. Since it was easiest, she went with black all the way.
By the time she strapped on her weapon harness, Roarke buckled his belt—and managed to look elegant in black jeans and a thin, steel gray sweater.
“I’ll drive, and you can check who lives at 26 Vandam.”
She didn’t argue there, either. As she strode out of the room, Galahad gave them a glare with his bicolored eyes, yawned, then rolled over and went back to sleep.
Eve started the search while she jogged downstairs, grabbed her coat on the fly.
“I’ve got a Thaddeus Pettigrew and a Marcella Horowitz—single-family residence. Male DOB means that’s him if it’s the resident. He owns the house.”
As Roarke had already remoted her vehicle from the garage, it slowed to a stop as they walked outside in the dark, the chill.
He got behind the wheel, ordered two black coffees from the in-dash AC. Eve downed more coffee while he punched it toward the gates. Rather than wait for them to open, he hit vertical.
“I’m checking to see if I can find a connection—personal, business—with McEnroy. If this does connect, one way or the other, she’s killed two in two days. That’s fast work. Fast work.”