Dirty Deeds by Sheri Lewis Wohl Read Free Book Online Page A

matter of time before it all came together. He just hoped it was sooner rather than later. Dusting off the old rifle always brought him pleasure, though he would prefer to do it on his own schedule. This clean-up work, while entertaining, was annoying at the same time. He had things to do, people to see, and places to go.
    Pinpoints of light bounced in the kitchen window like fireflies dancing in the darkness. If he were to guess, he would say they were searching for answers. How exactly did a healthy young woman end up lifeless on the kitchen floor? He knew, and it sent shivers racing up his spine. Good luck with their search for the truth. They would never guess.
    How he'd missed this: the hunt and the kill. Running his hands along the stock of the rifle, he smiled. It felt so good against his palm, both familiar and comforting. It wasn't just a weapon; it was a piece of him, a part of the whole. Once perhaps he could have lived without it, but no longer. Somewhere along the line, he and the gun became part and parcel of each other.
    His fingers itched to bring the rifle back up and to pull the trigger once, twice. He longed to feel again the power over life and death. The temptation was strong. His willpower was even stronger. He would like nothing better than to leave the two interlopers dead and bleeding on the kitchen floor alongside Kendall Stewart. He wouldn't though; he would walk away as he knew he must.
    He would need the other two if he was to gift James McDonald with the final solution. Certainly he was skilled enough to find James on his own. It was safer and more expedient to have Russell and the other McDonald pave the way. For his own safety, he would stay in the shadows, and after all, wasn't this whole clean-up operation done to assure his safety?
    Of course it was, and so now he turned and walked away from the house, the rifle clutched tight to his body in case wandering eyes were paying attention to the tall stranger who sauntered down the street. In the darkness, someone would have a hard time distinguishing what he held close to his side.
    A block away, his car was parked beneath yet another of the tall maple trees. One of the things he liked about this part of the city was the ubiquitous maples that were tall, large and excellent for cover.
    At the car, he laid the rifle on the rear seat and covered it with a navy blanket. Sliding in behind the wheel, he turned the key and the engine started with a purr. He whistled softly as he drove down the quiet street. The traffic was light and the traffic signals favored him with a parade of green. Yet another sign he was on the right path. Life was good.
    Back at home, he sat down at the long workbench he'd built across the north end of his garage. He took the rifle apart, piece by piece, and cleaned it just as he had a hundred other times. He loved everything about the process from the feel of the metal against his fingertips to the smell of the oil on the soft cloth and brushes. He closed his eyes as he worked, seeing the weapon in his mind, feeling the shape and texture of each piece with his fingers. It had started as a game when he was a kid, a bet with his father that he, of course, won. That talent had served him well throughout the years.
    His fingers moved with the caress of a lover over the stock, the barrel, the sight. Within minutes, the cleaned rifle was reassembled. He opened his eyes and smiled. Beautiful. Perfect. Just like his plan.
    "Soon," he said into the silence, the rifle pressed to his cheek. "Soon."
    * * * *
    An hour later, Paul sat across from Louie at the downtown Perkins restaurant, explaining how he came to be at Kendall Stewart's house. He'd called his parents to talk, and that he'd been surprised to discover Jamie not only had a girlfriend but had been dating her for almost two years was an understatement. He was also stunned that his parents never so much as mentioned it to him. Why not? What did they think he'd do if he knew? After