he admitted. "I'm not."
Although he could tell she'd been expecting his admission, the tightening of 179
her mouth told him she was disappointed. "Then I guess we should say good-night," she said and walked him to the door.
Malcolm had never gone inside Mary's house. Not until now. In the past, he'd contented himself with skulking about the shrubberies and peeking in the windows. He hadn't wanted to blow his cover until he felt sure he'd be welcomed.
He'd stuck to the plan, and the plan was to woo her back, to set up their future together.
But now that he knew she was working with Sebastian, and probably had been from the beginning, plans had changed. She'd found out he was still alive.
And she couldn't be trusted.
It was time they met, time they came to terms with the past and the present, and who did what to whom. He'd thought he'd be able to wait for the meeting Sebastian and Mary had been trying to arrange. Turning the tables so perfectly really appealed to him. He'd imagined the scene so often.... But then he'd realized that Mary wouldn't show up at any meeting. Sebastian would come alone. And they'd only schedule it for a public place, where he couldn't do anything because there'd be witnesses. He had to get to Mary while he could, in a setting he controlled--make her tell him where Sebastian was.
A noise from the street caused him to pause in the open doorway. What was that? He cocked his head to listen. He would've thought it was Marcie, screaming for help from inside his van, but he'd parked it three blocks away. And he'd gagged her to keep her quiet.
Several seconds passed and there was only silence. Satisfied that what he'd heard had been a neighbor's dog, a car backfiring on J Street half a block over, or some other irrelevant noise, he dropped the lock-picking tools he'd just used in their felt pouch and returned them to his coat pocket. Then he adjusted his surgical gloves and closed the door. He'd chosen to enter through the front because that was the way he'd always hoped to come over, as a guest at first--and then, eventually, the owner, the patriarch of the family, Mary's husband. He'd also chosen the front because it was the boldest approach, and he was making a statement here: Sebastian would never get the best of him.
The plastic bags he'd used to cover his shoes swished as he walked across the living room, but he wasn't worried about a little creak or rustle. This was an old home, the kind of place that made a lot of settling noises. Midtown wasn't the best 180
neighborhood for kids, but the area had undergone a revival since downtown Sacramento had become a place to live as well as work. He could understand why Mary had kept the house after she and her husband split. It was small, but with its plaster walls, hardwood floors, arched doorway connecting the living room to the dining room, and steps that led from the dining room to a study alcove, all of which he'd seen many times through the window, the house possessed a cozy sort of Norman Rockwell charm. And it was practical. She worked at Sutter Hospital, only a few blocks away.
Tonight, it was too dark to see the details. A sliver of moon hung in the sky outside, but fog blocked even that. Afraid he'd betray his presence by bumping into the furniture or breaking something fragile, he turned on the flashlight he'd brought and angled it around the room.
This was a nice place, all right, certainly nicer than the dumps he'd lived in after blowing most of Emily's money.
"We could've shared this," he muttered. "But you traded it all away."
Was it because he'd been unfaithful to her when they were in high school? If so, what a hard-hearted bitch. He wouldn't want to get with anyone who could hold a grudge for that long, anyway. He'd already explained to her. He'd been a dumb kid, thinking with his dick instead of his brain, just like he'd said. And he'd paid the price for it, hadn't he? Although he and Mary had tried to get back together a few times afterward, things were never as good as before. Otherwise, they might've gone to the same college, as they'd once planned. And they might've gotten married. Then he wouldn't have married his first wife, who'd turned out to be the biggest shrew he'd ever met, always complaining about her emotional needs and how they weren't being met. That hadn't lasted long. He'd gotten out as soon as possible.
Spotting a family picture, Malcolm crossed to the buffet to take a better look. There was Mary with a tall dark man and her two boys. Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled back and she was smiling the same broad smile he remembered from high school. He loved her gorgeous smile. She really hadn't changed much.
She still had the same clear skin, the big brown eyes, the upturned nose.
"How could you be so cruel?" he asked as he gazed down at her.
Had Sebastian purposely ingratiated himself? For some reason, women couldn't seem to resist Emily's ex. They didn't see how autocratic and overbearing he was. They didn't see the way he constantly challenged those around him.
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He'd probably shown up here, talking slick and flashing his money. Mary was certainly the type to be impressed by some big spender from New York City.
She'd told him how cheap her ex-husband was.
Snapping off the flashlight, Malcolm moved toward the back of the house.
Now that he'd familiarized himself with the obstacles he might encounter, there was no need to press his luck by using the flashlight. But before he killed Mary, he wanted to see her boys, to look down at them in their beds as he might've done had he become their stepfather. He couldn't believe that while he'd been planning to become a good companion to her, she'd been trying to trick him--but it was right there, in almost every e-mail. She'd pressed him for his location, pretended she was still in love, even used his desire for her against him.
She'd made a fool of him, and nothing infuriated him more.
Judging by the number of doors branching off the hallway, there were two bedrooms and one bath in the house. A radio or a TV had been left on. He could hear the low rumble as he drew closer to the end of the hall. It helped to mask the creak of his footsteps.
The first bedroom wasn't the one with the TV. That room belonged to the boys. Even if a night-light hadn't revealed the children sleeping in twin beds that took up most of the space, Malcolm would've known it wasn't Mary's by the smell.
Stale sweat from the sports jerseys, clothes, tennis shoes and cleats scattered on the floor competed with male cologne. The combination wasn't a stench so much as it was a distinctive, familiar odor. It reminded him of Colton. His room had smelled the same way--of boy.
Why had he even
considered
taking on the responsibility of raising two more kids. Stepparenting was a thankless job. Colton had hated him almost as much as Sebastian had. They constantly united against him. Even Emily had taken their side more often than not.
But he'd dealt with her. He'd deal with Mary, too. And then Sebastian. Heck, he had several hours until dawn. Why not kill the whole family? That would make her regret what she'd done, wouldn't it? That would hurt her as much as she'd hurt him. And then Sebastian would die knowing that his meddling had caused the loss of three lives, two of them children.
The older boy somehow had most of the younger boy's blankets. He was using two comforters while his brother was uncovered and curled into a ball to ward off the cold.
Typical,
Malcolm thought as he stood over the bed. The younger 182
brother never had a chance. That was how it'd been in his family, too. Jack had taken more than his share of everything, especially their parents' love and attention.
Malcolm blew out a sigh. Mary cared more about these boys than she did about anyone or anything else. Should he march them into her room and kill them in front of her?
It'd be easier if he had his gun, he decided. Quick. Lethal. One shot and it would all be over, just like with Emily and Colton.
But he couldn't use a gun. It was too loud and the ballistics tests would reveal too much. He had to use a knife. Did he have the nerve to murder two children he'd never even met, especially with a knife? The rage he felt certainly tempted him. Malcolm responded. He wants to know what's in the package, but he didn't leave an address. I'll reply, see if I can get it out of him.... She'd taken away the one positive aspect of his life, the one thing that had kept him going over the past few months since the money ran out. After being fired from yet another job as a security guard for a large commercial complex in downtown Los Angeles, he'd come to Sacramento to start over--again. Mary had been his promise that this time he'd finally build a new life, just as he'd planned ever since leaving Jersey.
But she'd ruined it for him. Sacramento wouldn't be the answer. He'd have to move elsewhere, try to get on with another crappy security company, assume another alias--but not until he'd finished his business here. Not until he'd put an end to Mary and Sebastian and knew for sure that there was no one left--other than Pam Wartle--who had any idea he was alive. Only then could he truly forget the past. Only then could he really move on.
He could kill the kids, he assured himself. He'd do it in front of Mary. But not until he'd had the chance to confront her....
Slipping out of the boys' room, he approached the door at the end of the hall and paused to listen to the TV droning behind it. Was she awake and watching a program as he liked to do? Or had she fallen asleep with the TV on?
He was about to find out, about to see the woman he'd loved since he was sixteen years old. Maybe he'd tell her she could save herself and her children by having sex with him. He'd threaten her, tell her not to make a sound while he forced her to deliver on all the false promises she'd made. She owed him that much, didn't she? Then he'd kill the children, saving her for last, clean up any evidence he might've left behind and slip away.
Too bad her first glimpse of him would include overalls, a hairnet, gloves 183
and plastic bags over his feet. Dressed this way, he certainly couldn't compete with the stylish, debonair Sebastian Costas. But he couldn't compete with him, anyway.
At least Mary would be scared. She'd be terrified, and that was all that mattered.
He'd teach her that he was no fool, he thought, and went into her room.
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Seventeen
S
ebastian was so tired he almost fell into bed without checking to see if Malcolm was online. For once, he didn't want to get involved in a conversation.
His time with Jane had left him even more unsettled than after she'd lowered her skirt and walked out this morning. Why? What was it about her? His feelings were so confused--a mix of commiseration, identification, admiration, lust. Even disgust for what she'd done with Oliver's brother. He knew it would be easier not to think about her if he could sink into unconsciousness for a few hours. After all the late nights, he needed a break.
But force of habit had him booting up his computer while he brushed his teeth.
He opened his own e-mail first. Mary had IMed him from her account around midnight. Hey, you there? You up?
He checked to see if she was still on and got no response, so he read his e-mails. His mother had sent him a message, letting him know she'd couriered the handwriting sample. His boss from Lincoln Hawke had also sent him a message.
When are you coming back? There's a great opportunity here for you, perfect for someone who wants to get away. It's in Hong Kong.
He was hearing from Bill Masters more and more often. His boss had been understanding to begin with, but now he was getting impatient. He didn't want to lose one of his most successful investment specialists, and had repeatedly said that Sebastian could make it even in today's banking environment. But Sebastian wasn't remotely tempted to accept an assignment in Hong Kong. He felt as if he'd been living in a foreign place ever since Malcolm killed Emily and Colton.
After rinsing out his mouth, he thanked his mother and wrote a polite response to Masters, telling him he needed a little more time. Then he logged into Mary's e-mail account. He didn't see a message from Malcolm, but he knew she'd been using the account earlier. She'd IMed him from it. So he opened the Old Mail file to see what had happened in his absence.
185
He found nothing from Malcolm, or Wesley as he called himself, in Old Mail, either. But something stood out that seemed very strange. Mary had received an e-mail from
[email protected].
He didn't have an account at that address, and he doubted Mary knew someone else with his name and had failed to mention it.
What was going on? A trickle of fear ran through him as he read the message.
Hey, any word from Malcolm?
There was no signature, nothing but that one line.
The dread kicking up his heartbeat increased as he opened Mary's Sent folder and saw that she'd replied.
Malcolm responded. He wants to know what's in the package, but he didn't leave an address. I'll reply, see if I can get it out of him, okay?
Sleep tight. I'm glad you got to bed early for once.
Mary
Who'd sent the first message?
And who'd received the reply?
Sebastian's muscles tensed as he realized who the likely culprit was.
Malcolm was on to them. He had to be. The sneaky bastard had figured out a way to see if they were in communication with each other, and because they'd been out of touch tonight, it had worked.
His pulse racing, Sebastian checked the time on Mary's message. She'd sent it at 12:08 a.m., presumably right before she went to bed. Several hours had passed since then. It was after two when he and Jane had finished at the casinos. What time was it now?
His eyes flicked to the bottom right of his monitor--3:15.
With a curse, he called Mary's house. He had to find out if she was okay.
And if she was, he needed to warn her that the jig was up. This changed everything....
The phone rang several times.
"Answer, please answer." He could hardly hear above the rush of blood in his ears, but he was fairly sure the voice that finally came on wasn't a live one. A 186