Page 42 of Intoxicating Pursuit

She sat her naked bottom on Sammy’s office chair and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. It was always nice to leave your host a thank you note, right? Using big capital letters, she scrawled quickly, digging the pen into the paper.

YOU FUCK HIM IN HIS BED. I FUCK SOMEONE IN YOURS. GET AWAY FROM HIM OR LIVE IN FEAR, YOU CUNT!

She placed Oscar’s sticky, disgusting condom on top of the note, folded it in half, and slid it under a file folder in the desk drawer, leaving a little corner peeking out.

Would that do it? She did want it to be found soon.

Looking around the desk for a moment, she saw something the little love-starved woman couldn’t resist. She plucked the pink highlighter from a cup of pens and colored a big pink heart on the exposed corner of the paper.

She could just see the pathetic bitch finding it, drawn to that stupid pink heart like a fly to a pile of shit.

Claudia shut the desk door, put the pink highlighter back on the desk, and continued to search the room. Checking for anything useful, she hunted through the rest of the drawers, the bedside tables, and Oscar’s backpack—

Oh my God! Jackpot!

Her heart racing, she pulled on her clothes, tucked the best treasures in her pockets, and sprinted down the stairs.

***

O scar inched back into Sammy’s empty kitchen and listened intently, keeping as still as startled prey. Faint noises reverberated from the walls. The cellar stairs creaked and popped. It could just be the sounds of the house. He hadn’t learned them yet.

“Claudia?” Oscar’s low, rumbling voice echoed in the space.

She didn’t answer.

Other than the kitchen, the first floor was unlit, and Oscar gripped his pistol tightly. “Claudia, I’ve got my Sig drawn. Don’t do anything stupid!”

Still nothing.

Oscar eased his way into the dining room and flicked on the lights.

Empty.

Shadows swallowed the family room beyond.

He swept his gun in a wide arc and raised his voice. “Claudia, answer me, damnit! Where are you?” He stepped to the window, lifted the blinds, and surveyed the dark street.

Her car was gone.

Oscar shoulders slumped. Way too close. Such an idiot.

He tucked the gun in its holster and trudged back upstairs, with the leaden gait of a body suddenly drained of adrenaline.

Collapsing into Sammy’s desk chair, he logged into his laptop. He confirmed the camera feeds were still working and watched recent recordings flash through the screen. Claudia appeared in hyper-exposed, night-vision images, dashing down the porch steps and driving away.

Definitely gone .

He deleted the clip and went through the last few hours’ footage, erasing anything incriminating.

With that done, Oscar finally examined his surroundings, realizing how many things looked out of place. Sammy’s dresser drawers hung ajar, and his backpack was splayed open. His jacket lay discarded on the floor.

God damnit.

He racked his brain. What had he stored up here? He felt the Sig in his waistband, then hustled to the bedside table and yanked the drawer open. His wallet was still there, but were his credit cards? His ID? He leafed through the billfold, found the contents intact. He located his passport next.

What else? He walked back to the dresser, picked up his watch and slid it on.

He surveyed the flat surfaces in the room. Had he left anything else up here? Prescriptions? His tablet? Had he brought his second piece?

Oscar’s skin went cold. Holy shit!

Oscar ripped open every compartment of his backpack and tore through his jacket’s inner pockets.

No Glock.

Is it still in Oregon?

He usually traveled with both guns, but this was supposed to be a quick trip—out and back. He barely brought a change of clothes.

If they were still at Gabe’s, maybe Lucy and Charlie could check his duffle.

No. No way.

They would lose all respect for him if they thought he couldn’t keep track of his firearms.

Had he stashed it? Oscar scavenged the room, rummaging through shelves and cabinets. He was furious with himself, and downright livid with Claudia. That psychotic witch!

Wrist-deep in Sammy’s desk drawer, his fingers struck slime. He pulled out the pink-heart note, still oozing with DNA. When he peeled it open, his condom slid down the insane scrawl of Claudia’s handwriting.

His world shifted.

Harmless? He’d thought she was harmless?

The dominoes tumbled through his mind.

She’d implicated both of them. She was crazier than a rabid, shit-house rat!

A horrible thought surfaced through his shocked fury. Just because Claudia had left the house didn’t mean she would stay gone. And if she had his Glock. . . Fuck !

His heart jackhammering, Oscar flew back downstairs. He burst onto the front porch and stalked the lawn.

Claudia’s car was nowhere to be seen, and the street was quiet.

Oscar considered resuming his stakeout on the porch swing, but Claudia could be anywhere. She could slip through a side yard for all he knew.

Oscar crept down the dark driveway toward the carriage house and peeked through the moon of windows on Kate’s door. She was lounging in a recliner, reading by the light of a dim lamp. He gently tested the knob.

Still locked.

He backed away and checked his phone, reviewing the camera activity from the last quarter hour. Claudia hadn’t reentered the property since he’d wiped the recordings.

Oscar lit a cigarette and took a few drags, mentally scrounging for options. The glowing edge burned halfway to the filter before he resigned himself to the consequences of his shitty judgment.

There would be no sleep tonight.

He went inside and grabbed a throw pillow and afghan from the couch before exiting the back door again.

A decrepit chaise sat on the patio, and he scraped it across the concrete until it blocked Kate’s door.

He laid it almost flat, then settled his considerable frame on it for the night, stubbing out his dead cigarette and lighting another.

Oscar breathed the nicotine deeply and blew out thin, curling trails of smoke, watching them evaporate into the night.

Anger thrummed in his blood.

That Glock was on the grid.

More than a decade ago, Oscar fired it in defense of a client.

Forensics teams had pored over the scene, logging the minutia of death and violence in the permanent public record.

The unique etchings Oscar’s Glock left on a bullet were enshrined in the NIBIN database.

If Claudia shot anyone, the ballistics would lead law enforcement right back to him.

Gabe would know.

His career would be finished.

The police would be all over him . Good Lord. . . it would all come crashing down.

Oscar seethed like a building storm, his thoughts spiraling. On the one hand, he refused to regret the night. That kinky shit with Claudia would inhabit his fantasies forever, a sparkling souvenir from fucking the crazy bitch.

But there were limits to the entertainment of an unhinged woman, and she’d crossed a bright red line with the theft of his .357.

As the night stretched on, Oscar’s consciousness warped, stretched beyond reason by fatigue. He imagined endless horror—the worst scenarios. Spilled blood. Shredded organs. The carnage of wasted lives due to his carelessness and the psychotic behavior of that deranged woman.

His anger boiled for hours, slowly reducing into something hard and unforgiving.

Because as best as he could figure it, if Claudia had stolen his Glock. . . he was gonna kill her.