Page 67 of Line of Sight

The last screw.

Chapter Forty-Six

Saturday, January 19, 2018

THIS ISthe last one.

That realization had stayed with me ever since Amy’s call back in November. The last of the Secret Murder Club at any rate, but notmylast, not by a long shot.

They really don’t appreciate how much work goes into these murders. The research, the surveillance….

They didn’t appreciateme. Period.

Take this last one. I’d spent most of December searching for the perfect venue. Until I realized it was right under my nose. And once I’d madethatdecision, I went on the hunt. It had taken a chance encounter in the gym to provide me with inspiration.

Well, that and access to a key. But if people left their belongings on a chair, they deserved everything they got. I’d made it to KeyMe Locksmiths on River Street in less than eight minutes, waited three minutes to get a duplicate key cut, and driven like a demon back to the complex.

Robins had still been there, thank God, working up a sweat on the elliptical trainer. I snuck the key back into its original resting place, then carried on with my workout, listening to him drone on about his trip to Zurich in the New Year—again. That man’s voice was better than sleep aids. Ten minutes was enough to renderanyoneunconscious.

What had interested me most had been the length of his proposed stay—and the fact that he wasn’t going to sublet hisapartment. Let’s face it, anyone who planned to spend three months in Zurich didn’t need to sublet.

At last I was ready. I had the venue, the means of accessing it, and more importantly, after learning Jeff Murphy’s routines, I had a plan.

This would be the most difficult of them all. Not his murder—that was going to be a walk in the park—but what led up to it. This one called for a superlative performance, and for the first time, I had doubts about my ability to pull it off.

For this to work, I had to convince Murphy. I had to pretend to feel something I’d never experienced and had no desire to experience.

Attraction to another man.

For this to work, I had to hope that attraction was mutual.

I SATat a corner table at Jacques’ Cabaret, ignoring the drag show that occurred every night.

My attention was focused on Murphy.

Regular as clockwork, he’d strolled in there, wearing jeans and a shirt open at the collar. With his dark hair and equally dark eyes, he had this whole bad-boy vibe going for him.

I smiled to myself.Get ready to meet arealbad boy.

I didn’t take my eyes off him, willing him to notice me. It was obvious there were other interested parties; they weren’t subtle, brushing him with their fingertips, bumping hips with him, making eye contact….

I didn’t move from my seat, my heart hammering.

Look at me.

Look at me.

Come on, look at me, you fucker, so we can get the hell out of this place.

This had to work. Because if it didn’t, then it was back to the drawing board.

Then our eyes met, and I registered his interest. I stared back at him, doing my best to make my gaze smoking hot.

He sauntered slowly, weaving his way through the crowd, ignoring the men who called out to him, smiled at him, touched him, as though invisible ropes bound him and I held them in my hands, pulling him toward me.

When he reached me, I didn’t say a word, waiting for him to make the first move.

“Noisy in here, isn’t it?”