Berlin (Leo & Allissa International Thrillers Book 3), Luke Richardson [any book recommendations .txt] 📗

Leo draped a towel around his shoulders and padded back down to the pool. It was a nice place.

Leo dropped his towel on a sun lounger and gazed down at the pool’s menacing ripples. His mouth felt dry and anxiety thumped in his throat. He forced himself to look away. People sat at the bar, laughing and joking. There was no threat here. He was in no danger.

Leo balled his fists, pulled a deep breath, and sat on the pool’s edge. The water lapped across his legs. He slipped into the pool and stood up. The water only came up to his waist. His anxiety spiked again.

A flurry of laugher erupted from people at the nearby bar.

Why do I have to be doing this now? Leo mused morosely.

But then, something caught his eye and took his breath away.

New York - Chapter 3

Now that she was dead, he wondered, how should he refer to her?

He never knew her name, anyway. Maybe he should find out. She probably had some ID. His hands hovered above her handbag, discarded on the concrete.

No. He resisted the urge to look. There wasn’t time for that. Besides, he would find out from the news tomorrow.

Moments like this were precious. He needed to make the most of them. She had died so that he could have this time. He owed it to her sacrifice.

He slid his hands beneath her clothes. He cursed the need to wear gloves. He wanted to feel her. Sense each ripple of her skin. Her body was still warm. That was good.

The body — he corrected himself. He should probably call it the body now. It wasn’t hers anymore. Although, if he felt pedantic, maybe he should call it his body now? He’d created it, after all.

He smiled.

It was difficult to slide the raincoat from her limp arms. He put the knife down and used both hands to twist the raincoat from her. He thought of those mannequins in shops with the removable arms and head so they could be easily dressed. Maybe that’s what he needed to do here.

He peered at the knife, blood dripping from the blade and fanning across the floor.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered, weaving her limp arms from the sleeves.

The rain fell harder now. It ran from his face and inside his coat. It slipped over his back and chest. He didn’t care. For a moment he thought of that rainy London autumn all those years ago. It would have felt just like this. He smiled with excitement.

Her thick jumper was already wet. Water had soaked into her clothes when she fell. It didn’t matter. He picked up the knife and slid it carefully inside the jumper. He didn’t want to cut the skin. Yet.

He sliced through the fabric and peeled the garment away. Only her bra remained. He felt a flurry of excitement. The body. His body.

He pulled the bra away from her skin and cut it. Again, he was careful not to penetrate the skin.

Blood from the ugly gash on her neck had run inside her clothes. He rubbed his hands through it. Blood smeared across her pale skin. She was cooling. He had to work quickly.

Starting at her neck, he traced a line with the knife across her body. His eyes closed. Power welled through him. When the knife reached her belly, he applied pressure. The soft skin fought back for a moment, dipping beneath the pressure of the blade, as though trying to hold back the tides. Then the skin yielded, and let his knife sink deep within it.

There was no blood now. All the blood had spilled already.

He increased pressure on the knife. It sunk another inch into her accommodating flesh.

Then he heard it. It didn’t sound like much against the drumming of the rain and murmur of the city, but it was enough to pull him from his trance.

His head whipped from left to right. Mansel Buck M. D’s Cosmetic Surgery had closed hours ago. No one had any business coming down here tonight.

He heard it again. Movement. He turned and gazed back towards the street.

A figure cast a silhouette against the glaring lights of the road. It moved closer.

He sprung to his feet and turned.

The stooped figure slouched closer.

This was not part of the plan.

He gripped the knife. He could kill again, of course. But that wasn’t the way things were done.

“Just trying to get out of the rain,” the figure said. A murmuring singsong hissed through toothless gums. Words slurred by drugs or madness. “It’ll be nice to get home. Get warm.”

The figure sidled further into the alley. The intruder hadn’t seen him yet.

He looked back at the body. His body.

Her pale skill glowed ethereally in the gloom. An angel.

He didn’t want to give up his prize. She was beautiful, but tainted now.

The ecstasy of the kill drained away. He couldn’t get caught on the first one. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

Next time.

He pulled the hood of his raincoat low over his eyes, concealed the knife within his sleeve, and pushed past the figure.

“Oh sorry,” the figure mumbled as he passed. “Just trying to get out of the rain.”

He would have to start again. Then he would finish the job.