Lawyer Trap

93





DAY THIRTEEN–SEPTEMBER 17

SATURDAY–3:45 A.M.


In the middle of the night, Davica Holland walked on silent tiptoes from her bedroom to the other one and studied Jack Draven from the doorway. His body made a big lump under the covers. His breathing came deep and heavy. His clothes made a dark pile on the floor. She held her breath and snuck in.

She found his knife in the sheath, on the floor near the clothes.

She slipped it out.

Then she walked back into her bedroom and hid it under the pillow. She lay on her back in the bed, naked, and moved her hand under the pillow and got the knife properly positioned.

Moonlight filtered into the room.

“Draven, are you awake?” she shouted.

Mumbled words came from the other bedroom.

“Wake up and come over here,” she said. “I need you to screw me.”

Draven walked in, groggy, not much more than a naked shape in the dark.

She spread her legs and then raised her arms above her head.

“Come here,” she said. “Make me feel good.”

He straddled her chest and then inched up until his cock was on her mouth. “Get me hard,” he said.

She did.

Using her tongue.

Then he slid down, put his arms under her legs and opened them wide. She bit her lower lip while he inserted himself. Then he rocked inside her with a steady up and down motion.

It was too bad for Draven that he had raped her—twice—and made her change her mind about him. It was too bad that she was no longer interested in giving him an alibi or having him as a business partner. It was too bad that she no longer felt comfortable that he knew what she looked like.

It was too bad that she’d be better off if he was dead.

She reached under the pillow and got the knife in her hand. He didn’t notice as she slipped it out. Then she raised it in the dark and brought it down as hard as she could into his back.

He immediately twitched and made an awful sound.

She pulled it out and stabbed him again.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

Then stuck it in one final time and twisted.

He went limp, no longer fighting death. Warm blood ran down his sides and onto her breasts and stomach. She fought to get out from under him and then rolled him off the bed.

“A*shole.”

She brought his pants in from the other room, pulled his cell phone out of his front pocket, and then threw them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

She chained one of her ankles to the bed frame.

She made herself as hysterical as she could and then called Teffinger.