Chapter 51
N O DUMMY, THAT TWEEDY BIRD ? her mama didn’t raise any foolish daughters. She knew she was in trouble immediately, but there was nothing much she could do about it in the next few seconds.
He hit the stoop fast, before she could close the glass door between them and let it lock her safely inside.
A faux gaslight on the foyer wall showed off the panic in her very pretty blue eyes.
It also illuminated the blade of the scalpel in his hand, extended out toward her face.
The Butcher wanted her to see the sharp edge so she’d be thinking about it, even more than about him. That’s how it worked, and he knew it. Nearly 90 percent of people who were attacked remembered details about the weapon rather than the person wielding it.
An awkward stumble was about all Tweedy managed before he was inside the foyer door with her. Michael Sullivan positioned his back to the street, shielding her from view in case somebody happened to walk by outside. He kept the scalpel visible in one hand and snatched away her keys with the other.
“Not one word,” he said, with the blade up near his lips. “And try to remember ? I don’t administer anesthesia with this. Don’t even use topical Betadine. I just cut.”
She stood on her tiptoes as she backed up against an ornately carved newel post. “Here.” She thrust her small designer purse at him. “Please. It’s yours. Go now.”
“Not going to happen. I don’t want your money. Now, listen to me. Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“You live alone?” he asked. It had the effect he wanted. Her pause gave him his answer.
“No.” She tried to cover herself too late.
There were three mailboxes on the wall. Only number two had a single name: L. Brandt.
“Let’s go upstairs, Miss Brandt.”
“I’m not ?”
“Yes, you are. No reason to lie. Now move it, before you lose it.”
In less than twenty seconds, they were inside her second-floor condo. The living room, like L. Brandt herself, was neat and organized. Black-and-white photos of kissing scenes were up on the walls. Movie posters ? Sleepless in Seattle, An Officer and a Gentleman. The girl was a romantic at heart. But in some ways, so was Sullivan ? at least he thought so.
Her body went stiff as a two-by-four as he picked her up. She was a tiny thing; it took all of one arm to get her into the bedroom, then down on her bed, where she lay without moving.
“You’re a very beautiful girl,” he said. “Just lovely. Like an exquisite doll. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see the rest of the package.”
He used the scalpel to cut the buttons off that pricey tweed suit of hers. L. Brandt came undone right along with her clothes; she went from paralyzed to limp, but at least he didn’t have to remind her to keep quiet.
He used his hands on her bra and panties, which were black and lacy. On a weekday, too. She didn’t wear pantyhose, and her legs were just great, slender and lightly tanned. Toenails painted bright red. When she tried to squeeze her eyes shut, he slapped her just enough to get her full attention.
“Stay with me, L. Brandt.”
Something on her dresser caught his eye. Lipstick. “You know what, put some of that on. And a nice perfume. You pick something out.” L. Brandt did as she was told. She knew she had no choice.
He held his cock in one hand, the scalpel in the other ? a visual she would never, ever forget. Then he forced himself inside her. “I want you to play along,” he said. “Fake it if you have to. I’m sure you’ve done that before.” She did her best, arching her pelvis, moaning once or twice, just not looking at him.
“Now, look at me,” he commanded. “Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. That’s better.” Then it was over for him. For both of them.
“A quick chat before I go,” he said. “And, believe it or not, I am planning to leave. I’m not going to hurt you. No more than I already have.”
He found her purse on the floor. Inside was what he was looking for ? a driver’s license and a black address book. He held the license under the bedside lamp.
“So it’s Lisa. Very nice picture for government-issue. Of course, you’re even prettier in real life. Now let me show you a few pictures of my own.”
He hadn’t brought many, just four of them, but some of his personal favorites. He fanned them out in the palm of one hand. Lisa was back to frozen again. It was almost funny, like if she was still enough, he might not notice her there.
He held up the photos for her to see ? one at a time. “These are all people I’ve met twice. You and I, of course, have only met once. Whether or not we meet again is entirely up to you. Do you follow? Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes.”
He stood up and walked around to her side of the bed, gave her a few seconds to process what he was saying. She covered herself with a sheet. “Do you understand me, Lisa? Truly? I know it can be a little hard to concentrate right now. I imagine it would be.”
“I won’t say ? anything,” she whispered. “I promise.”
“Good, I believe you,” he said. “Just in case, though, I’m going to take this, too.”
He held up the address book. Flipped it open to B. “Here we go. Tom and Lois Brandt. Is that Mom and Dad? Vero Beach, Florida. Supposed to be very nice down there. The Treasure Coast.”
“Oh, God, please,” she said.
“Entirely up to you, Lisa,” he said. “Of course, if you ask me, it would be a shame after all this for you to end up like those others in the photographs. You know ? in parts, sewn up. Whatever I was in the mood to do.”
He lifted up the sheet and looked her over one more time. “They’d be pretty parts in your case, but parts all the same.”
And with those last words, he left Lisa Brandt alone with her memories of him.