I don't own anything!
Chapter 1
Taillight
It was one in the morning when she made the county line and the blue lights appeared behind her. This was not good timing.
Bella Swan took the gun from her side harness, unsnapped the compartment from beneath the passenger seat and slid it inside.
As she pulled over, she unhooked the holster's strap then pulled the buckle free, depositing the harness into the backseat.
The murder probably hadn't been reported yet. She couldn't risk finding out with an unregistered weapon still warm from the round she'd sent between Alex Foi's bewildered blue eyes.
She pulled over to the side of the interstate out of South Carolina and waited for the cop to approach. It was a male. She could feel it when he opened the car door.
Then she saw his sandy hair and boyish face, fresh from whatever school he'd attended. His body was underdeveloped with a Barney Fife skinny inexperience that made her smile.
For fun, she glanced into the rear-view mirror. Her face was flushed. The excitement of the kill usually brought edges of colour to her pale features.
She ran her fingers through her brown hair tinted in nearly red shades, giving it the essence of a fading fire. She hoped her attractive qualities would make this stop brief.
"Good evening, Miss." The officer peered inside her window. He kept one arm above the door of the Lexus. His chest was puffed out and his voice sounded strained in his attempt to lower it to more manly tones. "What brings you along my interstate?" With that, he offered a smile that reminded Bella of a loser's attempt for a date.
"I was just heading to Virginia to meet up with some friends." Bella smiled, flashing caramel eyes as she reached the edge of her window with her driver's license and registration.
At that moment, she saw the blood on her hand. Damn it, she'd been sloppy.
It would be her luck to be busted by some young wannabe still wet behind the ears punk. He'd be promoted, while her life would be over if they traced the dozen or so murders to her.
Then again, her counterparts would have her eliminated, just like they had her father.
"Was it Virginia Beach you were going to, or the North Carolina line?"
"The beach." She winced and pulled her hand up just as he flashed his light inside going over her and the interior. Under the circular glow, she found more drops of blood.
It had been a close kill. Mr Foi had been reaching for a towel from the steamy shower stall when she'd grabbed his hand and sent a bullet into his brain.
It's amazing how fast a human can react. She'd fired the moment his head was free of the curtain. He hadn't struggled, not even pulled back.
His features were locked in eternal surprise as blood sprayed from the hole between his eyes.
"What's that? Are you okay, ma'am?" He flashed the light over her again.
"I just had a small accident." She held her hand up to show him the larger concentration and hoped he would believe a wound existed beneath the red splatters. "I guess the springs under these seats are sharp. I must've done it getting my purse out." She pouted. "Why exactly did you pull me over?"
"Your taillight is out, not to mention, you were speeding just a little through that straight away." He leered at her, shifting his weight toward her car.
"I didn't notice. It's so late; I was just hoping to make a few more miles before I had to stop." She offered him another smile, one filled with flirtation.
Bella let her fingers touch his hand as she took her license away. He trembled slightly from her touch, always a good sign.
"Maybe I should escort you to the hospital to have your hand looked at." He brought the circle of light over her again. It didn't stay on the blood drops, but lingered around her breasts.
"That won't be necessary. Maybe you could recommend a nice hotel. I'm so tired." He hitched up his pants and looked down the highway as if gaining his bearings.
"I believe there is a nice hotel about two exits down. You'll see the sign." He put his arm on her shoulder. "Would you like me to follow you there?"
"I wouldn't want to keep you from your job," she replied softly but noticed a change in his demeanour. His back stiffened and his hands fell to his hips. "If you'd like to check on me later, that would be fine," she quickly added to change his demeanour. His lips arched in a smile.
"I'd like that. I get off around eleven. Maybe I could swing by and check on you then." He touched the door of her car. His fingers were playful as they slid across the edge, near her window, before he brought his hand to his side. A repulsed chill went over her body.
"You have my name. Just ask the desk what room I'm in."
"Maybe I'll do that."
"Good. I'll see you later then." He nodded and tilted his hat back. With a slow strut, he went back to his car.
She didn't wait for him to pull away. She went ahead, merging into a pack of cars.
Sure enough, baby Bubba's headlights joined her on the road, tailgating to ease in behind her vehicle. Perhaps she'd been too flirtatious.
Bella saw the sign for the Quality Inn and took the exit. He followed. She didn't want to check into a hotel that she couldn't stay at simply for the purpose of losing a love lorn cop.
She didn't need the time loss. Never mind the fact that checking in for a minute would leave a trail for any pursuers.
The parking lot held a few cars. She pulled into the lot and found a spot in the back. She needed something that he couldn't see from the road. It would buy her more time.
Sure enough, the cop pulled in the lot and stopped near her car. She got out and hurried toward the office before he reached her. He beeped once. Geez this guy was desperate.
She turned and waved to him. With his date secured, he got back onto the interstate.
When his taillights were out of sight, she got back in her car and followed the scenic route through Santana Town.
Her head and legs ached. She'd crouched in her last kill's bushes for nearly an hour before the time was right. Hits drained her anyway.
There was the tedium of preparing for the kill. Every detail had to be figured into the perfect moment. The adrenalin built during each phase: the planning, the stalking, the entrance and the kill. When it was over and her heart stopped its mad race, she was spent.
A friend of hers, Edward, had once referred to it as a sexual high. She thought it an odd comparison, but to some, it must feel like that.
To her, it was a quest to fulfil another mission and make her family happy. Another chance to earn an approving nod. At one time, she had found it exciting, tasting the moment when she'd enter the house and find her victim unaware their last moments on earth had arrived. A flash, sometimes a half-scream and it was over.
The rush was gone and she'd report back in to her stepfather/ brother/ boss Charlie. It was hard to keep life and death in perspective. She had a deep spiritual side that chastised her every time a call came in.
Her job wasn't like working at the bank. It wasn't like she could turn in a two week notice, so she concentrated on the positives. There was the money and a terrific feeling of being above everything, the law, human beings, everything.
In the end, it all boiled down to doing what she knew and this was what she'd been trained to do since childhood.
After a hit, she liked to rest at a small beach front cottage she had at the outer banks of North Carolina. It was far away from the tourist areas with soft sand and the sound of the ocean.
Solitude was usually the most important thing to her, but this trip felt different. She wanted a little company. The only man she could call wasn't the one she wanted to speak to. She didn't really have a serious boyfriend.
The last man she cared about was a business associate, who thought of her as one of the boys. His name was Edward, a handsome, brilliant companion.
They shared so much, but not a single kiss. It was times like these, alone on the open road, when she thought about him. He wasn't the dating kind, so she called someone else, her safety net.
She picked up her cell phone and dialled Peter. A moment later, a very sleepy, slightly confused man answered the phone.
"What?"
"It's me." She already regretted calling him, but her life of isolation was eating at her brain. "How about spending the next week with me at the beach?" She spoke in gentle seductive tones. "I think we could both use a vacation."
"Like I'm just going to drop everything and come running to you when the mood hits." He huffed loudly.
"Bite me."
"I always knew you were the kinky type." She pulled over into a deserted parking lot and rubbed her eyes. It was at least a six hour drive yet and she was exhausted.
"You can look at this two ways, either you're whipped, or you're such a man that I have to have you. The choice is yours, unless you really don't want to see me."
"I'll catch a plane tomorrow." He hung up without another word.
She turned off her phone and got out to stretch her legs. The few streetlights above illuminated the splatters on her clothes. There could be no more close calls.
She opened the trunk and got into her black suitcase. First, she doused her hands with vinegar, rubbing the skin and nails with a brush until they turned a harsh pink.
She cleaned her arms with the same vinegar solution to remove the powder remnants. Next, she unzipped the main compartment.
On top was lingerie, a black bra, size thirty-four C, with a matching lace thong. Beneath that, was a pair of jeans, her favourites with wear in all the right places.
She pulled them out, along with a red sweater. There in the parking lot, she stripped off the garments of her crime. Her naked body was a pale contrast in the dark night and black asphalt.
The streetlights added a glow, as if it were a performance and any minute the curtain would drop. Her clothes were wadded, bagged and thrown into the trunk.
Then she wiped her face with a rag from her bag. Mascara came off in streaks, muting out the red spots that had been there. Another swipe removed all traces of make-up.
She hoisted the jeans over her hips and zipped them. The red sweater clung to her skin as she pulled it down. Her shoes were tossed into the trunk, along with everything else. She wouldn't need them.
Here, she could catch an hour of sleep. The next surface her feet would touch would be the moist sand of the beach. She curled her toes at the thought.
"Cool waves, wind and sand." She missed it there.
It was the opposite of her city apartment in New York. The trees were small but thick.
The ocean whipped at the dune in front of her house, rolling foaming mounds onto the sand. Small brown sand crabs would scurry along, diving into their holes.
The people were different too. New York was rushed, wanting to fit thirty hours into a single day. At Hatteras, people appreciated time.
They said hello to strangers and tried to connect everyone to a community. Food took a little longer to get.
The locals loved to tell visitors about the history or the newest gossip. It was a good trade. Not all of the Outer Banks were as friendly.
Developments ate large sections of the beach with rentals stacked in lines exposing realtor ads.
The people weren't locals anymore, but scavengers looking for opportunity or for escape. Her section hadn't been molested yet. In fact, her section was poor.
There were no mansions with pools in the back and the ocean in the front. The people were real and that's what she loved about them.
She reclined her seat and looked at the stars through the glass. Maybe she could retire soon. Charlie might allow it.
She could open one of those T-shirt shops along the strip next to the Home Cookin' Diner. She might even throw her gun into the ocean. Let the sand and salt water eradicates her sins while they rusted out the damn little pistol.
Maybe she could find a nice guy, not just a man for when she was lonely, but a serious relationship. Not another gun for hire.
Maybe she'd find someone who looked like Edward, but had a simple steady job.
She couldn't imagine Edward with a simple job. He was powerful and enigmatic. Not someone ready to settle down to a beach lifestyle.
Someone good or good for her had to exist. She laughed a little at the notion.
It would be nice to be in someone's arms, someone who loved her. Better yet, someone who didn't care about her past.
What a bedroom confession that would be. Oh, by the way, I've killed people in their homes for money. She was sure there weren't any men with reformed assassins on their want lists. It wasn't exactly good wife and mother qualifications.
With her luck, she'd fall head over heels for a police officer or an FBI agent. The idea made her laugh.
Something pure, like love, had no place in her life. Her adopted family had seen to that. Still, when she settled into sleep, it was a divine thought.
"Prince Charming, where are you tonight? Are you looking for me?" She laughed again. "Sleeping Beauty has a trunk load of evidence and a guy she left dead in the shower."