Three weeks later Grace was sitting in an upscale bar in New York City, her satin red opera gloves matching the shade of her short bodycon dress. She glanced across the room to a table where a thirty-two year old man in a tailored grey suit sat, sipping on a champagne flute. She recognised him as soon as she had entered the bar, having researched his entire life in the past week. Also knowing he would be there that night, she had dressed to impress to sit on that green velvet button-back bar stool, drinking tequila shots in his eye-line. The bait was cast, now all she had to do was wait until he was reeled in.
"You're knocking back those shots like a champ." Those were the words she was rewarded with after ten minutes of patience.
"I need to forget a terrible Tinder date I just had," she lied easily, glancing up at him through long lashes.
He laughed before indicating to the bartender to bring them four more as he sat on the stool beside her, his blond hair slicked back with excessive product. "What was wrong with him?"
She pouted her nude glossy lips at him. "He didn't look like his picture, and he lives in his parent's basement."
He grinned. "If you tell me he drives a station wagon, you found a triple threat."
"It's his mom's." Her mouth curved into a wicked smile.
"Oof…Hard luck. The rest of your drinks are on me tonight." He tapped his smartwatch against the card machine when the bartender returned with the shots.
"Thank you..?"
"Mark. Mark Warren." He stated it as if she should be impressed.
"It's nice to meet you, Mark. I'm Violet."
"Violet… It suits you." He smirked before nodding to the shots. "Want to race?"
Mischief filled her gaze as it met his. "Prepare to lose."
She was sufficiently buzzed as they entered the elevator in the expansive, marble-floored lobby of his hotel, her black thigh-high boots protecting her legs from the chill when they had left the bar. As soon as the doors shut, Mark's hands were immediately on her waist, aggressively pushing her up against the mirrored wall. His mouth feasted on hers, his tongue tasting of liquor and cigar smoke, until the lift dinged and the doors opened on the top floor.
It was at that moment Grace considered aborting her plan, the pit in her stomach that first developed in the taxi only growing in size. His hand grasped hers, leading her to an oversized entrance door. He pulled out a keycard from his trouser pocket to scan them into the suite. Once inside, he continued his impassioned advances, his hands in her hair as his lips found hers again, pushing her against a painting on the wall in the foyer.
After a few seconds, she pulled away, catching her breath. "A bed would be more comfortable…"
His gaze darkened as his hands dropped, one to his side, one to her lower back, before ushering her to the master bedroom.
Taking a seat on the edge of the black silk-covered superking bed, she watched as he slipped off his suit jacket and began taking out his diamond cufflinks. Her eyes drifted to her shoes then, uncertainty clouding her once resolute mind.
"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now… In those boots." His expression shifted as annoyance flitted across his features.
She glanced up, her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, I think I've had too much to drink... I should head home."
He approached her then, his strides slow and deliberate as his eyes narrowed. "You've been buttering me up all night and you think you can just leave?"
Her eyes widened as he loomed over her.
"Sweetheart, don't ruin the fun." He grabbed both her hips, hoisting her further onto the bed before crawling over her.
Grace's jaw tensed, her voice losing its delicate cadence to anger as his face hovered centimetres over her. "You know what, Mark? You're right… I think I deserve to have some fun."
A devilish smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as she rolled them both over until she was on top, straddling his hips.
"That's more like it, baby."
Her dark eyes left his as she used both hands to pull at the front of his shirt, causing the buttons to fly into the air around them. She then ran a gloved finger down along his bare chest, over his sternum before counting back up the ribs on his left side. "You almost got to survive tonight, but you had to ruin it, didn't you?"
Confusion swept across his countenance.
Before he could say anything, Grace produced a slender knife from the inside her right boot and drove it into his heart.
Almost a month later, Agent Crawford arrived on Will Graham's porch. Peering through the window, he spotted him inside and waved.
"Jack?" The former FBI profiler clearly did not expect the visit.
"Mind if I come in, Will?" He bore a friendly expression, although he knew the other man would see right through it.
Still, he stepped aside, allowing his guest to enter. "Coffee?"
"Please." He followed him into the kitchen, glancing around at all the dogs lounging on their beds.
When they were sitting at the kitchen table, Will's attention moved from his drink to the other man. "Why are you here?"
"Can I not just be checking in on a friend?"
He scoffed. "It's never just that, is it?"
With a sigh, he admitted, "I'm here to ask you about a case."
The host shook his head incredulously. "The last time we spoke, you and I both agreed I would take a step back from the FBI."
"The last time we spoke, you accused Hannibal Lecter of being a cannibal with zero proof."
"We could have found proof if you had listened to me," he countered.
Jack inhaled deeply, pausing to drink a mouthful of coffee before his fatigued eyes regarded Will once again. "I hope that the time away did you good. But I need your help."
"I'm not sure I even can be useful to you again, Jack. Never mind the fact that I don't want to."
The FBI agent continued undeterred. "Two male victims were found in very similar circumstances in two separate states- one in New York, the other in Miami. Both successful businessmen, both found dead in expensive hotel suites, neither had anything stolen."
The younger man begrudgingly took the bait. "What makes you think they're connected?"
Crawford joined his hands together on the table in front of him. "Details at the crime scenes. The first was a bit more hectic, the second appeared more controlled, but both men were stabbed in the heart and left in similar positions."
His eyes narrowed on him. "There's more."
His forehead creased. "Both victims had nothing stolen, but… About an hour after each of their estimated times of death, a sizable donation was made from their cell phones to different charities."
Intrigue settled onto Will's features as Jack smiled.
"Thought that might hook you."
Hannibal had returned to Baltimore shortly after Grace's visit, moving back into his house when his tenant's lease had serendipitously lapsed. He had been settled in for a couple of weeks when he found a package on his doorstep early one morning. The box was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, his name delicately handwritten on an attached tag. Curiosity filled his dark eyes as he brought it inside before setting it down on the island in his kitchen. He lightly pulled at the string, watching as the packaging fell open like petals of a flower blooming just to die off. Carefully lifting the lid off the box, his intrigue was rewarded with a single, still bloody kidney sitting atop a circular bed of lavender. A crooked smile crept across his face as the woman's thoughtful present ignited flames in his mind.
Grace was perched at a vanity table, multiple expensive products spread out before her. She took time applying her eyeliner, ensuring precision as she drew the wings, before glueing dramatic lashes onto the edge of her eyelids. Taking the time to perfect a certain look to draw them in had become ritualistic, the calm before the storm as she sets the scene. The wine in her system made the lights around the mirror hazy, blurring out the edges of their shine, yet her makeup was flawless as she finished with a few large brush strokes of powder.
Her new target was different to the others in many ways, and the anticipation was particularly intoxicating to her this time- far more than the alcohol was. The nerve endings all across her recently tanned skin electrified as she slipped into a sparkling emerald flapper dress, her bare feet soon finding their way into a pair of black stilettos. It was at this second she wondered what Dr Lecter thought of her parcel. Did he consider reporting it to the FBI? Did he have a list of questions to ask her about it? Or was the wordless message enough communication between them? In all her appointments with him, so much managed to be said in so few words; more would have been superfluous.
Grace stood in front of the mirror once again, pinning her brunette locks up before placing a long, light pink wig onto her head, taking a moment to position it correctly. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips as she regarded the completed outfit in her reflection. She then found herself wondering what her date would wear, and if her research into the other woman's life would be enough for her to be able portray her ideal partner and keep her enthralled. She rather liked the idea of being irresistible to someone like her, a thought she never had with her previous victims, and one she did not reflect on too long before draining her glass of wine and calling a taxi.
Perched at a table at a rooftop restaurant that overlooked the city, Grace's enchanted gaze soon fell upon her date as she gradually approached. Stephanie Allen had apparently put time in her appearance too; her jet black hair sitting in artful waves just below her shoulders, combined with a tight-fitted gold cocktail dress, gave her the look of a statued goddess as she took the opposing seat.
"I think you may have outdressed me," Grace stated fondly, her eyes roaming appreciatively over the slightly older woman.
"I always try to outdress those around me, Natalie. Don't take it personally." A smirk played on her coral-painted lips. Her attention turned to the drinks menu between them, her acrylic nails scraping across the card cover.
An attentive waiter arrived seconds later. "Can I get you ladies some drinks while you choose your meal?"
Stephanie's gaze flickered to the man clad in a tuxedo, her expression dispassionate. "I'll have a Sex On The Beach."
Mischief played across the other woman's soft features when the waiter glanced at her. "I'll have what she's having."
He soon scurried.
"I assume you've been Googling?" She set the drinks menu aside, her green eyes insteading moving to the dinner menu in front of her.
Grace let out a light laugh. "Of course."
"And what have you found out about me?" Her gaze was expectant when it finally moved to meet the other's, a sliver of excitement pulling at her shaped eyebrows.
"Too much. I'm intimidated." Amusement danced across her countenance.
"As you should be." Thinly veiled conceit flashed in her eyes as she accepted her cocktail from the server.
Taking a sip from her own drink before continuing, she soon fanned her date's ego. "A true rags to riches story. How you went from having nothing and cleaning small boats, to running the largest luxury yacht business in the world, is truly inspiring… Just like that speech you gave on International Women's Day."
Clearly basking in the flattery, a wide smile slowly appeared on Stephanie's face. "Thank you. I really enjoy headlining at seminars. Getting to meet so many people who find encouragement in my life, both the struggles and successes, is humbling."
I don't think 'humbling' is the right word, Grace thought idly as she attended to her cocktail once more.
Later that evening, after several more drinks, Stephanie impolitely suggested they go back to her hotel, and her date agreed eagerly.
The younger woman watched as her companion's hips swayed just like the pendulum of the grandfather clock in the foyer of the suite- mesmerisingly side to side- as her long legs made their way into the bedroom.
"I have an early flight tomorrow morning so don't be offended if I'm not here when you wake up." She set her purse on the bedside table before turning to face the person she knew as Natalie.
"Don't worry, I'm not the 'cuddle the next morning' type." Grace's gaze grew wicked as she approached her.
Her eyes darkened as her voice became sultry. "I may keep you around." She reached for the other woman's waist, moving her to sit down on the bed next to her.
"Can I ask you a question, Stephanie?" Her expression shifted slightly.
"You can, although I may not answer."
Grace slowly leaned in until her lips found the other woman's, and when her passion was reciprocated, she softly pushed her back onto the bed until she was propped over her horizontal frame. After a moment, she pried her mouth from hers, her hard gaze searching the green eyes beneath her. "Did you know you were profiting from a group using your yachts to traffic women and girls?"
The flicker of defensiveness in the older woman's expression answered her question for her.
"That's what I thought," she breathed cynically.
Stephanie's body stiffened under her. "The trafficking will happen if they use my ships or not."
A scornful laugh escaped her. "Is that how you justify it to yourself?" She shook her head, disdain filling her gaze. "You could have been a beacon of light in this world, but you let your greed get the best of you."
Her mouth opened to protest, but only a choking sound escaped after Grace had swiftly produced a blade from the garter around her thigh and pierced her heart with it.
While watching the glimmer of life slowly drain from her eyes, she leaned down to place a delicate kiss on the dying woman's cheek.
When Will received a call from Jack to tell him there had been a third victim, all prior reservations eroded and he immediately made the four hour drive to Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. As he entered the lobby of the five star hotel, he instantly felt out of place as decadent chandeliers hung high above him. Officers instructed him to take the elevator to the top floor, handing him a visitor's pass and a special keycard to allow the lift to access the suite. After the doors to the elevator shut, he took a moment to ready himself, inhaling deeply through his nose as his eyes closed. The ding implored both his eyelids and the doors to open, Agent Crawford standing in wait outside.
"Put these on." He handed him gloves and shoe coverings, pausing until he followed his instructions before leading him into the suite.
The profiler surveyed the doorway, noting no sign of a forced entry. Like the other victims, this one let her killer inside willingly. Multiple personnelle drifted by him unnoticed as he studied each detail of the suite on the way to the bedroom. The scene was in many ways like the photographs he had seen of the previous murders- body left laying across the bed of an opulent hotel room covered in blood- except this one was different.
The first victim had been savaged and mutilated, the second a less brutal execution but still had more than one wound. This one, however, only had one. The killshot and nothing else. There were also no signs of any kind of struggle; the dead woman almost looked peaceful atop minimally disturbed sheets- aside from the dark red pools soaking them. That was when his gaze happened upon the victim's cheek, where painted lips had left the ghost of a kiss. His eyes darkened as he honed in on this piece of the puzzle, the familiarity of the ruby-red shade of lipstick hitting his chest like a shotgun blast.
