Page 151 of The Quiet Witness

Because now, the madman at his house sauntered up the wooden steps, broad form taking over half the camera’s vision before knocking on the front door with a big beaming smile on his devilish face.

Lucien tapped up the sound on his phone to hear the blue-eyed bloodhound call out. “Honey, I’m homeeee.” The glee dripped from his voice, and even from this angle he could see the man’s crazed eyes dancing with euphoria.

His own danced between the track marks he’d made before and the screen clutched in his hands. He tapped on the speaking button, deepening his voice to pure malice before speaking. “Max… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Lucien!” The man waved to the camera. “I’m so glad you could make it! Wouldn’t have wanted you to miss this for the world.”

He wrecked his brain for a solution. Ghost was in the house. Could be her salvation. But knowing Max, his trusted companion would die the moment the door opened. Outside. He needed to keep him from entering the house.

“Set foot in that house and you are a dead man walking.” He would haunt his chosen victim for the rest of his sorry life. Never resting until he could skin him alive to the music of Max’s screams.

The latter tsked. “Your threats don’t work on me. I saw you with the dead bitch, all over her.” He laughed, the sound cruel, digging a gaping hole in Lucien’s resolve. “Dead bitch should have been cold twice now! Buried even, she just won’t stay down, huh. Don’t worry.” He grinned. “I’ll help you.”

No. If he found her in his home, eyes glazed over and her blood staining the floor. It would kill what was left of him. Whatever humanity rested beneath his veins would go black if Kate died tonight.

Max carried on. Unperturbed. “Don’t worry. That date I mentioned? Just a warm-up for your girlfriend here.” Max’s foot kicked against the door. The loud banging echoed out through the car, Lucien barely kept the Volvo straight on the slick road. Blood turning to ice when Max finished his tirade. “I will enjoy this one.”

Time, he was wasting his time. And Kate didn’t have a lot of it left.

Chapter 65

When World’s Collide

Why white?

Kate stared at the ceiling, the walls, the marble of the kitchen. All white. Even the dog currently perched elegantly on the couch, pressed against her thigh, was white as fresh snow. Makes one wonder.

Beep, beep.

For all she knew, it was to balance out the darkness of his actions. Dark versus light and all that. He was a cleaning freak too, that much she’d gleaned from the man of the house. Wait, did he suffer from germophobia?

God, I’m rambling.

Everything was good enough to shield herself from other, darker thoughts that would shove her straight down the edge of a cliff. And then there was… freedom. She wondered what that would even look like. Holidays with Lucien? A blanket tossed on the soft white sand of some far-off island. They would what, kiss? Tell each other those three words like every other couple did? Psss. One kiss had sent her brain into a sprawling fantasy world. But that fantasy was… what kept her sane, if for the moment.

She folded her legs beneath herself, goosebumps raising over her skin. It was almost as if the house grew colder with every passing second.

Beep, beep.

Huh?

Ghost’s ears perked up toward the front door. The wolf-dog jumped off the couch, landing on soft paws before going to stand by the front door with his head tilted.

Kate pushed up from the couch as well, a stone weighing on her stomach as she crossed the living room into the kitchen. Reaching out to pick up the phone she’d discarded earlier, her fingers grazed the thick casing before something barrelled into her. Ghost.

Her knees bumped into the kitchen counter while his anxious whine assaulted her ears. “Jesus, Ghost!” Her irritation faded quickly, seeing the hairs of his neck standing upright. She bent down on her haunches behind the counter, smoothing down his fur. “What’s wrong, little guy?”

“Honey, I’m homeeee.”

Kate froze. That ice-cold voice could only belong to one person.

Ghost stayed next to her, the skin above his wide-stretched eyes wrinkled in panic. Her heart leapt up in her throat, telling her to move, do something. But what? Go for a gun? Lucien doesn’t keep one in the house.

A knife. She pushed up from the floor, staying low to crawl over to the bamboo knife stand near the stove. Her hand reached for the stand, the marble cold beneath her forearm when…

“Max… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her fingers stilled. Lucien, so close by.