WIDOW Read Online Free Page A

navy slacks and a matching short-sleeved shirt. Nothing memorable or outstanding.
    It was a warm April night and he could feel the sweat crawling down from his temples like worms wiggling from out of his hair. Madly chirping crickets made a racket in his ears. He supposed they were down in the drainage ditch that bordered the shopping strip. Making passionate love. Performing acrobatics. Singing arias. Some damn noisy thing.
    He couldn't see the stars for the city lights, but the moon was quartered, high up in the sky, a bitter lemon-peel yellow.
    Time to go. Minutes ticked by. Time to go and he was paralyzed. It never failed. When it was important that he make the first move, he stalled, worrying incessantly over minor details. What if someone accompanied her to the car tonight? What if the manager left just as she did? What if a squad car cruised by to check the place? He had to be ready to turn aside suspicion if anything unexpected occurred.
    He forced himself to open the car door and step out, eyes focused on the Laguna Liquor Mart. She was coming. He could see her moving purposefully down a long aisle through the store to the double glass entry doors.
    Hurry. Hurry now.
    He crossed the street between passing cars, face turned from the oncoming headlights. Entering the parking lot, he kept the wide-blade hunting knife in his fist at the side of his thigh, out of sight. He walked casually toward the lighted store. All business, no hint of delay now he was in motion. Every molecule dancing with anticipation.
    He was still three car-parking spaces away from his destination—her car—when she came from the store, slinging the black leather bag over her shoulder, car keys in hand. She stepped off the curb into the drive-by lane, and crossed it. She hadn't raised her head yet, hadn't seen him. She almost always fiddled with the key ring, shaking it around until she found the key that would unlock her car. He made it through the three spaces. He circled the rear of her dirt-brown Nissan Maxima just as she found the ignition key and looked up, noticing she was not alone.
    Her steps never halted, but they slowed, and she frowned at him. Her shoulders went back, her head tensed. A protective hand gripped her shoulder purse.
    He smiled. “Hey, you closed already?”
    She nodded, angling a little away from him, still making for the Maxima's door. “Yes, I'm sorry.” She wasn't looking at him now, her mistake. She wanted to ignore him, pretend he wasn't there. He took the opportunity to move in even closer.
    She wanted into her car, locked and safe, of course she did. He knew all her thoughts, all of them.
    “Damn,” he said. “And they wanted another twelve-pack of Miller Lite back at the party. I thought y'all stayed open all night.” Friendly. Non-threatening. Just a party kind of guy.
    She had the key in the door lock, but was having trouble. She didn't want to present her back to him, and standing the way she was, trying to keep him in sight from the corner of her eyes, she wasn't able to turn the key quickly enough. “We're closed,” she said. Then she swore softly and the key turned and the little latch inside the Maxima shot up with an audible click.
    Her hand went for the door latch. His hand went for her mouth. He held her against his chest, tight, the knife point around front, pressed dangerously into her left breast. If she moved, the blade would cut into pliant flesh.
    “Easy . . . easy. Get in and crawl over the gear shift.”
    She hadn't struggled except for a second. He could feel her heart pumping against the knuckles of his knife hand. He could feel the round softness of her breast and the hot place just below it where her ribs began. “Open the door. Get in and climb over to the passenger side like I asked. Don't scream. I'll kill you if you scream.”
    Only one out of ten ever disobeyed him. They had been told fighting back got them killed. They had been correctly advised.
    She managed to open the