Free Killing Fear by Allison Brennan Page B

planned to jump. When Lofton went on his early morning run, Theodore broke into his hotel room and subtly rearranged his parachute. Lofton had packed it the night before and used his own, unique chute, so there was no way Theodore could swap it out. But moving the cords around, twisting one of the cables, that Theodore could easily manage without Lofton noticing anything amiss at a glance.
    It might not work, but that was part of the thrill. The unknown. That Lofton might die, might live. Maybe he’d break his back and be paralyzed for the rest of his life. All because of Theodore.
    He felt on top of the world. Anticipation fed his need for excitement.
    Later that morning, Theodore watched Lofton from the bridge along with everyone else, a dozen or so bystanders and jumpers. The winds were whipping up, but Lofton said he could do it. Gave Theodore that dumbass smile. “You had perfect weather yesterday, Glenn. It takes real balls to jump today.”
    Theodore grinned; pasted the aw, shucks look on his face. Lofton’s girlfriend Sandy patted Theodore on the back. “He’s just being a jerk. You were incredible yesterday.”
    “It’s fine,” Theodore said. And it was: His heart was racing and his eyesight was clear. Everything was brighter, more brilliant. Lofton climbed onto the platform. Tested the wind. Climbed down. Checked his safety harness. He climbed back up. The wind died. Lofton jumped, perfect form. Soaring down, down, down…
    “Fucking shit!” an observer shouted, though Theodore didn’t hear. He watched in ecstasy. The world stood still except for Lofton falling faster, faster, to the beat of Theodore’s raging pulse.
    Lofton had pulled the chute and it tangled. He veered sharply south, falling too fast.
    Sandy screamed.
    Dirk Lofton hit the rocks 1,053 feet below.
    Theodore bit back his smile. Pasted his look of oh my God, I can’t believe what I saw on his face. He was what he needed to be.
    He turned to Sandy, who was in shock. Took her in his strong arms. “Don’t look,” he told her, his voice quivering—not from tears, not from fear—from intense satisfaction. The thrill!
    Theodore pushed the memories back. Thinking about that first kill had satisfied him for a long, long time. But he’d known then, as he knew now, that faded memories had nothing on the here and now.
    He watched William Hooper leave the police station with some hot Latina chick. A cop. Partners? When Hooper arrested Theodore, his partner was a fat slob named Frank Sturgeon. Perhaps he had retired? Been reassigned?
    Theodore followed Hooper in the little Honda Acura he’d borrowed from his “friend” Jenny with the overused La-Z-Boy. She’d been more than happy to help him, and he’d kept the act up for her. “They’re going to kill me. They framed me and are going to kill me. I need to leave the country.”
    She’d bought it, asked to go with him.
    He’d looked into her idiotic eyes. “For your safety, sweetheart, you need to stay.”
    She had nodded solemnly. A piece of cake.
    Stealing money had been easy. His parents had always kept their emergency money in his father’s desk. Two thousand dollars in cash. And Sherry was just like them. She had five hundred dollars in an envelope with her panties.
    So predictable.
    He only needed the cash to get by for the next few days, until he could access his own money. He had plenty of money set aside to disappear. Before he started his little game with the strippers, he’d put money in a bank account he controlled under a shell corporation. Setting it up was easy as sin, and he’d quietly put money in, pulling it out for “legal fees.” Legal fees he’d paid one of his many “groupies.”
    The system thought he was without friends while locked in prison? On the contrary, he had hundreds of fan letters like the ones from Jenny Olsen. He had letters from Bible-thumpers insisting he had been on a religious mission to rid the world of promiscuity, and they were praying for