Free Killing Spree by Kevin O'Brien Page A

started to squeeze her throat.
    “I don’t know where he is,” Gillian managed to say. She couldn’t catch her breath. “I swear, I don’t.”
    He let out a curtailed grunt, a sort of insolent laugh.
    Gillian stared into his dark eyes, and suddenly her fear turned to anger. She was mad at these creeps for harassing her and invading her home. And she was furious at Barry for deserting her.
    “I’m telling you the truth!” she growled. “You and your low-life friends can keep going through my garbage and reading my mail. And if you discover something—like where my husband is or when he’s coming back—you can tell me. Okay? Because I haven’t heard from the son of a bitch since he ran away two weeks ago.”
    The man let go of her throat. Stepping back, he glanced down at the groceries spilled on the floor. He nudged one of the bags with his foot. A couple of the Heineken bottles had broken, and beer leaked onto the carpet. “So you don’t know where Barry is or when he’s coming back, huh?” he said. “Then what’s this? You don’t drink this stuff. You drink wine. I know, because I’ve been through your garbage.”
    “Yes, you and the other rats,” Gillian muttered, glaring at him.
    He kicked one of the broken beer bottles. Shards of glass flew across the living room carpet. “Why did you buy the beer, Mrs. Tanner?”
    “Because I’m stupid,” she said evenly. “And maybe too sentimental for my own good. I bought it, hoping he’d surprise me and come home. But that’s not going to happen, not any time soon. I realize that now. Maybe you and your friends should come to the same realization.”
    He gazed at her for a moment. Finally, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “You know something, Mrs. Tanner?” he said finally. “I believe you. I really do. We might have to try another tactic. Maybe your kid knows where his old man is.”
    “You stay away from my son,” she whispered.
    He lit his cigarette and tossed the match amid the spilt groceries on the carpet. The flame hadn’t gone out yet, and it started licking the edge of the grocery bag. “Or you’ll do what?” he retorted.
    “I’ll have the police on you so goddamn fast, you won’t know what hit you.”
    “You wouldn’t do that,” he replied with a cocky smile. He stepped toward Gillian and blew some smoke in her face. “Barry’s in as much trouble with the cops as he is with me and my buddies. Step aside, Mrs. Tanner.” He glanced down at the mess of groceries on the floor. One of the bags was catching on fire. “You might want to put some water on that.”
    Gillian recoiled as he caressed her neck with the back of his hand. He smirked at her, then opened the door and stepped outside.
    Hearing the door shut behind her, Gillian hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a saucepan from the drying rack. She filled it with water, rushed back into the living room, and doused the fire before it spread any further. Still, the smoke alarm went off. The detector was on the ceiling outside Ethan’s bedroom door, but the loud, obnoxious beeping echoed though the entire apartment. Gillian ran to the hallway. With the saucepan, she swiped at the alarm and knocked off the plastic cover. She hit it again. The battery flew out, ricocheted off the wall, and landed on the floor.
    Silence.
    The man was gone, the fire was out, and she’d stifled the smoke alarm. But Gillian was still shaking horribly. She made her way back to the kitchen, set the pan in the sink, and reached for the cordless phone. She sat down at the breakfast table with the phone in her trembling hand. She knew about Barry’s trouble with the police. But Barry was gone, and this man had invaded their home and he’d threatened to go after her son.
    She dialed 911, and as calmly as she could, Gillian explained to the operator who she was and what just happened.
    Ten minutes later, a young, husky, baby-faced cop with a strawberry-blond crew cut showed up at