Free The Face of Deception by Iris Johansen Page B

day and his own belly was iron hard.
    He got a broom out of the kitchen closet and came back to the bed.
    The phone was still ringing. Persistent.
    He shoved the broom up the woman. The killing had to look like a sex crime, but he wouldn't risk ejaculating inside her. Semen was evidence. Many serial killers had trouble ejaculating anyway, and the broom was a nice touch. It spelled out woman hatred and home desecration.
    Anything else?
    Six deep, savage wounds on her breasts, duct tape over her mouth, the open window . . .
    No, it was a clean job.
    He'd have liked to stay awhile and admire his handiwork, but the phone hadn't stopped ringing. Whoever was on the other end might get worried and call the police.
    One more check. He walked to the head of the bed and gazed down at her.
    She stared back at him, her eyes as wide open, her expression as terrified as when he'd plunged the knife into her heart.
    He took out the envelope with the photographs and the typewritten list Timwick had given him at the airport. He liked lists; they kept the world in order.
    Three photographs. Three names. Three addresses.
    He crossed Dora Bentz's name off the list.
    The phone was still ringing as he left her apartment.
             
    No answer.
    It was three-thirty in the morning. There should have been an answer.
    Logan slowly replaced the receiver.
    It didn't have to mean anything. Dora Bentz had married children who lived in Buffalo, New York. She could be visiting them. She could be on vacation anywhere.
    Or she could be dead.
    Timwick could be moving quickly to tie up all the loose ends.
    Shit, Logan had thought he had time.
    Maybe he was jumping to conclusions.
    Hell, so what? He'd always trusted his instincts, and they were shouting at him now.
    But sending Gil to check on Dora Bentz would be a tip-off. Timwick would know what he only suspected now. Logan could try to save Dora Bentz or he could remain safe for a few more days.
    Shit.
    He picked up the phone and dialed Gil's number in the carriage house.
             
    Lights. Moving lights.
    Eve stopped drying her hair, slowly got up, and went to the window.
    The black limousine that had picked them up at the airport was gliding down the driveway toward the gates.
    Logan?
    Gil Price?
    It was almost four o'clock in the morning. Where would anyone be going at this hour?
    She doubted if she'd be told if she asked tomorrow morning.
    But she'd damn well do it anyway.

SIX

    Eve didn't fall asleep until five, and then her slumber was restless. She woke at nine but forced herself to stay in bed until almost ten, when a thunderous knock sounded on the door.
    The door opened before she could answer, and a small, plump woman strode into the room. “Hi, I'm Margaret Wilson. Here's the gate control you wanted.” She set the remote on the nightstand. “Sorry if I woke you, but John says I screwed up on the lab. How the hell was I to know you wanted pretty? What do I need to get? Pillows? Rugs?”
    “Nothing.” Eve sat up in bed and gazed curiously at Margaret Wilson. The woman was probably in her early forties. The gray gabardine pantsuit she wore slimmed her plump figure and complemented her dark, sleek hair and hazel eyes. “I told him that I wasn't going to be here long enough for it to matter.”
    “It matters. John likes things right. So do I. What's your favorite color?”
    “Green, I guess.”
    “I should have known. Redheads are pretty predictable.”
    “I'm not a redhead.”
    “Well, almost.” She looked around the room. “This kind of thing okay?”
    Eve nodded as she threw back the covers and got out of bed.
    “Good, then I'll get on the phone and order some stuff. It should be— Oh, my God, you're a giant.”
    “What?”
    Margaret was glowering at her. “How the hell tall are you?”
    “Five nine.”
    “A giant. You'll make me feel like a midget. I hate tall, skinny women. They do something to my psyche and I become overaggressive.”
    “You're not that