the
bottle down on the coffee table, Fiona took hold of the curtains with both
hands and swung them open, revealing a bright, beautiful, blue-skyed day with a
view of a tree-covered hill-side leading down to a gorgeous blue lake, and a
man on her patio.
A man on her patio. Staring right at her with
shocked eyes and an open mouth.
Fiona was still only wearing her lime-green thong.
She screamed and yanked the curtains shut again and
dropped to her knees in fright. Her head was exploding with pain and her
stomach felt like it was going to crawl out of her mouth, but adrenaline made
her jump back up and run to the bedroom to find some clothes.
Shit, who was that guy? She barely got a look at
him. It looked like he was doing some kind of work on the deck, but she
panicked so badly that she didn't even notice. She looked around and found her
clothes under the blankets of the bed. She must have crawled into the bed in
her clothes, and then struggled out of them. How messed up was she last night?
She could barely remember anything after arriving at the cottage.
Fiona pulled on her jeans. They were expensive,
body-hugging things that rode low on her hips. Her top was a black tank top
with a skull pattern stitched on in silver sequins. She pulled it on over her
head and looked down at herself. This was too sexy to confront a weirdo hanging
around outside the cottage. She looked around the bedroom for her suitcase,
then checked the living room and kitchen, but only found her big handbag. The
suitcase, which had all of her other clothes, must still be in the trunk of the
rental car. "Fuck," she muttered.
She figured there was nothing she could do but go on
the attack. But first: strength and courage. The vodka bottle on the table was
empty, so she went to the kitchen and pulled another bottle out of the box. She
checked the refrigerator’s freezing compartment. The only thing in it was a
tray of ice cubes. It was half-full, and she shook a few out into a clean glass
from the cupboard.
Everything here seemed so old. The cupboards needed
to be repainted. The glasses, as well as the dishware, were an odd mix-match of
sizes and styles. They weren't even a set. Why had Ken put her in this dump?
She would have to give him shit later.
She peeled the plastic off the top of the vodka
bottle and poured, then swirled the glass to let the vodka and the ice mix. She
walked back into the living room and stared at the curtain. Just out there, she
thought, some creep was probably jerking off, hoping to get another look at her
tits. Well, she was going to go out there and kick his ass.
The vodka didn't go down well. Her stomach was raw,
and the booze went straight to her head. She felt nauseas and dizzy, and she
sat down on the couch and cradled her head in her hands.
There was a knock. Bap-bap-bap .
Fiona looked up. There was a door across the living
room from her that led out to the side of the cottage. It was painted green,
and it had a window in the top half that was covered by a green pull-down
blind. "Fuck," she muttered again. The creep wanted to come inside.
She grimaced and took another sip of the vodka, then
got up and approached the door. Bap-bap . She stepped softly toward it
and stopped. She slid one finger in along the edge of the blind and pulled it
back, allowing her to see out just a crack. Trees. Then a head popped into
view. It was the man.
"Hello," he said through the door.
"I'm Mike. I'm sorry for surprising you. I'm here to paint the cottage.
I'm working on the front deck right now. I hope I gave you enough time to get
dressed."
She gave him the look that she liked to give to
extremely stupid people. "Why are you painting the cottage?"
He smiled. "Because," he said, "the
owner of the cottage employed me to paint the cottage."
"Hang on." She went back to the coffee
table and grabbed her pack of cigarettes, lighter, and the glass of vodka. Then
she went
bottle down on the coffee table, Fiona took hold of the curtains with both
hands and swung them open, revealing a bright, beautiful, blue-skyed day with a
view of a tree-covered hill-side leading down to a gorgeous blue lake, and a
man on her patio.
A man on her patio. Staring right at her with
shocked eyes and an open mouth.
Fiona was still only wearing her lime-green thong.
She screamed and yanked the curtains shut again and
dropped to her knees in fright. Her head was exploding with pain and her
stomach felt like it was going to crawl out of her mouth, but adrenaline made
her jump back up and run to the bedroom to find some clothes.
Shit, who was that guy? She barely got a look at
him. It looked like he was doing some kind of work on the deck, but she
panicked so badly that she didn't even notice. She looked around and found her
clothes under the blankets of the bed. She must have crawled into the bed in
her clothes, and then struggled out of them. How messed up was she last night?
She could barely remember anything after arriving at the cottage.
Fiona pulled on her jeans. They were expensive,
body-hugging things that rode low on her hips. Her top was a black tank top
with a skull pattern stitched on in silver sequins. She pulled it on over her
head and looked down at herself. This was too sexy to confront a weirdo hanging
around outside the cottage. She looked around the bedroom for her suitcase,
then checked the living room and kitchen, but only found her big handbag. The
suitcase, which had all of her other clothes, must still be in the trunk of the
rental car. "Fuck," she muttered.
She figured there was nothing she could do but go on
the attack. But first: strength and courage. The vodka bottle on the table was
empty, so she went to the kitchen and pulled another bottle out of the box. She
checked the refrigerator’s freezing compartment. The only thing in it was a
tray of ice cubes. It was half-full, and she shook a few out into a clean glass
from the cupboard.
Everything here seemed so old. The cupboards needed
to be repainted. The glasses, as well as the dishware, were an odd mix-match of
sizes and styles. They weren't even a set. Why had Ken put her in this dump?
She would have to give him shit later.
She peeled the plastic off the top of the vodka
bottle and poured, then swirled the glass to let the vodka and the ice mix. She
walked back into the living room and stared at the curtain. Just out there, she
thought, some creep was probably jerking off, hoping to get another look at her
tits. Well, she was going to go out there and kick his ass.
The vodka didn't go down well. Her stomach was raw,
and the booze went straight to her head. She felt nauseas and dizzy, and she
sat down on the couch and cradled her head in her hands.
There was a knock. Bap-bap-bap .
Fiona looked up. There was a door across the living
room from her that led out to the side of the cottage. It was painted green,
and it had a window in the top half that was covered by a green pull-down
blind. "Fuck," she muttered again. The creep wanted to come inside.
She grimaced and took another sip of the vodka, then
got up and approached the door. Bap-bap . She stepped softly toward it
and stopped. She slid one finger in along the edge of the blind and pulled it
back, allowing her to see out just a crack. Trees. Then a head popped into
view. It was the man.
"Hello," he said through the door.
"I'm Mike. I'm sorry for surprising you. I'm here to paint the cottage.
I'm working on the front deck right now. I hope I gave you enough time to get
dressed."
She gave him the look that she liked to give to
extremely stupid people. "Why are you painting the cottage?"
He smiled. "Because," he said, "the
owner of the cottage employed me to paint the cottage."
"Hang on." She went back to the coffee
table and grabbed her pack of cigarettes, lighter, and the glass of vodka. Then
she went
Similar Books
The Evil That Men Do: FBI Profiler Roy Hazelwood's Journey Into the Minds of Sexual Predators
Stephen G. Michaud, Roy Hazelwood
