A Clean Kill

Two

Fifteen minutes later Derek came into the gym from the garage entrance and frowned when he saw Maddy. "You're in a funk today. What's the matter?"

"Does it show that much?" Maddy was clutching the first early-blooming iris to open in her garden. It was deep purple, one of her favorite colors. She held it out for his inspection. "Pretty, huh?"

He nodded.

Then she shook her head sadly. "The spring flowers are the one thing I love about New York. Everything else sucks," she muttered.

"What about me?" he demanded.

She kept shaking her head. He cost her thousands of dollars a week in vitamins and tonics and physical therapy—not to mention the love she didn't get from her husband. It made her want to laugh out loud that Ite pretended to be her friend while bleeding her dry for his services. Only the abundance of spring blooms in her tiny garden* could cheer her today.

"Oh, oh. Maddy as a hatter today," Derek remarked. "Let's get started. I know what you need."

She made a face and dropped the iris on the bench by the door.

"Maddy as a hatter," he repeated teasingly.

"Stop it," she said automatically.

He was appraising her in the way that made her uncomfortable sometimes, though she didn't know exactly why. He was big, big enough to break every bone in her body. Sometimes that bigness was comforting, but sometimes it annoyed her. He knew far too much about her. He also had far more control over her body than her husband did, and today she didn't want that intrusion on her life. She made another face. She was upset about the argument she'd just had with Jo Ellen Anderson from the employment agency. Jo Ellen was not sympathetic about her very genuine complaints about Remy's flirting with her husband. Sometimes she wondered about them all. Why couldn't they just be happy?

"Now, settle down there." Derek spoke to her as if she were Angus's age. Then he laughed. He was six four, had blue eyes and a wide sensuous mouth, close-cropped, wheat-colored hair, and the kind of body that was displayed on the covers of romance novels. They were about the same age. Derek was a man who knew the power of his looks just like Maddy was a woman who knew the power of hers.

He'd started out as her trainer to keep her weight down, to help with some chronic pain she had, and to keep her strong for skiing, but he turned out to be as good as any chiropractor on ' her spine. He knew where weakness lurked in her muscles, and she had to admit that his vitamin

packets and greens were fantastic. Unlike Wayne, Derek was a health nut who shunned animal fat and carbohydrates, but he had some weaknesses of his own. He talked nutrition all day long, and kept Maddy's weight off with vitamins and cocaine. He'd become much more than her trainer, but Wayne let her have all the money she wanted and didn't seem to mind the relationship.

Now Derek dropped a hand to her shoulder and scooted it across her back, then started rubbing at a tight muscle in her neck.

"Oh, we're in big trouble," he said.

"Yes, we are," she agreed.

Maddy was five ten. With high heels, she was a big girl. But Derek's hands on her always made her feel petite. He always told her she was too beautiful and smart to put up with. a disrespectful husband. Maddy didn't like to think Wayne was slipping away, but what could she do? Divorce was out of the question. She had two small children—and worst of all, she still loved him.

"What happened today?"

"When I came down for breakfast, that little bitch was sitting there in my place having breakfast with Wayne and the boys. I could kill her."

"My, my. Here, start with the Precor. I'm thinking we shouldn't do too much today, just loosen you up and stretch."

"Guess what she served them," Maddy went on while he programmed the machine.

He shook his head. He didn't want to guess.

"Crepes with homemade raspberry jam. The way she stuffs my boys with all that sugar makes me want to puke." She hopped on the Precor, fuming.

"You shouldn't let it happen. They'll be hyper all day," he agreed.

"I fired her," Maddy said exuberantly.

"Wow! Good going." Derek patted her on the back. Then his hand wandered down to her butt and stayed there.

"I won't have her back in the house—don't do that, Derek."

"What?"

"You know what."

"Oh, Maddy, Maddy, Maddy, aren't I always good for you?"

"Not today," she said angrily. "I'm in a firing mood."

"Don't be silly—you'll never get rid of me. Okay, okay." He backed off the ass-patting when she shot him an angry look. "Do ten minutes. I'll be right back." He drifted out into the garden with his cell phone in his hand, and she got to work.

After her session was over, Maddy felt a lot better. That day Derek was good to his word: she did only the ten minutes of cardio, twenty minutes of Pilates mat work, and finally he stretched her out and gave her a quick massage. At nine she kicked him out abruptly. She wanted to be alone, had stuff to do. "Be sure the door is shut when you leave." She turned her back on him, closing him out.

"Jesus, no one likes a party pooper," he muttered.

She didn't see higo. After drinking a glass of water, she took a quick shower with the glass door closed and only two of the six jets on. Before going in, she'd put some eucalyptus oil near the steam jet, and hit the power button. In six minutes the heat and aroma in the handsome pink marble room that served as both shower and steam room would be exactly the way she liked them. While she waited for the steam to fill the room, she downed another glass of water. She did not bother to check the door to the gym. She came in here every day. The door had an automatic lock. She trusted Derek to do as she asked. She felt refreshed and safe, ready to do what she had to do.

Outside her sanctuary the day had started. Her husband was at one of his restaurants—who knew which one? Her boys were at play school. Maddy glanced at her watch. Jo Ellen had promised that she would talk with Remy and get her out of the house by noon. She planned to oversee Remy's packing to make sure that the girl didn't steal anything from the house when she left. Those Culinary Institute people had proved unreliable in the past. The last one had left with the Cuisinart, half the silver, and a bunch of expensive knives. She wasn't going to let that happen again.

Then Maddy thought of her children. She was looking forward to having the boys to herself again, picking them up and giving them a healthy dinner. She told herself she didn't really need a nanny. Why couldn't she be the only mom? She watched the steam build and tallied her tasks. Then, when the pink marble walls were gone and everything was white, she went in and inhaled the eucalyptus-scented steam. Delicious. She closed the glass door and lay down naked on the fragrant teak bench. She was not going to let anxiety about Remy and her husband ruin her day. This was not the first time she'd been forced to take action when

Wayne's affection appeared to wander, and it probably wouldn't be the last. She stretched her body out on the bench and succumbed to the soporific power of steam.

The steam hissed, and she became soothed and dreamy. She did not hear the outer door to her spa open. She did not hear someone come in and move around in her private gym. All she heard was the soft ssss through the pipe. Her body was relaxed, her eyes closed; and for a brief moment her soul was at peace.

When the first blow came, it was only by chance that she had raised her arm to wipe the sweat from her forehead. The attacker lunged, and the point of the knife was deflected by her elbow. She yelped as the blade sliced into the muscle of her upper arm, and the person staggered off balance.

"Bitch!"

"What—!" Maddy jumped up. In the fog she could see only a thick shape and the yellow rubber gloves from her own kitchen sink. She was shocked. It looked like Remy.

"Remy!" she screamed. "Don't!" Blood poured out of her arm, but oddly, she did not feel fear. She was at a disadvantage without a weapon, but she was in her own space, her own house. She did not expect to die. She expected to live a long life, keep her husband, raise her children. No one could take that from her. Rage pumped her full of adrenaline. She wasn't going to let anyone hurt her.

"Get out of here." She kicked out with a bare foot and hit plastic, sturdy plastic. She screamed. What the—? It wasn't raining outside or in the shower room. She realized it was a raincoat, and the person inside of it seemed stronger than the reedy, thin Remy Banks. But she couldn't be sure.

Oh, shit. The knife came at her again. Now she could see it. It wasn't a very long knife, and she still was more angry than afraid. She kicked again. This time she missed the target and lost her balance. As her foot came down on the marble floor, she slid through a puddle of her own blood and fell hard. She thrashed on the slippery tiles, trying to get up as the ghoulish form covered in plastic came at her again. Suddenly her vision was impaired and she couldn't tell if it was one person or two.

She screamed as the knives jabbed at her from both sides—at her hands, her feet, her knees. She fought to protect the soft targets, her breasts, her vital organs, and was struck in the chest over and over as she moved from side to side, trying to get away. Then she started begging for her life.

"No, please!" She didn't want to die. A roar filled her ears as the knife made contact with her forehead, slicing away the scalp over one eye and entering the eye.

Her hands jerked up to the place where her eye had been and finally opened a clear path to her chest and belly. The knife struck her belly button. She screamed one last time as the phone rang. As she turned toward the sound, one of the knives sank into her chest and found her heart.