In for the Kill

4

Ida Ingrahm had a date.

Normally she wouldn't have made one with somebody she'd just met in a bar, but Jeff was different.

No, really different.

Seated at her mirror in her West Side apartment, she smiled at her reflection. Not unattractive, she thought. Full face with dark brown hair worn in bangs that made it look fuller. Not fat, mind you. And the rest of her was slim, except she didn't have much of a waist. Small breasts, legs okay. Especially with the right shoes.

Why do I have to appraise myself like this?

Ida knew the answer. Once they'd slept with her, men tended not to stick around. And she was way, way over thirty now. On the slide.

Time to panic?

She gave her reflection a brighter smile and decided, not yet. Hope lived. It wasn't that she wanted to get married. A lasting relationship was her goal. Modest enough, she thought. She saw other people achieve them. Meanwhile, life wasn't so terrible.

She liked her job as graphic designer for Higher Corporate Image, a company that produced promotional and motivational material for retail chains. It paid on the low side, if you didn't figure bonuses that were no sure thing, but there was a future. There was no glass ceiling at HCI. She could see her life ten years out, and it was okay, and would be better than okay if she had somebody steady. Somebody who cared about her.

She could learn to care about him.

I could learn…Stupid attitude.

Her smile faded, and for an instant her blue eyes did flash panic. Perhaps that was her problem, why men left her; her desperation shone through. Thirty-eight and alone in New York-scary. Then again, she knew there were millions of unhappy Midwestern housewives who'd give up their drudge lives in a New York minute for her situation.

Independence! Wa-hoo! She told herself, Quit being such a wimp.

She put on a sapphire pendant with a long silver chain that formed a V so her neck looked longer, her face thinner. Then she unfastened the top button of her blouse to reveal a suggestion of cleavage that wasn't there.

She wasn't a wimp. She was doing just fine, sticking in the big city, date with a guy like Jeff, living the life unlike the one she would have led back in Fort Taynor, Arkansas.

She'd thought she'd gotten rid of her southern accent completely, but Jeff had picked up on it right away and said he found it charming. Some of the other women in Loiter, the lounge where a crowd younger than Ida hung out, had glanced with envy at her, seeing her with Jeff. He was easily the best-looking man in the place, and he hadn't come in with a bunch of leering buddies whose goal for the evening was to score. He was nicely dressed in a dark blue suit that looked expensive. He was even the kind of guy who wore cuff links.

Nobody back in Fort Taynor wore cuff links.

She fumbled trying to fasten the clasp on her knockoff retro wristwatch, and almost dropped it when the intercom buzzed.

Ida squinted at the watch's tiny face. It was difficult to make out the time without her reading glasses.

Almost seven o'clock. Jeff was early. If it was Jeff.

She gave a final try to engage the miniature latch of the watch's silver-plated chain, and smiled in surprise when she was successful. A good omen? She hesitated, considering slipping into her high-heel pumps, then padded in her nylon feet toward the intercom. If it was Jeff, she'd have enough time to put on her shoes while he was coming upstairs.

A final glance in the mirror behind the sofa.

She winked at herself and whispered, "Hot!" Letting her tongue show.

Believing it a little.

As she moved toward the intercom, her gaze roamed around the tiny apartment, hoping it was neat enough, clean enough.

Being judged. Always being judged.

She pressed the button and tried to sound casual and sexy. "Who's there?"

"Jeff Davis."

Ida decided to hold her silence and simply buzz him in. Not make herself seem too interested and available. Too eager.

Be cool. Like he is.

As she struggled into her shoes that for some reason seemed too small, she imagined him standing in the elevator, rising to her floor.

One of her toenails that needed trimming cut painfully into the toe next to it.

Damn it! Feet swollen again. Should have taken a water pill.

The left shoe wasn't completely on, and she almost turned an ankle, as she hurried to answer his knock.