Viper

6

Carnegie Hall, New York City Luciano Creed was still smiling when he slipped into the Starbucks next door to Carnegie Hall. Jack King had grudgingly relented and agreed to see him again. One more meeting – tomorrow, for one hour max – then they'd be done. Well, Creed was certain Jack wouldn't be done so quickly. The Italian took a double espresso and sat in the window to drink it. He enjoyed staring out of the big glass pane, watching people flood by.

Not people, just women. Men were mere flotsam.

King had been right; you could never judge people from the measly ten per cent that they showed in public. It's the ninety per cent of ourselves that we keep hidden that is most interesting.

Creed liked the idea of comparing himself to an iceberg. Cool. Surprising. Powerful. It summed him up perfectly. He ran King's lecture over in his head. It had been worth travelling over for. Well worth meeting the great Jack King. What was it that he had said that had most impressed him?

Thought, Feeling, Action – the three things to concentrate on. Creed let the words swim in his head. He was acting like most everyone else in Star-bucks, just sitting there getting warm, hiding from the bitter blizzard blowing outside. But right now he was thinking about how you would abduct and kill a woman.

His eyes settled on a petite blonde who'd stopped in front of the window. She was trying to find a cellphone ringing in her purse. Nice face. Nice shape. Easy prey.

Her long blue coat was tightly tailored, hugging her waist and flowing fashionably down to knee-length black boots. He imagined her naked but with the boots still on, his hands around her slender hips as he pressed her against him. Skin on skin. Skin on leather.

He was sure she would have a small tight ass and firm legs. An ass he'd want to slowly explore with his tiny bony fingers. Legs he'd love to run his tongue up and down before unzipping those boots.

Taste. Touch. See. FEEL.

Creed was already feeling, feeling fully aroused. He had to shuffle positions on his window seat to shake off the fantasy.

Thought, feeling, ACTION.

ACT like a killer. Wasn't that what he was supposed to do? What all profilers were trained to do? Well, he could certainly do that – better than anyone dare imagine. He had great talents. Skills people still needed to recognize.

Creed wiped coffee from his lips, but his smile still lingered, and so did his own strange thoughts and fantasies.