no streetlights compromised the darkness. Most of the homes in this track had two-car garages, which
could only effectively house one car, forcing many residents to park their second cars either in their driveways or on the
street. His black 300M rested among a dozen similar vehicles bedded down for the night.
He checked his mirrors, first the right, then the left, then the right again and the left again. Each time his vision acquired
more information, scanning farther down the street, taking in the white Mustang, the fire hydrant, the intersection, the row
of junipers two houses back, the cat that scampered across past the stop sign a block behind.
But no people. No threats.
After searching his mirrors seven times, Quinton turned off the ignition and let silence filter into the cockpit. He withdrew
one of the toothpicks and stripped off the plastic wrapping, careful not to touch the sharp wood tip he would insert into
his mouth, and began to methodically clean the spaces between his teeth.
Ahead, Melissa Langdon’s blue home waited quietly, lit only by a single porch light. A ranch house, roughly sixteen hundred
square feet. Seven windows facing the street, including the bathroom off the master bedroom. The backyard was large, but she
was too busy right now, serving drinks and crackers thirty thousand feet above sea level, to care about lot dimensions.
The last time Quinton had walked behind the house, the weeds had been calf-high. A cat had rushed from the brush and caused
him to fall backward. He’d strangled the cat that very night, suffering several nasty cuts in the process. Funny how dispatching
a witless animal had proven more perilous than bleeding several grown human beings. After the act, he had laid it under his
front tire to make it look like the cat had been accidentally run over on the street. He didn’t need the pet’s owner finding
and reporting their strangled cat in the back of Melissa Langdon’s house.
Some might wonder why God had chosen Melissa. She was beautiful, any man could see that, though not even Quinton had recognized
the flight attendant the first time she’d walked down the aisle and asked him if he would like something to drink. But by
the end of that flight, he knew. God had made his choice through Quinton.
Melissa was sweet and her smile was genuine, unlike most of the whores who flew the friendly skies. She had a round, kind
face framed by straight blond hair that hung to her shoulders. Her blue skirt draped seamlessly over her narrow hips. She
kept her ruby fingernails short but carefully manicured, and her fingers moved with grace, caressing every object she touched.
She used disinfecting towelettes frequently during the flight.
But the ultimate truth shone in her green eyes. Unblemished innocence. Deep, like a jungle pool. Melissa was one of the favorites.
Unable to keep his own eyes off her, he’d finally had to slip on his sunglasses. By the time the plane landed, his shirt was
soaked in sweat and his left hand was trembling. He’d received a nod and a friendly smile from her as he deplaned, and he’d
offered his hand in a gesture of appreciation.
She’d taken it. Her cool dry skin had sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. He’d been so distracted by that single contact
that he took a wrong turn and exited the security area before remembering that he had a connecting flight. Forced to go back
through security, he missed the connection.
Quinton knew from the schedule he’d taken from her dresser last week that, barring any delays, her plane from New York had
landed at DIA roughly one hour ago. Hopefully, she wouldn’t make any diversions before coming home.
He could smell the meat on his breath as it deflected off his hand. When he’d asked the last one, Caroline, if she liked the
way his breath smelled, she had given him a tearful nod. He’d switched to Crest three days ago after using Colgate for as
long as
could only effectively house one car, forcing many residents to park their second cars either in their driveways or on the
street. His black 300M rested among a dozen similar vehicles bedded down for the night.
He checked his mirrors, first the right, then the left, then the right again and the left again. Each time his vision acquired
more information, scanning farther down the street, taking in the white Mustang, the fire hydrant, the intersection, the row
of junipers two houses back, the cat that scampered across past the stop sign a block behind.
But no people. No threats.
After searching his mirrors seven times, Quinton turned off the ignition and let silence filter into the cockpit. He withdrew
one of the toothpicks and stripped off the plastic wrapping, careful not to touch the sharp wood tip he would insert into
his mouth, and began to methodically clean the spaces between his teeth.
Ahead, Melissa Langdon’s blue home waited quietly, lit only by a single porch light. A ranch house, roughly sixteen hundred
square feet. Seven windows facing the street, including the bathroom off the master bedroom. The backyard was large, but she
was too busy right now, serving drinks and crackers thirty thousand feet above sea level, to care about lot dimensions.
The last time Quinton had walked behind the house, the weeds had been calf-high. A cat had rushed from the brush and caused
him to fall backward. He’d strangled the cat that very night, suffering several nasty cuts in the process. Funny how dispatching
a witless animal had proven more perilous than bleeding several grown human beings. After the act, he had laid it under his
front tire to make it look like the cat had been accidentally run over on the street. He didn’t need the pet’s owner finding
and reporting their strangled cat in the back of Melissa Langdon’s house.
Some might wonder why God had chosen Melissa. She was beautiful, any man could see that, though not even Quinton had recognized
the flight attendant the first time she’d walked down the aisle and asked him if he would like something to drink. But by
the end of that flight, he knew. God had made his choice through Quinton.
Melissa was sweet and her smile was genuine, unlike most of the whores who flew the friendly skies. She had a round, kind
face framed by straight blond hair that hung to her shoulders. Her blue skirt draped seamlessly over her narrow hips. She
kept her ruby fingernails short but carefully manicured, and her fingers moved with grace, caressing every object she touched.
She used disinfecting towelettes frequently during the flight.
But the ultimate truth shone in her green eyes. Unblemished innocence. Deep, like a jungle pool. Melissa was one of the favorites.
Unable to keep his own eyes off her, he’d finally had to slip on his sunglasses. By the time the plane landed, his shirt was
soaked in sweat and his left hand was trembling. He’d received a nod and a friendly smile from her as he deplaned, and he’d
offered his hand in a gesture of appreciation.
She’d taken it. Her cool dry skin had sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. He’d been so distracted by that single contact
that he took a wrong turn and exited the security area before remembering that he had a connecting flight. Forced to go back
through security, he missed the connection.
Quinton knew from the schedule he’d taken from her dresser last week that, barring any delays, her plane from New York had
landed at DIA roughly one hour ago. Hopefully, she wouldn’t make any diversions before coming home.
He could smell the meat on his breath as it deflected off his hand. When he’d asked the last one, Caroline, if she liked the
way his breath smelled, she had given him a tearful nod. He’d switched to Crest three days ago after using Colgate for as
long as
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