It was only moderately cold for a November night in Wyoming, but Katie was already shivering.
Her nerves had twanged painfully when she heard the door of the "Happy Habits" coffee shop jingle open. Katie darted a quick glance to see if it was HIM, the self-centered maniac that was making her life a living hell—and froze.
Her current customer, an elderly rangy gentleman in a cowboy hat with ample gray nose hair and pouty lips, made a dissatisfied noise at having her attention diverted and rose up from his seat.
"Excuuuse me, did you get that? Skim milk!" he repeated in an unnecessarily loud voice.
Her co-workers cast curious looks at her and Katie tried to paste on a professional smile.
"Sure thing. Got it. Coming right up."
The cowboy eyed her suspiciously, but grudgingly dropped back down on his counter seat with a sour expression on his face.
Katie's hands shook slightly as she tried to go about her tasks, but she was unable to ignore the fact that her nemesis, with a wide grin, had just plunked himself down at the counter in her area and was pretending to look over the worn one-page menu. Damn him!
Carstairs was playing with her, driving her crazy, penning her in, completely haunting her every footstep. There was no place she was safe from him. She didn't know how much longer she could live with the pain he was causing her before she totally flipped out and did something stupid.
Katie tucked a wayward bright red curl behind her ear before setting down Mr. Nose Hair's espresso onto the worn countertop in front of him, ignoring him as he examined it as critically as though it was the first cup he had ever seen.
Her mood was rapidly changing from terrified to belligerent. Probably because that was her only defense against becoming completely hysterical.
She whirled and looked directly at Carstairs.
"Sir? Are you ready to order?" She attempted to fake being subservient, but sounded more like she was challenging him to a gladiatorial duel.
Carstairs smirked and leaned back slightly, taking a long slow simmering look at her under his long-lashed brown eyes. "Ah. My favorite barista."
In a voice too low for her co-workers to hear, she retorted, "Don't make it so fancy, Carstairs. I'm not a barista or anything else. I pour a lousy cup of coffee. I give orders to the fry cook. So. Whaddayawant?"
Katie stood glaring, pad and pen in hand. A slender young woman with circles under her despairing eyes, hair dyed bright red, minimal make-up, and stubborn chin in what would have been a pretty face if it hadn't looked so exhausted.
Carstairs ignored the stubborn chin and focused on the defenseless set of her thin shoulders.
It was exciting. She hadn't cracked yet and still showed defiance. Although she had to know she was completely in his power since she wasn't a stupid girl, by any means. Simply a desperate one. He'd played her well, but now was the time for his reward. He didn't want to wait any longer. Tonight he'd break her and thereby savor that sweetest of sensations. The sense of power that accompanied decimating another human being's sense of worth was the biggest rush he had ever known.
He casually swept an elegant hand through his glossy dark hair, quite conscious that all the other women in the coffee shop were eyeing him appreciatively.
"Katie, the order I'm giving you isn't going to go to the fry cook," he purred, sotto voice. "Meet me in the park tonight at midnight. The usual place. I'll be waiting. And if you're not there on time, I'll go to the police with everything I know."
He watched her blanch and leaned forward for emphasis. "I'm not kidding, Katie, so don't fuck me about. This is serious. Nod if you understand."
Katie clenched her teeth and gave him a brief nod. Damn right it was serious. She had to think of a way to end this tonight, one way or the other.
The cowboy three seats away gave them both a weird look, but Carstairs, the richest man in town, simply winked at the old badger, knowingly, "The course of true love never did run smooth," he murmured.
"Just the usual -- whole wheat toast and cup of your most excellent coffee, Katie, dear," he said in a loud jovial tone.
It was several hours later when Katie, boiling mad but feeling frozen to the bone, walked to their meeting place (by the statue of Carstairs' ancestor being heroic – or merely rich) in the deserted city park. Carstairs was there, a smug expression on his face, waiting in his obscenely expensive sports car. He swung open the passenger door and motioned for her to get inside. She moved into the warmth of it.
There was no use arguing with him or pleading with him, she had learned that.
Yes, she had committed a crime when she was desperate for survival two years ago--she had stolen money while working for one of his companies and it was just her bad luck that he had walked in on her and had caught her red-handed, inexperienced and fumbling as she had been. And he had laughed. Laughed at her! Told her it was all on the security camera, but that he would keep it their little secret. Keep the money, he said, you can pay me back somehow.
But she didn't know it would be like this. That he would stalk her, feeling free to show up at her home or workplace any time of the day or night, making bizarre demands of her, and still threatened her with exposure constantly.
So far, since he hadn't asked for sex, she had unhappily given into his caprices. By his edict, she had to break up with her boyfriend, then ... couldn't date anyone, couldn't leave town to visit her mother, was forbidden to wear high-necked sweaters, he'd demanded she get out of bed and cook for him at 3 in the morning and in short, completely jerked her around, constantly, some demands simply weird, others completely intrusive. And she couldn't take any more.
"Where to, tonight?" Katie asked bitterly, as she fastened her seat belt, her hands clumsy in her thick wool gloves.
"I fancied a drive to the golf course for us," Carstairs offered smoothly, as though he was giving her a big treat, and put the car into drive.
Intent on each other for different reasons, neither noticed the rusty little pickup truck that swung behind them as they exited the park's main drive, shadowing them from a distance.
The struggle began after they reached the deserted, but still lit golf course, and Carstairs removed a small heap of golfing equipment out of the trunk.
"Caddy for me, Katie," Carstairs instructed, an insolent expression on his face.
"You ARE insane," Katie spit out. "It's freezing, the middle of night, and I don't play golf. I don't even know what a caddy does!"
Carstairs had his own agenda mapped out. A little farther, out of sight, and there was a small outbuilding, ready and waiting—but she didn't need to know that yet.
"You're such a baby, Katie," he remonstrated casually, "suck it up, okay? All you have to do is handle my clubs and wipe the balls between holes. I promise we'll be done before you know it. And wish me luck in getting a hole in one."
Katie's mind wandered as he babbled. She thought about the gun in her purse. She wasn't comfortable with shooting him. She'd only fired a gun at the practice range. But now--they would be near a huge pond. Hmmm. She envisioned hitting him over the head with his own club and leaving him face down in the pond. A warm happy feeling came over her.
Murder, yes, she was contemplating murder! It was horrible. But didn't he deserve to die? She was probably going to go to hell for it, but for now she was already living through hell. She was ready to sell her soul if that's what it took.
She'd wait for her opportunity and grab it if it came.
Carstairs' instructions to Katie were just for the fun of it--to throw her off track and confuse her. He watched in amusement as she awkwardly slung a bag with clubs over her shoulder and trailed after him. However, as the cold wind bit through his warm jacket, he changed plans and simply made a beeline for the small building where a warm bed would be waiting--along with a few simple accessories.
He was going to give Katie her second starring appearance on film. Leaving the cash out where she couldn't help but be tempted by it had been too easy. This time she'd really earn her leading role. What he did with her afterwards would depend on how well she amused him.
Caught up in their plans, they were oblivious to the fact that another golfer was on the course. A lanky old man in a cowboy hat.
As they came across the outbuilding, Carstairs sent Katie ahead with a key to open the door. "Forgot my damn putter! There's a few extra that the golf club keeps in there."
Carstairs owned the golf club. "He should know," thought Katie, as she bent over fiddling with the unfamiliar lock. The pond was just a few yards away. She had just had to last until then.
Carstairs loomed up behind Katie, with a facial expression too viciously predatory to be called a smile. His hands were outstretched, ready to shove her roughly to the floor the moment she opened the door.
Suddenly, Katie heard a loud crack and the sound of a body falling behind her. Gasping, she turned around and saw James Carstairs, III, lying inert on the ground, blood pouring out of his head. A golf ball lay nearby.
Thank God! Was all she could think. She couldn't organize her thoughts enough to try to determine where the ball had come from. No, her next thought was "God helps those who help themselves." She hadn't fired a shot or struck him down. But she would make damn sure it ended here.
Somewhere an old man nodded in satisfaction. His granddaughter was safe now, in a boarding school near New York City. But it was about time that mad dog was put down. What good was a championship cup for, anyways, eh?
