HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

By the dim light of a twenty-five watt bulb, he laboriously printed the letters, paying attention to the size and shape of the English letters forming the words to be as uninformative as possible. Although, he had a word processor and a ink-jet printer, he avoided using them for fear they'd somehow reveal who he was. He sighed, shifted on the three-legged stood and unkinked his fingers. He'd thought about cutting letters out of magazines but had dismissed that for being too ridiculously American a ploy to implement. He wiggled his fingers to undo the stiffness, feeling the inner coating of powder lining the latex gloves stick like glue to his sweaty hands.

He'd never done anything like this before. But he'd planned down to the last detail. He knew what worked and what wouldn't. For a moment, he glanced over his shoulder at the figure stretched out on the cot. Even in the dim light, he could see the curls framing the oval face, the long natural lashes looking like black smudges against the pale skin. Heavily sedated, she was as still as death on the cot.

In the small stuffy room--the one narrow window was closed and locked, despite the heat--a faint sheen of sweat covered her bare arms and legs, making the rayon sundress stick to her slender body. A sadness filled her expression, even so deeply drugged. For a second, his eyes lingered at her throat where a perfectly round white pearl nestled in the hollow of her throat, moving with each heartbeat. The necklace alone would make him well off for years.

As he turned back to his task, he grinned. He wasn't nervous. He'd planned too well to be nervous. Avarice made his hazel eyes gleam. Simplest way to come into a fortune, short of a winning streak at the casino. The girl's father was so Godawful filthy rich, he wouldn't miss a a few measly million. The man finished the note and stuffed it in a manila envelope. Carefully, he addressed the envelope, knowing the business address by rote. Hell, he should considering he'd worked there five years before getting fired last month.

His grin widened. In a matter of days, he'd be three damn million dollars richer, free and clear after paying off his markers, then he'd vanish into anonyminity, no one the wiser. He dropped the envelope in his briefcase. He'd post it this afternoon. He tugged the latex glove off his left hand and scowled. The fine white powder was caked on his palm. A noise behind him made him freeze in the process of taking the other glove off.

No, he thought. She couldn't be coming to. The woman he'd gotten the sedative from claimed it would knock her out for days. His shoulders tightened with sudden tension. She couldn't be awake. The moan came again, ending in a half-sigh. He could see his perfect plan shatter into a trillion miniscule pieces. Damn, damn, damn....Already, he saw the riches sliding right through his fingers. No.

He got up quickly. He'd neve done this sort of thing before. This had been an act of pure desperation; he had to get the money. He had to. The man, tall and lean, his hair black in the dim light, stared down at her, then quietly moved around to the other side of the cot. If she woke up, if she saw his face, he was a dead man. Sweat made his olive T-shirt stick to him.

She moved restlessly in her drugged sleep, keening softly, knocking one of the pillows to the concrete floor. Silently, he bent down and picked up the thin pillow, held it in both hands. He stared at the girl for a long moment, then looked at the pillow in his hands. It would be so simple. Just cover her face with the pillow. Still sedated, she wouldn't even be able to fight him. He could still send the ransom note, then as soon as he had the money, he could hightail it out of the city, out of the country. He took a step forward, then another.

The sharp crack of a lightning bolt made him jump. He blinked as if he'd dozed off. Had the heat scrambled his brain, he wondered. She was his insurance against the five million dollars. She couldn't be killed....yet. As thunder rumbled ominously outside, he tossed the pillow into a dark corner. He took a deep breath of the stale humid air and sat back down. No, he wouldn't kill her--unless it became necessary....

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.