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He looked down at the knife in his left hand, dripping in blood. Pausing from his task, he listened to the sound of labored breathing coming from the other room. The gasping became slower and heavier, then stopped.
Charles Jordan was dead.
Back to work.
He turned his handsome blond head toward the woman splayed on the kitchen floor in front of him. He’d hit her pretty hard, but this gal was tough.
Grabbing her tangled hair, he jerked her into a sitting position and
placed the bloody knife under her throat.
“Tell me where you hid the chip.”
“No!” She gasped. The man watched as Liz Jordan’s dark eyes darted wildly at the clock.
“Where’s your daughter, Liz?” he hissed in her ear, pulling the knife ever so slightly into her throat.
The woman’s eyes grew wide for a second, but quickly veiled again.
“She’s spending the night with a friend.”
“You’re lying!” He dug the knife deeper. A drop of blood trickled down her neck and dripped on the white tile floor.
“Tell me where that chip is, or I’ll kill her, too.”
The killer watched the woman glance desperately at the clock one more time, then felt her body go limp under his grasp.
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but pl..please,” she sputtered, “I’m begging, don’t hurt her. Th..there’s a key to a safety deposit box taped under the table. First Bank of Georgia. Main branch. Please,” she gasped, “Hannah has nothing to do with this.”
The man reached under the table with his free hand and found a key. Smirking, he slipped it into his pocket. He looked down at the woman. Her eyes were pleading.
“Thanks, Mrs. Jordan. Now, I just have one piece of unfinished business.”
He paused, savoring the thought of slashing Liz Jordan’s beautiful white throat.
“Mom?” came a girl’s voice from the front door.
The broken woman below him stirred as she struggled now to raise her head. He could read the desperation in
her eyes. The man tightened his grip and put his finger to his mouth to indicate silence, but the woman was
“Don’t come in here honey. RUN!”
He covered the woman’s mouth to stifle one last cry before slashing her throat. Then he headed toward the sound of the girl’s voice. Hannah Jordan was going to wish she’d missed her curfew.
That's me. Wife, mom, former teen, and writer.
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