Martin woke up screaming from another bloody nightmare. But then he spotted Jennifer’s phone and started to laugh. Next he snatched her phone up, typing his own name again when it asked for her password. He wanted to be sure he hadn’t just dreamed what he was laughing about too.
He hadn’t. There it all was again in her phone’s notes. If he made what he’d found public not only was it guaranteed to go viral, but he was quite sure the stupid bitch could be indicted for treason against the United States. Still, the public exposure of the pictures referred to in Jennifer’s notes would undoubtedly concern her more. Martin savored each shot in the album. She thought she could blackmail the man with pictures of her naked body splattered with what looked quite literally like shit? While this man did things to her not even the raunchiest porn site could have imagined? Just who did she imagine was in a position to blackmail whom?
Giddy from nightmare-induced sleep deprivation, Martin laughed and laughed. This time that greedy, manipulative bitch had really…as they used to say it…lost the plot.
Even if he hadn’t succeeded in framing Jennifer for a murder he’d committed, he was free. Free from a lifetime of picking up her dry cleaning, paying off her collection-agency debts, and…by far the worst of it; he thought he’d puke at the thought of it…getting it up for her.
His doorbell rang, persistently. There was only one person that could be. Okay, the bitch had somehow managed to talk her way out of the murder rap he’d tried to pin on her. Probably all ready to scream at him because the box of her precious “stuff” he’d sent her back for wasn’t in the storage space after all. He carefully turned Jennifer’s phone off, slipped it into Karen’s suitcase…which he’d hidden in a closet, and danced his way to the door as he struggled to suppress a Cheshire-cat grin.
This was going to be fun.
He swung the door open wide.
On the other side was what looked like a whole battalion of cops.
