Chosen by a Killer by Laurie Nave (fastest ebook reader TXT) 📕

Celia leaned forward slightly and rested her chin on her upturned palm. “You already knew him?”

“Oh yes,” Natasha waved the smoke around as she gestured. “He attended the private high school that my father insisted I attend. He was two years older, but still, I knew him. And he knew me.”

Celia noticed Natasha’s tone and slightly narrowed eyes betrayed her detached manner. “And what did he think he knew?”

Smiling, Natasha flicked ash onto the floor. “He thought I would worship him as the other girls did. And he thought I was naïve. He asked me to a school dance, and I said yes. Of course, he was expelled before the dance took place.”

“Expelled? Why?”

“Before the dance, my father allowed me to meet him for a movie. He had a car, but Father believed I was too young to ride with him. Tom had some cigarettes and a bottle of vodka and suggested we go driving instead. I had hoped until then that he might have an interest in me, but when he suggested the drive and the alcohol, I knew. I knew what he was.”

“So he got you intoxicated, and then he...took advantage?”

“He underestimated me. I had been sneaking a bit of Father’s vodka for years. I was never intoxicated. And he would probably say I humiliated him, the spoiled bastard. In return, he threatened to tell everyone that we had sex.” Natasha sighed. “It was fortunate for me that drugs were discovered in his locker on Monday.” She smiled at Celia.

“Yes, very lucky,” Celia smiled back. “Where did you get—“

“Of course, no one ever really knew where the drugs came from. You know how impulsive teenagers can be. He was expelled, and he slinked off like a kicked dog.”

“Until you saw him in the diner.”

“He did not notice me, so I began to watch him. He wore a suit that looked more expensive than it was. I noticed that he spoke to a wife on one phone and a mistress on another. He was the same as he had been. Of course, after several mornings he attempted to say hello. A man like this cannot help himself. Still too stupid to remember me, but I knew that my sanctuary wasn’t a sanctuary as long as he was there. And one morning he would not be stupid.”

Celia watched as Natasha smoked in silence for a few minutes. She had met with her enough times now to understand the undercurrent of anger in her eyes. Natasha was still cool, of course, but the slight hardening around the corners and the way her fingers gripped the cigarette made it clear that she was still angry remembering Tom. Natasha would take her time telling the story, however, always the consummate actress. Celia had learned to wait through the silence rather than probing.

“I followed him several times. He was always on his phone, telling his mistress what he would like to do to her, telling his wife he could not be home for dinner. The parking garage where he kept his car was older, with no cameras and very little activity. It was easy to approach him and ask him for a light. He never saw the gun.”

“Yes, the gun,” Celia noted. “They were never able to trace it.”

“No. I can thank my father for that. He knew many things from living in Russia during the Cold War.”

“And you only used it once.”

“Of course. To use the same gun again would connect people. Only an idiot would use the gun more than once,” Natasha shrugged. “I left the garage and went home. The clothing was washed and taken to one of those charity drop-bins. I did what many have done with the gun, I tossed it into the river.”

Celia wrote in her notebook as she absorbed Natasha’s retelling of the murder. There was a strange logic to her actions, and her story - so matter of fact, Celia almost understood how the murder made sense. She was learning that Natasha had a logic to every choice she made. Sure, the logic might be cold and criminal, but it was logical. Considering Celia’s issues with the persistent and slightly creepy Bart, she could empathize with the actress’s desire to have a part of her life that was safe from threatening interlopers.

“Have I shocked you?” Natasha interrupted Celia’s thoughts.

“Actually, no. I was just thinking about how there is an understandable logic as to why you killed him. Which is a little disturbing,” Celia chuckled.

“I thought you might see that. I’m sure you’ve encountered people who threatened your sense of personal space.”

Celia didn’t mention Bart; she knew Natasha was probing. “Yes, I think most of us have.”

Keith knocked, and as he entered, Celia packed her things. Natasha greeted Keith and smiled as her guard entered. Both women exited Room 4 without a word.

“You look deep in thought,” Keith said.

“She still has some of that dramatic ability,” Celia said.

“That she does. She can almost make you feel sorry for her.”

Celia didn’t respond, but she agreed. In fact, the more they talked, the more able Celia was to see things from Natasha’s perspective. She guessed it was because she too had a pragmatic way of looking at things, along with a strong sense of self-preservation. Not only had Celia learned her way of looking at things wasn’t stereotypically feminine, but it also wasn’t always traditionally black and white. After all, Celia had done a bit of maneuvering and manipulating to further her career, she thought to herself, remembering Paul Singleton. Sometimes you had to do what you had to do.

When Celia picked up her personal from the clerk, Sabria remarked, “I guess I forgot to get your cell phone. Or you didn’t bring one. Let’s keep that oversight to ourselves.”

Celia chuckled as she powered up her cell phone, but her gut felt heavy as she typed in her password. There were almost 20 text notifications from an unknown number. Since blocking Bart’s number the weeks