Blood Red by James A. Moore Page A

as quietly as he could manage. He had a feeling that Liz was about to make his whole day better.
    The kitchen was big; it was one of the things he liked about the house. There was an island in the center, complete with a chopping block, and several stainless steel countertops ran along the entire wall of the room. Most of Tom’s food was delivery, but he liked the appearance of a professional kitchen for those rare occasions when he had something catered. It didn’t happen often, but now and then he had get-togethers for his more prestigious clientele.
    Mostly it was for show, but it was also a great place to sit and relax. It was also one of the first places a lot of the girls looked if they were trying to find out where he hid his dope.
    Liz might be making him breakfast, or she might be trying to steal his stash. The former would get her a few brownie points. The latter would take care of his desire to hear her cry again.
    Liz Montclair was a good-looking girl; she was cheer-leader material, with lustrous sandy hair and wide hazel eyes. She also had a mouth that was beyond generous. Like most of his hookers, she was a college student. He liked to get the girls young, before the shit they went through on the streets could make them look older than their years. Liz was already starting to show the signs of her bad habits. She was starting to get a little too hooked on the heavier shit. Her weight was going down and she was going to lose her looks if he didn’t make her curb her taste for partying.
    That, or he could just find a few more whores.
    He watched her as she carefully moved from cupboard to cupboard; searching the various containers for where he might have hidden what she was looking for.
    He waited patiently, knowing full well that she was getting closer to being in deep trouble. It only took her four more minutes to find the stash, and by then she was so desperate that she wasn’t even paying attention.
    He waited until her hand was deep inside the container of rice before he stepped all the way into the room. She was on her hands and knees, her face focused solely on the contents of the container.
    He waited for the look of triumph when she found the baggie inside and then cleared his throat. Liz started, shocked by the sudden sound, and dropped the canister of rice. It rolled twice, spilling easily a pound of grain across the hardwood floor.
    “You having fun there, Lizzie?” He walked closer, looking at the mess she’d made, his eyes taking their time in reaching the shocked and frightened features on her face. She was a pretty girl, with the sort of face that every guy would love to take home to meet the folks. She also looked so damned sexy when she was afraid.
    “Tom!” Her voice broke and she stuttered. “I was just going to make you breakfast in bed!”
    “I’m sure you were.” He walked closer until he was looming above her. Liz looked up, her bottom lip trembling and her eyes already starting to tear. “Lizzie? Honey? We seem to have a problem here.”
    “I was just . . . I was gonna pay you, but I need a fix.”
    “Of course you do.” He reached out with his hands and pulled the baggie from her fingers. He tore the package open and threw the contents in her face, watching her as she coughed uncontrollably, her face going red from the violence of her fit. “Help yourself, honey. It’s nice and pure.”
    And it was, too; Tom doubted there was a better source anywhere for powdered sugar. Liz’s lungs tried to compensate for the inhaled confection; it wasn’t working out. She kept coughing for almost a minute, and when she was finished, she stared at the floor, her lips licking at the white powder on her face.
    “What is that?” She wiped at her face, smearing white paste across her features and wiping a few spots of moisture away.
    “Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to leave anything like that lying around my house?” Tom reached out and grabbed a thick handful of her