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  He bundled something inside a blue wrapper then, glancing side-to-side, he poked around in the trash, appearing to move things about before tossing his package into the dumpster. He almost looked to be hiding something, and when he turned, she recognized the building super.

  She shrugged and pulled the window coverings back in place. "You watch way too much television, Cynthia. The man is only throwing out his trash."

  ***

  Alexander Carlyle slammed his apartment door so hard, the "2E" on the other side loosened, and swung back and forth several times. The paper-thin walls attached to the door shimmied like plywood in a windstorm. He had already placed two calls to the new apartment super requesting that the latch be fixed, but still no dice. Besides not responding, there was something about the guy that bugged Alex.

  He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but this time he wouldn't be quite so nice when he left a message. He pulled on the knob to make sure the door had shut securely. It hadn't.

  "Friggin' thing!" He slammed it again. "Whadda ya gotta do to get service in this hell hole?" He exploded from the stress that had built all day from dealing with the scum of society.

  Alex worked for the San Francisco Police Department, and had lived in 2E in the building for two years. His fiancée had fallen for someone else and asked him to leave their shared home. The Cairns was the best he could do on short notice and matching funds.

  Why had he stayed so long in this dump? The building sure held no charm and allure, but at the time he had no choice. Once he saw the inside, the vacancy sign made sense, but he didn’t give a shit about the appearance, he needed a home.

  His hopes of building a family were as dead as his mother and father, and Alex, an only child, lost track of whoever else might constitute family. He had no visitors to impress, and certainly wasn't eager to enter into another relationship and have his heart broken again. Besides, he spent most of his time at work and the apartment served as a place to eat and sleep, and that was all he needed.

  He secured the dead bolt and snapped on the light switch, illuminating the squalor. The peeling paint and fading curtains did little to enhance the well-worn furniture that came with the apartment. The avocado-green carpeting, a throwback to an era gone by, had more bald spots than remaining shag.

  Odors of rotting leftovers wafted past his nose when he opened the fridge, but he ignored them and grabbed a beer. He dropped all six-foot-two-inches of himself into his easy chair and twisted off the bottle top. As usual, he engaged in a game of trying to bounce the cap off the wall and into the trashcan, but failed. The metal cap landed among the other missed shots that peppered the carpet around the wastebasket. He shrugged at one more missed attempt. Wasn’t being a slob a perk of living alone?

  He took a long, satisfying swig then placed the bottle on the coffee table, almost perfectly atop one of the many other watermarks left by previous beers. Leaning forward, he searched the debris around his beer for the remote control and found it buried under last Sunday's comics. The ancient table teetered precariously to one side, but Alex bent and pushed a folded piece of cardboard back under the uneven leg.

  He moved his half-empty bottle to the end table, and despite it not being empty, rose and grabbed another from the fridge. Draping one long leg over the frayed chair arm, he drained the first Bud Light, while he selected random buttons on the remote, channel surfing for something to occupy his mind.

  Normally, he worked a regular beat with his partner, but they'd been the two uniforms assigned to assist detectives on the recent kidnap/homicide. Thoughts of the crime invaded his mind on a constant basis. Another young woman had vanished—the fourth in a month. One body had been recovered so far, but there were no leads as to the perp's identity. Alex shuddered at the thought of finding the other women dead and ran a hand through his hair. No matter how he tried to block the case from his mind, the crime connected him with memories of another that haunted him.

  His mother had been murdered when he was only twelve, but he still remembered the event as though it happened yesterday. Her battered body had been found sprawled on the floor, her face still contorted with fear of the intruders who robbed and beat her.

  Eventually, the coroner covered her with a sheet, but Alex still had visions of blood soaking through, changing the white to crimson. That was the moment he chose a career to follow. Although young, he vowed to spend his life trying to protect others from the same nightmare.

  He lost both parents that day. His father was never the same and died within a year. He’d withered away before Alex’s very eyes and there wasn‘t a thing he could say or do. He took a healthy draw from his second beer, set it aside and rested his head against the back of the chair and stared at the stained ceiling.

  The local police never caught his mother's killer, and once Alex graduated from the academy, he pushed himself to the limit to solve any cases assigned him. He'd be damned if his current investigation become the only one to defeat him.

  Determination waning, Alex splayed his fingers through his hair again then leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. A long sigh whooshed past his lips. Lack of clues and the perpetrator’s motivation made solving the crime an impossibility. He grabbed his beer, took a swallow and pushed his feelings aside.

  Another Friday night with no plans. His fingers thrummed the worn chair arm. His work buddies had invited him out for a drink, but he got his fill of their braggadocio during the day. Alex preferred to leave his badge at work when he left, even if he couldn't leave his thoughts. He'd swear some of the guys had egos so big they actually wore their badges on their pajamas.

  He focused on the TV screen. Going out with his pals probably wouldn't have been any better than watching this nerdy-looking guy on Channel six forecasting the weather. Besides, drinking at home was cheaper. Alex took another gulp of beer and glanced out the window to confirm the accuracy of the weather report. "Yep, sun going down, sky is clear, day is done."

  ***

  Alex rolled over on his back and stretched. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and was perturbed to see it was only seven thirty a.m. Even on Saturday, his internal alarm clock wouldn't let him sleep in.

  Thoughts of his job flashed through his mind. Too many missing pieces of the puzzle made it impossible to link the few clues together. He curled one arm beneath his neck, snaked the fingers of his other hand under the waistband of his boxers, and scratched his flat stomach. "Okay Alex, what big plans do you have for today?" He sighed. "Oh ... nothing again. How exciting."

  Maybe today was the day he’d clean up the pigsty he lived in. Maybe not! He stretched and yawned, feeling the need to pee.

  Alex rolled to the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, then swaggered into the bathroom to relieve himself of the six pack he‘d polished off before bed. As he stood at the toilet, he stared through bleary eyes at his reflection in the medicine chest mirror. His dark shock of hair lay flat on one side while the other looked like a tornado had rumbled through. Rubbing the palm of his hand against his stubbly chin, he longed for the days when he didn't have to shave every morning.

  "I guess being tall, dark and handsome has its drawbacks," he quipped, while slapping both his cheeks. Too much alcohol always made waking up tough.

  "Hmm!" He leaned in closer, recalling an old re-run of a favorite cop program. “Maybe I should forego shaving and see if I can pull off that Miami Vice-Don Johnson look." He studied the image staring back at him. "Ah, maybe not ... then I'd have to get one of those white, linen outfits like he wears." Alex backed away and cocked his head.

  How would that famous TV cop solve Alex’s current case? The hot water always took at least five minutes to reach his apartment so Alex turned on the shower. While he waited, he sauntered back to the bed and pulled his covers back into place and straightened the pillows. Satisfied he’d done something to improve his housekeeping, he dropped his boxers on the floor, stepped out of them and went back into the bathroom where the
water had finally turned warm. Taking a shower in The Cairns was more like walking in a light rain, but Alex stepped in the tub and quickly soaped and rinsed. The one thing he could always count on: the hot water never lasted very long.

  He yanked the towel from the wall rack, sending the securing hardware flying in all directions. Amidst the tinkling of scattering screws, the entire bar clattered to the floor. He shook his head and sighed. "Shit! What next?"

  Terrycloth wrapped around his waist, Alex left the mess lying on the floor and went into the bedroom. Should he fix the bar or call the super? Such important decisions made Alex laugh. He decided to fix the bar later, right after he picked up all the bottle caps on the living room floor.

  He donned his sweat suit and tennis shoes. Images of the missing women spun through his mind, along with a faceless man who heaved a snide laugh at the police‘s inability to catch him. Overcome with the need to escape his cramped quarters and sickening images, Alex decided a quick run around the nearby park sounded like just the ticket. Besides, a little exercise would counter-balance all those calories from his nightly beers, a habit he’d acquired since the breakup, and one he needed to discard.

  He picked up his IPod and clipped it to his waistband. As he opened the door, the heaping trashcan in the kitchen corner caught his attention. The contents overflowed the container and spewed onto the floor. He donned his headphones and cranked up the volume of his all time favorite song, Travis Tritt's, Ten Feet Tall and Bulletproof.

  Singing along and not caring that he wasn't in tune, he picked up empty beer bottles, potato chip bags, and all the caps that missed their mark and stuffed them all inside the garbage sack. After tying the top, he hefted the bag over his shoulder and strode out into the hallway, keeping step with the musical beat.

  While passing Apartment 2A, the door opened. The tenant backed into the hallway, two garbage bags in tow. Not watching where she was going, she bumped right into him.

  Obviously shocked by the sudden impact, she spun around. "Excuse me, I'm so sorry. I should..." Her widened eyes traveled the length of his body. Her mouth gaped.

  He towered over her petite, maybe five-foot-three frame.

  She gazed up at him. "Uh ... I should have been watching where I was going."

  Alex dropped the trash bag on the floor and removed his headphones. Unable to resist, he returned her once over, but with a much slower scan. Blonde hair drawn back into a ponytail presented a youthful appearance, but her clingy, terrycloth outfit did a great job outlining assets that proved she wasn't a child. The way she licked her full bottom lip, maybe a nervous habit, made him want to savor a taste for himself.

  Realizing he had missed most of what she said, he forced himself to stop ogling her and pay attention. He'd heard her apology and needed to respond, but his mouth turned dry as dust. He cleared his throat and smiled. "No problem," he managed to croak.

  Puberty and voice change passed through his mind, but that took place a long time ago. He swallowed hard and pointed to her trash bags and then to his own. "Looks like we're both headed for the same place."

  "Yep, it's Saturday, my cleaning day. Same routine every weekend." Her head tilted in a way that made her beautiful hazel eyes sparkle.

  His palms turned sweaty, and he wiped his right hand against his pant lengthen extended it. "Name's Alex Carlyle. I live in Apartment 2E."

  Her tiny hand disappeared inside his. "Hi, Alex. I'm Cynthia Freitas. Looks like we're neighbors. How long have you lived here?"

  Why did she make his knees weak? He adjusted his stance. "Going on two years already. Time flies when you're having fun."

  "Wow, two whole years!" The rise and fall of her shoulders showed her shock. "I've only lived here for three months and I'm ready to move."

  He laughed. "Me, too. Service is lousy around here, and everything is falling apart. But don't give your two weeks notice yet. There aren't too many other affordable places to live this close to the city."

  He still held her hand, but dropped it like a hot coal the moment he realized he hadn‘t let go. If she was bothered, it didn't show.

  "That's for sure." She seemed to want to keep the conversation going. "I looked at lots of places, but this is the only one within my price range. So, here I am!” She cocked her head and peered up at him. “Why haven't we run into each other before?"

  "Strange that we haven't, especially since we're just two doors apart. But, then, I pretty much spend all my time at work. When I'm home, I hibernate."

  "What do you do when you aren't…hibernating?"

  "I'm in law enforcement…a police office."

  "Gee. I didn't know a lawman lived so close. I guess I'll have to keep my wild parties to a minimum." Tipping her head back, she giggled, not in a flirty way, but more a nervous titter at a joke made at her own expense.

  A woman's laughter sounded good after so long, and she was cute too boot "Hmm, so, that's where all the noises are coming from. I just thought the pipes were creaking and the floor settling." He leaned against the wall, relaxed and not wanting the conversation to end.

  Her smile faded. "Actually, that's exactly what you heard. Squealing pipes pretty much describes the only sounds coming from my apartment."

  "Right! A pretty girl like you?"

  Her cheeks reddened. "Thank you. But I haven't had time to mix and mingle with anyone other than colleagues from work. I'm an accountant by trade, and they aren't usually the most exciting folks in the world. I like to leave the boring part of me behind at five o'clock."

  Her blush surprised him. Surely she was used to compliments, a looker like her. He reached past her and put his hand on her doorknob. "Got your key?"

  She produced one from her pocket. "Right here."

  He pulled the door closed and locked it. "Don't want to take any chances with your valuables, especially in this neighborhood. Oh, and you mentioned not having excitement in your life?" He picked up one of her trash bags along with his own. "How's this? Allow me to escort you to the dumpster. Now you‘ll have something to write home about." He laughed and it felt good.

  Once in the alley, Cynthia flashed back to the building Superintendent and his suspicious behavior. She fought the urge to dig for the bundle he'd deposited, and almost laughed. Wouldn't dumpster diving make a great first impression on her handsome neighbor?

  Alex snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Can I have your other bag or have you become attached to it?"

  "I'm sorry," she said, handing it to him. "I guess I drifted off somewhere."

  Alex took hold of her elbow. "Garbage delivered, mission accomplished."

  She chuckled as they walked back into the building. "Next time I hope you take me some place that smells a little better."

  She noticed the slightly ajar first-floor apartment door as they ascended the stairs, but didn't mention it. For the first time since she'd arrived, she felt safe.

  ***

  He watched the couple disappear from sight, inched his door shut then leaned against it. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and struck a match. The smell of sulfur hung in the air. What a disgusting display he’d just witnessed. A chuckle, sounding evil even to him, escaped his puckered lips as he held the fire to the tobacco end and watched the Camel come to life.

  The way they'd laughed and carried on while he peeked through the door. She was a looker, that blonde from upstairs, but then she probably knew it. He could tell by the way she batted her eyes and flaunted her curves at her unsuspecting victim. Her actions made him sick to his stomach.

  The sun had climbed higher in the sky and left his room virtually dark. He moved to turn on the light and pondered saving the poor schmuck who'd been with the bitch. So many blondes and so little time. But, ridding the world of women like her was his responsibility and he'd take care of her soon, very soon.

  ***

  Cynthia couldn't believe she'd actually churned up enough nerve to invite Alex for dinner. Talking with him came easy, and the fact that he w
as drop-dead gorgeous didn't hurt either. She could only imagine how fantastic he looked in his police gear. The saying, “women love a man in uniform” had to have started for a good reason.

  While they'd been at the dumpster, she pondered mentioning what she'd seen from her window earlier; but the last thing she wanted was for him to think she had nothing better to do than spy on people. She'd decided to keep it to herself, at least for the moment. Still, she wondered about the strange man who oversaw the building. His emotionless features made him appear evil.

  Rummaging through the cupboards, she grasped for ideas on what to prepare. She had chicken in the fridge, so she could broil the breasts and top them with melted Parmesan cheese and chives. Now all she needed was a side dish. Perhaps mac and cheese. Didn't everyone love pasta in some form? Standing on tiptoes and still barely reaching the second shelf, she teased the box forward until it fell into her hands. Her greatest dilemma came while surveying the can goods on the shelf below. Green beans? Corn? Baked Beans? Decisions, decisions.

  She snapped her fingers. "Got it. I'll do green beans with sliced new potatoes and bacon bits." She hadn’t eaten all day and her menu made her stomach rumble.

  She put the cans with the beans and potatoes on the counter next to the box of pasta to simplify preparation later. Afterwards, she made one more sweep through the apartment making sure everything was tidy before she showered.

  In the bathroom, she stood with her hand under the running water for what seemed an eternity. When the coldness finally changed to warm, Cynthia stepped into the tub and drew the shower curtain closed. As usual, the pressure was terrible. Water dribbled out rather than sprayed. She lathered her body with fragrant, liquid jasmine, then struggled to remove the suds with the diminished trickle.

  Suddenly, the pressure increased at the same time that the water turned to ice. She screamed and bolted from the tub, goose bumps dotting her ivory skin. She reached in to turn off the shower, then quickly grabbed a towel. "Yikes! I hate this place. First, no hot water then cold water. What next? Oh, Lord, find me a new place to live…one I can afford!"