Killer Profile

Her husband was a good father, attentive and caring, but something had come unraveled in his professional life when Co

To his credit, he never seemed bitter and did not hold her responsible for him having to get what he called a “real” job, one that paid respectably and brought him genuine satisfaction as a photographer, with the only significant drawback that it sometimes caused him to have to leave in the middle of the night. They’d had their second son, Kyle, whom her husband adored; and theirs was, measured by any reasonable yardstick, a happy family life.

Even so, true to her nature, and like her parents, Co

Her husband crossed the room, bent down and hugged her to him and gave her a quick kiss.

“Get some sleep,” he said into her ear.

She held him an extra moment. “I sleep better with you next to me.”

He gave her another kiss. “That’ll be me, snuggling in next to you, before you know it.”

He drew away and moved toward the door.

Pulling the blankets up to her throat, Co

“Not likely,” he said with a grin, “in this.”

“And don’t forget I love you.”

He said something that might have been, “I love you,” but she didn’t quite make it out. Then she heard the door close and he was gone.

Thunder rumbled and rain lashed the windows. She snapped off the TV and lay trembling. She began to cry. Not heaving sobs, just tiny self-pitying tears.

She’d been doing that a lot lately, and had no idea why.

April 17 Chicago Heights, Illinois

   Adrie

Addie had a straight nose and a nice mouth despite rather thin lips, and her crooked smile could turn the heads of a lot of the boys, especially, thankfully, Be

Like Addie, Be

With his close-cropped black hair and slenderly muscular frame, Be

Now, for instance.

They sat next to each other in the bucket seats of his navy blue Hyundai Tiburon. The car was actually Be

Turning to her in darkness cut only by the dashboard glow, Be

She loved him calling her that. “Nothing,” she said, reaching across the console and touching his knee. Squeezing his knee…

After their third date, he had started calling her “ querida.” When she had asked him what it meant, he’d said, “ ‘Darling.’ Or it can also mean, you know, ‘lover.’ ”

His eyes had lowered then, his embarrassment obvious. But she had kissed his cheek and told him she liked it. Since then, she had been “ querida” whenever they were together.

Now, his eyes went back to watching the traffic on the rain-slicked Dixie Highway as they headed south, toward home. Traffic wasn’t heavy, but they weren’t the only ones out late on this windy, rainy night.

Normally, their parents would have pitched fits about them being out past midnight on a school night, but tonight was special. Be

They had met the coach outside the park and gotten the tickets. They had even enjoyed the first few i

“Tell me what you were laughing at,” he pressed.

She shook her head, her hand covering her mouth in embarrassment. “I can’t tell you.”

“Come on, querida,” he said, all honey-voiced. “You know you want to.” His fingertip touched her arm and she felt a surge of heat rush through her.

“No!” she squealed. “I’m not telling you.”

His hand moved, finding a rib and tickling.

She slapped it away. “Will you please drive?”

He gri

He tickled her ribs again, this time his hand brushing a breast and, even as she giggled, warmth surged through her. If they hadn’t been so late, tonight would have been the night— thenight.

But she wanted it perfect for them both, and this evening—which was supposed to be Be

She’d been pla

Still, Addie knew one thing above all: she didn’t want to wait until prom night.

Some of the other girls, who had already done the deed, told her it would hurt a little ( at leasta little) and it could be messy ( wouldbe messy). That wasn’t the experience she had in mind for prom night, not to mention her prom dress. That night needed to be extra special perfect. Better to get the thing out of the way before, and hope it was fun, at least.

There would be other nights, no doubt, but she was so primed this night.…

“Tell me,” he said, tickling her once more.

“All right!” She pushed his hand away. “It’s just… embarrassing.”

He shrugged. “So what? Tell me.”

“I was just… thinking about the CD being in your mom’s car? Like how fu

“It is her music,” he said.

“You’re kidding!”

“No,” he said, his voice as calm as the sky wasn’t. “She really digs Ozomatli.”

“ Yourmom is into multiculti hip-hop rock?”

Be

Part of the reason she loved Be

“Which song’s her fave, then?” she challenged.

“This one,” he said, skipping to song number eight on the live album—“Love and Hope.”