"Find out what the price is and then pay it."
Scott Adams

Killer

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, staring into the dark abyss of my pitch-black coffee. I have been mulling over this Cindy fucking Powell situation all weekend. My wife knows something is up with me, but she knows better than to question me. I rub my temples as I try to fend off a growing headache.

I hear my little one bounding down the stairs with my wife following closely behind her.

"Good morning, Daddy," she announces her presence.

I smile. "Good morning, Princess. Are you all set for school?"

"Yep. Mommy did my hair in piggy tails. Do you like it?" she asks as she pounces onto my lap.

I grin at my wife as I hug my daughter close to me. "Mommy did a fantastic job; you look beautiful."

My wife leans over and kisses me. "Come on, Betsy. It's time to go."

She helps Betsy down off of my lap. "Have a good day, Babe."

I slap her ass. "You, too."

She looks at me with concern, "There is Tylenol in the cabinet."

This woman can read me like a fucking book. She kisses my forehead before taking Betsy by the hand. My girls disappear behind the door to the garage, leaving me behind to deal with my inner demons.

I refill my coffee and grab the Tylenol out of the cabinet. I'm stressing over my stupidity in shooting that warning shot toward three San Diego police officers. I had no idea that was retired Detective Powell's house. It wasn't until after the shooting that I recognized him, Sam, and Frank through my rifle's scope as they all dove in to protect Cindy. I might have shot one, but I was not sticking around to find out who. So now it won't be just Cindy and Sam after me. Shit, I messed up big!

I attempted to push away my anxiety on my drive to work; it was futile. I entered the offices of Big Dog like it was just another day of work. I would have walked past our receptionist, Carla, if she didn't acknowledge me.

"Good morning, Mr. Anderson," she chirps, a little too cheery for my current mood.

I mumble back an appropriate response and head directly to my office.

I run through my morning routine, which entails looking for red flags from the weekend within our security system here at Big Dog Contracting. I've been running security here for Frank Reed since he started his construction company six years ago. We've been friends since high school. I would do anything for that knucklehead, and I have.

When Trusted Construction laid off, more like fired Reed as their foreman, he filed a complaint against them for breaking their contract for no apparent reason. They gave him a bullshit story about cutting back when all the asshole owner wanted to do was hire his son to take Reed's place. So Reed sued Trusted Construction for breach of contract. They settled out of court for $500,000, and Reed used that money to begin Big Dog Construction. Unfortunately, it didn't end there.

Even after settling with the owner, Brad Stevens, he would not let Reed alone. When Stevens found out that Reed was starting his own construction company, Stevens knew that he would lose his clients to Big Dog. So, he threatened to sue Reed. He claimed the settlement didn't allow Reed to open up a competing construction company. Reed's lawyers said that no such agreement existed. When Stevens realized he didn't have legal grounds against Reed, he threatened to ruin his reputation with false claims against his work ethic.

I wasn't going to let that happen. Reed has no clue what I did for him. Even though I didn't intend to kill Stevens, he died at my hands. I went too far and beat him to death. I knew Big Dog scheduled footers to be poured at a job site the next day, so I thought that would be a perfect place to hide the body. That was until I found the footers already poured when I arrived to dump Stevens. I admit I panicked. I had already removed any identifying features: teeth, hands, and feet. There was no way anyone would recognize or reconstruct his face after the beating I gave him. I broke every bone in that fucker's face. But to make it look like a hit, I shot him in the back of the head.

With my extensive computer background, I could fake a flight to the Bahamas in Stevens's name. As far as his family and friends know, Stevens went for an impromptu vacation and never returned. I check occasionally; Brad Stevens is still considered a missing person in the Bahamas.

A quick knock on the door brings me back to the present. I see Reed enter my office and sit across from me.

"What's up, Boss?"

"Good morning, Anderson."

Every day starts like this.

"What's on the agenda?" I respond as I do every morning.

"I'm meeting Benson Easton at the Bailey Project worksite. I'm on my way there now."

My ears perk up at the mention of Easton.

"Is all good here?" Reed asks.

I stammer, "Uh, yeah. Nothing to report." My mind is already concocting a plan to get to Cindy Powell while her boss is away with mine.

"Good, then. I'll see you later this afternoon."

I nod as Reed leaves my office.

My mind leaves the work I had started moments ago and thinks about a way to get Cindy Powell to Big Dog's office.

My phone interrupts my thoughts.

"This is Anderson."

Two hours later, I'm finally off the phone. I had to walk one of my guys through a system restart as I troubleshot remotely.

I got another cup of coffee and saw Carla sitting at her desk.

"Hey, Carla." I lift my coffee cup. "Do you need a refill?"

She smiles at me. "Yes, please."

As I walk over to get her cup, a brilliant idea pops into my head.

"Also, Reed and I were just on the phone. He told me to ask you to call Cindy Powell on Benson Easton's behalf. Easton needs some blueprints brought here to the office." I lie my ass off, hoping this little scheme works.

"Did he tell you where the blueprints are?" Carla asks innocently, unaware that I just implicated her in the crime I was about to commit.

Shit. I had to think fast. "I believe Reed said that the blueprints are on Easton's desk," I say, attempting to sound confident and wording it so if they are not on his desk, my excuse will be that I might have misheard him.

"I'll call her right now."

"Thank you, Carla."

I smirk as I take her cup to refill her coffee and mine. When I return, I hear the end of Carla's conversation with Cindy.

"She's on her way, " she tells me as she hangs up the phone and takes her cup from my hand. "Thank you for the refill."

"You're welcome," I say before returning to my office.

I stop when I hear Carla say, "I was unaware that Mr. Reed and Mr. Easton were returning to the office."

I shrug my shoulders. "I'm just the messenger, Carla, just the messenger, " I respond as I walk away.

Ten minutes later, I'm out of my office and on my way to the parking lot. I stop at Carla's desk to give myself an alibi.

"I must run out for the rest of the afternoon, Carla. My buddy is picking me up outside."

"Sounds good, Mr. Anderson. Have a good rest of the day, she responds.

"You, too." I smile as her phone rings.

I walk out of the front entrance. Time for Cindy fucking Powell to pay up for messing with the wrong guy. Five minutes later, I saw her car enter the parking lot. I notice her direction, and I quickly follow her, hiding amongst the parked cars. I hear her doors automatically unlock as she puts her vehicle into park.

I use this opportunity to jump into her passenger seat and press my Glock 19 into her side.

"Drive."