Time to Try

She sat in her apartment combing her hair, the man's body was gone - thank god, had she had to see such a sight any longer she'd have taken a gun and killed herself. Yuck. No, it wasn't the dead body, that was fine. It was the nasty, tacky and cheap uniform the man wore. She laughed at a thought, how desperate must a man be to become a cop? She thought of Lyndon of what she now knew he did for a job. In many ways, when he was hired to kill people Lyndon himself upheld the law though his job had benefits, no uniform and a great wage. Win, win win.
She smiled and looked at her nails holding them up, beautifully manicured and painted a blood red - a beautiful colour. Next she'd have to paint this hideous and undecorated apartment, or she could just move out? Yes, that second one. Pete had left her enough money, maybe without knowing, maybe by accident, but the money was there all the same, sitting in her private bank account. Oh how she loved the way rich, tough men left their cheque books lying around, as though they were untouchable. As though no man would dare to touch it; and then they live with women.
Suckers.
Her mind wandered, a picture of Lyndon in her head, she was so desperately attracted to him. She thought of it, questioned. Why was she attracted to him? He was short, too short. Bexii herself was on the small side, perhaps five feet five inches was right for her? Though his sand blond hair was a turn off, dark hair all the way, his eyes were beautiful, but cold and his fashion sense was just... ugh. She concluded, it was the air of danger and of course, his wallet. A duh moment. Rich men bought women what they wanted, and all the better, rich men she found thought that they could have any woman they wanted. They could, just not for long.
She stood, walking slowly, eligently around the flat, she wore a dress, short, knee length short, red, a black belt. She'd called Lyndon soon after he'd got out of the police station, she had of course heard about that. Yes, she knew. All had gone well. He'd be coming over that night, she had to dress to impress. Her heels shone, the silver stiletto glittered slightly. Satisfied she grabbed the keys to an over priced Mercedes, her pride and joy and left this shabby place. of course, she had given Lyndon the address to a nice little apartment somewhere just outside Nottinghill.
She sat in the car and checked her handbag, a small sigh. She'd have to stop at a store before she made her way for this wonderful night.

Lyndon Kaller had changed, albeit quickly. He'd left a quick suicide note with the body of the creature who had killed Stephanie, he'd checked the place over and conducted a quick spring cleaning session. No need, but being safe was best. The police would find him here in a few days and assume the man had killed himself. However unlikely it might have been for the man to have cut his wrists in such a way, it was possible. He stepped before the mirror in his hotel room, brushed his hair and checked his clothes didn't clash. The navy shirt with the tan chino's, actually it worked. He sprayed on his favourite scent and left, the door clicking shut. He sighed and took a moment, his mind wandering to her. His heart raced, his pulse quick nd his eyes closed against his will, he felt his hands sweating, his stomach knotting and the pit of his stomach warmed, the feeling travelled south.
Oh God, no.
He gulped and checked the gun was in his pocket, it had to be tonight, when he reached her. He had no choice, a minute longer and he'd fail. How could he kill a woman he was beginning to fall in love with?