Kill For Me Read Free

“the one.” So he dumped her, which sent Sandee into an abyss of melancholy and despair.
    Now, as she counted her money and chitchatted with her boss, Sandee was talking about how she had found herself involved in one of those relationships that love experts on Oprah often tell women to run from: she loved the man but, Sandee said, she wasn’t “in love” with him.
    “You live with him, right?” her boss queried.
    “Yeah. We have a townhome. He takes care of me. He’s respectful. I just don’t have those kinds of feelings for him. He’s passive. We live in the same home but have separate rooms.”
    On paper, in other words, the guy was perfect. In her heart, well, it just wasn’t what she wanted.
    “Did you go out last night?” Sandee had brought a change of clothes to work the previous night, with the thought of heading out for a few drinks with friends after work. Her boss wasn’t sure if she had gone or not. Changing the subject, it seemed, was a good idea.
    “No…he was disappointed that I was going out. We didn’t have a fight or anything, but he wasn’t happy.”
    “You worked late, huh?”
    “To be honest, that’s the only reason why I didn’t go.”
    Sandee was tired, but in a “good mood” when she left, her boss later said. After squaring up her register and punching the time clock, Sandee Rozzo walked through the kitchen, pushed the exit door open, hit the parking lot, and headed for her car.
     
    As Sandee Rozzo approached her car, unaware that someone had been in the parking lot for the past eight hours, her killer awoke.
    But it was too late now to kill Sandee in the Green Iguana parking lot. She was already in her car, headlights on, stereo full tilt, pulling out onto the main road.
    All of this went on as her killer realized what was happening and became unnerved, staring at Sandee as she pulled out.
    “Shit.”
    The killer tore out of the parking space quickly, kicking up rubble, and got on the main road, but stayed far enough behind Sandee, so as not to be suspicious.
    Pulling up right behind Sandee as she approached the bridge over Old Tampa Bay, the killer made another call. Police would learn later it was the twentieth call of the day the killer had made to the Svengali at home calling the shots.
    “It will be over in a few minutes,” the killer said, staring at the back of the target’s BMW. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”
    As the stalker pulled up closer to Sandee’s car as they drove, their cars just feet apart, no one could have imagined what happened next.

3
    It was cool out, now that the sun had been down for several hours. Considering that the Gulf of Mexico was in front of Sandee as she headed over the Howard Frankland Bridge, and it was nearly the middle of summer in Florida, “cool” meant the low 70s. Generally, Sandee liked to drive her black BMW with the top down, feeling Old Tampa Bay’s salty air and gentle breeze caress her silky skin as she sped home like a movie star. But not tonight. Sandee took the twenty-five-minute drive with the top up. She was likely tired. Working two jobs had exhausted the woman. She wanted to be in her bed, snuggled up with her comforter, falling blissfully off to sleep. Tomorrow was another day.
    Approaching the west end of the Howard Frankland Bridge, Sandee turned onto the 275 connector. From there, it was onto 118th Avenue North, toward the Pinellas Park townhome she shared with her “boyfriend.”
    By Sandee’s side, on the tan leather passenger-side bucket seat, was the empty CD case to Madonna’s American Life, one of Sandee’s favorite discs these days. The Queen of Pop was blaring from the Beemer’s speakers. With song titles like “Love Profusion,” “I’m So Stupid,” “Nobody Knows Me,” and “Hollywood,” Sandee could relate to the tone and feel of just about any song on the disc.
    Life wasn’t perfect for Sandee Rozzo, but it was getting better.
    Day by day.
    It must have felt reassuring to