Although he had enjoyed pouring water on her and watching it freeze. That cold bitch deserved to be frozen in a solid block. They all did. They had ice in their veins, and they should see how it felt to be surrounded by it.
Like he very often was. The cold around him, inside him, kept him from being what he needed to be. From experiencing the bliss he deserved.
There were predators and there were prey, and he’d learned which he wanted to be. Oh, he’d been weak once, but now he was powerful. He had studied and he had learned. Yet Christine had let him down like all the others. They’d been joined, so close, and she’d ruined it. It had been her fault. His rage had been so red hot, that the fire had all but blown out of his eyes. When the anger overtook him, it was hotter than any real flame. More out of control. And it wasn’t his fault.
She’d failed.
Then the darkness had taken him. When he’d come to, her face was battered and her eyes wide open. The only good thing was that he’d had an ax in his rig so he could remove her hands. None of them deserved to have hands. Hands were for loving, not hitting, and they all hit. His mother had loved to hit him.
Christine had hit him in the nose. Fighting him. He’d crushed her brain and taken her hands, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. It was unfortunate it took battering a skull to kill the brain, but life was life. This time, he hadn’t damaged her face as badly. She’d probably deserved it, but he’d been rushed.
It was her fault.
She’d deserved to die.
Frustration crawled like ants through his veins, and he attacked the trees with each punch, his gloves protecting his hands. When the darkness had overtaken him each time, the gloves had protected him. Not them.
The last one had died too fast. It hadn’t been enough. Even though he’d taken her hands, he was restless. Painfully so. To the point that he’d almost forgotten to leave the hands for the authorities to find. They had to be running in circles about that. Hands. Who would take hands only to leave them?
He would. He’d shove them up the women’s asses if he could but leaving them for the cops also satisfied him. Unlike the last kill. He didn’t get what he wanted.
Not even close to being complete. He hadn’t made it again. His thoughts swirled around, and he dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face to freeze as they hit the ground. It wasn’t fair. He was good and right, and they were dirty. They had the balls to look down at him.At him!
What was wrong with these successful women? As far as he was concerned, they only had one real job, and it was fulfilling destiny. His destiny. Once again, he hadn’t been able to reach bliss. It was their fault, not his. He was special and he was powerful.
Lifting his head, he yelled at the moon. Then he sobered, coming back to himself. All right. He had two more projects now. One of them would be perfect. He never knew who would be next until it happened. Sniffling, he sat in the snow with his back to a tree and pulled his journal out of his coat, then flipped through to review his research on his new projects.
One of them had to be his love. He deserved love, no matter what his mother said so long ago. He was not a loser as she’d said.
Those women were stronger than she was, than she’d ever be, and one of them was going to love him. They were all doctors—smart and beautiful. He read the entries that he’d carefully made in his journal. Those advanced degrees they held up like trophies hadn’t taught them to vary their routines, had they?
They were so predictable.
Coffee here, gym there, dry cleaners over there. The same. Get up, work out, go to work, grab dinner, go home.... He’d memorized their routines. Well, except for his newest possibility. He hadn’t had time to follow her yet.
But he would.
Once in a while they’d go to a spa or on a date, but he could tell their true love was their work.
Until him. He would show them that work was a hollow passion compared to him. Unless they failed to see him. Then they died.
He lovingly caressed each page, wondering which one would be next. Sighing, he closed the book and held it to his chest, the fire burning inside him again. It wouldn’t be long. He could feel their meeting happening very soon.
Maybe she would be the one.
* * *
Rachel Raprenzi nudged open the door to the condominium with her butt since her hands were full of a pizza box and more research for her newest story. Eating pizza so late at night, or rather, early in the morning, was a mistake, but carbs made her brain work faster, and she had to figure this out. She’d been at the office until around three in the morning when the cleaning crew had gotten so loud she’d decided to go home and get a couple hours of sleep. If she could find the Witch Creek Killer and break the story onThe Killing Hour, she’d hit the stratosphere with ratings. Plus, she’d beat Laurel Snow to the punch.
A natural redhead, her ass. There wasn’t a chance of that. God, Huck was stupid to believe that woman.
Rachel hip checked the door and dropped the box of research on the floor before shrugging off her laptop bag. Switching hands on the unwieldly pizza box, she removed her coat and let it fall as well. Her entire body was tired. She’d been living this case and simultaneously trying to build her brand.
Yeah, she was ambitious, but this case also had to do with Huck.
She missed him. Missed the way he’d looked at her and missed the way he’d taken care of her. Life wasn’t safe, but he’d made it feel that way. Why hadn’t she appreciated how he protected her from any danger? Kicking off one boot, she hopped until she could get the other one off, and then walked on the hard tile to the kitchen in the darkness, dodging around the boxes she had yet to unpack.
Her phone tinkled, and she tugged it free of her pocket. “Hello.”
