His footsteps strike without noise. This is an art he has perfected. Fear may be unleashed through the shriek of power, but nothing is as terrifying as soundless dread.
On the other side of the street he approaches the coffee shop where he first saw tonight’s victim. He pauses, peering into the cafe’s shadows. Round wood tables and straight-backed chairs speak of the day-timers who fill the place, the bustling chrome galley now polished and sparse. At the far table—
His eyes riveted, fascinated, to that tinted plastic. To the piece of her it had claimed as its own.
When his gaze lifted to her face, she glanced up and caught his stare. Her eyelids flickered, mouth curving slightly before she looked away.
Feeble female, mistaking his attention as admiration.
Hugh smiles as he turns from the window.
Her name is Mariah. Not surprising to Hugh, she works at a dress boutique catering to the wealthier of clientele over on Second Avenue. Mariah is twenty-eight and single. She lives a mere three blocks from where Hugh now walks. Alone—in a single-bedroom apartment on the ground floor of a three-story building. Yesterday he slipped through her place while she was at work, quiet and efficient, leaving nothing to hint of his exploration.
Her bedroom is pink. Hugh finds that highly appropriate.
At the next curb he veers right. Two blocks to go.
The familiar electricity in his veins powers on.
He
twenty-one
Wrapped in cellophane, the half dozen red roses lay on the passenger seat of Craig Barlow’s convertible Mustang.
The engine roared to life. Craig backed out of his designated space at the apartment complex. Rolling through the parking lot with the car top down, he caught the scent of grilling steaks.
He wasn’t the least bit hungry.
His nerves still teemed with crawling insects. Anger, disbelief, and defense twitched along his limbs, just below the surface. Look at him wrong and he’d explode.
It would take every ounce of willpower he possessed to make it through his sister’s party.
Containment. This was now about containment.
Craig pulled onto the street, and the cellophane crunched in the wind.
He had bought the flowers during his lunch hour. He’d never given Kaitlan flowers before. Figured it was time.
Following this afternoon’s nightmare he’d nearly wrenched them apart in fury.
But no. They were right. They were good. Women liked roses.
This evening he had to keep Kaitlan unsettled. Frightened enough to keep her mouth shut.
Reaching an intersection, Craig turned right on red. Gayner was a small town. He’d reach Kaitlan’s place in minutes.
She’d lied to him on the phone. He’d never, ever expected she would do that. Never expected she would so quickly finger him as the killer.
Funny how your life could be turned upside down in one wretched moment. Who he was he could be no longer. The things he used to worry about, hope for—all gone.
He’d thought he loved Kaitlan. Maybe he still did. Right now he just couldn’t feel it.
But it was better this way. If the emotion came flooding back, he might waver, and that he couldn’t afford.
Craig already knew what had to be done. He’d considered it and, aghast, quickly discarded the thought. When he found no alternative, it boomeranged.
But not yet. First they had a birthday party to attend. For Hallie. For her friends. So all would seem well.
After the party he’d have to do it. He’d have to take care of Kaitlan.
twenty-two
Craig arrived bearing a half dozen red roses. Looking like he sat on a razor’s edge but was trying not to show it.
Kaitlan had opened the front door, skin on fire, her senses hyper-aware. Her feet were unsteady, like maneuvering the deck of a rocking ship, and her heart fluttered.
She wasn’t really doing this—facing a man she could no longer deny was a killer, pretending everything was all right. She stood outside herself, looking on. Watching the movie unfold.
Craig wore khaki pants and a tucked-in blue shirt. His hair was slightly windblown, as if he’d stepped out of a modeling shot. His lips spread in that smile that used to turn her insides to mush. No more. “I brought you a present.” His blue eyes held hers as he stepped over the threshold.
The same one he crossed hours ago, luring his latest victim.
“Oh. Thank you.” Kaitlan took the flowers and lifted them to her nose. “They’re so pretty.”
The smell of perfume and urine.
Kaitlan’s eyes bounced to Craig’s. He surveyed her like a sculptor studying a flawed creation. The look laid her bare.
These flowers were no present. They were a bribe.
The thought was so insane. Roses—for keeping quiet about a
Something flicked across Craig’s face. His eyes narrowed, but his ever-dazzling smile remained. “You look good.”
“Thank you.”
Kaitlan couldn’t even remember getting ready. Somehow she’d found herself in beige pants and a short- sleeved coral blouse.
Maybe this was all a dream.
“I’ll just … put these in some water.” Kaitlan scurried into the kitchen, feeling his eyes on her back and his shadow at her heels. She didn’t like him behind her but couldn’t let him see her fear. She fought not to turn around.
Kaitlan fetched a tall glass from a cabinet. At the sink, the running water sounded so loud. Her fingers shook as she slid the rose stems into their holder.
Craig moved in behind her and put both hands on her shoulders.
Kaitlan turned to ice.
She caught herself, then forced her body into motion.
Kaitlan turned off the tap and set the flowers on the cabinet. She turned around. Craig’s fingers slid toward her neck with intimacy, one thumb coming to rest at the base of her throat.
Her heart nearly stopped.
His head tilted, his eyes filling with suspicion. “You love me, don’t you?”
“I … of course.” Kaitlan’s pulse surged back to life, startling her veins with heat.
His hands pressed against her skin. Dizziness swirled in Kaitlan’s head.
“Then why did you lie to me?” Craig’s voice lowered.
“What do you mean?”
