So long as the killer, who wasn’t shyabout striking during the day, didn’t have the next victim in his graspalready.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
He was ready. He had been ready,waiting, for some time. He liked to make sure that he arrived early, got intoposition, just in case anything changed. He did not want to miss somethingagain—like the return of the coworker at the last girl’s house. He should haveknown better than to charge in back then. He should have waited, slunk awayinto the night and returned another day. He should at least have spent twentyminutes watching to be sure the other man would not return.
Tonight, he was willing to be cautious,although he knew that time was of the essence. So he sat and waited, until theneighbor’s lights moved to the upstairs windows and their curtains were closed,and there was no one left looking out onto the street.
He made his move then. It was time. Hegot out of the car that he had parked on the opposite side of the road, a safedistance away, and he slipped across the street in all black clothing. He walkedwith a casual grace, intended to convey to anyone watching that he was merelyout for a stroll in his own neighborhood. Nonetheless, he covered the groundquickly. Better not to be seen by anyone at all.
He knew where he was going. He hadwalked this way before several times, always at night. First he would visit herat work, look through the windows, make sure that she was still engrossed inher daily tasks. That there was no hint of an illness, or a coat ready to gobeside a chair, for an early departure.
Then he came here. He had thrilled withfear the first time he did it, and today was no exception. If anything, it wasall the stronger. Tonight was the most important night of all. The last time hewould slip around the side of the building, down a pathway, and around to theback door.
People and their back doors. It wasfunny, really, how many of them failed to protect themselves. Or maybe it wasfate: the righteousness of his mission underscored by how easily he was allowedto go ahead. He stood in front of it now, out of sight of anyone who mighthappen to pass by on the road, and savored it.
This was the moment of truth.
He reached out and tried the handle, andit turned easily, clicking open to show him the interior beyond.
He couldn’t help but smile to himself.He had chosen his timing well, and he knew he had more or less an hour beforeshe would be home from work. Just enough time to explore a little, to choosehis place, to settle in and wait. Not enough time for his legs to fall asleepor for him to get bored and lose focus.
He had already chosen his startingpoint. He scouted around a little, looked in on the other rooms, checking thatthere was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would hinder his path, suchas a blockage in the corridor. He set down a canister of fuel behind one of thedoors and slipped out to the car one last furtive time to bring in two more.These, too, had their positions to take.
Once everything was done, he settled in,taking a comfortable seat and shrouding himself with the comfortablefamiliarity of darkness. The house around him gradually coalesced into astronger form, a more corporeal collection of shapes and textures that he madeout better with his eyes adjusted. The wallpaper, a handsome floral pattern hehad noticed the first time he broke in.
His mind was almost on the verge ofwandering, and so it was a good thing that there was almost no time left towait. A good thing that a noise sounded outside, close to the house—closeenough that it could only be her. She was home early. He tilted his watch, pressingthe touchscreen to verify the time. Yes, she was early.
But so much the better.
He shifted his weight, standingsoundlessly to take on a more ready posture. She was about to come in, and hewas waiting for her. His fist tightened on the handle of the knife, the musclesof his arm bunching with tension as he prepared to make the strike.
***
“This is it,” Zoe confirmed quietly,looking up at the house and away from the GPS. They had found it. The home ofKate Campbell, the potential victim that she and Shelley had chosen to go afterpersonally.
She had seemed a likely target. Afemale, living alone, slim and not particularly tall according to her socialmedia photos. The kind of person a killer might take down easily, if they onlyneeded one chance to attack from behind.
“You think he could be somewhere aroundhere already?” Shelley asked, glancing up and down the street. They had parkedright outside, eschewing anonymity in favor of convenience.
“If he is, then he is about to get frontrow seats to the show,” Zoe muttered darkly. “I do not think he would try tointervene, to stop us from taking her into safety. He would rather backtrackand get one of the others. After all, a body is a body. But we should stayalert, just in case desperation changes him.”
Shelley nodded. Her hand went back toher hip, to the gun resting in the holster there. “Got it.”
Zoe cleared her throat and nodded herhead, an attempt to appear more in control and confident than she really was.Truthfully, she was also nervous. Shelley was right to say that their killermight be somewhere nearby—after all, they figured that he must have beenstalking his victims in order to be able to attack when they were alone andvulnerable.
But there was one thing that Shelleyapparently had not considered—or perhaps just did not want to bring up. Thatthe victim might already be dead, and they were about to walk into a bloodbath.There was no scent of smoke in the air, but with his ritual already interruptedonce, who was to say that he would stick to the burning for future attacks?
Zoe steeled herself as they walked up tothe front door, and then knocked on it loudly.
