Seconds to Live(68)

Patience was important when hunting. A crocodile would lay submerged in the reeds for hours waiting for a gazelle to lower its head to the water for a drink.

She closed the drawer and turned away from the door. He held his breath, his thumb on the plunger. Pushing the door open, he pounced, sliding a hand around her face to cover her mouth and jabbing the needle into her thigh. Flailing, she reached for the lamp on the dresser. He depressed the plunger, then wrapped his other arm around her body to control her limbs. She froze, her body slowly going limp and collapsing to the floor. The lamp shattered on the thin carpet. A framed picture slid from the wall to the floor. Her fingers curled in the cord.

Success sent adrenaline coursing hot through his veins. He bound her hands and ankles with zip ties in case the drug wore off while she was in the trunk.

That had been almost too easy. The lack of challenge was almost disappointing. But he had to keep his eye on the prize. This was all just a means to an end.

He smoothed a piece of duct tape across her mouth. Rushing back to his car, he hefted the steamer trunk and hand truck from his trunk. The street was still empty. Returning to the apartment, he shoved her into the box, tucking her arms and legs in fetal-style. He turned off the lights and locked the door behind him. Everything must appear normal. Then he used the hand truck to cart her out to the car and hoisted the heavy chest into the trunk.

His baggy hoodie hid his face, and he’d obscured his license plate with mud in case anyone saw him. But no one would pay attention to a man loading a box into his car. The apartment buildings were surrounded by commercial properties, which were closed at this late hour, and the people who lived in her complex were the sort who minded their own business.

He slammed the trunk. Getting behind the wheel, he started the engine and drove toward home. Excitement buzzed though his whole body, almost like a mild version of the shock he’d given her.

She was going to be The One. He could feel the anticipation humming through his bones.

He could hardly wait to get started.





Chapter Twenty-Four

After dropping the envelope of cash at the forensics lab, Stella drove toward home but didn’t make the turn onto her street. Restlessness made her drive past. Despite her lack of sleep and skipped meals, frustrated energy buzzed under her skin. There was only one person she wanted to see.

Mac’s cabin’s lights blazed as she parked in front of his porch.

This was a terrible idea. He’d acted strangely at the crime scene. They’d found Dena Miller. Maybe he had no more interest in Stella. She should go home. Exhaustion and lack of food were impairing her judgment.

She reached for the gearshift, but he walked out onto his porch. His hair had reverted to its untamed state, making her want to run her hands through it, and the way his snug T-shirt hugged his lean torso stirred a hunger deep in her belly. She was not going home tonight. She wanted those strong arms around her. He could make her forget one of the worst days of her life.

Stella got out of the car.

Mac met her at the bottom of the steps. He didn’t say a word, just drew her to his chest and held her close. She leaned on him.

He rubbed her back.

Stella lifted her head and met his eyes. Her hands shook as she raised them to splay on his chest. He covered her fingers with his, his hands warming hers. The night was hot and humid. A storm lingered in the air but refused to break the heat wave. Atmospheric tension buzzed as loudly as the symphony of insects in the surrounding forest. It had to be eighty-five degrees. How could she be cold?

“Come inside.” He tucked her under one arm and guided her into his kitchen. “Have you eaten?”

Turmoil churned in her stomach. She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“No wonder you look sick.” He filled a mug with water and put it in the microwave. Opening a cabinet, he took down a can, opened it, and poured the contents into a saucepan.

“He put her on display.” She wandered into his living room. The night air blowing through the screens chilled her skin. She didn’t see the cozy cabin in front of her. Her mind was replaying every detail of the horrifying scene she’d analyzed that afternoon.

He lit the burner under the pan. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s my job.” She walked back into the kitchen. Her hands gripped the back of a chair, as if the weight of it would ground her.

“I know. But it’s still awful, and you’re human.”

Anger and frustration burned in her chest, and tears threatened. She blinked them back. “I have to find him.”

“I couldn’t see much from the parking area, but today’s scene sounds more elaborate than the first.”