Killing Ways

42

He was a hunter. He understood camouflage. When he stepped out of the car, he looked like all the other regular men who parked here, got out of their cars, and went through their stretches. It was a very nice neighborhood, and he made sure that he looked like a very nice man.

He watched as she set out on her run. She was fit-mom pretty. It was clear she looked after herself. She wouldn’t be doing this at eight a.m. if she didn’t. High, blonde ponytail swishing back and forth, swimmer’s shoulders, tanned skin, sweet tight ass.

He bet her husband slammed that every night. Most men would love a chance at that ass.

He began to run behind her. Though she was fit, he could tell that her heart wasn’t in it. Her shoulders were a little too low, she wasn’t raising her knees very high. She could trip if she wasn’t careful.

Just as he said it, she fell. He was amazed. He felt a surge of power. He heard her say to herself out loud, ‘Seriously? Seriously? You have got to be kidding me.’

He looked around. There was no one in sight. Not one person.

He crouched down beside her. ‘Are you OK?’ He reached out a gloved hand.

She looked up, tears in her eyes. She grabbed his hand and let him pull her up.

‘Ugh,’ she said. ‘I don’t think the gods are smiling down on me at the moment.’ She wiped her tears away. ‘Thank you, thanks.’

‘Is anything broken?’ he said.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Just a little sprain, and a grazed knee. I’ll live to fight another day. Thanks, again.’

She was nodding her dismissal.

He just stared at her. There was a tiny flicker on her face.

‘Karen?’ he said.

She tried to withdraw her hand. He wouldn’t let her.

‘Karen Dettling?’ he said. He reached into his pocket. ‘Your husband and I go back a long way...’