The Hunt

CHAPTER 17

“You’re a fool.”

The Bitch was furious, but right now he didn’t care. She’d make him pay for breaking the rules later. After the hunt. But now, she couldn’t do anything.

He saw the gleam of excitement in her eyes.

He still hated her, but he hated her less on the nights they hunted together.

Her lack of patience irritated him, though.

“Why not that one?” she whined, gesturing at the brunette who had pulled into the gas station.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I want a blonde this time.”

“You just had a blonde.”

“I don’t care, I want another one.”

She sighed and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to be here all night.”

“It’s never taken more than a couple of hours. Dammit, have a little patience!” She never had patience. She thought he was a freak because he sat in the middle of the woods for days on end logging data about his birds.

He didn’t care what she thought about him. Right now, she was a help. Although most of the time he wanted to strangle her.

He didn’t dare touch her neck.

The brunette drove off after filling her tank. It was nearly eleven in the evening. They’d been here two hours. Traffic had slowed considerably after ten.

He placed his binoculars in his lap and waited for the next car to turn into the highway strip mall. They had a great vantage point, well concealed, up the road from the gas station, on a private drive. He knew the owner of the house at the end of the drive. An old woman, deaf as a post, who went to bed with the sun.

He’d selected this place because it was a regular stop for college students. Between the gas station, the pizza place, and the small bar, he knew he’d find someone that suited him.

He wasn’t picky. He just wanted a blonde again.

He’d hunted from this place once before. As a rule, he didn’t use the same place twice. Just in case. But enough time had passed. It was in this place that he’d found another blonde, twelve years ago.

If only she hadn’t had a friend with her.

The Bitch never let him go after Miranda Moore. It ate at him constantly. But The Bitch thought Moore deserved to live since she got away. Always, she taunted him. Always, she rubbed his nose in his failings. He hated her. Hated both of them.

Someday he’d make them pay. They were two peas in a pod, teasing him, ridiculing him.

But for now he couldn’t touch Miranda Moore. The Bitch said she’d turn him in. And he believed her.

“We’ll kill Miranda Moore if she becomes a threat, but she’s not,” The Bitch said over and over again. “She beat you, sweetheart. I want you to always remember that.”

As if he could forget with her constant reminders.

A Honda Civic pulled onto the frontage road. Bypassed the gas station and went straight to the pizza place. He raised his binoculars.

A blonde stepped out from the driver’s side. His heart swelled, pounded in his chest.

The One.

Instantly he knew, just like every other time he’d hunted for women. She was The One, and he would have her.

“I’m going,” he said.

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“Look.”

Grudgingly, he looked. The passenger door opened. A redhead emerged. Together the blonde and the redhead walked into the pizza parlor.

“Wait,” The Bitch told him.

“No.”

“I said no more pairs. It’s too risky.”

“All right.”

She relaxed, and he opened the passenger door.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, almost leaping across the seat to grab him.

He stepped back, pocketing the bottle of molasses in his windbreaker. “I’m taking care of the car.”

“You said you agreed!”

“No pairs. Trust me. I’ll only take care of one.”

She didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care. He had no use for the redhead. This time, he only wanted the blonde.

He’d have to kill the redhead first.