Because my mommy comes back. She always comes back. She never would forget me.
Gus wanted to go to her, scoop her up in his arms, and hold her, tell her yes, Mommy would be back. But then she would see the doubt in his eyes, his own uncertainties about Beth. That would only make things worse. For the moment, Morgan was better off without him. She was better served by her videos and her songs and her memories of her mother's unconditional promise.
He suddenly felt the chill, then the warmth of an ironic sense of solace, as if the very thought of Beth's promise erased any doubt of her return. It occurred to him that in this family he was the promise breaker. Not Beth.
He watched a moment longer, then turned and walked away, a little more sad and yet a little more hopeful.
Chapter Thirty-Six.
His general direction was south, but it had been a zigzag route through Oregon. He had no specific destination in mind, so long as it was well south of the last dump site. Over the past three days he'd moved from town to town, hotel to hotel, shopping mall to shopping mall. He was a compulsive planner but above all a realist. Selection of the next victim always involved a certain amount of luck.
Lucky you, he thought as he sifted through the purse of his latest target. He'd stolen it yesterday, having followed her to a crowded happy hour after work. One minute it was on the bar stool beside her, the next it was gone. Afterward, he'd stayed around to check her reaction from afar. The moment of panic, the frantic search, the realization that it was gone. He could tell a lot about a woman by the way she responded to a minor crisis like a stolen purse. Whether she took charge or crumbled. Whether she got angry or just sobbed. Whether she was a fighter or an easy mark.
This one would be so easy.
And she was a pretty good match, too. She was the right age and build, and the eye and hair color were the same. She was the exact height, according to her driver's license. She didn't work at a hotel like the others, but it was getting too damn hard to match them up that closely. He was cutting corners, admittedly, but time was of the essence.
He waited on the east side of her house, dressed in black and nestled between trash cans. Low-hanging pine limbs blocked out the moonlight and shrouded him in darkness. A thick row of evergreen shrubs stretched from the fence to the house, presumably to keep the garbage cans out of view. It was the perfect hiding spot. Through the branches he could see the driveway, which was empty. He had expected her home by now, but she was late--or at least later than the previous three nights he'd stalked her.
It was getting colder by the half hour. He could see his breath. The rubber gloves were stiffening as the night neared the freezing mark. Finally, just after nine o'clock, her car pulled up. The head lamps switched off. She stepped out and slammed the car door shut, then headed up the sidewalk with her house key in hand. The very sight sent his heart pounding. He could have jumped her right there, but that would have been an unnecessary risk. Women were always on guard during that trip from the car to the front door. Better to wait till she was inside, snug and oblivious, completely unaware of the killer outside her door.
She appeared nervous as she climbed the front stairs. The locks had been changed, he knew; he had tried the key from her stolen purse. The new house key shook as she aimed for the lock. All that shivering might have been the cold night air, except that she was bundled up in a heavy winter coat and a warm knit hat. More likely, the theft of her purse yesterday had left her paranoid. She probably thought some guy with a knife was hiding in the bushes beneath her bedroom window.
What an imagination.
She finally opened the door and disappeared inside. A string of windows brightened one after the other as he monitored her movement from the foyer to the living room, down the main hall, and finally to the back bedroom.
He knelt outside her window and peered inside. The blinds were raised a half inch above the sill, just enough for him to see inside. She was seated on the edge of the bed, but the way the blinds were adjusted he could see her only from the waist down. For the moment, that view was just fine. She kicked her shoes off. The skirt dropped to the floor. She worked the sheer pantyhose down her long legs. It seemed to gather for a second at the calves. Very nice calf muscles. A jogger for sure, maybe some dance training. She pitched the hose aside and crossed the room to the full-length mirror.
He could see her whole body now, her face, her hair. The hair!