At that point, he gave up and scrambled back to his car.
He wondered where the other kid had been . . . if he’d been watching him the entire time.
He shivered at the thought.
He tried to imagine what people would say about him if he got caught. Cable television was now riddled with true crime shows. Shows featuring killers much like him. Fathers, sons, brothers, athletes, military leaders, the perpetually reserved, the flamboyant. These were people who had the same types of urges as he did. People who didn’t know any other way to quiet those urges. People who fit perfectly into their communities until they were found out.
Inconsequential people were often interviewed on the news networks. “I always kept my eye on that one,” a lot of them would say. But in actuality, they probably never kept an eye on him. Never even noticed him that much, really. People didn’t notice much at all these days. They were too occupied with themselves.
The reporter’s next words chilled him to the bone: “The sheriff’s department says a composite sketch of the suspect is under way . . .”
His blood ran cold. He gripped the armchair.
CHAPTER 31
SHE STOOD IN front of him, her eyes icy. Like everyone else in town, she’d seen the news reports. She wanted to know if he had anything to do with the woman’s murder.
“Of course not,” he lied.
She studied him, weighing his words.
“Look, I wouldn’t have much respect for myself if I were to start lying to you again. So trust me, okay?” He said the next three words very slowly, his eyes wide for emphasis. “I’m . . . not . . . lying.”
Her eyes grew small as she appraised him. He saw her analyze his jugular—to see if it was pumping harder than usual. She was searching for any telltale sign of deceit she could find.
Unfortunately, she’d had years of practice.
He tried to mask his anger. “But having said that, if you feel the need to know where I am 24/7, then fine. I’ll tell you,” he said with a sigh, hoping to make her feel ridiculous so she would say no. “Really. Is that what you want? Is that how you want us to be?”
She said nothing, but he did notice her eyes soften. She was falling for it . . . again.
“Look, we’ve come so far. Please . . . don’t doubt me now. I love you. I would never do those bad things again. It was someone else. Some small-town crazy. Not me.”
He could see her hackles lowering. His claims were soothing her. He knew she wanted badly to believe him—and he used it for leverage. It was a skill he’d learned well over the years.
The fine art of deception.
He folded her into his arms and held her, breathing in the clean scent of her hair before she finally broke away from him. Then, appearing somewhat satisfied, she finally turned on her heel and walked away.
Relieved, he watched her go.
She believed him. What she didn’t know was that no matter what he did, she still would. No matter how suspicious she became or how much they argued, she just didn’t know how not to.
He had always hated her for judging him. For always having to worry about what she’d think before making a decision. Fortunately, though, every time he hunted successfully his anger toward her dulled, making the relationship manageable. Most times even enjoyable. He didn’t want to be angry with her because she was the only person who had ever believed in him. The only person who had never let him down.
The problem was, she didn’t understand a very big part of him. Not that he expected her to. He didn’t understand it himself.
All that he knew for certain was that hunting wasn’t a choice. It was survival.
CHAPTER 32
LOUIS SANK BACK in his chair and cradled his coffee mug between his hands. “Miss Bitty told me what happened at the supermarket. I’m really sorry.”
Allie kept her eyes trained on the science handouts Louis had given her. She didn’t want him to see that her face was red.
What exactly did Miss Bitty tell him?
Hopefully not the part about the man calling her a piece of shit. She didn’t want him to know that. Louis thought she was smart and treated her like she was someone worthwhile, someone important even. She didn’t want him to change his opinion of her. Because if he did, she was afraid she just might, too.
“Do you want to talk about it? About what happened at the supermarket?”
“No.”
Realizing that Louis could see one of her bad angles, she turned her head to the window and readjusted her chair.
That morning when she woke up, the first thought that popped into her head was Miss Bitty’s words the evening before. How she had told her that she was attractive.
Gorgeous even.
Hoping she’d magically see something different than what she’d always seen before, she had hurried to the mirror only to be disappointed. She looked the same as always. Borderline scary. So, as far as her looks were concerned, she was as confused as ever.
Louis cleared his throat and laced his fingers above his head. “Allie, can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there a reason why you always do that with your face?”
Allie felt her face redden again.
“What?”
“The way you hide it. Cover it sometimes with your hair. You do it a lot with your hand, too. Do you feel as though you need to hide something?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her tone incredulous, as though she had no clue what he was talking about. She shot him a dirty look and shifted in her seat (to perfect the new angle), then tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Are you ashamed of something?”
Yes . . . of SO many things. “No. Why?” she challenged. “Should I be?”
“I’m just saying that you’re a beautiful girl. But even if you weren’t, there would be no reason to hide yourself.”
There’s that word again: beautiful. WHAT are these people seeing that I am not?
“But I’m not hiding.”