Hannah studied Allie’s face and concern crept into her eyes. “Oh shit. I guess I did.”
CHAPTER 40
THE SKY WAS darkening fast, but his mood was much darker.
Being interrupted during his evening with the brunette had ruined everything. Usually a hunt bought him years before the rage became unmanageable again, but this time both the rage and the itch returned almost immediately.
Hope had been gone for nearly three weeks. And he’d had fewer chances to be alone with the young girl. Since news of the brunette’s murder had gotten out, the old woman seemed to always be around, keeping guard.
So despite the risk, he again stood, sweating, outside the supermarket. He knew it was a sloppy move, but he needed some peace. He needed to take action. To do what he knew would relieve the pain.
Thankfully, news of the brunette’s murder seemed to have blown over after only a couple of weeks. The composite sketch looked much more like a man the woman had recently gone on a couple of dates with . . . and considering the ex had a history of domestic violence and the brunette had just stopped seeing him, he was the sheriff’s department’s main person of interest in the case.
He couldn’t have planned it better himself.
He was so deep in thought, he didn’t even notice her until she was about ten feet from him. It startled him when he realized it was her.
Hope. She was back in town and walking toward the supermarket. Seeing him, a look of recognition passed over her face. She smiled. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”
He was so stunned to see her, he couldn’t get his tongue to work. Blinking rapidly, he tried to smile, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate.
“I mean, I never forget a face,” she continued. She tilted her head and stared, trying to place him.
The muscle in his cheek jumped and his face felt all wrong. Mortified, he tried to say something, but his tongue was too thick.
Her smile vanished. “Oh,” she said with a frown. “Never . . . never mind.” And she hurried into the supermarket.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! he admonished himself as he rushed to get to Hope’s house before she did. He tried to shove the memory of the way she’d looked at him into the back of his brain. Her reaction to how moronic he must’ve looked struggling to smile, struggling to say something to her, but freezing instead. Her arrival had taken him completely off guard and his body had failed him.
He just wanted to forget it all and enjoy a nice, therapeutic, calming night . . . under her bed.
And if that wasn’t enough, he’d hunt.
After about fifteen minutes he heard her car drive up. A few minutes after that, she walked into the bedroom, trailing luggage behind her and, again, holding a knife.
His cute but strange little Hope. Never far from her weapon.
But that was okay. He had a knife, too.
He instantly smelled her scent: a mixture of flowers and citrus. He closed his eyes and sighed quietly, careful to stay as still as possible.
She plopped down on the bed and he could hear the sound of her dialing a number on the phone.
“Hey,” she said, “I just got in.”
Pause.
“No, the trip was fine. But hey, something really creeped me out earlier. I went to the market to pick up a few things and a guy was standing outside. I’ve seen him before, standing in the exact same spot, and well, something just seemed really weird. Like, I mean, off about him. Seriously. The hair is still standing on the back of my neck.”
He knew he should’ve gone to a different supermarket, but he had felt so desperate and had just driven there instead. Sloppy. So very sloppy. He was very displeased with himself.
“Yeah, I know, right? And there was this odd look on his face.”
Pause.
“I’m not sure, but I just got this, I don’t know . . . this terrible feeling about him. Like he was disturbed or something.”
Disturbed?
Anger rushed through him. Suddenly he felt claustrophobic in the small space under the woman’s bed and he had the intense urge to vomit. He clapped his hand over his mouth and tried to stop it.
He tried to control his breathing. He’d waited so long for her to return . . . only for her to humiliate him. For her to turn on him. And he’d even spared her life. He could hardly believe it.
Vomit rose up his throat and he made a gurgling sound. He tensed, ready to fly out from beneath the bed. To—
But she kept babbling about him to her friend on the phone.
Little did she know, but she’d just changed her script. Her act three could have been uneventful. Pleasant even. But not now. No, she was going to pay.
Not tonight.
He felt too sick.
But soon.
A minute later, Hope ended her phone call and went to the bathroom to run a bath.
He slipped out from under the bed and left the house. After vomiting in a neighbor’s backyard, he drove aimlessly . . . infuriated and in more need of peace than ever.
CHAPTER 41
“PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE?” Hannah pled, sprawled out at the foot of Allie’s bed, rubbing Piglet’s spotted belly. For the last ten minutes, she’d been begging Allie to take her to her childhood house. She said she was just curious about where Allie had grown up, but Allie knew better. Hannah just wanted to see where all the murders had taken place. To Hannah, Allie’s childhood house was some type of carnival attraction.
“Please?”
Allie studied her, knowing that the girl probably got a lot of things with that word . . . and those eyes of hers. Allie scowled at Hannah and grabbed Piglet.
Hannah’s eyes narrowed and she poked her lower lip out again. “You know, it doesn’t seem like you like me very much anymore. Maybe I should just go home.”