“He just wanted to look at me or something?” That was creepy.
Newt shrugged. “Guess so.”
“You said he’s here—do you mean in Montgomery? Now?”
After surveying the street, her partner nodded. “I’ve spotted him around. Yeah.”
“You think someone hired him?” She couldn’t fathom any other reason for the guy’s appearance. Still, he couldn’t possibly know what Evans had told her, and the lab analysis of the victim’s computer had barely made it to the chief. Not one word about the possible Storyteller connection had been released to the media. “Is he like a private investigator?”
Newt shook his head. “Word is he can’t be hired.”
“You said some call him a hunter. So what does Shade hunt?”
Newt hesitated for five seconds before answering. “Serial killers. The ones no one else can find.”
North Montgomery, 10:50 p.m.
Five...more...blocks.
Bobbie charged forward in the darkness, running harder along Fairground Road. The pain had faded two miles back, overpowered by the endorphins that finally kicked in after three grueling miles. Slowing to a jog, she made the turn onto Gardendale Drive. Air sawed in and out of her nose and mouth in an attempt to keep up with the racing organ in her chest. Her muscles felt warm and fluid, as if she could run forever.
She’d pushed to five miles tonight rather than her usual three. The too-familiar twinge in her right leg served as a reminder that hardware held it together. No matter how young and strong the endorphins made her feel, she was still Bobbie Gentry—thirty-two and broken inside. Somewhere deep in the darkness she kept hidden from the world, memories of the woman she used to be dared to stir.
She hadn’t been that woman in 246 days.
She is never coming back.
Cursing herself for the lapse in restraint, she banished the echoes of the past as she walked the final block. Two of the three streetlights were out of commission. Didn’t matter. She knew the area by heart. The line of unremarkable houses in sad need of routine maintenance. The narrow, unkempt lawns used as parking lots for the multiple families crowded into the compact two-bed, two-bath rentals. Same old, same old. Very little changed in this neighborhood.
Three doors from hers the brindle pit bull named D-Boy surged forward, testing the heavy-duty chain that secured him to the porch post. The dog issued a low, guttural growl before he captured her scent and recognition registered.
“Good boy,” she murmured. He whimpered and whipped his tail back and forth. She made a mental note to check his water bowl before going to bed. The single mother of three who lived in the ramshackle two-story left her kids at home alone more often than not. Making sure the chained animal had food and water was even lower on her list of priorities. Some people shouldn’t have kids or pets. Then again, Bobbie had no right to judge anyone.
Her legs felt a little rubbery climbing the steps to her front door. She wiped the sweat from her brow with her left arm as she jammed the key into the lock. A long, hot shower was on her agenda, and then she planned to review the lab reports from the Evans case. The chief could take her off the job for a few days, but that wouldn’t stop her. She had friends at the lab. Andy Keller, the new tech, had been delighted to email her the report when she’d called. Of course, she hadn’t mentioned being off the case.
The MPD cruiser assigned as her surveillance detail edged up to the curb in front of her house. She didn’t know the two uniforms in the car. If she wanted to play nice, she would offer them coffee. Maybe later. It wasn’t their fault the chief had gone all overprotective today. Bobbie understood from experience that his need to keep her safe wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. The man would do all within his power to keep her out of the line of fire. If not for Lieutenant Owens, her division commander, she might be jockeying a desk. After spending nearly six months in physical rehab and psychiatric counseling in order to be deemed fit for duty once more, the chief had barred her from field duty. Somehow the lieutenant had convinced him the move was a mistake. Bobbie had worked hard to make certain her division commander never regretted backing her up.
Now here they all were back at square one. She hoped Owens could calm down the chief this go around. It was bad enough word of his overreaction would spread through the department like a new strain of summer flu. Guys like Miller would use the chief’s resolve to protect Bobbie as proof she received preferential treatment. So not true. If anything, the chief held her to a higher standard. Since there was nothing she could do about it one way or the other, she ignored office politics most of the time.
Confrontations like the one today made following that self-imposed rule difficult.
She opened the front door and stepped inside. The cool air instantly enveloped her, making her shiver. Before closing the door, she held her breath and listened for a few seconds. The incessant low hum of the air-conditioning unit underscored the silence. The blinds throughout the house were shut tightly, leaving the interior nearly black. She inhaled deeply, sorting through the lived-in house smells for anything new. Clear. She shoved the door shut with her foot as she hit the switch for the narrow entry hall’s overhead light. With a few flicks of her wrist she secured the two dead bolts.
Room by room, she moved through the house. Bedrooms and closets. Clear. Bathroom and kitchen. Clear. She turned on the rear floodlights, parted the blind on the back door and scanned the yard. Nothing to get excited about. Grass that needed to be mowed, a rickety picnic table left by previous tenants in bad need of an overhaul. Bobbie exhaled a tired breath as she shut off the floodlights and then checked the dead bolts on the back door. Time for that shower.
She hesitated, toed off her running shoes and dragged the elastic band from her ponytail. For a moment she closed her eyes and indulged in a slow massage of her scalp. The headache was long gone, but she felt the tension in her shoulders and neck gaining a second wind. She stretched her neck and groaned. The shower was going to have to work some serious magic tonight. The prospect of standing under the flow of steaming water until she emptied the water heater had her weary body moving in that direction. After the shower and a cold beer, she intended to check D-Boy’s water bowl, and then—
A solid rap on the front door derailed her train of thought. She stalled, the cold of the hardwood floor seeping through her damp socks. Why would anyone drop by at this hour? Couldn’t be about a case because she was on leave by order of the chief. Wouldn’t be her partner since he was no doubt home by now, getting some rest before the big day tomorrow.
Another round of bangs, this time hard enough to shake loose the peeling paint on her shabby door and have it drift down around her visitor’s feet like dingy gray snowflakes. Could be the cops outside, but why not call if they wanted to talk to her? She checked the screen of the cell phone strapped to her upper arm. No missed calls.
Bobbie bypassed the door, her steps silent, and eased to the living room picture window a few feet away. When she’d first moved in, she’d cut out a tiny section of one plastic slat in the cheap blind as a way to see a visitor without becoming an easy target bellied up to the door. The overhead porch light, dimmed by the hundred or so bugs that had found their way inside and died there, stayed on 24/7. The faint glow allowed her to confirm the visitor was male. Her pulse rate bumped up a few beats. Dark hair, too long to be a cop, unless he was undercover. Tall, six feet or so. Thin. Broad shouldered.
He suddenly turned his head and stared directly
