Caity Sherman stared across the car at the guy—Richard, Andrew, whoever—feeling a chill run through her body as she studied his anguished eyes. “Can’t do what anymore?” she said. “What do you do, Richard?”
This was stupid. She should get out of here while she still had the chance. He was clearly unsettled. He was probably insane. Whatever he was into—drugs, gambling, murder—it was obviously dangerous as hell.
Except she couldn’t just leave him. He looked so utterly miserable. Tortured. She wanted to comfort him. And a part of her, she admitted to herself, wanted to know just what the hell had screwed him up so good. “What is it?” she said. “What do you do?”
Richard/Andrew sat in the driver’s seat and stared out the windshield into the dimming light. He didn’t say anything—what else was new?
“Tell me,” she said.
He turned, slowly, and looked at her. There was pain in his eyes, and fear. Vulnerability. “I kill people,” he said. “For the man.”
Okay. That was it. Time to get the hell away from this guy. Caity wrenched her door open. Unbuckled her seat belt and dashed from the car. Heard Richard/Andrew calling after her and ignored him.
Run, she thought. Run for your life.
She hurried across the empty parking lot. There was a gas station in the distance. Lights on. Traffic on the road. She was going to flag someone down and make them call the cops. She was going to get far away from Richard/Andrew/whoever and she was never going to flirt with strangers again.
She glanced back at the Mustang. Richard/Andrew wasn’t chasing her. He was still behind the wheel, wasn’t even looking at her. She slowed for a moment.
He just told you he kills people. You’re not going back there.
She turned back toward the gas station lights just as a silver Nissan pulled in from the street, headlights bright in the twilight. Caity waved and ran to it as it slowed. “Oh, my God,” she called to the driver. “Please help. There’s a guy in that Mustang, and I think he’s lost his mind.”
The driver climbed slowly out of the car. He looked at Caity. Caity met his eyes and stopped. Stopped babbling at him. Stopped hurrying toward him. Stopped everything and just stood there.
It was the man from the apartment. He’d found them.
Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run. She couldn’t. She stood, frozen, and looked at the man, those empty eyes and the bloody wound in his shoulder. The man studied her from across the car. Then he came around for her, slowly.
Caity screamed.