9:15 P.M.
Beale Street
Memphis, Tennessee
The alley was dirty and dark. His hunger, a beast roaring to be fed. The homeless shelter on the corner was filled to capacity … there was nowhere left to go for the desperate souls lurking in the night. They would be found here and beneath overpasses in cardboard condos and tents. Anywhere that offered protection from the wind and the rain.
Those who were smart stayed hidden … kept their eyes and ears closed.
He remained in the shadows and watched. Watching had always been his part … but it had been different then … when there had been two. His beloved would bring home the prize and when his pleasure was finished, he was allowed to take what he would. The love had made the watching and waiting complete. Had, as nothing since, fulfilled him.
Being alone was so very painful and he had been alone so, so long. There was no one to love him or protect him.
He watched the two men beating the third, taking shoes, clothes, and the precious wallet that perhaps contained enough money to sustain them for a few days. Their needs were too desperate for anything less than barbaric behavior.
The residents in those pretend condos and tattered tents trembled in fear, but not one dared to defend the helpless victim.
The scent of spilled blood reached him, exploded in his nostrils, filled him with need. What he would give for one taste …
He would have to wait until the other two were finished taking what they would. Then he would take what remained.
It was the only way to fill his needs … to be satisfied, if only by the tiniest fraction.
Nothing filled him completely … not since he had lost the other part of himself.
The pain howled through him. He groaned with the force of it. Wrestled it away.
The frantic struggles at the other end of the alley ceased. Those committing the violent acts turned their attention in his direction … searching for trouble.
He would need to leave now or risk exposing himself.
He could not be exposed at any time for any reason.
Never.
His true identity could not be known until he was dead. Then they would all know the truth.
But he was not ready to die tonight.
He scurried out of the dark alley and onto the well lit sidewalks of Beale Street and embedded himself within the crowd of tourists heading for their bus.
Hailing a taxi, he resigned himself to the fact that his needs would not be slaked tonight.
Tomorrow, perhaps.
As he settled into the back seat he provided the driver with his home address. If he had only caught himself in time to notice how small she was, he could have given another address, a remote one where they were sure to be alone. He could have taken the driver.
He was certain he could have handled her.
But then she could be carrying a weapon … or pepper spray.
No. It was best to do what he had been trained to do. To watch and take what remained.
Thirty minutes passed before they reached his quiet home on a cul-de-sac surrounded by small, attractive homes where mothers and fathers and children lived their lives as if all were right with the world. As if no harm could ever come their way.
He paid the fare, but no tip. The driver shouted vile names at his back as he strode up the sidewalk. She would never know that he had left her the most valuable tip of all—life.
As he unlocked his door he thought of the Stewarts to his right and the Barretts to his left. Both had small children. Little toddlers and even one still crawling around on the grass like a puppy. Many nights he had lain in his bed and considered stealing into one of those quiet homes and snatching the perfect snack. But his shelter, his work was here. Such an undisciplined act would only force him to relocate again. To change his name and start over.
He had done that far too many times already.
This time he would be extremely careful. The homeless, the elderly who lived alone, those would have to do. No one usually cared or put up much of a fuss over those victims. They were expendable.
Take one child and the whole fucking world was after you.
Inside, he locked the door behind him and went in search of food. If nothing else, he would gorge with chocolate. It wasn’t nearly so good as soft, warm flesh, but it would have to do for tonight.
He clicked the remote to catch the news. He had been taught to always remain aware of the goings-on around him. Vigilance was essential.
The words and images on the screen captured his attention immediately, prompting him to unmute the sound.
“ … was identified as the final victim. The former Ms. Taylor is now a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She changed her name seven years ago after surviving the most brutal serial rapist-murderer of the last century, Nameless.”
He dropped the box of chocolates and walked across the room, didn’t stop until his nose was no more than an inch from the screen.
“Agent Vivian Grace is assigned to the Birmingham, Alabama, field office and …”
The words died away as the image … long silky hair … huge brown eyes … and those lips … perfect, lush … appeared on the screen.
It was her …
Number Thirteen.
Hatred coiled inside him. She had killed the other part of him … his heart … his soul mate.
Had she been that close all along?
He touched the face on the screen … traced those unusual, puffy lips.
“I’ve been watching for you, Number Thirteen … and now I know exactly where you are.”