HE DIDN’T WANT to go into work, so he called in sick. He needed to create, and he could only do that at home. He took the sketch of Detective Delossa and turned it into a vibrant painting. He used colors to make it realistic instead of using just the red. He needed more red paint anyway. He looked at the floorboards, wondering how his guest was doing. He was down to one now, so he had room for two more. One to keep Tiffany company and one for the other house. It was time to go hunting.

First, though, he needed to check on Tiffany. He couldn’t have her dying on him until he was ready for it. He took her a meal replacement shake and ripped the tape off her mouth. She was quiet and eagerly accepted the straw.

“This will make your tummy feel better, and I promise I didn’t put anything in it,” he claimed, and it made her pause. She must not have cared, though, because she went ahead and finished the drink off.

He dabbed at her mouth before covering it back up with tape. He could probably leave it uncovered since he had already put the phony for sale sign in the yard, but he wanted to be certain, and he wanted to torment her for the way she’d treated him.

“How are your hands feeling today?” he asked in a voice laced with fake concern. Tears immediately streamed down her face, so he reached out and wiped one away. “Aw, don’t cry. I’m going to give you something to take your mind off it because that’s what my dear old dad used to do for me.”

He picked the hammer up, watching her eyes widen with terror, and swung it toward her right shin. The loud snapping sound reverberated off the concrete and mixed with her muffled shrieking. He took a few photos and was about to leave when he thought it sounded like she was trying to ask him something.

He pulled the tape and inquired, “Did you have a question, dear?”

Through sobs, she managed to squeak out, “Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I didn’t accept your paintings into the gallery?”

He chuckled and replaced the tape. “Your gallery should feel honored to house my masterpieces, and I’m sure it will be doing so very soon. Once they replace you, I’ll take them to the next curator, and I imagine they’ll have better taste than you.”

He spun on his heel and left her alone to enjoy her desolation. Then he left and drove to Sunset Hills to do his hunting. They weren’t expecting him there.

He parked outside the shopping plaza and scanned the pedestrians mindlessly bustling in and out of stores. They just had no idea what could rain down on them on a whim. They barely looked both ways before crossing the street, so of course, they didn’t notice him. He played eeny meeny miny moe until he chose him. His next guest was a tall, lanky redheaded man, who was too busy digging in his pocket for his keys to notice the pretty blond woman checking him out. He popped his hood to draw the redhead’s attention, and it worked. Men always took the bait when he lured them with car trouble. It was the macho need to prove their worth that drew them in. Every guy suddenly becomes a car expert.

“Do you need some help?” the redhead asked.

He looked over and smiled at the volunteer. “Yeah, I can’t get her to turn over, and I don’t know much about cars. I think it might be my ignition switch though.” He pointed to the steering column.

“All right. Let me take a look at it,” the other man suggested.

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” he said as he climbed out of the SUV.

Once the redhead was in the driver’s seat and checking the switch out, he leaned over with the taser and pressed it into the man’s waist. The man wiggled and then slumped over. Making sure no one was watching, he shoved him over in the bench seat, which was a wonderful feature in his Suburban. Then he shut the hood and quickly drove away before someone saw what he was up to.

He injected the man with scopolamine before pulling into a gas station. That was the bad thing about the SUV—it was a gas hog. The redhead was slumped against the passenger door, looking like he was asleep, so no one was the wiser. He paid at the pump and filled up the tank before heading home, making sure he drove the speed limit. He couldn’t risk getting stopped again.