Frantic

Начало книги

There’s no place to hide…

Eight months after Captive…

The Copycat Killer

Laundromats made good hunting grounds.

Alone, for now, he sat back to wait, listening to the empty rumble of the dryer and the tinny radio tuned to the blues. He liked a little blues on a hunting trip. The music was gritty and real and full of pain. Like the sweetness of a dying scream.

He’d never guessed how invincible killing could make him feel. The godlike power of holding life and death in his hands. It had taken a mentor to teach him. To guide him. Until he’d become brave. Until he’d become strong. Stronger than he’d ever imagined he could be.

But it had been too long since he’d tasted that strength. Eight months of fantasizing. Eight months of lying low, waiting for warm weather, waiting for the police and press to grow bored, waiting for word.

Now he was hungry to feel his power.

The glass door swung open and for a moment the rush of traffic outside eclipsed the low thunk of the bass guitar. The door closed and a dishwater blonde shouldering a duffel trudged past the vending machines and between rows of whirring washers.

Читать дальше →