“I just don’t want you to shut me out when you’re feeling something. We’ve been friends for too long, Violet. I want you to tell me if you’re ever sensing anything strange.”

His hand fell away from her face, and Violet had to fight the urge to shudder in the wake of the electric charge she felt from his touch. Where his fingertips had brushed against her flushed cheeks they were still tingling. She decided to keep that strange sensation to herself.

“I know it’s not my fault, but I should have at least warned you.” She wanted him to understand how badly she felt about making him a witness to something he never should have seen. “Anyway,” she continued, “I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m pretty sure you said that already,” he responded, using her earlier words against her.

She smiled, desperately wishing he’d touch her again. She hoped he couldn’t see that in her face too. “I just don’t want anything bad between us,” she offered by way of an explanation.

“I know.” He reached out, capturing her hand in his. He laced his fingers casually through hers.

Violet leaned against him and the calm finally came, settling over her peacefully.

And then he kissed her. Gently. Softly. Not on the lips, as she’d imagined so many times before, but on her forehead.

The gesture was sweet and a little possessive.

Violet hoped, maybe, it was a start.

ADRENALINE

EACH HUNT WAS AS UNIQUE AS THE GIRL HERSELF.

It was better if no two girls were extracted in exactly the same way. Or from the same area.

But that had become increasingly difficult, as absences from his job became more and more conspicuous. So he’d been forced to hunt closer to home recently, and that meant taking more precautions than he had in the past. It meant being even more diligent. Meticulous.

Not that he’d been sloppy before. He was never sloppy; it went against everything he believed in.

He ran his finger along the razor-smooth edge of his KA-BAR tactical knife. He knew he wouldn’t have to use it; the terrifying effect of the weapon in the presence of the girls was enough to cause total submission. Just stroking the steel blade stimulated him in ways no woman ever had.

He stuffed the military-grade knife in his “briefcase,” a nondescript duffel bag he carried whenever he went out on a hunt, next to the duct tape and the zip ties.

He didn’t mind the extra safety measures he had to take. In fact, for some reason it added to the excitement of it all, the increased risk of searching out girls who lived in such close proximity to where he lived and worked. It was like pissing in his own backyard. Sick and wrong. And he liked it.

He checked himself in the mirror one last time before heading out the door.

The hunt was on.

By a quarter past twelve, he was in a shitty mood.

Nothing had gone well. He hadn’t spotted even one promising prospect out on the streets after dark.

He’d been afraid this might happen. Not so much that he wouldn’t find a girl, but that his choices would be limited, his options less attractive. Literally. He preferred the pretty ones.

He knew that word of the disappearances had spread, and families were watching their daughters a little more closely. But there were exceptions to every rule. The stupid and weak always separated from the herd eventually.

All of the girls he’d seen tonight had either been traveling in groups or weren’t worth his effort.

He was about to call it a night when he spotted her. Crossing the dark street. Alone. And pretty.

He didn’t waste any time.

“You need a ride?” he asked through his open window, his car slowing to match her pace.

“It’s okay,” she answered, glancing up just long enough to acknowledge him. “I just live down the street.”

“I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’d feel better if you let me drive you.”

She slowed down a little but didn’t stop. He knew she was wavering, but not enough, so he added, “With everything that’s going on lately…you know, with the girls that have been found…” He left the sentence hanging, hoping to strike some fear in this one, but he must have misjudged her.

There was fear, all right, but not the kind he’d hoped for. He saw the alarm flash across her face, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she recognized in him that the others hadn’t.

Her pace quickened, and he could see her fumbling nervously for something in her pocket. He saw what it was the second she had it free. Her cell phone.

She wanted to call for help.

He couldn’t let her, but he’d have to act fast if he planned to stop her.

He slammed on his brakes and shoved the transmission into park. The girl started running before he was even out of his car.

The little bitch was fast!

He raced after her, his heavy boots falling loudly against the pavement. The advantage she’d gained in her head start was quickly lost to his superior agility.

Plus, it was always easier to be the predator than the prey. Prey panicked.

He hit her from behind, and he heard her squeal as the air was knocked from her lungs beneath his weight when he crushed her to the ground. The cell phone skittered across the street.

His hand shot out, before she could find her breath again, covering her mouth. It was bad enough she’d run; he didn’t need her screaming too.

He rolled swiftly onto his back, taking her with him so that she was lying on top of his chest as he surveyed the area for possible witnesses. This had the potential for true disaster; this could be the mistake he’d avoided making for so long.

But they were still alone. Just the two of them.

She fought him, thrashing violently against his grip, even though he knew she was aware of his strength as he restrained her. She was like a rag doll flopping helplessly in his arms. He tightened his grip on her anyway, struggling against an instinct to smother her with his hand.

In one rapid motion, he jumped to his feet, hauling her up with him. His car was still running, and was far too easy to spot with its headlights filling the darkened street.

He was angry with the girl. She shouldn’t have run. She wasn’t supposed to do that; they were never supposed to do that.

She had ruined the hunt for him…ruined the mood.

He reached inside the open car door and released the trunk. He didn’t take care with this one-this girl-she didn’t deserve his concern or his gentle reassurances.

When she saw where he was taking her, she kicked at him with her legs. He slammed her against the hard edge of the trunk’s opening, letting her head smack against the metal exterior of the car before throwing her inside. In the split second that her mouth was uncovered she tried to scream for help, but his fist found her jaw before the sound could gain any momentum. It came out in an injured whimper instead.

Some of his mood was restored.

He worked quickly, grabbing his tool bag, and ripping a piece of duct tape from the roll. She thrashed sideways, away from the silver adhesive, but he tangled his fingers into her hair and jerked her back, sealing her mouth shut once and for all.

The zip ties made her hands and feet useless, forcing her to be the kind of docile victim he preferred. He watched as he saw some of the fire fading from her eyes. She stared back at him pleadingly.

He felt much better.

In a moment of compassion, he tried to stroke her face comfortingly, but the instant he touched her, the panic returned, and she struggled all over again, straining against the plastic strips that bound her wrists and ankles.

Bitch, he silently cursed her. Stupid little bitch!

He slammed the trunk hard, glad to be done with her. He was tired of looking at her. He didn’t care if she was afraid or if she suffered.

He knew one thing for certain…the next time he saw her, she wouldn’t be fighting.