The Watcher

Suddenly Griff’s cell phone rang at the same moment his pilot, Jonathan Mills, emerged from the cockpit.

“We’ve been given clearance to take off,” Jonathan said.

“Hold off on that,” Griff told him as he glanced at the caller ID on his cell phone. “There’s been a change in plans. We’re going to Atlanta, not Knoxville.”

“Yes, sir.”

Griff answered on the fifth ring, his gut warning him who the caller was. “Powell here.”

“Hello, Griff.”

Apparently sensing the tension in Griff, Nic reached over and tapped his arm, then mouthed, “Is it him?”

Griff nodded to Nic, then spoke to the caller. “What can I do for you?”

A soft chuckle. “It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.”

“And just what would that be?”

“I can give you a new clue.”

“On one of the five past murders or one of the future murders?”

“Ah, you and Nic have been busy, haven’t you? I’m impressed that you’ve already discovered information about all five of them.”

Then there really had been only five. But that was five too many. Five innocent young women who had died at the hands of a monster. “Yeah, we know that there were five.”

“I’m going to capture Number Six day after tomorrow, so you see, I’m giving you thirty-six hours’ notice.”

Griff held his breath. Damn this arrogant, crazy son of a bitch.

“Did you hear me?” the caller asked.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“That was the first part of your clue. Want the second part?”

“You’re going to give me the second part whether I want it or not, so why ask me?”

“Frustrated already?” Another nasty chuckle.

Griff didn’t respond.

“Debbie Glover,” the caller said, then hung up.

Griff lifted his phone away from his ear and clutched it in his hand as he repeated the name over and over in his mind. Who the hell was Debbie Glover? The intended victim? No, that would make it too easy.

“What did he say?” Nic asked.

“He’s abducting another victim day after tomorrow, in thirty-six hours, which means sometime early Wednesday.”

“Was that all he said?”

Before Griff could answer Nic, her cell phone rang. Their gazes met and locked.

“He’s calling me this time,” Nic said as she removed her phone from her pocket.

“He’s enjoying himself,” Griff told her.

Nic flipped open her phone. “Hello.”

“My darling Nicole, how lovely to hear your voice.”

“I can’t say the same. I hate hearing your voice.”

Laughter.

“I have two clues for you,” the caller told her. “Two for Griff and two for you.”

Nic waited.

“She’s a blonde,” he said. “I have a personal preference for brunettes, but I don’t want to discriminate against blondes and redheads, now do I?”

Nic swallowed hard.

“If you don’t say something and let me hear your sweet voice again, I won’t give you the other clue,” he told her.

“Give me a really good clue—tell me where you are,” Nic said.

“Ah, that’s my girl. Feisty as ever.”

Griff was right. This sick bastard was enjoying himself. He loved drawing Griff and her into his game, into the planning and preparation stage. He needed them, needed their participation in order to achieve the optimum pleasure. But unfortunately, they couldn’t simply refuse to play along, not if even one thing he said to them could help them figure out who he was or who his next victim might be.

“I’m at home,” he told her. “I’ll be leaving in the morning, on my way to stalk my prey before I capture her and … But you don’t want to hear about all that, do you? You want your other clue.”

Nic held her breath.

“Rubies and lemon drops.”

He hung up.

Nic frowned, totally puzzled by his statement.

“Well?” Griff asked.

“He’s crazy.”

“We already knew that.”