Almost Dead (Lizzy Gardner #5)(48)

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. It’s clear I’ve made you uncomfortable. I never intended to jeopardize our friendship by asking you out. Maybe we should pretend this never happened.”

“No,” Jenny blurted. “I would love to go to a movie with you.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. When were you thinking?”

The hopeful and excited look on his face was endearing.

Are you kidding me! Wake up and smell the oxytocin.

“How about Saturday afternoon?”

Today was Friday. “Tomorrow?”

No way! You have a kill list to finish off.

“Too soon?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, not at all. Saturday is fine.”

You’re a fool.

“I’ll pick you up at six for dinner. Do you like Mexican food?”

“That sounds perfect. Do you know where I live?”

Don’t do it. Don’t tell him where you live.

“Having your address would be helpful if I’m going to pick you up.” He patted his pockets. “No pen or paper. I ran out of my office so fast, I didn’t bring my cell phone, either.”

Meet him at the theater. Don’t give him your address.

She reached into her purse, shuffled around until she found a slip of paper to write her address and telephone number on. Then she handed it to him.

“You’ve made my day, Jenny Pickett. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting.”





CHAPTER 33

Hayley crouched low, kept hidden beneath a wall of brush. The beams of his headlights shot past the top of her head as he pulled his car into the parking lot of the apartment complex.

For over a month now she’d been watching three different men, all rapists, all let out on parole much too soon. This guy, Paul, was the oldest and the most dangerous. He lured young girls in with his quick wit and charming good looks. He was like a bright beacon of light on cold, windy nights like tonight. He went after young girls who were homeless or had run away from their troubled homes, and then ZAP; they didn’t know what hit them until it was too late.

According to RAINN—the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network—54 percent of rapes were never reported. Only three out of every one hundred rapists spent time in prison. The odds were almost always in the rapist’s favor.

Once Hayley was sure he went to his apartment alone, she would go home and come back another night. It was almost one in the morning. Usually Paul returned home closer to midnight.

She watched him climb out of his car.

Hayley couldn’t see anyone else inside the vehicle. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she exhaled and released some tension. She watched him walk to his apartment on the bottom floor, unlock the door, and head inside. The kitchen light went on.

Hayley stood, stretched her legs. She was about to head off when the guy walked outside again and headed back for the car.

What the hell?

Only half-hidden now, she held still, didn’t move a muscle. It was dark enough that he wouldn’t see her unless he allowed enough time for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The few outside lights surrounding the apartment building had either gone out eons ago or someone had broken the bulb for the hell of it. It was a building filled with degenerates. Even if neighbors took the time to look out their windows to see what Almost Dead was up to, they wouldn’t give a shit. He had nothing to worry about, which was why he remained focused on the task at hand. Just another night for the guy . . .

He opened the back door and scooped up a young girl who had passed out in the backseat. Then he turned, used his foot to shut the car door, and headed back into his apartment.

Fuck.

Although she watched these losers for this very reason, she really wasn’t in the mood for an altercation. It wasn’t that she minded kicking his ass—quite the opposite. If anything, she was afraid of what she might do to the guy. If his probation officer could watch some of the worst offenders just a little bit closer, she wouldn’t be here now, taking care of business.

She pulled out her baton, extended it fully, practiced a few moves, and then put it away. She checked the sheaths at her ankles. Knives were in place. She craved a smoke, but there was no time for that. As she walked toward his apartment, she wondered for a moment if he had any idea, any inkling at all, that he was almost dead.





CHAPTER 34

The lady with the missing pug—Jacque Victoria Mason—was a pain in the ass. While Tommy worked on installing a video camera in the entryway, Kitally tried to keep Jacque Mason busy. The woman preferred to be addressed by her full name, but that was too bad.

She was a talker. She was also nervous and fidgety and couldn’t hold still for more than a few minutes at a time. Her pug, Gracie, had been missing for almost a week now, but the good news was that less than forty-five minutes ago, Jacque had gotten a call from a man who said he just saw her sign and he happened to have her dog.

That didn’t give Kitally much time to prepare. She should have waited until after Tommy installed the camera before she hung up the reward signs.

Too late now. You live and you learn.

“Where is he? Why hasn’t he brought back my Gracie?” the woman asked for the third time in five minutes.