They called him the Night Bleeder…and his hunger is stronger than ever.
Detective Capalbo’s most disturbing Cold Case is about to heat up. He’s lost his guy once before. He can’t afford to lose him again.
1
Aside from the excited drumming of his heart against his ribs, the only thing he heard was the rushed clicking of a woman’s heels on the damp asphalt. The sharp sound of her stilettos echoed off the hollow alleyway and he allowed half of his mouth to turn up in a grin.
Women could be so damn stupid.
Following the sharp lines of the brick building, he tailed her silently, being careful to stay tucked behind the shadows of the moonless night. Even if she happened to look over her shoulder, the young woman wouldn’t see him. He’d perfected this part of the hunt – the stalking. Others like him had said over the years that hunting their prey was just as satisfying, if not more so, than the actual killing. Not him. The hunt was simply the beginning.
When she picked up her pace, he almost laughed out loud. They always did that. He knew she could feel him behind her, though he hadn’t made himself known yet. Women’s intuition, they called it. And yet here she was, ignorantly and brazenly wandering down an empty alley in the dead of night, scantily clad in club attire. Her long hair left down for easy grabbing. Shoes so high she couldn’t run in them even if the Devil Himself was chasing her. And she was totally, perfectly, alone.
She was his before he even touched her.
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TRISH MARIE DAWSON 