Silhouettes

e more night of sleep would allow her to delay the inevitable. A few months had passed since she'd located him. Not another night could be wasted. Time was running out, bo

g. In her note to him, she had provided detailed instructions. No amount of persuasion would convince him to comply with her request if he

urs parked opposite a neighborhood known to attract drug addicts, sex offenders, and who knows what else was a bad idea. Every piece of riffraff that stumbled by stared at her awkwardly. Yet another reoccurring nig

another ten minutes, she decided her nerve wasn't quite up to invading his home and instead r

stopped for a moment before racing forward at an alarming rate. As far as she could tell, he wasn't her savior. He was a man with long blond hair and a shaved, shadowed jaw who looked cruel and ruthless and was clearly not someone who could save

rums were going to burst from the constant ticking of her watch. In an instant, she saw her mother

dnight Pub's neon sign. In his eyes, not even a hint of a feeling was simmer

ing his image closer until she could make out every feature

g veins of deeply tanned muscle and washed, worn jeans that clung to his rippling veins. Thugs a

That was the true hook that brought him to the pub. The setting was appropriate, especially in light of the events of the previous evening. Because of this, she had requested that he meet her there. So that there was no question in his mind that she was aware of every detail, including the most recent murder scene, the time of death, and the precise cause of thes

d the sinister depths of his eyes. A lot darker, in fact. To Autumn's mind, there was no doubt that he had not only witnessed sin, but also participated in its commission. He

dn't appear to be the moral sort. His scrutiny of the beat-up red car she drove with an intensity that was unsettling was thorough. And in those split seconds, she was

nything. The situation had gotten so bad that she had started the car, was holding the steering wheel tightly, and was strumming her fingers on the leather as she consid

if she let this opportunity slip through her fingers, and nothing, not even Hunter Morrison and his disturbing presence, could make her do so. She

walked across the street. Her stomach knotted up with fear, and she cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The road was dotted with cars. There were clusters of people at the intersections and individuals walking up and down the sidewalk. This was a perfectly normal occurre

ybe that would solve all her problems and put an end to the killing. And she did it all while keeping he

ner than she had planned, much sooner than even the dreaded cu