Hunted in Conard County
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Rachel Lee
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Prologue
The house was dark and quiet, the silence punctuated only by the sound of the refrigerator ice maker dropping ice cubes with a clatter. Digital clocks on appliances cast an eerie green glow, but enough to see by.
He knew where her bedroom was. He’d waited patiently, walking along streets and alleys, waiting for the light in that room to go out. When it did, he waited another hour, keeping to the shadows, ducking from the occasional police patrol. Conard City, Wyoming, was soundly asleep, most of its activity now relegated to the truck stop at the western edge of town. Even the state highway stretched in endless silence, offering little traffic.
Inside the house, he no longer cared about such things. A small pocket penlight with a red lens guided his feet.
He was wrapped in long sleeves, long pants and quiet athletic shoes. A knit ski mask covered his entire head. It muffled his breathing even as the moisture from his breath dampened it. These were accelerating breaths, because he was excited. His heart hammered wildly.
Gloved hands gripped a long, sharp hunting knife. The door to the bedroom stood open. The woman in the bed would have seen no need to close it. She was alone in her own house. This was a generally safe town.
Not any longer. Not for her. He crept to her bedside and passed the beam of the small flashlight over her. She didn’t stir.
He knew the lay of the land now. In an instant, he ripped the blanket off her and straddled her in the bed, holding the icy blade of the knife to her throat.
“Scream and I’ll cut your throat,” he half whispered as her eyes opened wide in terror, glistening in the darkness. He waited for the situation to penetrate.
Then the whimpering began. The pleas. How he loved the sound of that. The smell of her terror intoxicated him.
His fun had begun.
