Rescue at Cardwell Ranch
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B.J. Daniels
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Chapter One
From the darkness, he heard the sound of high heels tapping quickly along the pavement, heading in his direction, and smiled. This could be the one.
If not, he would have to give it up for the night, something he couldn’t bear doing. For days his need had been growing. He’d come here tonight because he couldn’t put it off any longer—no matter how dangerous it was to hunt this close to home.
Since it had gotten dark, he’d been looking. He hated to think of the women he’d let get away, women in their tight skirts and low-cut blouses, women who’d just been asking for it.
But waiting for the right woman, he’d learned, was the smart thing to do. It took patience. Tonight, though, he found himself running short of it. He’d picked his favorite spot, the favorite spot of men like himself: a grocery-store parking lot at night. Once he’d parked next to her car—he knew it was a woman’s car because she’d left her sunglasses on the dash and there was one of those cute air fresheners hanging from the mirror—he’d broken the bright light she’d parked under.
Now the area was cast in dark shadow—just the way he loved it. He doubted she would notice the lack of light—or him with his head down, pretending to be packing his groceries into the trunk of his large, expensive vehicle. Women were less afraid of a man who appeared to have money, he’d discovered.
At the sound of her approaching footfalls, he found it hard not to sneak a peek at her. Patience. This would be the one, he told himself. He already felt as if he knew her and could easily guess her story. She would have worked late, which was why she was still dressed as she had been this morning, in high heels. She wasn’t pushing a cart so she wasn’t shopping for her large family.
Instead, he guessed she was single and lived alone, probably in a nice condo since she drove a newer, pricier car—the kind independent, successful single women drove. By the sound of her footfalls, she carried only one small bag of groceries. He could already imagine his hands around her throat.
The footfalls grew closer.
He’d learned a long time ago not to act on impulse. Snatch the first one he saw and bad things happened. He had a scar to prove it. That run-in had almost cost him dearly. Not that she’d gotten away. He’d made sure of that. But she’d wounded him in more ways than one. It was why he’d come up with a set of rigorous guidelines he now followed to the letter. It was the reason, he told himself, that he’d never been caught.
He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the look in her eyes when she realized she was about to die. This woman had to be the right one because his need had grown to the point of urgency. He went over his guidelines, the memory of his only mistake still haunting him.
He wouldn’t let himself be swayed by an alluring whiff of perfume. Nor would he risk a woman carrying anything that could be used as a weapon at a distance like an umbrella.
Then there was her hair and attire. It would surprise most women to know that what made her his target was her hairstyle. There was a reason women with short hair were not common prey of men like him. Give him a woman with a ponytail—a recent trend that filled him with joy—or a braid or even a bun—anything he could bury his fingers in and hold on for dear life.
Clothing was equally as important. She had to be wearing an outfit that would come off easily and quickly because he often didn’t have a lot of time. Of course, he always carried a pair of sharp scissors, but a woman in a blouse and a skirt made his life so much easier, even with a blade handy.
Now as the sound of the high heels grew closer, he readied himself with growing anticipation. He was betting this one was wearing a nice short skirt and a button-up blouse. Tonight, he could even handle a matching jacket with the skirt. No blue jeans, though. They were such a pain to get off.
Her cell phone rang. She stopped walking. He groaned since if she’d been just a little closer, she would have already been in his trunk, her mouth duct taped as well as her wrists and ankles.
He cursed her cell phone even though it often made things easier for him. Women who were distracted—either digging in their purses for their keys or talking on their cell phones or unloading their groceries—were oblivious to the fact that he was already breathing down their necks.
He silently urged her phone call to end. Just a few more steps and he would grab her by the hair, overpower her and have her in the trunk of his car before she even knew what was happening. Once he got her to the place he had picked out down by the river...well, that was when the real fun would begin.
His next victim was still on the phone. She sounded upset, so upset that she’d stopped walking to take the call. She would be thinking about the call—not him right next to her car.
The call ended. She began to walk again, right toward him. He doubted she’d even noticed him bent over his car trunk, pretending to be taking care of his groceries.
He heard her vehicle beep as she unlocked it. Any moment she would walk within a few feet of him on his right. He would have only an instant to make his decision. An instant to see what she had in her hands, what she was wearing, how long her hair was. Even with his meticulous planning, there was always the chance that this could be the one woman who would surprise him. The one who would fight back. The one who would get away and ruin his perfect record.
His heart began to pound with excitement. He loved this part. None had ever gotten away—even the one who’d scarred him. He was too smart for them. They were like sheep coming down a chute to slaughter, he thought, as he looked up and saw her start past him.
