Prologue
The crescent moon hung low in the star-strewn sky as the muffled cry of a dying girl faded into oblivion.
The girl crumpled into a heap at the feet of her killer, who breathed in deeply, feeling the rushing surge of adrenaline and energy he always experienced after taking someone’s life.
Unknown to this man, another woman watched him from the safety of her back-most window, a tiny sliver of curtain parted to allow her eyes to peer out without being seen in the dim moonlight. She had fumbled a pair of binoculars out of her pocket, determined to discover the identity of the murderer, and she had them trained on him now, intently watching his every move, ready to duck down below the windowsill in the unlikely event that he should turn and see her crouched there.
She gave a sharp, quiet exclamation of frustration; the night’s shadows made it impossible to catch a glimpse of his face, even though he was turned three-quarters of the way towards her, as he bent over to shoulder the dead girl like a sack of flour. He stood on the sheer cliff that gave way sharply to the tossing, roiling sea hundreds of feet below, then with a small motion of his arms, threw the girl into thin air where any splash she may have
made was lost in the constant pounding of the surf that had been eroding away the cliff for decades.
The man stood there a moment, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, reminding the woman of a lone wolf, listening, transfixed by the howls of enemy packs, staring out into the nearly unbroken body of water, the moon’s silver light reflected in it’s dancing, rippling surface.
It is too beautiful to be the scene of so many deaths,
she thought with a twinge.
In the small swathe of grassy clearing, the moon was at his back, and the spying woman could see the outline of his body.
A knot began to form in her stomach as he turned slowly, silently, full in her view. She feared she’d retch, but she couldn’t move; she could hardly breathe or think.
Bad dreams, nightmares, everything haunting in the night was like this. She saw, and then she stared as her blood turned to ice by the sight she was forced to see because her eyes seemed unable to look away.
That face…that face…it was unmistakable.
She knew this man. She knew that face.
“No…oh no…it
The truth about that man must never come out.
