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Connor stared at her in astonishment. Then, without further delay, he pounded down the driveway, heading for the parking lot that she’d just returned from.
Cami felt a surge of hope that her delaying tactics might just have worked. She watched, holding her breath, as Mario jumped into the nearest car.
There was a surprised pause. Then he scrambled out again and sprinted to the car next door.
Cami crossed her fingers tightly. Connor was gaining with every moment that passed.
The man burst out again, now looking panicked himself, and skidded toward the third vehicle in the row. This time, he just glanced inside, checking the ignition, before running helplessly to the fourth.
Connor reached him before he'd even gotten there. He grabbed the man by the back of his jacket collar.
There was a brief scuffle, which Cami didn't see clearly because she was already sprinting over. She'd wasted too much time watching this play out, and not enough time getting there to help.
She dashed up in time to see the end of a struggle. Connor had Mario in his grip, with his back against car number four, and one hand above his head. Mario was kicking and thrashing, shouting for help, but there was nobody except her who could hear him. And she sensed that now, after the triple shocks of finding no keys in the car, he was feeling demoralized. His escape route had disappeared, and with it, his will to fight.
She also noticed that he had a number of small bandages and dressings on his hands and arms.
Had he been injured in the course of his work, or could this be from the knife fight with his latest victim? Could Tracy have inflicted these wounds? Cami felt her gaze sharpen as she stared at them.
Help wasn't going to arrive for the motor mechanic who'd tried so hard to make a run for it. As Cami grabbed his wrist, Connor clicked the second handcuff closed. He glared at Mario, who gave an enraged hiss, as if the touch of the cuffs was actually searing.
"Now, you talk to us," Connor growled.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
His arm was bandaged up, the wound in his side was dressed, and the painkillers had kicked in. The killer was feeling better now. Much better. He felt as if things were going his way again, after veering off course.
He was filled with confidence about his next Mama Bear. What a fairytale ending this would be, for sure. This would be textbook. Story perfect. There would be no twists in this tale—that he promised himself.
He approached the house, walking casually. This was in a fine area of Boston, well treed, with beautiful homes set well back from the road.
He had to admit, he'd enjoyed his stay here. A lot. He'd spent a week here, a while ago, while this small family of bears had been away. What a week it had been. It had been the longest stay out of any of the homes so far.
He'd started making his own meals, he'd kept the fridge stocked up with his favorite—as much as he could carry—and he'd spent his time watching television, eating, and relaxing.
The house felt so warm and inviting. It was almost as if the family was welcoming him into their home and asking him to stay a while. It was a pleasant feeling.
He'd had the whole house to himself with no interruptions. He'd taken the time to unpack, and put his things into drawers, and put his clothes away. He'd been able to enjoy himself without any fear of being disturbed, thanks to the privacy offered by the trees. It had been a modern home, and he’d enjoyed experimenting with some of the gadgets, although he hadn’t been able to log into all of them. His expertise was in alarms, and as for general smart home functionality, he knew that he needed to become better skilled.
All in all, despite a few glitches, it had been one of his most successful visits, and there had been plenty of fun to be had.
He'd been sure, thanks to the reliable information he’d received, that nobody would be coming back in a hurry.
But of course, like always, he'd cleaned fastidiously before he had left, making sure that his tracks were covered, his fingerprints were all wiped away, the items he'd used were well washed.
He'd left a few small hints to remind them that he'd been there. After all, what would a story be without some clues to point the way to a sharp-eyed reader?
But he wasn't sure if the bears in this home were so sharp-eyed as to have noticed. Perhaps they weren’t. You never knew.
Quickly and quietly, he let himself in and looked around the house, taking in the small changes since he'd last been there, and breathing in the smells of the house.
"Well, how nice it is to be back," he said aloud in a soft voice, as he quietly disabled the alarm. "I see some changes have been made since I was last here."
He paced through the hall, making sure that his knife was tucked in his belt, ready to use. He wasn't going to be caught snoozing again.
"Mama Bear has been neglecting the house cleaning, I note," he observed. "I see that the floor is not as well polished as when I was last in here. I must say, when you have such a beautiful home, I feel that it's your obligation to keep it neat and tidy."
He tut-tutted disapprovingly as he walked through to the kitchen. There, too, her behavior disappointed him.
