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Rachel nodded slowly, the weight of her own conclusion settling heavily upon her shoulders. She had absentmindedly taken a few steps back and now could peer along the side of the house. She looked away, her gaze drawn back to Silas Clark and his relatives, still being held behind the police sawhorse. Silas' eyes bore into her, making her skin crawl.
"Maybe it's not just about Jeb's wife, or Candace or Jack's wife," she muttered. "Or about the Clarks at all... there are probably others out there who've been marked for the same fate."
"Then we have no time to waste," Ethan declared, his face hardening with resolve.
Rachel considered their options, standing on the leaf-strewn ground under the darkening sky.
"We need to find out who has access to the hospital records of all three of them," Rachel said quietly.
She glanced once more towards Silas.
There was still no sign of Jeb.
He hadn't exactly been an even-keeled, calm sort when his wife was alive.
Now that she was dead?
Far less likely.
Rachel felt a cold shiver, shook her head and said, "We need to cross-reference those hospital records."
Ethan was already moving, heading along the side of the house, back towards their waiting car.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The rain pattered against the windshield as he trailed her car, his eyes never leaving her glowing taillights. He could feel the anticipation rising inside him like a coiled snake poised to strike at the perfect moment. It was an intoxicating feeling, one that had consumed him time and time again. The thrill of the hunt, the sweet taste of victory that came each time he claimed another.
Of course, he never fully admitted this to himself.
Even as the thought cross his mind, his brow furrowed.
He allowed himself a small shake of his head, a glimmer of compassion.
He didn'twantthem to hurt.
He wanted them to survive.
But, of course, the weak and the wounded harmed the herd.
It had always been the case.
Culling wasn't just for farmers. To cull meant to preserve the strongest and eliminate the weakest. He was simply doing his part in maintaining the balance of the world.
He pulled up next to her at the stoplight, watching her as she absentmindedly tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She was beautiful, just like all the others he had hunted before her. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and the light from the streetlamp illuminated the curves of her face. He felt a thrill run down his spine as he contemplated what he would do with her once he had her.
He followed her as she turned onto a deserted back road, her car bouncing over the potholes. He could see her silhouette in the driver's seat, her head bobbing as she sang along to the radio.
His four-fingered hand tightened on the steering wheel, and he glared at the missing digit.
Testament to his will.
He picked up speed, following behind the red Pontiac. She drove slowly.
In fact, most of what she did was slow on account of her limp. She didn't know him, but he knew of her... at least in part.
Years ago, they'd met before. She wouldn't remember him. She'd been...busyat the time.
The night she'd gotten that limp, in fact.
