Scene of the Crime: Black Creek. Carla Cassidy

his hands into fists at his sides he watched as she picked up her wineglass and took a sip. It tickled him that he knew they were playing a part specifically to trap him.

      He was sure they’d studied all the facts of the other murders, memorized each and every detail of his handiwork. But he’d been good. He’d been very good. He’d left nothing behind to identify him, no trail for them to follow.

      And now they thought they were one step ahead of him, dangling the perfect bait right before his hungry eyes. Yes, that definitely amused him.

      He knew they were expecting him to strike in their room, just like he’d taken down the others. They would believe that when danger came it would appear at their cottage door late in the evening.

      They would anticipate that he’d established a pattern and would continue to repeat that pattern. That’s why they were here. That’s why there were three agents in the cottage next to theirs, to wait for him to take their bait, to watch for him to make his move.

      He turned and headed down the street, leaving the two to their “romantic” meal. What they didn’t know was that he was on to them.

      They had no clue that all of their preparations, all their anticipation of his next move was for nothing. Oh, yes, he was on to them and all that meant was that it was time to change his pattern so he could take them down.

      The fact that they were FBI agents didn’t matter. What did matter was they were a perfect couple…that she was the perfect woman to take away his rage…at least for a little while.