I Can See You Read Online Free PDF Page A

trying to draw just one breath. Just one .
    His laugh was faraway, tinny. Like she was in a
tunnel. The last thing she heard was his groan as he climaxed, his seed hot on
her frozen skin. And then… darkness.
    Breathing hard, he stared into her face, now slack in
death. Withdrawing his hands from her throat, he clenched them into fists. It
should have been better . He’d needed it to be better . Dammit .
She’d woken earlier than he’d calculated and he’d missed her postsedation
hallucinations. During the hallucinations was always the optimal moment.
    Whatever he whispered as they were going under, they
experienced as they awoke. The abject terror in their eyes when they were
waking… He’d learned long ago that their fear was far better than any drug,
sending his orgasm into the stratosphere.
    That had been denied him today. His breathing began to
slow, his racing thoughts to settle. Which was the primary objective. The
orgasm was just… incidental.
    Nice, but completely unnecessary. He climbed off her,
staying away from the blood sullenly oozing from her lip. He was always careful
with the trash he collected. Hookers and addicts, crawling with disease. Disgusting.
    It was late. He’d shower her stink off of his skin,
get dressed, and do what needed to be done. He hoped somebody had found Martha
Brisbane. He’d been waiting for days, the need to move forward to the next
victim growing every hour. He couldn’t move to the next victim until the police
found the last one. That was his own rule.
    Rules kept order and order controlled chaos. The
higher the chaos, the greater the chances of discovery and that wouldn’t do at
all. So he’d follow his own rules.
    He looked at the body on the narrow bed. She’d served
her purpose. A diversion, a means to keep his mind clear while he waited for
someone to discover Martha. Once he got his mind prepared for a kill, he had to
move. If he didn’t, his mind raced too fast.
    Options, scenarios, outcomes . It was distracting, and he couldn’t afford to be
distracted. In his line of work, he had to be sharp, every day. Now, more
than ever .
    He grabbed the steel handle in the concrete floor. The
slab moved silently on well-oiled bearings, revealing the pit where he’d
disposed of dozens of bodies over the years. Hookers. Addicts. Trash nobody
would miss. The world is a better place without them here. Dozens of
victims and the police had never had even a whiff of suspicion.
    He sniffed in disdain. “Modern-day heroes,” he
muttered, quoting the shallow, pathetically written article all the detectives
claimed embarrassed them, but he knew better. They’d secretly preened, thrilled
to be so elevated in the public’s regard.
    They were simply thugs with big guns and very small
brains. Easily manipulated. He should know. He’d been manipulating them for
years. They just didn’t know it.
    That was about to change. He’d bring them down,
humiliate them. Show everyone what they really were. The premise of his plan
was quite simple. He’d do what he’d been doing for years—killing women right
under their noses. He looked into the pit. But not like this . Not
quietly. Not discreetly. And not the dregs of society no one would miss.
    He considered the six women he’d chosen. Single women
who lived alone, but who had family and friends who’d grieve their loss in
sound bites covered by a sympathetic press who’d quickly lose patience with
their precious Hat Squad.
    Which was the point of it all. The six he’d chosen
would capture the public’s attention, command their ire in a way no skanky,
lice-infested prostitutes ever could.
    Of course the irony of his choices wasn’t lost. His
six had never walked a street or shot up, but they were hookers and addicts
just the same. They simply plied their trade and fed their addictions in less
traditional venues. They were women, after all .
    He’d had to change his MO in other ways. No bringing
them here where he had disposal down