She didn’t have the ability to recognize faces.
Which meant if she saw him tomorrow, she wouldn’t know who he was.
Wouldn’t know that he’d been a witness to the two idiots fighting in the parking lot.
He would always be a complete stranger to her.
But he knew who she was.
Eagerness rolled in his gut. He could have so much fun with her. He could mess with her mind for weeks . . . and she’d have no idea she was in his sights.
It had been almost seven months since he’d felt the high that came from having a woman completely at his mercy. He’d had the last one for five days, and at first she’d been fun to psychologically torture. She’d been scared out of her mind. It had made him feel incredibly powerful to watch her beg for her life, to see her cry as he’d choked her into unconsciousness time and time again.
After dumping her body, he’d had to lie low. Give the cops time to run in circles trying to figure out who’d killed her. But now that their investigation had grown cold, it was time.
He’d found his next plaything.
Taylor Cardin.
He could take his sweet time, play cat and mouse. All the while, she’d have no idea she was interacting with a serial killer again and again.
Smiling with anticipation, Brett looked at the pictures on the wall of his basement sanctuary. Old-school Polaroids of the women he’d killed. There were eleven.
He couldn’t imagine not remembering them. He could recall every single second with each. How they’d begged. How they’d promised him anything he wanted if he’d just let them go. Every little sound and expression. Their faces were burned into his memory. He thought about them when he jerked off and when he simply needed a good memory to get him through his monotonous days.
And Taylor would be lucky number twelve.
Soon, he’d have her picture to add to his remembrance wall. Taylor might never remember his face . . . but he’d always remember hers.
“This’ll be fun,” he whispered to the sightless eyes staring back at him from the pictures on the wall. “Now to decide where and how to start my game with little Taylor.”
Chapter Two
“And then Thomas took a huge bite—and spit it all out on the table. That made Christine and Shane gag. Leigh pulled out her phone and called for pizza,” Eagle said.
Taylor giggled. “Are you lying?”
“Swear I’m not.”
“How can you mess up spaghetti?” Taylor asked once she’d gotten herself under control.
No one had been more surprised than Taylor when Eagle had called her the night after they’d met at the grocery store. He’d asked for her number before they’d gone their separate ways in the parking lot, and she’d surprised herself by giving it to him without hesitation. There was just something about him that intrigued her . . . even if she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of his motives. They’d only talked for about ten minutes during that first call, but then he’d called the next night. And the next. And the next.
It was now twelve days later, and they’d spoken every evening. She looked forward to their chats more than she wanted to admit.
“Hey, I’m a pro at screwing up food,” Eagle said with a chuckle. “And . . . I’ll deny this if you tell anyone, but I may or may not purposely mess up sometimes so I don’t get asked to cook again for months.”
“You’re terrible,” she told him.
“I know,” Eagle said.
“Eagle?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt as if I’ve had a friend. Thank you.” Taylor knew she could be making more out of this . . . whatever this was. This thing between her and Eagle. But she needed to let him know that she appreciated his friendship. “I’ve enjoyed our talks every night.”
“Me too,” he agreed. “You make me feel more . . . normal.”
“You don’t usually feel normal?” she inquired, pouring a glass of wine and sitting in the corner of her couch.
“No.”
“Why?”
He was silent for a moment, and Taylor was worried about what he was thinking.
“When I started calling you, I admit that I was mostly curious about your condition. I’ve never met anyone who can do what I can, and the fact that you’re the opposite is intriguing. But after that first call, I realized I didn’t really give a shit about prosopagnosia or super recognizers or anything else. I simply enjoyed talking to you.”
His admission upset her a little, but when he continued talking, she felt a warmth spread through her body. “Ditto,” she said softly. “My condition shadows everything I do. I know I’m judged for it, even if people deny it. I admit it hurts a little to know that’s why you wanted to talk to me in the first place, but I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I know if that was your only interest, you wouldn’t still be calling me.”
“I’m sorry. It was a dick thing to do,” Eagle said.
“It’s fine. You admitted it, which is more than most people would do.”
“Even though it’s been less than two weeks, I value your friendship,” Eagle told her. “And in light of that . . . I’d like to tell you something about me.”
“Okay,” Taylor said slowly, not all that thrilled about the sudden serious tone in his voice.
“Not over the phone,” he said firmly. “If I promise not to cook for you, do you think we could get together?”
Taylor’s first instinct was to say no. She liked the relationship they had now. Talking on the phone every night. Discussing their day. It was easy. Relaxed. If they started hanging out in person, he would probably get irritated that she couldn’t recognize him.
“Don’t judge me by the assholes in your past,” he said gruffly.
“How do you know what I was thinking?” she asked.
“Because I know you.”
Those four words were scary as hell. Because he was right. He did know her. She’d opened up to him more in their phone conversations than she had with anyone else in her life. She had no idea what it was about Eagle that made her feel as if she could tell him anything, but it felt good. Really good.
“Okay,” she said softly, deciding that if their friendship wouldn’t survive face-to-face meetings, it was better to know now rather than down the line, when it would hurt more.
Hell, who was she kidding? She had a feeling that losing their nighttime talks would hurt plenty, even though it had only been two weeks.
“Good. I’m going to pick you up tomorrow around five. We’ll come back to Silverstone Towing and eat a meal that Archer prepared. Then we’ll sit and have a talk about what I do. I’ll take you home whenever you want to go.”
Taylor had to admit she was intrigued. She had no idea what it was Eagle wanted to tell her, but it sounded very secretive. “You don’t have to pick me up,” she told him. “I can drive over.”
“Nope,” Eagle said definitively. “I’m afraid if you come by yourself, you’ll take one look at the compound and turn around and leave . . . and not take my calls anymore.”
“Is it that bad? I thought you said Silverstone was doing well.”