Page 103 of Whisper

“Okay then. What’s your plan?”

“Can’t follow him to where he lives. He’s in a posh area. Plenty of witnesses and we’d probably stand out. So the plan is to corner him before he gets too far out of this neighborhood. Then it looks like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Given his past, it’s likely people won’t dig too much. He probably has some drugs on him—that’ll help. It’ll look like a drug deal gone bad.” He brushes his fingers across my cheek. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Fuck yeah. The guy’s a loser and he’s gonna do it again.”

“He will.”

“What about his friends? They knew about the roofie attempt.”

“To be determined. Boone is still digging into them.”

Nodding, I glance out the window. A few minutes pass before the bar doors open and out walks the guy. I’d recognize him anywhere. He’s decent looking, if a little plain and vanilla, but he has a deceptively innocent air about him that I’m sure he uses to his advantage. I’d bet most of his victims wouldn’t suspect him of being anything but a regular guy.

He glances around before getting into his Jeep and driving out of the parking lot. Whisper follows a few seconds later to leave a little space between us.

The target, Jim, turns down 14th Street, which is an even worse area than where we were. Whisper taps his fingers on his steering wheel, completely relaxed, and I have to admit, this isn’t something I thought we’d have in common, but it’s pretty hot that we do.

Jim pulls off to the side of the road and Whisper slows down. Jim gets out of his car, looks around again, then jogs over to a building that looks closed for the night. He digs a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door, slipping inside.

“What the fuck?” Whisper says, pulling against the curb. He takes his phone out of his pocket and types in the address. “Ah. It’s an outreach center. Must be something his church does.”

Jim comes out only seconds later, carrying a small zippered bag with him, and Whisper squeezes my thigh.

“Let’s do this.”

I unbuckle myself, realizing I’m at a disadvantage as I don’t have a gun. Whisper reaches across me and unlocks his glove compartment, pulling out a gun and a pair of gloves and handing them to me.

“This one is yours.”

I grin at him. “What a gentleman.”

Whisper snickers as we both exit the car and close in on Jim. His eyes go wide when he sees us and he fumbles with the bag in his hands. Whisper grabs him and drags him into the alleyway between the two buildings.

“What the fuck,” Jim says. “I don’t have any money.”

“We don’t want your money,” I snarl. “Don’t act like you don’t recognize me. You tried to drug me.”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“You fucking did,” Whisper growls. “And it’s not the only time you’ve done it, is it, Jim?”

As reality sinks in, Jim whimpers. “Please. I can give you anything. My parents have money.”

“Yeah, again, this isn’t about money,” I say. “It’s because you’re sick, Jim. Is that why your fiancée left? Did she figure out what a creep you are?”

“How did you know…” He panics and tries to break free, but Whisper’s grip is tight. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“You believe in god, don’t you, Jim? You believe in whatever your church tells you happens when you die?”

He nods, his eyes filling with terror. “I do.”

“Guess you get to find out if it’s true.” I press the muzzle of my gun to his forehead. “Guys like you don’t get better. You’ll try. You’ll get counseling at your church, maybe even a regular therapist. You’ll struggle with this your entire life, like you have been, and you’re only twenty-five.”

Jim slumps in Whisper’s arms, and for a second, I think he might be remorseful. But then he looks up, his eyes blazing with fury. “You expect me to feel bad about fucking trash like you? You tempt good, god-fearing men with your salacious dances, your lack of clothes, your immorality. The devil is in you and he revels in the demise of men like me.”

“That’s certainly a take.”

Whisper shakes his head. “Fucking delusional.”