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“But you’ll love me most.”
She smiled. “I will love you most.”
* * *
It was the following spring when a storm front rolling through Texas spawned one tornado after another, then traveled up into Oklahoma and on into Missouri, leaving dozens dead, hundreds injured and millions and millions of dollars’ worth of damage in its wake.
It wasn’t until the third nude body was pulled out of the wreckage with Taser marks and dark, ugly bruising around the neck that the local authorities realized they were dealing with a serial killer.
Tate had just been called into headquarters to be briefed about the deaths in Dallas, and they were wondering if there was any connection to their old nemesis the Stormchaser, when his cell phone signaled a text. He opened the message and then felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.
The message was, as usual, from an unfamiliar phone number, but it was obvious that the Stormchaser had surfaced in a very ugly way.
I am not dead, so do not weep. It was not my time, I have vows to keep.
* * * * *