Page 60 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)

The din around me is nothing new. I drown out the parade revelries easily. Nothing can distract me when I’m hunting. How strange it is to think of myself in such a way. But as I follow her through the crowd, it’s the only word that fits.

Funny, seeing how I’ve always considered myself more of a farmer, cultivating my cull for the harvest. I tell myself that is still true. She is ripe for the picking and will yield a bountiful reward.

Her path is erratic, a meandering dance through the vibrant chaos of the parade. She moves with an air of careless grace, utterly unaware of the predator in her midst.

I follow, my gaze fixed on her, careful to remain within the shadows cast by the lanterns and gaudy floats. Each step she takes heightens my anticipation, a tantalizing prelude to the inevitable conclusion.

Her laughter rings out, a melody that blends with the cacophony around us, but it is the only sound I hear. She twirls, her dress a whirl of color, and for a moment, she is a beacon of light amidst the dark, a radiant target.

There were many to choose from today. But she called to me, all my senses zeroing in on everything she advertised.

She was perfect, begging for me to find her, really.

Some of my prey are younger than I like, some a bit too withered on the vine.

But she is the prize. Absolute perfection. The apple of my eye.

The fact that I alone ensure she will nourish so many almost drives me into a frenzy, but that will not do. I will restrain myself, as I always have, as I was trained to do.

I ignore her barely-there outfit, though it is begging my savage side to take over.

Instead, I lower my mask and slip into the crowd, blending in with the revelers.

I stalk closer now, being less careful in disguise.

I purposefully bump into her, orchestrating the moment and our eyes lock.

I wait until I see excitement dancing behind her mask. Then I make my move.

She doesn’t even feel the prick of the needle.

Confusion flickers across her face for a brief moment. I slip her arms around my neck and wait to feel the precise moment the world begins to blur around her. I support her as she stumbles, reassuring her with a comforting smile and whispered promises that everything will be alright.

The crowd, oblivious to the drama unfolding, continues to celebrate with unbridled enthusiasm. Me, I smile, simply plucking my fruit for the taking.

I lift her into my arms with ease. A single stiletto slips from her foot. No matter. She doesn’t need it for what comes next.