Layla Caine Mystery 01-First Kill by Strong Ava

Author:Strong, Ava [Strong, Ava]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, American Suspense, Police Procedural, Crime Thriller, Murder Investigation, Profiler, LAPD, Los Angeles, California
Amazon: B0D87R9LDC
Goodreads: 215532404
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2024-08-23T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter ELEVEN

The bristles of the white beard scratched against the voyeur’s skin, a small price for the perfect guise. He adjusted the round spectacles, peering at his reflection in the window of a dusty sedan. Red suit crisp, belly padded to a convincing plumpness, the voyeur tilted his head, appraising the transformation. An elderly Santa Claus figure stared back at him, eyes sharp behind the façade of jolliness.

Appearances mattered in this industry, and he could create new identities with the best of them.

A breeze fluttered through the gas station, carrying the scent of oil and asphalt.

The lone streetlamp flickered, casting an ominous glow onto the empty, gravel-paved lot. A rustling sound caught his attention, and he turned sharply. His gaze fell on a woman in a flowing dress, her silhouette illuminated by the dim exterior light of the gas station store. He had followed her here.

His lovely lady.

The same woman he’d watched and mimicked in the window.

He felt as if he knew her.

As if, in a very real way, he carried a piece of her in his heart.

He didn’t smile, though. A professional—he would play his part. Jolly ol’ Saint Nick watched the woman as she emerged from the gas station, allowing the glass door to swing shut behind her as she marched back in the direction of her waiting vehicle.

She was gesturing at her car’s flat tire while arguing with the apathetic gas station attendant.

The voyeur had caused the flat tire, and no one had seen him. He remained leaning against the side of his own vehicle, pretending to open and shut the door as he shifted by the gas pump. His back brushed the protruding red handle, the scent of diesel lingering heavily in his nostrils.

The woman was even more beautiful up close. No longer separated by the window he’d stared through, now his eyes fixated on the blonde bombshell. An actress by trade… but more than that, she’d developed a skill as a makeup artist.

Every actor in Hollywood found their way onto the screen somehow, and many of them took years and years before recognition came their way.

The gas station attendant, a greasy-haired man with a face lined with age and weariness, shrugged and said, “Nothing I can do here. The best I can offer is a call for you.”

She looked flustered, but then the woman just shook her head. “Fine… fine, whatever.”

The attendant shrugged, moving back toward the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll call. Don’t you worry.”

As he moved away, the voyeur in the shadows of the second pump marked with a large, red number 2, watched predatorially. “Donna,” he whispered under his breath. Her real name. Not her fake stage name. Not the name she lied to directors about. He knew her. Knew her better than she knew herself.

The gas station’s fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh glow on the cracked pavement. Donna stood beside her car, arms folded against the evening chill. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and old rubber. She scanned the empty lot, her hazel eyes sharp in the half-light.

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