The Star Stalker (Wade Truman Thriller Series Book 2) by Nash Greene

Author:Nash Greene [Greene, Nash]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Wade Truman drove for hours through the dark Los Angeles streets, thinking about everything. Driving at night for him was a form of meditation at times. His ribs ached, and he finally stopped his car on Santa Monica Boulevard at an old diner that was open 24 hours. He crawled out of his car and walked into it, then sat down at a booth and ordered a cheeseburger with fries and a large soda.

He was tired, but he couldn’t rest. Not now. Not with how much work he needed to do. Time was running out, and if Nadine was still alive, then it would be a miracle.

“Here’s your burger,” the friendly waiter set his plate on the table. “Fries are comin’ right up, mister.”

“Thanks,” Wade said, taking a long swig of his drink before setting it on the table and getting to work on his cheeseburger.

He took a bite and closed his eyes. He needed this. He needed the energy. He needed the caffeine. He couldn’t rest until he had made some kind of progress. It was twice now that he had been so close to the killer, and he was starting to feel angrier than he ever thought possible.

Twice now that son of a bitch was within reach.

Well, to be fair, the second time had been a trap. The killer had hidden himself so well behind that big flowerpot – there had been no way for Wade to have seen him there. And once he jumped out with his gun drawn, that was that. But Wade remembered his face. It was burned into his mind. He couldn’t forget it now. He would recognize him if he saw him again, but this was a city of almost four million, and the odds of simply running into him again by accident were slim.

The waiter brought the fries and Wade scarfed them down and paid the tab. He wandered out into the night and stood there beside his car, thinking of what to do. The only thing he really could do was watch the remainder of the movies Desmond had loaned him. Maybe he would learn something from them, discover some obscure clue that suddenly popped out.

But he probably wouldn’t.

Wade got into his car and drove home. When he got there, he popped in the corniest title of the bunch – Psychotic Alien Invaders, and he leaned back and watched as the opening credits began.

The first several minutes consisted of aliens crash landing on earth with wonky, low budget computer generated effects. They quickly began to attack and kill the citizens of earth. Then a small town of misfits banded together and started to fight back. At around the fifty-minute mark, Wade suddenly found himself glued to a face he saw on the screen.

It was just a tiny role, hardly more than an extra – a man with chiseled features who rushed out with a shotgun to face the invaders and was promptly zapped dead by their laser guns. The man

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