Killing Britney by SEAN OLIN

Author:SEAN OLIN
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 2005-08-21T04:00:00+00:00

seventeen

There she was.

He’d parked down the hill around a bend in the road, and it took him a few minutes to make his way back, but now he’d found her.

As Britney wandered up the path that led to the lake, trudging through the snow, he’d kept to the woods. She couldn’t see him, but he could see her. His view was blocked a bit by the trees from this vantage, but he didn’t want to get much closer.

Knowing where she was and what she was doing was enough. All he needed for his purposes. Surprise was his best friend. Stay hidden. Stay stealthy. As long as he kept his ski mask on, no one would be able to recognize him.

She sat down on a park bench and gazed out toward the lake. What was she looking for? All that was out there at this time of year were ice-fishing shacks.

And she wasn’t dressed for the weather. No hat. No scarf. No gloves. Her only protection from the elements was the letter jacket she always wore nowadays. He was bundled up in a snowmobile suit, and he still felt the chill. How could she stand it?

Watch a while longer, he told himself. See what she does.

He heard an engine purring behind him, the crunch of ice and snow under tires. If he peered, he could just make out the parking lot. The rear bumper of Britney’s yellow Bug. Darkness. Then a splotch of red rolled into view.

Scampering back toward the parking lot, he hid behind a pine tree and peered into the clearing. What he saw was a red pickup truck. A Ford Ranger—similar to the one he himself owned, except his was cooler, decked out with designer hubs and a killer sound system. The truck must be at least ten years old; rust had spread across the wheel wells and formed little sores all over the hood. The person who hopped out of it was tall. His features were shrouded behind the deep fur-lined hood of his parka. He walked like he knew where he was going.

He ran back to his post in the woods and saw that Britney was right where he’d left her. He crouched. He waited.

A few moments later, he spotted the tall guy again. He got a better look this time—blue jeans, a black, thigh-length parka. Who was this guy, and what was he doing here?

More important, how strong was this guy? It was hard to tell from the parka he was wearing. Strong enough to put up a fight?

The paths through Menominee Park wound around and cut across one another; only one led directly toward the clearing by the lake. The guy was walking down one of the smaller ones. He’d found a long broken tree limb and was using it as a walking stick. The guy turned at the fork and walked right past him, so close that he curled up and pressed himself into a bush, shutting his eyes tight, as though this would help shield him.

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