Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,19
his vehicle was clean, no dust or pet hair, or discarded trash on the dashboard. The carpets were all vacuumed and in place. The back seats were immaculate. Outside, the minivan was the same. Washed, clean. He took good care of it. He took a polish to it. Even during the winter. The man knew how to take care of his things. How to take care of himself. And how to take care of his family.
Family. Dammit. That little fucking bitch, how dare she!
He smiled again, stopping the sudden burbling of rage. Anger was unseemly. Anger displayed was costly. No. His right hand twisted, his left hand stayed still. Normally he punished anyone who tried to escape. It sent a message to the others. Without discipline, a home became a house. A house became a burden.
Some of them might have hope now. Hope of rebellion. And rebellion cost everything. No, people had to learn how to respect their parents. To obey.
He had been a difficult child. He knew that. He deserved the punishments he’d earned.
Up ahead, the man glimpsed flashing lights through his windshield.
His eyes narrowed, but only for a brief instant, then his smiled returned, his pleasant expression dropping over his face like wool over a wolf.
He didn’t slow, he didn’t adjust his speed at all. The clean minivan headed straight toward the checkpoint, and he slowed to a halt, two cars back.
He watched the red coupe, two cars ahead, moving away from the checkpoint. The car in front of him paused, and one of the officers leaned in, talking for a bit with the driver.
The man didn’t feel anything. No fear. No guilt. Nothing. They wouldn’t suspect a thing. They never did. There had been manhunts before. Seven of them, from what he could remember. Checkpoints before. More than twenty. He’d been doing this long enough that the sheep didn’t recognize the wolf. The fleece he wore had only become better, more camouflaged.
His smile remained affixed to his lips. His right hand, almost against his will, continued to twist and turn on the steering wheel.
The car in front of him pulled away, spitting some dust, and the man followed.
On either side of him stone barricades lined the highway. Looming, dark green trees stared down at him. The prickling leaves stood sentry. But the man knew the truth. The trees were his friends. The forest was his. These were the trespassers. Their guns, their badges meant as little to him as a child’s toys. The only real authority came in the structure of the family. A true family. Obedience, discipline, respect. The girl had talked to the police—that much was clear. Telling tales outside of the home. Another punishment needed. But at least she wouldn’t be able to lead them back—no, he’d made certain of that. He’d been careful.
Still, he could play the part.
He pulled forward, smiling politely, rolling down his window. The officer looked into the car and examined the man. “Hello, sir. What’s your business here?”
The man twisted his head quizzically. “Hello, Officer,” he said. “What seems to be the problem?”
The officer glanced in the back of the minivan, his eyes scanning the seats. The stranger’s polite, quizzical expression cranked up a notch. Projecting innocence. A dove. He had eyes that others had called kind before. It was amazing how some people trusted others based purely on their physical appearance. The stranger handed his license through the window and watched the officer examine it.
“Sir, we’ve had some incidents in the forest, and we were wondering if you’d seen anything.”
“What sort of incidents?” the man said.
“Missing people.” The license was handed back. It would come up clean; the stranger made sure of that.
The stranger nodded, wincing as he did. Every facial tic, every expression, rehearsed. Nothing about it came naturally. It never had, growing up. At least ten of the cigarette burns had been for smiling at the wrong moment. He had never known quite when to laugh at a joke. But study, over years, over decades, had taught the stranger. He watched the officer’s expression and knew commiseration was in order. And so, like a snake slipping from its skin into a new one, his smile faded to a wince. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “I actually live in these woods. I’ve heard some of the stories. You know, you don’t really want to believe it. Especially with my wife and kids.”
He glanced back in the seat, redirecting the officer’s eyes. Something as small as a glance could