Alfred Wilson had recently assigned him to work with Delbert, a longtime employee. The thing was, Delbert had recently lost a lot of money gambling, was always hungover and couldn’t get up for work. The new guy having promised to keep it just between them, Delbert agreed to give Loften the keys to the truck and a list of jobs to do alone, even though Loften—aka Call—was still waiting on his new license. It was all to save Delbert’s ass.

Now, here Loften was following Lisa Taylor, all the way to the Palm Creek Mall, where he saw her park and enter. He stopped in a far section of the lot, waiting for cars to move until a space opened up behind Taylor’s car. He backed his truck into it, the rear bumpers about a yard apart.

Then he got out and dropped his tailgate; the truck’s bed was a jumble of lawn mowers, trimmers, shovels, gas cans and assorted tools. He pulled out a large tarp, spread it out on the ground, grabbed some tools, got down under the truck and began working—at nothing.

Anyone who saw Loften would think he was a guy repairing his battered pickup.

From his vantage point, he would see Lisa Taylor’s legs when she returned to her car. This is how it’s going to happen.

Loften’s pulse picked up as he replayed his scenario.

He’d bang on his axle, drop tools loudly on the ground and ask Taylor to help, showing her his busted wrist.

When she leaned down to hand the tools to him, he’d smash a wrench against her skull, roll her up in the tarp and heft her into the bed of the truck.

Then she’ll be mine.

His heart thumped when he thought of getting another shot, of what he was going to do to her this time when he got her to the secluded spot he’d selected.

This is for what your husband did to me.

Then he’d take care of Vida—the whore who’d caused him so much grief. He knew how to take care of whores.

Then I’ll be gone, gone, gone.

Rising voices startled him.

Dozens of people were flooding the lot. An alarm sounded. Then he heard the distant approach of sirens.

What the hell?

He climbed out from under the truck. People were talking about a fire at one of the restaurants in the food court, sprinklers activated, people ordered to evacuate. Loften saw Lisa Taylor approaching her car.

He ached to take her right there. But there was no way he could go through with his plan now. Not with so many witnesses and fire trucks. He pulled up the tarp, put it and the tools into the truck bed, slammed the tailgate.

Driving away, he tore the bandage off his arm.