Reece looked at his watch, and frowned. “The sun will be up in a few hours. Give me a couple days.”

“Today,” X said. “Today would be better.”

Reece found the car easily enough—with X’s resources at his disposal, there was never a question—but it didn’t belong to the girl. The kid who owned it was a good-looking kid, but that was no surprise, either. He looked like Jason French. Following him from one place to another made Reece sick to his stomach: the hair and the suntan, the strong arm, hooked in the open window. Reece had no illusions about his hatred of people like Jason and his little brother. The world came to people like that, and Reece had to take what he wanted. In high school, he’d heard every insult.

Hey, little man …

Hey, pencil-dick …

The pencil-dick thing had been tough.

Gym class, communal showers …

One girl, in particular, had teased Reece mercilessly. Jessica Bruce. She’d been his first.

The memory was fond enough to stir a host of others.

Jessica …

Allison …

That Asian girl at McDonald’s …

The cashier who’d rolled her eyes when Reece asked for her number …

It helped time pass, but the boy didn’t make Reece’s job any easier. He went to school, hung out with some other kid. He bought candy, played pinball, did normal stuff that did not involve a five-foot-three, pale-breasted brunette, aged approximately twenty-seven. A moment’s interest rose around dusk when the kid drove into the city, and parked where expensive condos met an immaculate street. Reece watched him approach a door, hesitate, and then leave before ringing the bell. The moment felt significant, but Reece wasn’t convinced until he followed the kid home, then returned alone. Nothing about the condo said teenage kid. Too much money. Too much style. Curtains were drawn inside, but Reece waited as people came home from work, and streetlights snapped on. For three hours, he watched the cars, the foot traffic, the condominium.

He smoked a cigarette.

He was used to waiting.

At midnight, a van rolled up, and a tall, broad-shouldered hippie got out on the other side, flipping long hair as he walked to the passenger door. Reece wanted to hurt him on principle, but what mattered was the girl who spilled out when the hippie opened her door. She stumbled, laughing. The hippie caught her, and held her against the van, kissing her with one hand on a breast and the other up her skirt. She pushed him away, but didn’t mean it. He kissed her again, and groped her again, then half-carried her up the steps, where they fumbled with keys and each other, but managed the door, and went inside. Reece frowned, but was happy.

The girl was five-three, brunette, and every bit of twenty-seven years.

She was also very pretty.

That was a bonus.

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