What was wrong with these successful women? As far as he was concerned, they only had one real job, and it was fulfilling destiny. His destiny. Once again, he hadn’t been able to reach bliss. It was their fault, not his. He was special and he was powerful.

Lifting his head, he yelled at the moon. Then he sobered, coming back to himself. All right. He had two more projects now. One of them would be perfect. He never knew who would be next until it happened. Sniffling, he sat in the snow with his back to a tree and pulled his journal out of his coat, then flipped through to review his research on his new projects.

One of them had to be his love. He deserved love, no matter what his mother said so long ago. He was not a loser as she’d said.

Those women were stronger than she was, than she’d ever be, and one of them was going to love him. They were all doctors—smart and beautiful. He read the entries that he’d carefully made in his journal. Those advanced degrees they held up like trophies hadn’t taught them to vary their routines, had they?

They were so predictable.

Coffee here, gym there, dry cleaners over there. The same. Get up, work out, go to work, grab dinner, go home.... He’d memorized their routines. Well, except for his newest possibility. He hadn’t had time to follow her yet.

But he would.

Once in a while they’d go to a spa or on a date, but he could tell their true love was their work.

Until him. He would show them that work was a hollow passion compared to him. Unless they failed to see him. Then they died.

He lovingly caressed each page, wondering which one would be next. Sighing, he closed the book and held it to his chest, the fire burning inside him again. It wouldn’t be long. He could feel their meeting happening very soon.

Maybe she would be the one.

* * *

Rachel Raprenzi nudged open the door to the condominium with her butt since her hands were full of a pizza box and more research for her newest story. Eating pizza so late at night, or rather, early in the morning, was a mistake, but carbs made her brain work faster, and she had to figure this out. She’d been at the office until around three in the morning when the cleaning crew had gotten so loud she’d decided to go home and get a couple hours of sleep. If she could find the Witch Creek Killer and break the story on The Killing Hour, she’d hit the stratosphere with ratings. Plus, she’d beat Laurel Snow to the punch.

A natural redhead, her ass. There wasn’t a chance of that. God, Huck was stupid to believe that woman.