CHAPTER ELEVEN
The fancy red convertible popped into view as the killer steered his car around the bend on the tree-lined road. Sweet anticipation swelled in his stomach and he felt a smile spread across his face. The stalled vehicle hugged the narrow shoulder, the hood raised.
The sports car was right where he knew it would be.
He didn’t see the man – not yet. The convertible’s top was raised. The bigshot from the city was probably tucked in his leather seat, eyes glued to his phone, trying to call for help. But there was no cell service in this part of the low-lying valley.
The city man’s expensive gadgets couldn’t save him. Not this time.
Crushing the last of his cigarette in the car’s ashtray, the killer lifted his foot from the gas pedal and coasted in behind the convertible. He
