Chapter Thirty Three
It was morning, and the man was driving along the familiar stretch of Conover Avenue. He didn’t see any of the usual streetwalkers—nor did he expect to, not at this hour. The truth was, he didn’t know what to expect, or what he hoped to do.
He was exhausted. And he hated to admit it even to himself, but he was scared.
The whole thing with Socorro late last night had been a disaster. For the first time, a woman he had targeted escaped his clutches. And where was she now?
After he’d pulled up beside her, she had run out into the highway and seemed about to be run down by a truck. He’d driven away fast, but then had turned off the highway and stopped to see what had happened. She’d watched a woman help Socorro into the truck.
Why couldn’t the b***h have been killed?
