Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

"Your tires are slashed, all four of them."

Jenna limped a few steps to lean against his passenger door. "Reparable?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. These aren't just punctures, they're slashes. The tires are ribbons. But that didn't worry me as much as this." He held a sheet of paper across the car's roof. "Don't touch it, except for the corner," he cautioned.

Jenna scanned the page and her heart stilled. " 'Put him back on the team or you'll roo the day you were born, you bitch,'" she read in an unsteady voice, then cleared her throat and looked up at Mr. Thatcher. "They misspelled 'rue,'" she said, simply because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

Mr. Thatcher smiled grimly. "I don't think they were too worried about the school spelling bee. Who'd you flunk off the team?"

Jenna stared back down at the paper in her hand. No one had ever threatened her before. Her anger fizzled, numb fear taking its place. "Rudy Lutz," she murmured.

"The QB?" She looked up in time to see him wince. "You're not from around here are you?"

Jenna's temper simmered. First her car was vandalized, then this person intimated it was all her fault. Any lingering admiration of his soft brown eyes and trim hips went right out the window. "I've lived in North Carolina for more than ten years."

"Then you should know the risks of interfering with high school football in the South."

Jenna saw red. "What I know is that he failed my class and I'm not only within my rights, but my responsibility as a teacher to-to-" She stuttered to a stop when Thatcher held up his hand.

"I didn't mean you shouldn't have failed him." He consid-ered her thoughtfully. "In fact, I'd say you have some real guts to do what no other teacher's probably ever done before."

"Well, thank you," Jenna began, calming again.

Thatcher raised his hand again. "However, you should know that your actions are not without risk. Your car needs all new tires and you've been threatened. You shouldn't park at the far end of the parking lot anymore. And ask someone to walk out with you after school-especially if it's dark outside." He looked around at all the cars in the lot. "I'd better take you home. I don't like the idea of you being here all alone when that crowd breaks at halftime. It could get ugly."

Jenna looked down at the threatening note she still held gingerly by two fingers at the upper corner, as instructed. "It already has." She looked up and her heart skipped a beat at the sincerely caring expression in his brown eyes. Good God, Jenna , she thought, when your hormones wake up, they really wake up . Her throat was suddenly as dry as soda crackers. "I, uh, I hate to keep you from your family."

"My aunt is probably feeding them dinner as we speak and they're used to my odd hours. I'll be home before bath and bedtime for sure."

Jenna drew a breath just as an angry roar came from the direction of the football field. "That didn't sound too cheerful, did it?"

He shook his head. "No." He came around the car and opened the door, taking her briefcase in one hand. He feigned a stagger and the corners of his eyes crinkled. "What are you carrying in here? Bricks?" He put her briefcase in the backseat and pretended to stretch his back.

Jenna smirked as she got in the car. "Yes. I alone have discovered the secret for turning metal into gold bricks. I change a few folding chairs to gold every day in the hopes of early retirement."

He was chuckling when he slid into his seat. "I wouldn't say that too loud. The parents that don't hate you for benching the QB will torment you for your secret." He pulled his door shut with one hand and grabbed his cell phone in the other. "Let's go report the damage to your car and get you home and out of those ridiculous shoes." He winced. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

Jenna smiled over at him as she buckled her seat belt, comfortable in their banter. "You did. But you're right." She held three fingers in the air, Girl Scout style. "I from here on out promise to put comfort and safety ahead of high fashion."

"My son would ask you to spit in your palm to, seal such a serious covenant."

Jenna raised a brow. "Brad?"

A shadow passed over his face. He put the Volvo wagon in gear and headed to the back corner of the parking lot. "No, not Brad." And just that quickly, the crinkles were gone from the corners of his eyes, replaced by the lines of worry across his forehead.

Friday ;September 30, 5:45 P.M.

Necessity truly was the mother of invention.

He stood in the middle of the empty room, viewing the bare walls in the dim glow of the electric lights. Probably not a candidate for a Martha Stewart prize, but it was solid, it had a roof, electricity, running water, and best of all, it was unoccupied. Besides, with a couple of Chinese lanterns, a little paint, a bit of cheery wallpaper, perhaps a throw pillow or two-hell, he could turn this barn into a real little home away from home.

He glanced up at the rafter beams and smiled to himself.

He could truly hone his craft in a place like this. He should have thought of this place sooner. To hell with sacrificing his victims under a starry sky. Starry skies clouded and threatened rain. And then didn't deliver. He scowled. He couldn't believe he'd aborted his plan on a false alarm. Not a single drop. He glanced down at the form at his feet. He'd stored her in the trunk of his car all night long on a goddamn false alarm.

His scowl darkened and he flexed his fist. Only to go back again this morning and be derailed by a damn dog. He'd always hated dogs. He wished he'd chased the mutt and finished him off, but if he'd left her unattended in the woods, someone would have come. That was just his luck.

He mentally took inventory of what he'd so stupidly left behind. One of his hypos was gone from his toolbox and her panties were gone from the pile of clothes he'd quickly thrown in the trunk. Damn. He'd planned to keep her dainties as a souvenir. But noooo, that fucking dog had to come sniffing, then had to play Lassie. Now there were damn cops all over the place. Luckily he'd worn his gloves. He smirked. And he'd been sure to gather all that before exiting stage left. They wouldn't find anything of a more… personal nature he'd left behind.

He scowled again. Damn dog. Spoiled everything. The next time he came across a dog… His scowl melted into a smile as he pictured the scene in his mind. Knives and blood and gore. He nodded, satisfied with the picture. He'd take care of the next dog he met in the manner of Bundy or Dahmer. He'd read about their mutilations. First for practice, then for fun. He'd practiced himself. Often. Of course, he didn't need to practice on animals anymore. He looked down at his feet.

Not when he had the real thing.

He nudged her with his toe, then again when she didn't respond, harder this time. Her eyelids fluttered, opened. Her eyes widened. Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. He'd taken the tape off-no need for her to wear uncomfortable duct tape over her mouth when they were miles away from everywhere. He smiled down at her.

"Wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable, would we, Sam-mie? That just wouldn't be civilized." He walked across the barn, each step kicking up a cloud of the sawdust that littered the floor. He crouched in front of his toolbox and surveyed the interior with the air of a sommelier choosing the night's fine wine. He chose a syringe, a needle-fully sterilized of course-and a vial. He frowned. He was running low on supplies. He'd need to get more soon.

He stood up and crossed back to where she lay. He drew the precious liquid from the vial and withdrew the needle. He knelt down at her side. "Ready for some more dreams, Sam-mie?"

She struggled, but there really wasn't much she could do under the situation. She went stiff when the needle penetrated her upper arm, then moaned. "No," she whispered, her voice pathetically weak. "Please."