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He’d been determined to fight the beast that was his inner self and he’d succeeded for years.
    But the beast never slept, always wanted to prowl.
    And then he’d read the article. . . .
    Nine . . . the beast will have you. Soon . . . soon.
    Outside he heard a noise. The bitch was coming toward his home!
    But then he heard other sounds, the slamming of a car door, an engine roaring to life. He heard the crunch of gravel beneath the tires and wondered if she was backing all the way down the long drive. He hoped to hell there was nothing behind her because the bitch was half-blind.
    All this land around him—all this isolation except for her.
    He wished her dead, but not yet . . . he couldn’t afford anyone sniffing around the area, asking too many questions. He needed nothing to give him away, now that the hunt was on.
    Opening his eyes, he got to his feet and walked to the DVR, reversing to September’s interview. He’d been recording the news since Sheila’s death, combing the programs for anything about either of the women he’d left for Nine to find. And then suddenly there she was! Talking on camera with that woman reporter. Talking about Navarone !
    It had sent him into a frenzy, seeing her so clearly. September . . . Nine . . . the beast had sprung loose and he’d driven frantically to the Laurelton station. He couldn’t wait!
    But then he’d gotten a leash on the beast and managed to pull the curtain down over his inner self. His brain cooled a bit and he knew he would be foolish to take September then. More planning was needed . . . more surrogates. . . but that mention of Navarone . . .
    He hadn’t intended to take Glenda, but the beast needed to be fed and knew exactly where Glenda would be, her favorite bar, The Lariat; the slut just couldn’t resist dancing. But when he got there, too many people were hanging around the parking lot. He couldn’t chance anyone seeing him with her. So, he waited till she left the bar and then he followed her home. Easy for him to catch up to her by her car, easy for him to invite himself in, even though she’d been slightly skittish, but a little drunk, too. The beast knew her. Glenda Navarone Tripp. And she knew him. They’d screwed back in the day, screwed everywhere they could think of. She’d been particularly hot and nasty on her uncle’s examining table, saying what a sick psycho he was and how she was only pretending to like him. He didn’t care. He was just fuckin’ horny and she had the right body, the dark hair. She’d been into it, too. Couldn’t get enough. But in the end she’d dismissed him. Had even had the balls to tell him that she was worried about him. He was too obsessive, too intense. He wanted to show her the beast then, but he’d restrained himself. She drifted away, but he never forgot. Never forgot . . .
    And she had a body like Nine’s.
    Now, rewatching September in the interview he grabbed his cock and brought himself to a climax before he could stop himself. As soon as he realized what he’d done he shoved his hands in his hair and pulled hard, threw back his head and howled in rage. No. No! Had to save it. For the surrogates . . . for the whores, if necessary. . . and for September . . .
    The last time he’d allowed himself the pleasure was with Glenda. He’d taken his hunting knife, the cord, and a plastic baggie. As soon as he was inside her apartment, he’d backed her against the wall. With a pulse beating in his head and September’s blue eyes imprinted on his retinas, he’d slammed into Glenda while she fought the hand covering her mouth. They wrestled a bit; she tried to bite and scratch, but he knew her game. He flung her down and she lay on her back, spent. Just like the others. Then he’d wrapped the cord around her neck and watched her try to beg for her life, but each time she spoke he cut off her words until