Play Dead. Meryl Sawyer

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      Bring-bring. From the loft’s studio behind her, Hayley heard the sound of the telephone. She decided not to answer; let the machine pick up. She wasn’t in the mood to talk.

      A shaky voice came through her machine. “H-Hayley, are you … you there?”

      Hayley charged back into the loft, recognizing the anguished tone of her friend Lindsey Fulton. She was stunned Lindsey was phoning. She never called.

      Hayley snatched the receiver from the cradle, saying breathlessly, “I’m here. I’m here. What’s happening?”

      “Hayley,” her friend said, her voice choked with tears. “Oh, Hayley.”

      “What’s wrong?”

      “I—I’m at a payphone,” replied Lindsey, sobbing now. “I’ve got to get away. Now! I can’t waste a second.”

      This was the call Hayley had been expecting—and dreading—for so long. Why now? she silently asked. The timing couldn’t be worse. Hayley was just hours from changing the course of her own life. It didn’t matter, she decided in the next instant. All that counted was saving her friend.

      Hayley suddenly realized how she could help her friend while getting a fresh start. The perfect solution, she decided. “Lindsey, listen to me and do exactly what I tell you.”

      WHAT WAS TAKING SO LONG? Hayley Fordham had been in Gulliver’s for over two hours, no doubt slurping down cosmos. Didn’t she know the hunt was on? Didn’t she realize time was running out, trickling away like the last grains of sand in an hourglass? Couldn’t she sense this evening was different from all previous nights in her life?

      Of course not. The bitch was clueless—as usual.

      Hiding at a safe distance, concealed by the trees and the Dumpsters at the back of the trendy restaurant’s parking lot, was boring as hell. While the waiting was a total downer, the building anticipation was as heady as a powerful narcotic. Exhilarating. Arousing. The sensation transported the predator to an unimagined height of excitement. Annihilating an unsuspecting victim—just the thought of it—ignited a thrill so profound that it rivaled sex.

      Wait.

      Just wait. Hayley’s charmed life—all thirty-three years of it—was almost over. Charmed? Damned was more like it. She would get what she deserved—in spades.

      The killer took stock of the surrounding area, sensing more than seeing the objects nearby and ignoring the rank smell coming from the Dumpster. Death belonged to the night. It always had, always would. Darkness provided a natural shield, especially a moonless night like this. Victims could easily be tailed without the stalker being detected or questioned.

      In the light of day, someone from the nearby office building would have spotted a person hunkered down behind the Dumpsters, but not at night. As an extra precaution, the predator had smashed the nearest security light with a rock. There was a security camera at the back door of the restaurant. A quick squirt of Pam ensured nothing but blurry images would be recorded. There hadn’t been time to do more than destroy the one light, but then extra precautions hadn’t been necessary. Lady Luck had smiled, bringing Hayley to this restaurant and having her park in the rear—in the shroud of shadows cast by the line of tall, dense shrubs that separated the parking area from the office buildings behind it.

      With a deafening roar and whoosh of air, a jet streaked into the sky from John Wayne Airport, which was opposite the restaurant. Convenient. Very convenient. The killer hadn’t planned it but Hayley’s destination tonight had been perfect. The noise from the airport would add to the confusion, the terror.

      A gloss-black limousine pulled up to the rear of the restaurant, its engine purring almost inaudibly. Since Gulliver’s faced the busy street across from Orange County’s airport, the back entrance was the only way in or out of the restaurant except for the fire exits used only in emergencies. With the stretch limo blocking the view, it was impossible to tell who was leaving. Or was someone arriving?

      Not some celebrity. The OC had a smattering of them—nothing like L.A. But the Newport Beach area was filled with people who had money up the wazoo to use a limo at an upscale restaurant like Gulliver’s, which was well known for its bar scene. The limo drove into the night and disappeared from view.

      The predator waited and waited. A few groups of people trickled out of Gulliver’s. A couple so hot for each other that they almost did it on the hood of his Corvette was mildly distracting, but time ticked on and on. Finally a slim woman with shoulder-length hair emerged, stood on the walkway exit and glanced around warily.

      The air shifted with a sense of hushed expectancy. Something seemed to be … off. Had she sensed … danger?

      “No way,” the killer whispered. Nothing was wrong. Things were going according to plan. Then why was Hayley just standing there? She usually sauntered along oblivious to everyone around her, glistening brown hair streaked with copper bobbing on her shoulders. Hayley couldn’t be waiting for a valet. Gulliver’s was a self-parking facility.

      Noise exploded from the Acapulco restaurant at the far end of the lot it shared with Gulliver’s. A bunch of guys barely out of their teens staggered through the double doors from the Mexican cantina, revealing they’d consumed enough tequila to make them rowdy.

      They’d better get to their cars and get outta Dodge in a hurry or—hell, who cared? Killing innocent bystanders wasn’t the goal, but collateral damage had been factored into this scheme.

      Hayley hesitated, gazing at the group. They were too far away for her to be concerned about them, but the killer thought she might be feeling threatened by something. It showed in the slump of her shoulders and in the way she hurried toward her car. Never underestimate women’s intuition. She might have sensed death lurking in the shadows.

      Her older model Beamer was parked at the rear of the lot like a black toad, which had made this job a piece of cake. The dark area wouldn’t be safe in most cities, but this was Newport Beach. Women felt secure here, and most of the time they were.

      Most of the time.

      Tonight an ominous undercurrent of danger and death filled the balmy night air. A cunning person could pick up on it the way some animals had realized a tsunami was heading their way. Even the predator’s bones could sense the danger and the sensation heightened the anticipation.

      Hayley seemed to fumble with the door lock. Was she drunk? It wasn’t like her. From this far away and with the lack of light, it was difficult to tell much about the snotty bitch.

      Get on with it already.

      Hayley opened the door and slid into the car. The interior light illuminated her shimmering hair for a second. The killer couldn’t help smiling. This would be the last time anyone would admire that shiny mane.

      The killer eased around to the back side of the Dumpster for protection and flipped the metal lid backward to act as a shield. A full minute passed. The killer risked a peek around the protective corner of the Dumpster. What in hell was Hayley doing?

      The interior light in her car was off. A faint blue glow came from the dashboard. She appeared to be leaning forward, fooling with something. The GPS? Was she programming in her next destination?

      “Hayley, your next stop is hell.”

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