“Amen,” said Zander.

Mason watched the time tick down on his phone. Seven thirty came and passed. They waited, remembering that Justin Yoder had waited nearly ninety minutes before the shooting started at the Rivertown Mall. A text popped up on his phone from Simon. HE WANTS TO KNOW IF I’M IN POSITION. I SAID YES. HE SAID TO SIT TIGHT BECAUSE OUR TARGET IS LATE.

Mason showed Zander, who scowled. “I don’t get it. He’s acting like things are normal.”

“This is the right Starbucks, right?” Mason said.

“Simon said this is where they met. He didn’t suggest a different one.”

Mason quickly texted Simon, double-checking the address of the location. Simon confirmed. “Is he pulling one over on Simon? Checking to see if he’s honest?”

“Don’t know.” Zander stepped over to confer with Sergeant Shaver.

Mason studied the parking lot. Were they being watched and played with? He lifted his gaze and searched for high points where they could be seen from a distance with binoculars. There really wasn’t one unless the killer was on the roof of one of the stores.

Zander returned. “Shaver’s telling everyone to be alert for single males. And told them again to keep an eye out for scars on the neck. If he’s surveying this location we’ll find him.” His gaze went to the rooftop of the grocery store. “Shaver had the roofs searched already and the access points covered. There’s no way anyone is up there.”

Sweat dripped down Mason’s back as dread crept up and dug at his brain. “Something’s wrong.”

37

He’d watched her grab her bag and yoga mat out of her trunk and head in the direction of the studio. Now he sat in his car and waited. After she’d gone inside he’d checked the studio’s class schedule online. Her class should be finished at eight P.M.

Is this what I want to do?

An odd calm filled his brain. The cops were crawling around that Starbucks like ants on a piece of dropped ham. His perfect plan had been uncovered. And it’d started when that female agent had walked into the men’s room and discovered his stash of clothing.

One little mistake had exposed him.

Not even a mistake, he’d simply not had the chance to get to the clothes.

He closed his eyes and recalled her face as she’d huddled beside the bleeding teenager. She’d been inconsequential. A woman on the ground. Someone he’d believed he’d walk by and never see again. Instead she’d ruined him.

He needed to knock her off her pedestal before she destroyed him. No woman had the right to take him down. His destiny was his own. He chose what happened to his life. Now she’d forced his hand and he had to take action.

Just like the other bitches before.

That damned instructor at the shooting range in Eugene had been the first in a decade to push him over the edge. She’d disrespected him in front of other men, cheating during a competition and then laughing at him after she’d won. He’d argued that she should only compete against other women, and that she’d distracted the other men, but his complaints had fallen on deaf ears. The other men had gathered around her, congratulating her, their tongues hanging out, turned on by a woman who thought she knew how to use a gun, when all she did was cast illusions. Women should be separate. Where they’re not a distraction to men.

And they definitely should not hold jobs where they told men what to do. That was asking for trouble.

No wonder men were angry. No wonder their prisons were full of men who’d lashed out in anger. They’d felt the injustice: women taking their jobs, women abandoning their children, women not fulfilling their roles as nurturers.

The world was out of balance.

After he’d taken care of the shooting instructor, the police were so distracted by the number of deaths and so convinced their shooter was dead that they hadn’t dug deep enough into the case.

It’d worked. He’d felt validated and empowered.

And he’d known he could easily do it again. He’d ached to do it again.

His plan had worked perfectly the first three times, and what had started as a personal issue for him had evolved into a bigger purpose.

He opened his eyes. This could be his last chance, but his actions would lead others to take a stand. They needed to man up and show who was in charge. Even though the media attention would be negative, his point would be made. If he could fucking do it, other men could, too.

He was a pioneer.

The parking lot at the far end of the Rivertown Mall had thinned considerably. This end was for office space, a day care center, and the yoga studio. At this time of night, the cars primarily belonged to people in class at the studio. The other end of the mall buzzed with late shoppers, people seeking frozen yogurt, and overheated families looking for air-conditioned restaurants. He knew the layout, patterns, and heartbeat of the mall. He’d done considerable reconnaissance with Justin Yoder and on his own. He had time for one last quick look.

He stepped out of his vehicle, knowing his supplies in his trunk were ready to go, but he wouldn’t need them for another hour. He’d been prepared, expecting to use the Starbucks to take out the female agent. But this time he’d be on his own. A new experience for him. There wouldn’t be a fall guy waiting in the wings to take the blame.

Was it worth the risk?

He could go home and create a plan for another day, but he had the feeling his window of time was shrinking. If the police had found Simon and he’d told them about the Starbucks, his world could already be crumbling. He might not have another chance to make her pay. It had to be tonight.