Killer Instinct by S.E. Green Read Free Book Online Page A

up and kiss him.
    Dr. Issa immediately breaks contact. “Uh-uh—”
    I turn away from his red face and whistle for Corn Chip. I can’t believe I just kissed Dr. Issa. What is wrong with me? I don’t do things like that.
    I tune in to myself and realize I’m actually embarrassed. I can’t remember the last time that happened. Embarrassment isn’t an emotion that normally occurs for me.
    As quickly as I can, I tuck Corn Chip into his cage and hightail it out to my Jeep. I crank the engine, and as I pull away, I touch my fingers to my lips.
    Did I really just kiss Dr. Issa?

Chapter Twelve
    IN MY ROOM LATE THAT night I pull up the nanny-cam footage, programmed to only record when there’s movement in the office.
    I see my mom looking at several pictures of the decapitated head and several more of the actual arm, not the one they showed on the news.
    I freeze-frame the arm pictures and zoom in. Like the head, the same neatly cut skin marks the shoulder where a knife sliced it. I don’t imagine it’s a regular old butcher knife. Clean skin like that would take a sword of some sort.
    Mom looks at a report next, but I can’t make out the details. I’ll see if it’s in her briefcase later. I pull up Word and type in some questions:
    1. How is the Decapitator preserving the parts?
    2. How was the arm thrown off the bridge? By a pedestrian? From a vehicle?
    3. How was the victim picked?
    4. What is the significance about the month of September being the kill month?
    5. Who is leaking all this to the media?
    6. Why a whole year in between kills?
    Someone knocks on my door, and I minimize my screen. “Come in.”
    My mom peeks her head in. “This came for you.” She tosses me a tiny, flat envelope.
    “Thanks.”
    “You doing okay, Lane?”
    “Sure. Why?” Have I been acting weird?
    She smiles. “No reason. You’re always so quiet, stoic. I feel like I take your happiness for granted.” She laughs. “Your sister wears her emotions on her sleeve and you do everything but. I have to do my mom job and check in with you.”
    “I’m good. Really.”
    She studies me for a long, thoughtful second. “You’re so much like your father. I wish you could’ve known him.”
    “Me too,” I agree, feeling the sadness I always get when she brings him up. He died before I was born, but Mom’s always had nothing but good things to say about him. He’d been a decorated marine who died tragically while kayaking. His father, my grandfather, had been a pastor. His mother, my grandmother, a stay-at-home mom. They both passed before he’d even turned twenty, and when my father died, it had ended that family line. Well, except for me.
    My mom chuckles a little, like her thoughts had wandered off too, into another time. “Well, anyway, I love you, Lane.”
    “I love you, too.”
    She nods to the envelope. “Who’s that from?”
    I give it a quick glance. “Reggie.” Although I doubt it is. But Reggie has been and always will be a justifiable, parent-friendly name that requires no additional response.
    Mom smiles. “Good night, then.”
    She leaves, and I look at the envelope, type-addressed to me with no return address. I tear it open and pull out a white card.
    On it is glued a picture of the decapitated head, a picture of the severed arm, and a new one of a leg. Across the bottom is typed:
    THIS IS A PRESENT.
    TELL ANYONE AND I WILL HURT YOU.
    I swallow as I read the typed words again. This is from the Decapitator. Oh my God. He knows me. He knows where I live. He probably knows I’ve been researching him.
    My hand shakes as I take in the pictures of the body parts and the words again. If he knows where I live, he knows I have a family. He’s got to know my mom is the FBI lead.
    This is a present. Why would he be sending me a present?
    A very tiny arrow in the bottom right corner catches my attention then and has me flipping the card over. On the back is a small picture of me coming out of school and below that is