"Karen Robards - Beachcomber" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robards Karen)

on. While annoying, the interruption had served a useful purpose: it
had cut like a knife through the thick haze of wanting that had him
rooted to the spot. He caught himself, battling the beast back into
submission, and deliberately took a breath to clear his head. He'd
paused to stare at the girl, he realized, and that wasn't smart. He
might attract attention and someone might remember him later, when she
turned up missing.

"Oh, crap, it's in the water!"

Laughing, the girls splashed into the surf after the ball, which
floated away on the waves. The thought of seeing that shiny pink
bikini wet was tantalizing, but it was time to move on. He'd been
standing there watching them for way too long. It required great
effort, but he tore his gaze away and started walking. His heart was
pounding. He was breathing way too fast. His feet felt as heavy as
iron weights as he made his way across the hot sand. Skirting two
little kids playing on a towel, he tamped his power down, deliberately
drew back inside his shell, behind the protective coloring that kept
anyone from seeing him, from recognizing the truth about who and what
he was.

He became invisible again.

A safe forty yards away, he stopped in the shadow of a palmetto tree
that grew right at the edge of the beach, just inside the grounds of
the Duality Inn. Leaning back against the low stone wall that
separated the hotel from the sand, he rested his elbows on top of the
wall, pushed his glasses back up his nose, and allowed his gaze to
return to his quarry. The hunt was on. He'd found the one he wanted.
Now that he had her in his sights, the chances that she would manage to
elude him were minimal. There was always an element of fate, of luck,
in these things, but chance, as the saying went, generally favored the
prepared mind. She was not prepared. In fact, she had no clue that
she had been singled out. They never did. He had trolled these
beaches before, so many times that he had the taking of young women
down to a fine art. The Outer Banks teemed with potential victims:
that was one reason he had chosen to move to the area. They were
unwary, too, the girls, a little lax with their usual safety
precautions, lulled into a false sense of security by the combined
soporifics of surf, sand, and sun. Holy moly, they were on vacation,
they seemed to think. What could possibly go wrong?

At the thought he allowed himself a small smile. Him, for one. When
Liz left with her friends, he followed, careful to stay back, to
attract no attention, to blend in.

They didn't notice him. No one ever noticed him. Not until he wanted
them to, that is. Then they noticed him, in a big way. Unfortunately,
by that time it was usually too late--for them.