Killing Spree by Kevin O'Brien

you anything. Did you want me to?”
    Eve mentioned the new outline, but Gillian wasn’t listening. She wandered over to her desk and glanced at the partial news clipping: POLICE HUNT FOR ‘ZORRO’ KILLER . It had come in an envelope from the Eve Kohner Agency.
    “I’m headed out to a sales conference right now, an overnighter in Atlantic City, ” Eve was saying on the machine. “ Give Becky a call if you want her to dig up that old article and send it to you. Talk to you later, Gill. Bye. ”
    Beep.
    Gillian studied the handwriting on the Post-it attached to the news story, and realized there wasn’t much resemblance to her agent’s penmanship.
    “Doesn’t this seem familiar?” it said.
     
     
    Before stepping into the fitting room area, she glanced back at the store. She didn’t see anyone suspicious. Most of the customers in Attitude were women.
    If someone had been following her, he must have given up, because she didn’t see him now. Maybe she was just imagining things when she’d been outside earlier. She’d gotten the feeling that someone had been in the apartment while she was out yesterday too.
    You’re paranoid, she told herself, shaking her head.
    She’d been on her way to another clothing store, and hadn’t planned on stepping inside this place. But actually, it was a pretty nice boutique. A few sale items had caught her eye. She took them into the changing area—a curtained-off alcove with a full-length mirror at one end, and four little booths, each also curtained off. The stalls looked empty. She ducked inside one, hung a batch of items on the hook, then closed the drape behind her.
     
     
    The saleswoman wasn’t looking at him. He stood by a display of scarves, near a tall mirror. He could see his own reflection, and behind him, the entrance to the fitting room area. He took a sheer, pale pink scarf off the rack, discreetly rolled it up, and stuffed it inside his coat pocket. Then he picked out another scarf. This one was dark blue and very pretty. The material was silky, but strong—strong enough to choke the life out of someone.
    He stashed the blue scarf in his other pocket, then wandered toward the changing room area.
     
     
    Peeling off her ski jacket and sweater, she paused for a moment. The curtain hooks clinked in the booth next to hers. She had company. With a sigh, she stripped down to her bra and panties, then tried on a short, blue cocktail dress. Stepping out of the booth, she checked herself in the mirror at the end of the alcove. The curtain fluttered on the occupied booth beside her. She didn’t pay much attention. She was scowling at her reflection. The blue dress made her look dumpy.
    Retreating back into her stall, she started to climb out of the ugly dress. She heard the curtain next door whoosh open.
    She tried on a form-fitting, pale green sweater. Pulling it over her head, she was blinded for a moment. She heard a curtain move again, and it sounded like her curtain. Something tickled her bare back, and it sent a wave of panic through her. Shuddering, she yanked the sweater over her head. She bumped against the wall and gaped at the curtain—still closed. Then she noticed the tag on the sweater—dangling from a long string. She let out a little laugh and brushed her hair out of her eyes. It had been the stupid clothes tag tickling her back. Good God, why was she so jumpy? What was her problem?
    She tried on the sweater again, along with a pair of slacks. As she stepped into the pants, a sheer scarf drifted over the top of the curtain and gently landed on her head. Startled, she swiped it away and almost tripped. A shadow moved on the other side of the drape. “Hey!” she said, annoyed. “What—”
    She didn’t get another word out. The curtain ripped open, and she saw him. He had another scarf in his hands, this one all knotted up.
    Before she knew what was happening, before she could scream, the scarf was around her throat.
    God,