The man on the side of the road looked like a ghost in denim tall, wiry, face half-shadowed by his hood. His thumb pointed up.
Mark and Lacey slowed their rusty pickup.
âYou see that smile?â Lacey whispered. âThatâs a serial killer smile.â
Mark grinned. âPerfect. Letâs mess with him.â
The man climbed in without a word. His duffel hit the floor with a heavy thud.
âName?â Mark asked, eyes in the rea...