Mirror, Mirror--Who's the Next to Die
The nose that pressed against the glass at O'Hare International belonged to an normal looking man who kept his eyes glued to the plane as it landed smoothly and taxied up to the terminal.
He looked like any professional commuting from city to city, nothing remarkable stood out. Nothing remarkable, except for his intense stare, the way he lowered his chin, and the pucker of his mouth as he pressed his upper lip over his lower lip. He did this when he was concentrating hard, like some people stick their tongue out the side of their mouth when performing a difficult task. His lip action forced the flesh of his lower lip between his teeth. He ignored the pain as he bit the inside of his lip and his concentration remained unbroken as his clenched fist caused his fingernails to dig into his soft, smooth palms.
His heart quickened as he waited for Maria Gonzales to file out with the other
passengers. They looked like cattle going to slaughter. He could be watching for any of
them. She deserved the title of Miss New Mexico, and she deserved more. He'd give her
more. If she would accept it, he'd give her more.