He was maybe thirty yards away, advancing slowly, and now I knew another reason he'd hung back. At about four hundred pounds he was built for intimida...ion, not mobility. He probably notched his ass for each victim he killed by just sitting on them. He didn't stalk anything or anyone. He lumbered on legs like tree trunks, his big feet spread to balance his bulk. He was a sniper, lurking, sucking down beer and cheeseburgers, waiting for Bambi or whoever to walk into his sights.He had one of those. As it was, the darkness and rain clouds had closed in, moving the mists into the streets and there weren't any lights visible. It was a good night to spend by the fire.The gas fireplace was huge, with three large fake logs. In front of it was a polar bear rug. The real McCoy. That figured. I could just imagine Harmon up in the Artic, stalking the beast at temperatures of about, eighty below. But somehow I couldn't imagine him married to either Sarah or Bonnie. But you never know.After I'd. More

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