Murderer

TRISTIN'S POV

I crossed my arms and stared defiantly at him through the windshield. I wasn't a fan of rude strangers staring at me. "I'm not doing anything."

His eyebrows shot upwards. He leaned forward, pressing his lips together and cocking his head slightly. "Oh really? You don' look like you're doing nothing. You look kinda freaked.

This jerk. Who does he think he is to assume he's entitled to tell me what I look like? "And who the fuck are you, anyway?" I snapped.

He opened the door, grinning. "I'm the guy whose gonna call the cops on you because you're suspicious to be jogging so early in the morning."

I narrowed my eyes. "What gives you the right to call the police on me just for walking in the wrong direction?"

Before I could react, he'd swung out of the truck, closing the door behind him. He was wearing a black leather jacket, dark jeans and brown boots. He reached for the handle of the passenger side door, but before he could

he began calling the cops on me.

In a matter of