SINS OF THE HEART
She’d dig him up just to kill him again. Or just to
be certain he was dead. Or just to see him in the flesh
one last time.
She shook her head. Look upambivalentin the dictionary and there’d be a picture of Roxy Tam.
Eyes bulging, Marin darted his gaze wildly between
her and the phone on the night table.
“Tough choice,” she commiserated. “Keep your
finger in the hole or reach for the phone? I wouldn’t
waste energy trying to scream for help. The motel’s
empty. I checked. And the kid at the front desk is
probably fast asleep.” She paused. “One last
question, Frank. And remember, I’ve tasted your
blood. I know your heart. I’ll know if you lie.” This
in itself was a lie, but he had no way to know that.
“Did youtouchthat kid?”
His gaze shot to hers, his fingers pressing tightly
against his slashed throat. He knew exactly what she
was asking. “I didn’t touch her!” he rasped. “I didn’t!
She wasn’t for me. She was for them. The Setnakhts.”
She patted his cheek. “I believe you.” Mostly because her research had revealed that Marin’s Australian victims had all been little boys.
Marin was blubbering now. Begging. Terror, shock,
confusion—the panoply of emotion that flitted across
his features was priceless.
Of course, he could always use his mouth to take the
receiver off the hook. Use his nose to punch 911. She
didn’t offer those helpful tips, but she did offer a backhanded wave. “Too bad I can’t stick around to see how
this plays out. Good luck, Marin.”
She crossed to the closet and pulled off her denim
jacket. Then she did a cursory check to make sure it
