that’d point him in the right direction. Tell him if the
girl in the picture could possibly be the same one he
tried so hard not to think about. Tried so hard not to
find.
“I’ll never tell.” Joe waggled his brows. “I’ll never tell.”
He held the gun rock-steady. There was nothing
about this situation that fazed him. Not yet. He thought
he was in control, the undisputed winner.
He was about to find out that his prize was a dud.
“She was your friend?” Joe whispered. “Was it your
friend I sliced till she screamed?” He waited a heartbeat
and, seeing he would get no reply, continued. “But that
was a long time ago. A very long time. She was one of
my first. I kept her beneath the floorboards in my closet.
EVE SILVER
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Took her out and held her in my arms at night. She was
lovely. I kept her for a very long while before I carved
her.”
He wanted a reaction and Dagan wasn’t about to
oblige. Instead, he asked, “The marks on the door…
they have a particular meaning, or were you just expressing your artistic side?”
“That’s quite the change of topic.” The killer tipped
his head, his eyes rolling up and to the right, his expression thoughtful, assessing. Then he said, “They’re
ancient Mayan markings. My kills are sacrifices to the
Mayan god of the Underworld.”
“Yeah? Who would that be?”
He blinked, paused. “Uh…Toth.”
Dagan laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Actually, the
symbols are Egyptian. And the Mayan god of the
