Once again, I flipped to Maria’s photograph, fading out the conversation as I traced her lips and chin with my index finger. “I’m simply trying to keep Alexia safe.”
“Interesting. I hope I get to meet this girl at some point. You should bring her by the poker game tonight.”
“And allow you to get your paws on her? Not a chance in hell. But I will be there. See what you can dig up before then.”
“Oh, no pressure or anything.”
“None at all. I’ll see you then.” As I tossed the phone onto the desk, I had a terrible feeling things were about to get ugly.
Or maybe I should say uglier.
The same nagging had returned that I’d experienced every time when working on a case that took me in a different direction. Had my anger and hatred for the man clouded my judgment?
Groaning, I closed my eyes, rubbing the ache just above the bridge of my nose. The ache had been there for two days and I had a feeling it wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
Hearing my phone was nothing but another annoyance. I wasn’t entirely ready to push on with my day. “What?” My bark wasn’t necessarily worse than my bite.
“You and I are a lot alike, Agent Callahan. Or now that you’ve retired from your sixty-three-thousand-dollar shit job, would you prefer I call you Maverick?”
What the fuck?
I sat up in my seat, immediately on edge and reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. “Who is this?”
“Come now. You cannot tell me that you no longer recognize my voice. I’d be crushed if that was the case. I was special, even to a decorated agent such as yourself.”
An icy chill drifted through my veins. How the fuck had the asshole gotten my number and how did he know what my salary was all those years ago? “Well, since you know so much about my career, you must be aware I dealt with thousands of people. What makes you so special?”
I moved away from the desk, peering out the set of sliding doors toward the ocean water. There were a few people on the beach, but no one with alarming behavior. I headed toward the front of the house so I could see the driveway.
“As I said, you and I are a lot alike, Maverick. Your books have been thoroughly enjoyable and I must admit you make a formidable adversary. You were back then as well, which is why I was forced to go into hiding. But I’m no longer interested in hiding in plain sight. You know, I learned a lot from you and that allowed me to become a better person.” His laugh was casual just like the conversation.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“And a much better killer I might add. I made mistakes.”
“Who have you killed this time?”
“Don’t worry. Nothing so time consuming as when I was the Python Killer. But I grew bored. I moved on to greener pastures. So have you. That’s why I think we’re a lot alike. We knew when to stop. At least for a rest, but your books are… inspiring. So much so I thought I’d take up the art once again.”
His voice was exactly as I remembered. The lilt. The lack of accent that was almost too extreme. Clean and succinct words. And the laugh was one I’d never forget.
There was no one out front that I could see. What were the odds the fucker had seen me with Alexia? The timing was far too coincidental.
“Maybe we are alike. We do enjoy the hunt,” I told him. “However, I always catch the bad guys. You simply run away because you can’t handle the heat.”
If this was the killer, I needed him rattled. One aspect of his personality I knew for certain. He wasn’t easily ruffled in the sense that he’d disappear. Instead, he acted on his hungers, which was the only way to bring him into the light.
He was quiet for a few seconds and I checked to see if the phone was still connected. “You won’t be able to save all of them, Maverick. Contrary to what others might believe, you’re not a superhero. In fact, you’re more like me than even before. This time the hunt will be far more enjoyable. Tick. Tick.”
CHAPTER 10
Maverick
Eclectic.
That was the only correct word anyone could use to classify Chase’s house. You couldn’t identify his taste if you wanted to. Light and dark wood. Leather and upholstered furniture. Beachy while being intricately Spanish. And when I meant beachy, I meant bitchin’ beachy with two scarred, faded surfboards used for decorative art in the living room and that his bedroom had the most stunning canvas paintings of marine life.
While his kitchen was modern with gleaming black graphite appliances and a mottled ebony and emerald herringbone granite counter, his bathrooms were renovated nineteen-fifties or earlier.
