It connected on the first ring.
“I just saw it. Where is she getting her information?”
“That’s what I want to know.” Sean fought to keep his voice level, though anger sharpened every word. “The Seaside Strangler? Is she kidding?” He dragged in a breath and forced himself to rein it in. “Brad, this isn’t a slow leak anymore. This is going to open the floodgates. The only thing that hasn’t gone public is the pennies.”
“I know. Griffin’s calling in. I’ll talk to you in the morning. There’s nothing we can do tonight.”
When the call disconnected, Sean stopped pacing and found Grace and Suki staring at him from the kitchen doorway. As furious as he was, he realized Brad was right. There wasn’t anything they could do about it now. By 11:00 p.m., every other news show would repeat what Jessica Daly had already reported. And first thing tomorrow morning, she would be getting a visit from the FBI—specifically, Special Agent Sean Malone.
Running his hands down his face, he pasted on a wry smile. “I can’t do anything about it tonight, so we might as well go eat while it’s still warm.”
Unfortunately, he’d lost his appetite.
That smug, self-righteous woman!
What had she called him? A vicious sadist? A savage? A barbarian? Fury burned through him at the memory. How dare she label him that way? The great George Wallace was none of those things. He was simply a man doing what needed to be done, ridding the world of women whose immoral choices had sealed their own fates. Someone had to. And now that woman on television had sealed hers the moment those accusations left her mouth.
If she wanted to call him cruel, he would show her exactly what cruelty looked like.
Slowly, he forced the anger back under control. Acting on impulse led to mistakes, and mistakes got men caught.
“Think, think, think,” he muttered, pacing the length of the living room. “Take your time. Think. Then plan your revenge.”
By the third pass across the worn carpet, the answer came to him. A slow smile curved his lips.
Crossing to the recycling bin, he pulled out that morning’s newspaper and carefully removed several unread sections by one corner—those were the ideal pages. No fingerprints. No stray DNA. His DNA wasn’t on file, but his fingerprints were, and he wasn’t careless enough to leave those behind.
From the desk in the spare bedroom, he gathered scissors, glue, and a blank sheet of paper, arranging them neatly on the dining room table he rarely used. Last, he retrieved the rubber gloves from beneath the kitchen sink. He usually wore them to wash dishes.
Tonight, they would serve a different purpose.
The blonde reporter wanted his attention.
Now she had it.
And before this was over, she—and everyone else watching—would understand exactly what happened to those who disrespected him.
Chapter Seventeen
“I have a right to protect my sources,” Jessica Daly said, her tone carrying the same smug confidence that had irritated Sean from the moment she’d ushered him and Brad into the conference room. “I’m not telling you where I got my information. But judging by this little visit and those looks on your faces, my source was right on target. If some of my details are inaccurate, I’d be happy to correct them in my next broadcast. How about giving me an interview?”
She lowered herself into the chair at the conference table, crossed her long legs, and stared at them expectantly, as if she’d just offered them the opportunity of a lifetime instead of compromising an active murder investigation.
His jaw clenched. He’d been angry before they arrived at Channel 4, but now he was ready to snap. The woman was actually flirting with them. Did she honestly think they’d reward her recklessness with an interview?
Everything about her grated on him. She was exactly the kind of reporter he’d spent years dealing with—someone who cared more about ratings and career advancement than the damage left behind. Victims, grieving families, and compromised investigations… none of it mattered so long as she had a sensational story to splash across the evening news.
“Not going to happen,” Brad said. “And if you and your source are responsible for helping this guy get away with murder, you’ll be charged with obstruction of justice.”
An arrogant smile tugged at her mouth. “It would never stick, and you know it. Besides, the public deserves to know how depraved this creep is.”
Sean dragged a hand down his face, fighting for patience. This was going nowhere, and they all knew it. Still, there was one piece of satisfaction he could take from this meeting.
He folded his arms across his chest and pinned her with a hard glare. “As of this moment, your press privileges regarding this case are revoked. If I see you on Sheriff’s Department property, you’ll be charged with trespassing. Do I make myself clear?”
She jerked upright, fury flashing across her face. “You can’t do that.”
Brad snorted. “He can, and he just did. Consider this your first and final warning.”
