“No. But I sure as hell wouldn’t try to kill my best friend.”
Jamison barked out a humorless laugh. “If I tried to kill you,” he said, “you’d be dead by now.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, man, I’m sorry.” And he looked it, as he wiped snot and blood from the end of his nose again. “Jesus, you’re in a suit.”
“You’ll get the dry-cleaning bill,” Pierce said, reaching the ladder.
“I think I owe you a new suit.”
“You do,” Pierce agreed. “So make it an Armani.”
“Okay. Fine.” Jamison slogged through the water and crawled up the steps at the shallow end. He snagged a towel from the back of a chaise longue and wiped his face. “What do we do now?”
That was an easy one. “You take care of your girls and let me find your wife.” Pierce climbed out of the pool, his clothes dripping all over the warm concrete.
“Deal?”
“Deal,” Jamison said with a sigh. He tossed Pierce the towel, now damp and stained with some watery blood. “I don’t like it, and I hate to admit you’re right. You know that, but, in this case, damn it, you are. Now, just hold up your part and find Naomi.”
The new stones were ready.
Polished and gleaming to a perfect sheen.
Each etched in blood.
Placed on his workbench in his private sanctuary.
While Perry Como sang “Ave Maria,” he replaced the vial and worried that he might run out before his mission was accomplished. The goat’s blood and calf blood were easily replaced, but the human blood was an issue.
Specific.
His source was no longer available.
He should have been more careful and thought ahead.
But how could he have known there were so many sinners who had to be exposed?
His list had grown.
Not that Nikki Gillette wouldn’t have found her way onto the list, but she was an interruption, had altered his plan, because she’d forced herself to the forefront.
He read her latest article about the Savannah Slasher, and he scowled. It didn’t reveal his identity. But he knew her, understood how dogged she was, what risks she would take. But he also realizedthat she now had a vulnerability. She was a mother. With a small child.
That was what he would use against her.
The curly-headed toddler.
Chloe.
He’d learned her name and where she went to preschool and that she was often left with Nikki’s older sister. The blonde who snuck long, black cigarettes around the corner of the garage.
He’d watched as she’d left her young charge unattended for a few moments while she stole a smoke.
He would have to deal with Nikki Gillette.
And soon.
