Page 68 of After the Chase

I lean over the desk and study the materials with passive interest, my therapist brain analyzing patterns and vulnerabilities.

"He walks to work every morning," I observe. "Same route, same time. That's an optimum time to attack."

"Attack?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I don’t make fun, don’t know how,” he says, which is true.

“It’s too public," Noah says.

"What about his evening routine?"

Noah pulls out another photo of Stephan leaving a restaurant, alone. "He has dinner with clients twice a week at the same place. Always leaves around nine, I think we have a creature of habit," Noah mumbles to himself.

We continue like this for hours, analyzing every aspect of Stephan’s life, looking for the perfect opportunity. It's fascinating, in a disturbing way where I use my clinical skills toplan a murder, applying my understanding of human behavior to identify weaknesses. Another huge step from humanity.

"Here," I say finally, pointing to a note about Stephan’s weekend routine. "He goes to the gym every Saturday morning, at opening time before it gets crowded. That's when you should act."

Noah studies the information, then nods slowly. "The locker room should be private and quiet at that time. I can make it look like a heart attack or a slip in the shower."

"Exactly."

He looks at me, his expression unreadable. "You're good at this."

"Shocking, huh?"

He pulls me into his lap, his hands settling on my ass. "You're becoming what I am."

"No, I just complement you. Nobody can become like you, Noah. You’re unique with no cure."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

NOAH

Saturday morning

The gym is in Midtown, one of those expensive places with personal trainers and juice bars. Stephan Sharpe arrives at 6am, right on schedule.

I'm already inside, dressed in workout clothes, blending in with the handful of early morning exercisers here for a class. I've been here twice this week, establishing my presence, making sure the staff recognize me so I become forgettable.

Stephan heads straight for the locker room and I wait five minutes, then follow. The locker room is empty except for Stephan as the early morning class has begun. He's changing into his workout clothes, with his back to me. I approach quietly, my footsteps silent on the tile floor.

"Stephan Sharpe," I say.

He turns, surprised. "Yes? Do I know you?"

"No, but you know the Kozlovs."

Recognition flashes across his face, followed immediately by fear. He opens his mouth to scream, but I'm faster as my hand clamps over his mouth, cutting off the sound. Marcus struggles, but I'm stronger, plus I have experience. I drag him toward the showers, where the sound of running water will mask any noise.

I release his mouth and immediately wrap my arm around his throat, applying pressure to his carotid artery. He claws at my arm, his movements becoming increasingly desperate.

"Shh," I murmur. "It'll be over soon."

It takes three minutes for him to lose consciousness as I maintain the pressure for another two, ensuring brain death. Then I lower him to the shower floor and turn on the water.

I arrange the scene carefully that may convey a slip, or a fall, his head striking the tile. It's not perfect, but it'll pass a cursory investigation. Heart attack brought on by exertion, complicated by the fall.