“Nick?”

“What, you know more than one hunky ex-quarterback?” Gwen looked as if she was enjoying Maggie’s annoying blush.

“Did he want me to call him back tonight?”

“Actually, he said he was headed for the airport. I took a message.” Gwen pulled herself up off the floor. “You need to shop for a table, Maggie. I’m getting too old to be eating on the floor.” She found the note she had left on the desk. She read the message, squinting as though someone else had written it. “He said his dad had a heart attack.”

“Oh Jesus.” Now Maggie wished she had talked to him. Nick and his father had a complex relationship, one in which Nick had only recently been able to get away from. “Is he going to be okay? He’s not dead, is he?”

“No, but I think Nick said they were talking about surgery as soon as possible.” Gwen scrunched up her face as she continued to decipher her notes.

“This is something that I didn’t understand. He said his dad had received a letter, and that’s what they think may have caused the heart attack. But unless I’m mistaken, I could swear Nick said the letter was from South America.”

Maggie felt sick to her stomach. Had Father Michael Keller sent Antonio Morrelli some sort of confession? Maggie seemed to be the only one who believed the charismatic young priest was the one who had killed four boys in Platte City, Nebraska. But he had left the country before she had been able to prove it. The last she knew, he was still in South America.

“That’s it,” Gwen said. “Does any of that makes sense to you?”

The phone startled both of them.

“Maybe this is Nick.” Maggie untangled herself out of the cross-legged position on the floor and grabbed the phone. “Maggie O’Dell.”

“Agent O’Dell. It’s Assistant Director Cunningham.”

She checked her watch. It was late, and she had just seen him at the hospital a couple of hours ago.

“Is Tully okay?” It was the first thing that came to mind.

“He’s fine. I’m with Dr. Holmes. He was good enough to do the autopsies tonight.”

“Dr. Holmes has had his share of autopsies in the past two weeks.”

“There’s a problem, Agent O’Dell.” Cunningham didn’t waste any time.

“What kind of problem?” Maggie prepared herself, leaning against the desk and gripping the phone. Gwen watched from her perch on the recliner.

“Walker Harding died of a gunshot wound to the back of his head. He was shot with a .22, execution style. Not only that, but his organs are in an extremely advanced state of decomposition. Dr. Holmes is guessing he’s been dead for several weeks.”

“Several weeks? That’s impossible, sir. We found his fingerprints at three of the crime scenes.”

“I think we might have an explanation for that. Several of his fingers are missing, cut off, including his thumb. I’m guessing Stucky did it. Took the fingers with him. Preserved them and used them at the crime scenes to throw us off.”

“But Gwen has had two sessions with Harding.” She glanced at Gwen and her friend’s face showed concern and alarm. Even Harvey started pacing in the sunroom, tilting his head, listening.

“Dr. Patterson has never seen Albert Stucky,” Cunningham said, keeping his cool professional tone and ignoring the frantic edge to Maggie’s. “If we ask her to describe the man she had the sessions with, I’m guessing she’ll describe Stucky. I’ve only seen one or two photos of Harding, but if I remember correctly, there was an uncanny resemblance between the two men. Stucky must have been using Harding’s identity for some time now, pretending to be him. That probably also explains the airline ticket in Harding’s name.”

“Jesus.” Maggie couldn’t believe it. Though it all made sense. She wasn’t sure she had completely believed Stucky would allow anyone, even Harding, in on his game. “So he had the perfect disguise and the perfect hiding place.”

“There’s more, Agent O’Dell. The other body has been dead for several weeks, too, and it’s not Albert Stucky.”

Maggie sat down before her knees gave out from under her. “No, this can’t be happening. He can not have escaped again.”

“We’re not sure who it is. Maybe a friend or caretaker of Harding’s. Harding was definitely blind. Dr. Holmes says both his retinas were detached, and there were no signs of diabetes.”

Maggie was barely listening anymore. She could hardly hear him over the pounding of her heart as she glanced frantically around the room. She noticed Harvey sniffing at the back door, now agitated. Where the hell had she left her Smith & Wesson? She opened the desk drawer. The Glock was gone.

“I’ve sent several agents back to watch your house,” Cunningham said as if that would be enough. “I suggest you not leave tonight. Stay put. If he comes after you, we’ll be ready.”

If he comes after me, I’ll be a sitting duck, but she kept the thought to herself.

She met Gwen’s questioning eyes. The fear began invading Maggie’s system like cold liquid injected into her veins. Still, she held herself up and pushed away from the solid security of her father’s rolltop desk.

“Stucky wouldn’t dare come after me again.”

CHAPTER 74

He crawled through the bushes, staying low to the ground. The damn bushes had prickly branches that kept grabbing his sweatshirt. This sort of thing would never happen with his leather jacket. He missed it already, though it had been a worthy sacrifice to see Special Agent Maggie O’Dell’s look of relief and know it to be false. He had fooled them all, slipping in and out of hiding places he had specifically prepared for just such an occasion.

He rubbed at his eyes. Fuck, it was dark! He wished the red lines would go away. Pop, pop—no, he wouldn’t think of the fucking blood vessels rupturing in his eyes. The insulin stabilized his body, but there seemed to be nothing to stop the exploding blood vessels in his eyes.

He could still hear Walker’s tinny laugh, telling him, “You’ll be a blind fucker just like me, Al.” Walker was still laughing when he put the .22 at the base of his head and pulled the trigger—pop, pop.

The lights were completely out now. He had seen her moving back and forth in what he knew to be the bedroom. He wished he could see her face, relaxed and unsuspecting, but the curtains were drawn and not sheer enough.

He had already intercepted and dismantled the security system with a handheld gadget that Walker had invented for him a few months ago. Blind as a bat, but the man had been an electronics genius. He didn’t even know how the thing worked. But he had tested it on the house on Archer Drive, and it did, indeed, work.

He started up the trellis that was hidden by vines and more bushes. He hoped it was sturdier than it looked. Actually, all of this seemed too easy, not much of a challenge. But then, she would be the challenge. He knew she wouldn’t disappoint him.

He thought of the scalpel in its thin sheath, tucked safely inside his boot. He’d take his time with her. The anticipation aroused his senses so intensely he needed to stifle what sounded like panting. Yes, this would be well worth the effort.

CHAPTER 75

Maggie sat in the dark corner. Her back pressed against the wall of the bedroom, her outstretched arms leaning on her knees. Her hands gripped her Smith & Wesson, her finger on the trigger. She was ready for him this time. She knew he had been watching. She knew he would come. Yet, when she heard him at the foot of the trellis, her pulse began to race. Her heart slammed against her chest. Sweat trickled down her back.

In a matter of minutes, he was at the window. She saw his shadow hovering, a black vulture. Then his face

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