14

I know I should be angry when I hear the news. Scared, at the very least.

But damn it, I can't help the thrill that rises in my chest when I answer Hawkins' call.

"There's been another murder." His voice is gruff over the phone. "I need you on the scene right now, Cain."

"On it, Captain." I hope the anticipation isn't tooclearin my voice.

One murder is an isolated tragedy. One murder is a crime of passion or a personal grudge. One murder is cruel but simple.

But two in quick succession? That's hinting at what a sick, twisted part of me was hoping for, as wrong as I know that is. Two is the makings of a serial killer. Twois someone whokills for pleasure, not some petty act of practicality.

And as much as I know I'm supposed to hate whoever killed these people, I'm desperate to get inside their mind.Ever since I saw that first crime scene,I've been on fire with morbid curiosity.

Hawkins greets me with a grim nod when I get to the abandoned industrial lot downtown. Brock and Ryan are already there, queasy looks on their faces. It takes a lot to nauseate a homicide detective, but when I see the body, I understand.

"Male, fifty-two years old," Hawkins says in lieu of a greeting. I listen as he gives me a rundown of what they have so far.

Just like with Vale, the room feels like a meticulously crafted tableau. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood. The victim is sitting up in a chair, but there are only gaping holes where his eyes once were. His eyeballs sit on the tablein front ofhim, driven through with skewers.

I try to calm my breathing. "It'shim. It's the same killer as the Vale murder."

Hawkins raises his eyebrows at me. "We can't be completely sure of that yet. Forensics needs to do a thorough investigation. We're waiting for security camera footage from the street outside now."

I scoff. "Look at the scene, Captain. It's him, whoever he is.You're not going tofind any security footage, just like the last time."

"I'll put ten bucks on that," Brock chimes in eagerly.

"You're on," I reply.

"You pussies are afraid of real money," Ryan says. "Let's make it fifty."

Hawkins glares at us. "I'd like to remind you all that you're standing on the scene of a murderanda man is dead. Stop making a game of it and get back to work."

"Sorry, Captain," Ryan mutters. He mouths "Fifty bucks" over Hawkins' shoulder as he walks off.

Hawkins turns to Brock. "Kakowski, go assist with the building staff."

Brock scurries offandI start to give the scene a closer examination. I can feel Hawkins watching me closely as I get to work.

"Heard some disappointing news from Dr Keller about you, Cain."

I crouch down to inspect the blood spatter pattern, not looking back at him. "Yeah, well, Captain, when aren't you disappointed in your protégées?"

He sighs. "You quit therapy."

"Huh, wonder who could have possibly told you that."

"This is serious, Cain."

I sigh, standing back up and turning to face Hawkins. "It's a waste of time. I know it's a formalitybutcome on, Captain. I'm sorry I disobeyed you, but yousaid yourself thatyou want me on this case."

I'm trying to sound convincing. I don't wanthimto knowthe real reasonwhy I stormed out of Dr Keller's office. He started to get too close to the truth of my past, and it terrified me.

"It's only ten sessions," Hawkins says. "What happened in there to make you quit?"

I shift under his suspicious gaze. "Nothing happened. Ijustdon't see why I need to prove to a stranger thatI'm capable of doingmy job when I've proved myself to you already."

"It only takes one incident to prove you'renot capable, and you gave me that."

His words of disappointment slice like a knife. Of all the people in the world, Hawkins is one of the only ones whose opinion Ireallyvalue. It hurts to have let him down like this.

"If you want to stay on this case," he continues, "thenyou need to get the sign-off from Keller."

I feel my jaw clench as I reluctantly answer. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'll… reconsider continuing the sessions."

It's not quite a promise, but Hawkins seems satisfied.

"Speaking of Dr Keller," he says. "I need to discuss something with you.You're not going tolike this, but we need assistance on this case. Especially if your hunch is right—"

His words fade into the background in an instant.

A figure.

About ten yards behind Hawkins.There, standing at the edge of the next building, only half visible in the shadows.

He has the shape of a man—tall,easilyclearing six feet—but I can't tell much more than that. He's dressed in black, a mask over his head.

But he's facing me.If his eyes weren't covered,I would swear he was staring right at me.

The blood in my veins turns ice cold.

"—I know it's unorthodox, and I"m sorry to spring this on you, Cain. But you won't have to cross paths with him—"

Hawkins' words cut short as I push past him. My body works faster than my brain; I'm suddenly running flat out,soclose to closing the distance betweenme and the man in the mask.

The figure in the shadows bolts.

"Stop!" I scream, but he'srunning,too fast for me to catch up to.

"Cain!" I hear Hawkins yell after mebutI don't even glance back.

I hurriedly grab the gun from my belt as I fly by the hollowed-out shells of buildings on either side of me. The masked figure veers off right,easilyclearing the remnants of a wall with confident, graceful speed. I scramble over the wreckage, scraping my right leg in the process.

For asecondI've lost him in the growing darkness of dusk, until Icatch sight ofhim standing at the entrance of a building. His masked stare sends chills along my skin. I rush toward him, and he ducks into the remains.

I fling myself around the corner. I'm greeted by nothing but the muted gray, crumbling concrete walls around me. The last wisp of gloomy daylight glows through a broken window.

There's no sign of the man in the mask. Where the hell did he go?

I cautiously step forward, fragments of glass and dirt crunching under my boots in the sudden silence.

I don't dare to turn around, but I can't hear anything from behind me. Hawkins and the team must have lost my trail.

For asecondI consider flicking on my radio to contact them. But something tells me not to show a second of distraction. Though I can't see movement, I have the uneasy sensation of eyes boring into me. I can practically feel it mocking me as I scan the room, trying to stay in control.

"I know you're in here," I call out into the eerie silence. "This is the Brookhaven PD. Surrender yourself now, and we can resolve this peacefully."

Something to my right rustles. I swing my gunin the direction ofthe noise, but it's only a mouse scurrying across the grimy floor.

I'm the detective holding the gun. But I suddenly feel vulnerable and exposed.

I don't even feel likeI'ma mouse being chased by a cat. I'm a mouse in a maze, being watched by some god-like scientist who controls my fate.

A mouse can sometimes outrun a cat.

But the mouse in the lab always dies.

I don't realize he's entered the room until I hear his voice behind me.

"Hello, Detective."

I spin around, my eyes widening at the sight of him.

I could see he was tall from far away, butupclosehis height is imposing.His build is muscular but lean enough to be agile. His stature is cloaked in a weathered black jacket and dark jeans that run down to his rugged combat boots. The dark leather gloves on his hands are calloused; I suppress a shiverthinkingof what type of work could have worn them down.

The hood of his jacket frames his face, but his face is veiled by the mask. Deep, maroon stitches stare back at me where his eyes should be.

Cold, rough menace emanates from his form. But this isn't thekind ofcrude gangster my team usually deals with. Even with his mask shielding his expression, there's something sickeningly watchful and sharp about him.

He's stopped running.That should be my first sign of danger, butthefearis overridingmy brain.

"Freeze!" I yell, pointing my gun at him.

He takes a slow, deliberate step toward me. "Do people really do that when you tell them to, Detective?"

A shiver rolls over my skin. Shit—there's something in his mask modulating his voice. It's deep and firm but has a twisted edge of distortion. Unnatural and inhuman.But it's not enough to hidethecruel, mocking toneof his words.

I steady myself before I answer. "Most people do if they don't want to get shot."

Another step toward me. Glass crackles under his combat boots. "I'm not most people."

"Kneel on the ground," I order. "Put your hands above your head."

He doesn't move. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you."

My stomach lurches with a sick, hot pang. Fear? No, it's not as uncomplicated as that.Notas cold. This feeling is burning hot.

"No time for jokes, asshole," I mutter.

"I wasn't fucking joking, Ava."

Nerves jolt through me. "How do you know my name?"

"Do you really think I wouldn't find out every single detail about the people trying to ruin my fun?"

"Your fun? Are you confessing to the murder of the victim back there at the scene?"

He shrugs.It's just a flex of his shoulders, but the movementmakes my whole body stiffen."Maybe I am. But a confession is no good if you don't have the perpetrator in handcuffs."

"Too bad I've got you trapped then."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Shivers roll along my skin. His confidence is throwing me off.

"I have a gun aimed at you," I counter. "Any attempt to reach for a concealed weapon, I shoot. You're out of options."

I need to take him alive. He needs to pay for his crimes, not escape into the nothingness of death. If I can stall enough, Hawkins and the team will find us, and he'll be caught red-handed.

"Why are you still hanging around your crime scene, huh? Seems pretty amateurish for someone who killed those men like that."

"I was watching you, Ava. I saw you looking at his body like you were fascinated."

A flash of nerves cuts through me. He doesn't know. He can't know.

"I'm a detective. Looking at crime scenes is what I do."

"I took it as a compliment. It takes something great to intrigue a detective like you."

My throat tightens. Ishemessing with me? Why would this anonymous killer care what I inparticularthink about his crimes?

"Tell me your name," I order.

"I already told you what to call me, Ava."

The note at the first crime scene flashes back into my vision.

"Hyde," I breathe.

I can hear the cruel smile in his voice. "It sounds so much better out of your pretty lips."

"Why did you kill these men?"

"Business. Pleasure. Boredom. Pick your answer. Any of them might be correct."

"Don't act like this wasn't personal. You did this for a reason. I can see that from the way you killed them."

He laughs, evading my question. "Are you going to arrest me, Detective Cain?"

I'm trying not to shake. I can't show weakness. I can't show fear. Not now.

Where is Hawkins?

"Obviously."

"Then why haven't you? Are you scared, Detective? Or do you want to see what I'm really capable of?"

A rush of static seems to pass through the space between us. I feel a lurch of guilt; it's as if he heard my stupid comments to Brock about the crime scenes being like a work of art.

"The only thing I want from you is a jail sentence," I quickly retort. "You're going to face justice for what you did."

"I don't think I believe you, Detective. You looked a little too fascinated when you looked at my work. I think you want to see what else I have in store."

I bite my lip. My mouth is suddenly so dry. How doesheknowexactlyhow morbidly obsessed I am with his crimes?

"I don't want more death," I breathe. "I'm going to make sure this ends peacefully."

"Peace." He laughs, the sound cruel andbitter,as if I just told a bad joke. "You're lying to yourself. You can tell yourself you're some little dove of peaceall you want. But I see who you really fucking are."

He takes a step toward meandmy hands clench around the handle of my gun. "Don't come any closer."

"You point that thing at me like you might actually use it."

"What makes you think I won't?"

"Because I think you want to keep playing this game as badly as I do."

He takes another step forward.

"Want to bet?" I mutter.

As fast as I can, I lower my gun and pull the trigger.