Chapter Five Her

Chapter Five Her

Seven Months Earlier

Richmond Dougherty was not a hard man to find. He hid in plain sight. His face had been splashed all over the news, on gossip

sites, and in true crime forums on and off for the past twenty-seven years. His place in history firmly established eleven

days before his eighteenth birthday, when he appeared before the cameras teary and dazed, covered in blood and shaking. A

victim and a hero.

Since then, he’d crafted his image. Packaged, shined, and sold it. A survivor on a mission. A young man who’d refused to cower.

A person who did the right thing. A savior surgeon who continued to put others first and gave hope to countless parents.

The truth was he craved attention, sucked it in like oxygen. He gathered up every scrap of praise, breathed life into it,

and thrived off of it. Some saw his surgical skills as a calling. A gift from God. People could believe what they wanted,

what they needed, but deifying Richmond was like putting a golden crown on the devil himself.

I knew him. From a distance, but I saw the real him. The lies. The deceit. I’d been briefed and weaponized. I’d heard about him since birth. My life’s goal had been spelled out and hammered into me for more than a decade: destroy Richmond Dougherty. Unmask him. Tell his secrets. Shred his reputation.

Watching him now, sitting in a dark corner of a nondescript bar just outside Philadelphia, I could see every flaw etched on

his face. The shadows under the supposed handsome charm. A lurking darkness that poisoned every decent act.

He leaned in and smiled as he played with the fingers of the pretty blonde sitting next to him in the circular booth. He was

forty-four. She was far too young for him. Miles better than him. A woman who should run.

She was also not his wife.

While Kathryn wiled away at home, putting the final touches on a charity luncheon scheduled for next week, Richmond was here,

at his pretend conference in another state, screwing his weekend conquest. The woman crossed her legs and dipped her head

to one side. She flirted, unaware that she’d bought into a PR image. A shimmer of a man.

She deserved better. So did Richmond’s mistress back home. The one who worked in his medical office. So did his wife. So did

all of the people unlucky enough to stray into his path.

I’d studied his string of women because I’d been looking for the best way to wiggle into his life. I’d followed him and paid

for information, all to discover he was a mediocre man who liked to stockpile pretty women.

Adultery. How original.

His pathetic weakness created a perfect and obvious angle of attack. His voice made my fury spike, so the idea of letting him touch me, even a brush of his hand on my arm, made me gag. Still, a few seconds playing the role of a needy, breathless fan and he’d be panting to get me out of my underwear. Then I’d stab him. Metaphorically, of course, but a killing blow.

Today was the beginning of the end of Richard Dougherty.