Page 2 of Line of Sight

They knew, then. They had more intelligence than I’d given them credit for. They’d avoided my gaze all evening, not that I was surprised. I’d issued strict instructions to that effect via email prior to the event. In some cases that was the first contact I’d had with them in years.

I did my own mingling, joining in with the laughter, the reminiscences… I always surprised myself with how easily I could fake interest, kindness, sympathy, even flattery. It still raised a smile that my nickname during those college years had been Mr. Charm. I’d perfected the art of appearing charming long ago. My grandfather used to say one could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and he’d been right.

The mask of charm was useful to help me achieve my goals, and could be discarded when no longer required.

Porter and Mitchell were getting closer, and suddenly it was my turn.

I was ready for them.

Shaking hands was out of the question when mine were already filled with a glass of champagne and a plate of cake. I smiled, nodded, said all the right things, and waited to see if there was any reaction.

Nothing.

They continued on their way around all the tables, and I couldn’t contain my smile.

So he could be a fake after all.

I told myself it wouldn’t have mattered if hewasgenuine. It wouldn’t alter my plans. I wasn’t troubled by some inner voice that said I should have made my excuses and pulled out of the event the second I saw their names. That was ridiculous.

All the more difficult to play cat and mouse when predator and prey aren’t in the same room.

Then it was time for the raffle, and I stood at the periphery of the ballroom.

Let one of them win a prize.

The final play in the evening’s game would be Porter’s reaction to the DVD. And when he held up his ticket with a grin, I thanked whatever gods watched over killers and psychopaths for granting me the opportunity to know once and for all. Lifehad become boring of late, and I’d been on the lookout for something more exciting to capture my attention.

And in strolled Dan Porter.

Now we’ll see.

I watched as the pair ambled over to the prize table. Porter was still smiling as he walked the length of the table, picking up items and peering at them before replacing them.

You don’t see it, do you? You don’t feel anything.

Then Porter froze, and my world narrowed as he became my sole focus.

Beside him, Mitchell rubbed his arms, shivering visibly, and I resisted the urge to do the same with the goose bumps that had erupted over my own despite the warmth of the room. Not that I feared I was about to be revealed.

The game had just gotten more interesting. An unexpected thrill had been added.

Porter was talking to Karen Williams, his hand outstretched.

Why doesn’t he pick it up?

I watched Porter’s chest rise as if he’d taken a deep breath, and I turned my back once more, focusing on the reflections in the doors. He picked up a DVD—myDVD—and staggered, falling against the table.

Holy fuck. He knows.

There couldn’t be any other explanation for his reaction.

I remained calm, forcing a smile at the photos of Dave Turner’s kids, but inside I was ice. In the mirrored door, I watched Dan scan the room as if searching for something.

Or someone.

And then the light dawned.

He’s looking forme.