Page 3 of Line of Sight

I widened my smile.But you can’t see me, can you?

Mitchell put his arm around Porter’s waist, a gesture that shouted affection, even intimacy. That added a whole new dimension to the proceedings.

So… more like Brad than I’d realized.A significant detail that might prove useful.

I maintained my facade of calm, waiting until at last they left the ballroom.

He didn’t find me.

Tonight. He hadn’t found metonight. But that didn’t mean I’d evade Dan Porter’s gift again.

So what do I do now? Wait for him to come knocking at my door?

It was more a case of what Ididn’tdo. There would be no more killings for a while, even though I knew that could prove difficult. More often than not, doling out death was a safety valve, a way to cope with the stupidity of the people around me.

But why stop? I’ve been doing this for twenty-three years.Getting away with itfor twenty-three years.

That still small voice in my head piped up,Longer, surely. Have you forgotten? Who forgets their first kill?

I hadn’t, of course.

Then I realized I’d been given a gift. Something else to occupy my time and thoughts. Something new.

I could keep tabs on Detective Mitchell and Dan Porter. I might even play with them.

And if Porter gets too close?

There were deeds he might see. Deeds that would have real-time consequences.Thatwas what trickled through my mind.

But he won’t. And making sure he doesn’t is part of the thrill, the game.

Maybe thisnewgame would bring about another death.

Or possibly two. After all, it would only be fitting if they left this world together, right?

Chapter One

Early November, 2018

Boston, MA

IN THEcold-case office, the whiteboard’s pristine surface had been divided into four sections, each with a headshot of the victim, and the crime-scene photos below them seemed to scream at Detective Gary Mitchell every time he glanced at them.

Wrongful death!

Avenge us.

Brad Mitchell wasn’t screaming, however. He stared at Gary the same way he’d done from every photo of him Gary had ever seen in the twenty-three years since his murder. Photos that sat in his parents’ dining room on the sideboard, the piano, showing Brad as a baby, a little boy, a teenager, at graduation…. Brad staring at the camera—at Gary.

The quiet stare that said,Find who did this to me.Do it for me.

For the first time in all those years, Gary was finally ready to do just that.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled his nostrils, and he took the proffered cup. “You read my mind.” Then he realized what he’d said and laughed.

“As if I needed to do that, even if I possessed the gift, which I don’t.” Dan Porter smiled. “You’re a creature of habit. Let’s face it,anytimeI bring you coffee is the right time.” He inclined his head toward the door. “Your coworkers, however? They clam up every time I pass by them, and it doesn’t require mind-reading skills to know they’re nervous around me.” His eyes sparkled.“I can almost hear them.Don’t talk to the psychic.What deep, dark secrets are they afraid I’ll uncover? Although to be fair, since they found out we’re a couple, some of them appearlessnervous.” Dan’s lips twitched. “Because of course their straight asses are safe. I’m not about to jump on their bones now that I’m fully occupied jumping on yours.”

Gary arched his eyebrows but said nothing.