Page 1 of Line of Sight (Second Sight #4)

Fairmont Copley Plaza Hotel, Boston, MA.

I STOOD at the bar, sipping champagne, watching, waiting for the charity ball to stumble toward its end.

About half the guests had already departed, but the remaining revelers were still on the dance floor, the DJ pumping out more music from the nineties, music that should have died with the decade, to be honest.

Not that I was listening. My mind was elsewhere.

This is ridiculous. I’m better than this.

I’d dispatched numerous people from this planet, four of whom had deserved their grisly fates—and one whose demise was purely a matter of self-preservation—and I’d kept my cool every single time.

But from the moment Dan Porter and Detective Gary Mitchell strolled into the ballroom, I lost my focus.

And with each passing minute, my thoughts grew muddier.

Why don’t they leave?

I wasn’t worried about being caught. That was simply not a factor.

I was more concerned they’d thrown a wrench into the well-oiled machinery of my plans.

I’d known they were coming ever since I’d received the email with the guest list. Seeing Mitchell’s name there had been the first surprise.

There could only be one motive for his attendance—his brother’s murder—but that didn’t answer one all-important question.

Why now? Brad’s been gone for twenty-three years, so why is Mitchell coming to this reunion? Something has to have brought him here.

As I scanned farther down the list, I found my answer. Dan Porter would also be there. Anyone in Boston who didn’t know that name by now must have been living under a rock for the last four months.

Now I get it. The famous psychic is going to help Mitchell find Brad’s murderer. That could be the only reason for both of them attending the ball.

There was always the possibility the news reports were nothing but hype. Porter could be a huge fake. But what if he wasn’t? And what if he was at the ball because he’d discovered something?

What if he’d somehow gotten on my trail?

I dismissed that thought. Nothing out there could have led them to me. Still….

The situation had been enough to set my mind working.

I needed a test, something to help me decide whether Porter was a real threat.

Sean Nichols’s request for raffle prizes dating from our university days provided the answer.

I knew exactly what I would be taking to the ball.

To tell the truth, I was spoiled for choice, but I intended keeping something back for later.

A game needs clues, right? A mouse needs to see some cheese before he starts to make his way through the maze.

And if Porter truly possessed psychic ability, my next game could prove to be extremely interesting.

Thinking back, the evening could have backfired spectacularly, and the blame for that failure could be laid nowhere but at the altar of my ego.

It should have been a simple task of walking over to the raffle table and depositing my prize, but there was more to consider.

For one thing, I took two DVDs, one of which I left with the other items when I was certain I wasn’t in view of any of the guests, the other when I had an audience.

I thought briefly about wiping my fingerprints from one of the plastic covers, until I realized there was no need: Countless fingers would come into contact with it that night.

Part one of the test complete.

Part two was a trickier prospect.

I watched Mitchell and Porter mingling with the other guests, and I instantly understood their intent.

They’re checking out Brad’s classmates. They’re going to talk to everyone who knew him.

Including me.

I became adept at watching the proceedings in the mirrored doors rather than be caught paying too much outright attention.

The temptation to turn and watch directly when Porter was introduced to the others was enormous.

I knew I could keep a cool head, but them?

A couple of them were already showing signs of cracking.

I couldn’t understand why. This was ancient history now.

A string of unsolved murders. They’d got what they wanted, hadn’t they?

More importantly, I’d gotten what I wanted.

I focused on Porter and Mitchell in the mirror, looking for a sign, a reaction.

Nothing.

Then I realized why. None of the four had shaken hands with him.

What did that newspaper article say? Something about his gift being related to touch?

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 he was genuine. 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.

Life had 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— my DVD—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 for me .

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 me tonight . 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 I didn’t do. 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 it for 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. That was what trickled through my mind.

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

Maybe this new game would bring about another death.

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