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H enry dug through her belongings. She claimed to be an FBI agent. He found her wallet, and her ID proved she was telling the truth. He removed her driver’s license and the ID and pocked them both for his trophy box. Instead of being worried about what he’d discovered, he was intrigued by her knowledge of criminals. Maybe she could help explain things to him. If he had the chance to ask before . . .

“Sierra Parker.” He liked the name. If he didn’t give her over to the monster who demanded another victim and pretended ignorance about her disappearance, he and Sierra might have time to talk.

When Henry had tried to go on the straight and narrow after marrying Maggie, he didn’t think it would last. But it had. Through the years, the need to kill had faded. Maybe he’d been wrong about Maggie changing him.

He’d lied to T and said Dawn had escaped through the tunnel and he’d killed her and left her buried inside one of the tunnels.

T had been angry, demanding another victim. Henry had gone along with the request and had taken Sierra. Now that he had her, he couldn’t imagine turning her over to T. But he couldn’t keep hiding victims either. At some point, he’d have to face T head-on. And one of them wouldn’t walk away from that encounter.

Henry stuffed the rest of Sierra’s things back into the bag and left it in the living room. He started for the basement when a noise around the front of the house grabbed his attention.

“Yoo-hoo. Henry, are you there?” Betsy. Dang it. He’d told her when he wanted to see her he would reach out. Henry had hoped she’d take the hint.

He stormed to the door. Took time to gather his composure before opening it.

“Hi, Henry. I saw your truck outside. You’re back from your trip early.”

“I haven’t gone yet,” he said in a clipped voice. He told her the paperwork took longer than expected. “Did you need something, Betsy? I’m kind of busy.”

Betsy stepped past him. “Busy?” She sniffed again. “At that awful job of yours. It’s time to retire, Henry. Find another purpose in life.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Henry tried to remember if he’d secured Sierra’s gag good enough so that she wouldn’t be heard. “I have things to take care of, Betsy. And I did tell you I’d be in touch when I was ready for a visit.”

“Oh, Henry. I brought dinner.” Betsy held up something in her hand. He’d missed the plastic bag that said Pinedale Diner on it. “Your favorite fried chicken. I thought we could enjoy it together. Maggie would want me to look after you.”

Henry swallowed back the frustration building inside him. Maybe he hadn’t changed after all.

She headed through the living room toward the kitchen and stopped. “What’s this?” She pointed to the backpack he’d taken from Sierra that had BAU written on the outside.

“My bag,” he said and took the chicken from her.

“What’s BAU?” She read the letters slowly without moving.

“The initials of my university.”

She turned away from the backpack toward him. “Maggie never mentioned where you went to college.” She waited for him to answer.

“It was a long time ago. Are we eating chicken or not?” He forced a smile that he hoped would stop her questions.

“We’re eating chicken.” She forgot all about her questions. Betsy removed a couple of plates from the cabinet then some glasses. She went to the fridge to pour tea and noticed the whiskey bottle on the cabinet. She sniffed her disapproval. “Liquor won’t fix a problem, Henry.”

Straight out of the pastor’s playbook.

“It fixes mine for a little while.” His tone was sharp. She was getting under his skin, and he had a beautiful girl downstairs he was anxious to get to know better.

“You don’t have to get testy.” She poured tea into glasses.

“I’m sorry. I just have my ways of dealing with grief, and I don’t need you telling me how to handle things.”

Her back stiffened. “It won’t happen again.”

Henry almost imagined his hands circling her neck. He’d want to make sure he faced her so that he could see her reaction as she died.

“Come on, Betsy. I’ll save the thighs for you.” Henry pulled the chicken and sides from the bag.

After a moment of pouting, she carried the tea over to the table.

Henry did the gentlemanly thing and pulled out her chair because she seemed to expect it.

“Thank you, Henry.” Betsy smiled over at him. “Shall we pray?”

Henry’s mouth pursed. Praying. What good did it do? “Why don’t you go ahead? I’m kinda all prayed out.”

She clasped his hand. “Dear Lord, you know Henry is a godly man. Please help him through these moments of grief and let him see that he has so much to look forward to in life. Amen.”

Henry bit into his chicken leg and chewed with vigor. It had been hours since he’d had a meal.

“Your hands are covered in dirt,” she exclaimed as if appalled. “Henry, go wash them.”

He looked her straight in the eye and took another bite.

Betsy gave one of her notable sighs before she properly cut into her chicken. “Have you figured out where you’re going on vacation?”

Henry wiped his mouth. “I’m thinking of Alaska.” He said it deliberately. He knew Betsy’s opinion of Alaska. The only man she’d ever dated had left her to work on a crab boat in Anchorage.

“Alaska.” The thought clearly repulsed her. “There’s nothing worth seeing in Alaska. Why don’t you go to Montana? It’s nice. My daddy took us there when I was a little girl. There were cowboys who rode right down Main Street in Bozeman. It was a sight to see.”

“Well, I’ve been to Montana and Bozeman. It’s not for me.” He tossed what was left of the chicken leg into the bag. “Now, I really hate to run you off, Betsy but I have pressing things waiting for me.” He held back his smile with difficulty.

“Henry, are you asking me to leave before I’ve even finished my thigh?”

He snatched the thigh from her hand and tossed it into the bag. “You can take it with you.”

She stumbled to her feet as he piled in the potato salad and pie.

“There you go.” He handed the bag to her and started for the door. “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t stop by without calling first.”

“Henry!”

He jerked the door open and waited.

With a loud harrumph, Betsy stormed from the house. Henry slammed the door behind her. Done. Done with being civil. Done with pretending he wasn’t exactly what he was. A monster.