Page 105 of The Devoted Game

McBride,

Your offer is touching. But I’m afraid nothing I could do to you would trump knowing how you will suffer as an innocent takes your punishment.

I am not a fool. I know that you cannot deliver Deirdre back to me. I will see that we are together soon. Our family will not remain torn apart.

And as for the other one, I found him lurking in Grace’s garage tonight. So you see, I’ve already gotten two for one.

A pleasant surprise that will provide an opportunity for a truly exciting finale. I’ll have to thank Ms. Goodman for sending Grace’s old friend, the other half of Nameless, an invitation. You’ll get an invitation as well, McBride, and when you do, you’ll understand exactly what you must do.

You are right, though. This is entirely your fault. You let Deirdre and me down, and you let Grace down ... too bad she trusted you.

You have two hours, starting now.

Fincher

Two hours.

Defeat sucked at Ryan.

“Nice try,” Pierce said before stepping back. “Let’s get the source of that feed triangulated,” he announced. “It’s coming from somewhere close by. There wasn’t enough of a time lapse between when Grace disappeared and now for Fincher to have gotten far. A twenty-or thirty-mile radius, tops. Pinpoint it so we can get this bastard. Time is short.”

Ryan got up slowly. No clues, an impossible deadline. This wasn’t going to be about finding her ... this was going to be about a fight to the death—live and uninterrupted. That video feed hadn’t been initiated for nothing. This sick son of a bitch had every intention of putting Grace in the room with that twisted piece of shit.

“Wait ...” Talley shook his head. “We’ve got ... the images are still now. No more live feed.”

Ryan rushed to Talley’s station and took a look at the screen where the two images remained frozen. “He knows we’ll try to triangulate his position,” Ryan said, hope funneling out of him. “He’s too smart to let that happen.”

Expecting any less was a strategic error. They wouldn’t have nailed this guy’s identity at all if he hadn’t written those fan letters back before he planned any of this. That he hadn’t considered the possibility thatthe letters would be found was testament to how far into the abyss of insanity he’d obviously gone.

Ryan walked out of the room. He needed to think. He couldn’t do it in here.

“Where’re you going, McBride?” Pierce shouted after him.

When he didn’t answer, Pierce double-timed to catch up with him. “I asked you a question.”

Ryan stopped, faced the persistent prick. “I’m going to the can. You want to join me?”

Pierce leveled a warning glare on him. “Don’t you leave this building. We’re going to need you. Grace is going to need you. You be back here in five.”

Ryan raised his hand as if he intended to salute but he gave him the finger instead. “I know what I have to do.” He left Pierce standing there with his mouth gaping and headed for the stairwell.

Taking the stairs as fast as he could, Ryan burst into the lobby and headed for the men’s room. Instead of lighting up as he went in the way he usually did, he stalked straight over to the counter and braced his hands there. He closed his eyes and took a moment to fend off the panic clawing at him.

When he could breathe normally again, he opened his eyes and stared at the man in the mirror.

He looked like hell. His clothes were wrinkled. A lack of sleep and his indifference to shaving had contributed to his overall rode-hard-and-hung-up-wet appearance. That Grace had wanted him at all was a miracle. One he didn’t deserve.

He was a burned-out has-been. A nobody who had tried to pretend to be someone again. And now Grace was going to pay for that lapse in reality.

He had to find a way to help her.

The shaking started deep inside him. He told himself it was the fact that he hadn’t had a drink in ... he couldn’t remember how long. Twenty-four hours? Forty-eight? But that was a lie. It wasn’t about thealcohol. He didn’t give a damn about the alcohol. He used it because it was easy. No one expected anything from you when you were nothing. The fastest way to give that impression was with alcohol.

He was afraid.

No, he wasn’t afraid. He was fucking terrified. Terrified that she would die and he couldn’t stop it.

He’d stopped believing in God a long time ago, about his fourth case, as he recalled. To his way of thinking, what kind of God would allow a person to do to children what some of the sick bastards he hunted down did? Just didn’t make sense.