Page 78 of The Devoted Game

As he unlocked his door, he thought of the Stewarts to his right and the Barretts to his left. Both had small children. Little toddlers and even one still crawling around on the grass like a puppy. Many nights he had lain in his bed and considered stealing into one of those quiet homes and snatching the perfect snack. But his shelter, his work was here. Such an undisciplined act would only force him to relocate again. To change his name and start over.

He had done that far too many times already.

This time he would be extremely careful. The homeless, the elderly who lived alone, those would have to do. No one usually cared or put up much of a fuss over those victims. They were expendable.

Take one child, and the whole fucking world was after you.

Inside, he locked the door behind him and went in search of food. If nothing else, he would gorge with chocolate. It wasn’t nearly so good as soft, warm flesh, but it would have to do for tonight.

He clicked the remote to catch the news. He had been taught to always remain aware of the goings-on around him. Vigilance was essential.

The words and images on the screen captured his attention immediately, prompting him to unmute the sound.

“... was identified as the final victim. The former Ms. Taylor is now a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She changed hername nine years ago, after surviving the most brutal serial rapist-murderer of the last century, Nameless.”

He dropped the box of chocolates and walked across the room, didn’t stop until his nose was no more than an inch from the screen.

“Agent Vivian Grace is assigned to the Birmingham, Alabama, field office and ...”

The words died away as the image ... long silky hair ... huge brown eyes ... and those lips ... perfect, lush ... appeared on the screen.

It was her . . .

Number Thirteen.

Hatred coiled inside him. She had killed the other part of him ... his heart ... his soulmate.

Had she been that close all along?

He touched the face on the screen ... traced those unusual, puffy lips.

“I’ve been watching for you, Number Thirteen ... and now I know exactly where you are.”

Twenty-Two

Birmingham, Alabama, 10:20 p.m.

“Isn’t she lovely, Deirdre?”

Oh yes, very lovely.

Martin smiled at his beloved wife as she watched the final few minutes of the ten o’clock news. The part about Agent Grace was so hard to hear. Poor girl. The thought that all those years ago she had been mistreated so badly by that vile creature infuriated both of them. There was a special place in Hell for such evil.

McBride should have been on her case. He would have stopped that horror long before twelve women were brutally murdered, their bodies ravaged. Martin shuddered. He would look into this Nameless business. The report said he was dead, but Martin’s curiosity was stirred now. He would learn all there was to know. That was his way. It was Deirdre’s way as well. Perhaps there would be something he could do for Agent Grace. He did so love helping those who helped others. Especially the heroes, and Agent Grace was swiftly joining those ranks.

“What’s that, dear?”

McBride could have saved her.

Martin nodded. “You’re so right. If Agent McBride had been in charge of that case, he would have stopped that nonsense before that sweet girl was harmed.”

McBride likes her.

Martin chuckled. “I agree. I think he likes her too.”

A good couple.

Martin patted his wife’s hand. “Yes, that’s true. McBride needs someone in his life.” He smiled at the woman he had loved since high school, over forty years now. “The way we have each other.”