Page 126 of The Grave Artist

“‘Looking for.’ Think she has more in mind than that. But the simple answer is yes.”

“You really kill people on their wedding night?”

“Around then.”

“And what are you doing here? What do you have to do with this?”

He spun and looked down. “Because if I gut you like a little fish, your sister will be all, oh, fuck, what’s he done to Selina?”

She gasped.

“That answer your question? Now. Move.”

He took her arm.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Fine.” He hadn’t particularly wanted to.

Outside, as they walked to his Mercedes, she said, “I have to pee.”

“And you couldn’t have said anything in the house?”

“I had a gun pointed at me. I wasn’t thinking too clearly.”

He sighed. “There.” He pointed to the edge of the driveway and unzipped her jeans, leaving it for her to tug them down.

“Go away.”

“No.”

She muttered something under her breath.

He stayed close. The same way Miss Spalding had stayed close when she’d had him pee in the bushes at the playground, rather than go into the public city restrooms (“You never know who’ll be in there”).

Damon did, however, look away from the girl as she squatted. Maddie Willis’s body was the only one he desired.

And he was counting the minutes until he would experience it once more.

Selina got to her feet. “I have to wipe. I need a Kleenex or something.”

“No.”

“You’re disgusting.” She struggled to tug her pants up, the maneuver taking an inordinate amount of time with her bound hands.

He sighed and pulled them the rest of the way up, then zipped them. Not because he cared about her modesty, but because he wanted to get on the road. He led her to his car, helped her into the passenger seat and taped her hands to the armrest.

“You don’t need to do that.”

He’d seen her flinty eyes—and he remembered the articles about her gymnastics, photos of her body in the close-fitting leotards. The muscles. “Yes, I do.” He got behind the wheel and started the engine, then drove down the long switchback to the highway.

She sat back sullenly and stared out the window at the desert-tinged landscape as they sped south.

Damon was suddenly aware of something. Selina wasn’t curious why he hadn’t blindfolded her.

The implication, of course, was that by keeping her eyes uncovered he didn’t care that she saw their final destination.

And if that were the case, another conclusion was obvious: that she wouldn’t live long enough to tell anyone where she’d been held captive.