Page 98 of The Grave Artist

She was fascinating and unique. A part of her was wild and uninhibited. Her beauty, her decisiveness, her intensity ... Everythingabout her pushed him to share the truth about himself. About his brilliant creation.

Ah, but the impulse control told him no. Not yet.

He needed to know more. He had to know more. He’d seen the surface.

What was beneath?

She had returned to the Hopper. He joined her, standing close. “So. Your story?”

“My story?”

“In the space of two hours, we’ve advanced from near murder to fine art. I’d like to know a little bit about the person I’ve shared that experience with.”

“Not unreasonable.”

She turned those electric-blue eyes on him and for a moment he had absolutely no idea what was going on in her mind behind them.

It was disconcerting, true.

But Damon Garr was not overly concerned.

If worse came to worst, and her dark side erupted again, well,hewas the one with the imported razor blades in his pocket.

Chapter 47

“Well, at least we’ll go down together,” Carmen said as she put down her cola.

She sat across from Heron at a corner table in a small diner a few blocks from HSI’s Long Beach headquarters. They had agreed to have a private meeting to discuss their next steps. It had taken them less than three minutes to decide not to follow the deputy director’s absurd orders.

“The dynamic duo,” Heron said, touching the rim of his cup to hers in a mock toast. “Or maybe Thelma and Louise—this could go either way.”

Since HK had started his macabre spree, the two had eaten next to nothing, and presently were working on a BLT, in her case, and tuna salad in his. Heron was sticking with coffee. She supposed the cola wasn’t good for her, but try telling that to a person who wears a semiautomatic pistol on her hip and, occasionally, uses it to defend herself.

“I just hope whatever charges of insubordination we face won’t blow back on Williamson,” she said. “Reynolds is out for blood.”

“I figure we have maybe a day before he catches on,” he said. “Let’s make good use of our time. So. HK. What do we know about him? Other than that?”

He was pointing to his tablet, on which the murder board was visible. She noticed his eyes lingering on a box in the lower-right-hand corner. It was devoted to the attack on Frank Tandy.

“You go first,” she said, aware his mind worked differently than hers and interested in hearing his current theory. “Let’s add to the profile.”

“I’d say right-handed, with an extremely high IQ. He has some money but he’s also successfully self-employed, works out regularly, is short tempered but struggles to control it.”

“How the hell would you know all that?”

“I study intruders for a living. And that describes HK to a T.”

“Explain.” She started with something provable. “How would you know he’s right-handed? I looked at the knife marks in Frank’s jacket. You couldn’t tell from that. Equal number right or left.”

“But the footprints. He was slightly to the left of Frank’s back.”

“Ah. Good.” She was impressed but annoyed she hadn’t tipped to it too—and that he hadn’t shared this previously. “And the high IQ?”

Heron shrugged. “His plans are meticulous. We only know of three people he’s killed, but there could be plenty more. He’s figured out how to pass murders off as accidents. It’s hard to fool detectives and medical examiners with all the forensic capabilities they have. That’s also why I think he tries to control his compulsions.”

“You believe something drives him to kill, but he puts a lid on it.”

“Yep.”