Page 15 of The Grave Artist (Sanchez & Heron #2)

Well, they had moved fast.

Looking in his rearview mirror as he sped away from the hilltop where he’d been taking photos, Damon noted a squad car skid to a stop about a block and a half behind him.

A roadblock, looking for him, of course.

They had arbitrarily picked a mile from Cedar Hills for their perimeter, thinking they’d been fast enough to trap him.

Mistake, obviously.

But it was a calculated decision, a reasonable one. Adding to his understanding that they—the Latina and her bearded partner—were smart, and they were formidable.

And needed to be stopped.

He drove a few miles to his car-storage garage and swapped out the Mercedes for another set of wheels, an “invisible” Honda. The adjective referring to the fact that there had to be a million of them in this silver shade on the streets of LA. Nobody paid a lick of attention to Accords.

His next stop was a flea market in East Hollywood.

It was a permanent one, not just set up for weekends.

This was where he bought many of the things he used in his work that could never be traced back to him.

The market also was camera-free. There, he bought a used hunting knife with a wickedly sharp blade.

Then, reflecting, he bought a second one, deciding he might have to discard the first one after he had used it, and there might be additional people to cut.

He returned to his car.

His MO for Serial Killing 2.0 was blunt object and drowning, meant to give the appearance of accidental death.

But now the truth was known, since the police were involved: the death at the Brock wedding was murder and perhaps they had tipped to the ones in Italy as well.

Which meant subtlety was out the window.

Leisurely deaths from rock and water were out. It was time for blood.