Page 33 of The Grave Artist (Sanchez & Heron #2)

Quite the place, Damon Garr was thinking, as he hunkered down in the bushes and watched the couple on the shadowy deck of the honeymoon suite, standing close, sipping the nighty-night champagne.

Floating islands . . .

Amazing.

It was like the place Felicia had chosen for their wedding venue. Lush, secluded.

Unique.

The thought came to him without sorrow or regret. He’d mourned her death and emerged a better man for it. Truer to himself. Had they gotten married, Serial Killing 2.0 might never have been born.

Funny how fate took over sometimes.

He eyed the villa and the honeymooners once more, recalling his earlier assessment: convenient yet challenging.

Convenient because the room was surrounded by water and would not require any stretch of effort for one of the two to fall in and drown.

Challenging for exactly the same reason: the villa was surrounded by water.

How would he get there, how would he engineer the death? He had spent some hours speculating.

The solution he’d come up with was tricky, but he believed it would work.

After the couple had retired to their room and the shuttle boat had returned to the lodge, he had taken one of the small utility vessels—from the dock right in front of him now—and glided over the water to the suite.

There he’d left a basket containing a bottle of champagne and box of chocolates, both of which were spiked with propofol, enough to put an adult asleep in ten minutes after a single glass or several bites of candy.

He’d then headed back to where he now crouched on the secluded grounds.

The couple would indulge, then pass out. He then would return and use the maintenance key he’d stolen earlier to get inside. After that, he’d remove the candy and wine and leave an envelope of propofol caps on the bed—recreational drugs brought by the happy couple themselves for the happy night.

And he would then drag the bride outside and ease her into the water—the coin toss had decided that she would be the victim.

He’d remain long enough to make sure she was dead before boating back to the dock.

Mission accomplished.

The original plan called for them to be inside. But now they were conveniently standing right near the handy dock. He could easily see that they’d succumbed to the drugs.

He watched the couple closely.

Sipping the champagne.

Getting drowsy.

Good.

It was time to get ready for the next step.