The terror widening her eyes sent a thrill through him, but there were preparations to make first. He crossed to the cabinet against the wall and opened it, finding the jar exactly where he’d left it. His fingers closed around the cool glass. Inside sat dozens of pennies, each one dated 1993.
That year mattered.
It was the year he’d rid himself of the woman who’d spent his childhood poisoning every corner of his life. Killing his mother had been the moment everything changed—the moment he’d stepped free of her ruin and claimed control of his own future.
Years later, fate had confirmed he’d done the right thing.
He could still picture that dingy motel room. The prostitute’s body sprawled across stained sheets. A lone penny glinting from the floorboards.
When he’d picked it up and seen the date, understanding had flooded him.
It was a sign. A message. Proof he’d found his purpose.
He’d placed that penny on her forehead before leaving and had been collecting them ever since, choosing only the brightest for each masterpiece.
Behind him, Grace’s voice trembled through the silence. “Please tell me why you’re doing this. If you’re going... going to kill me, I have a right to understand why.”
George went still.
Slowly, he turned.
Her face was streaked with tears, but there was something else there beneath the fear. Curiosity. Not the frantic demands he was used to hearing. Not hysterics.
She wanted to know. She wanted to understand.
That gave him pause.
None of the others had ever asked that way. They’d screamed and begged and demanded answers, but none had spoken to him with that strange softness, as if trying to reason with him.
He’d known from the moment he took her that she would be different. She wasn’t like the others who stumbled out of bars and clubs into his path. There was something quieter about her. Something almost thoughtful.
Still, she had chosen Sean Malone. That made her just as guilty.
Perhaps this once, though, he would indulge his victim. Perhaps he would let her hear the truth before she became his next work of art.
The idea pleased him.
Setting down the jar of pennies, he stuffed a silk scarf into his back pocket and picked up his knife. Then he took a slow step toward the table and smiled.
Sean’s tactical training kicked in the moment he turned onto Pelican Lane.
Instead of pulling into George Wallace’s driveway like an amateur announcing his arrival, he parked a house down and killed the engine. Brad’s sedan and a marked deputy’s cruiser slid in behind him. Doors flew open, and within seconds the group converged beside the Mustang, their faces grim beneath the setting sun.
Before Sean could issue orders, his phone rang.
Matt Griffin.
He answered at once. “What?”
“Judge Sellers says you have reasonable cause to search for Grace and nothing else. Don’t open anything or look where she can’t be hidden. For everything else, you wait for an official search warrant, or it’s inadmissible. Got it?”
Sean forced himself to breathe through the frustration clawing at him. Every instinct screamed to kick in the front door and tear the place apart until he found her. Following procedure grated on him when Grace was somewhere inside that house.
But if they found evidence the wrong way, Wallace could walk. And Sean refused to let that happen. “Yeah, got it.”
“I’m about five minutes out, but don’t wait for me.”
Sean disconnected and looked at the others. “Grace only. Everything else waits.”
