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They did not have his face, so they could not find him.
He could walk the streets, ride in a cab, eat in a restaurant, cruise the clubs. No one would question him or point fingers or run to find a cop.
He had killed, and he was safe.
In its most basic sense, his life hadn’t changed. And still, he was afraid.
It had been an accident, of course. Nothing more than an unfortunate miscalculation caused by a perfectly understandable excess of enthusiasm. Actually, if one looked at the overall picture, it had been as much the woman’s fault as his.
More, really.
When he said as much, again, while gnawing viciously on his thumbnail, his companion sighed.
“Kevin, if you must pace and repeat yourself do it elsewhere. It’s very annoying.”
Kevin Morano, a tall, trim young man of twenty-two, threw himself down, drummed his well-manicured fingers on the buttery leather arm of a wingback chair. His face was unlined, his eyes a quiet, unremarkable blue, his hair a medium brown of medium length.
His looks were pleasant if ordinary, marred only by his tendency to sulk at the slightest hint of criticism.
He did so now as he watched his friend, his oldest and most constant companion. From that quarter, at least, he felt he deserved some sympathy and support.
“I think I have some cause to be concerned.” There was petulance in his voice, a whine for sympathy. “It all went to hell, Lucias.”
“Nonsense.” The word was more command than comment. Lucias Dunwood w
as used to commanding Kevin. It was, in his opinion, the only way they got anything done.
He continued to work on his calculations and measurements in the expansive laboratory he’d designed and equipped to suit both his needs and his wants. As always, he worked with confidence.
As a child he’d been considered a prodigy, a pretty boy with red curls and sparkling eyes with a stunning talent for math and science.
He’d been pampered, spoiled, educated, and praised.
The monster inside the child had been very sly, and very patient.
Like Kevin, he’d been raised in wealth and in privilege. They’d grown up almost like brothers. In a very real sense, as they’d been created in much the same way, for much the same purpose, they considered themselves even more than brothers.
From the beginning, even as infants, they had recognized each other. Had recognized what hid beneath those small, soft bodies.
They’d attended the same schools. Had competed academically, socially, throughout their lives. They fed each other, and found in each other the only one who understood that they were beyond the common and ordinary rules that governed society.
Kevin’s mother had birthed him, then turned him over to paid tenders so that she could pursue her own ambitions. Lucias’s mother had kept him close, and found in him her only ambition.
And both had been smothered with excesses, indulged in every whim, directed to excel, and taught to expect nothing less than everything.
Now they were men, Lucias was fond of saying, and could do as they pleased.
Neither worked for a living, nor needed to. They found the idea of contributing to a society they disdained laughable. In the town house they’d bought together, they’d created their own world, their own rules.
The primary rule was never, never to be bored.
Lucias turned to a monitor, scanning the various components and equations that rushed over the screen. Yes, he thought, yes. That was correct. That was perfect. And satisfied, he strolled over to the bar, a gleaming antique from the 1940s, and mixed a drink.
“Whiskey and soda,” he said. “That’ll set you right up.”
Kevin only waved a hand, sighed heavily.
“Don’t be tedious, Kev.”
