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When he walked in, she lifted her gaze, looking directly at him.
His eyes widened and she knew he was surprised.
“Hello, Zoe,” he said, taking a seat opposite her. He said it like they were work colleagues, not like he’d tried to murder her several nights ago.
“Hello, Peter. You look like you’re being taken care of,” she said.
He gave her a lazy smile. “You don’t look as good. I like your hair parted to the side. You look prettier like that.”
A shiver ran through her, but she suppressed it.
“Because your mom liked to wear her hair that way?” Zoe asked.
He shrugged. “She was beautiful, for sure. Insane, but beautiful.” He tilted his head. “I only ever loved two women in my life: my mother and Lana.”
“Yet you murdered both of them,” she said calmly, fighting with everything within her to keep her voice steady.
“Lana was going to leave me. That’s the thing about beautiful women—they use everyone around them,” he said, emotionless.
“You use women to make you feel powerful,” Zoe said, watching him carefully.
“Is that what you think?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, narrowing his eyes.
“I think you watch these women. I think you enjoy the anticipation of killing them more than the act of killing them. You enjoy the game,” she said.
He paused for a moment. “You’re very smart,” he said. “Lana said that about you.”
Zoe wanted to believe that her sister had spoken fondly of her, but these were words coming from the mouth of a killer—her killer.
“Why did you bring Lana to Redwater?” Zoe asked.
“My stepbrother was here. We came for a vacation; and then, as we walked through the woods, I knew what needed to happen.”
Zoe frowned. “But you’d already killed several women before Lana. Where were they?” she asked, keeping her eyes locked on his. He had yet to look away, and she knew this was just another game he was playing.
He leaned forward. “You tell me where you think they were. If you’re correct, I’ll tell you something you want to know.”
If she hadn’t already determined during her criminal profiling process that these were premeditated kills, she certainly knew now. Peter was enjoying this. He loved feeling superior, loved feeling smarter and more in control than anyone else.
But was he really an evil genius? That was a common myth about serial killers—most of them actually had average IQs. Zoe thought Peter was just plain evil.
“I want to play a different game,” Zoe said, taking back control of the conversation.
The corners of his lips turned up. “Okay, Zoe, what game do you want to play?”
“Word association,” she said.
He wet his lips. “Humor me.”
“Cat,” Zoe said, remembering the story Jonathan had told her in the car.
His eyes darkened. “Mother. My turn: Gus.”
Zoe’s heart raced, but she’d seen Gus this morning and he’d been alive and well. “Happy,” she said, and Peter smiled as if conceding.
“Blood,” she said.
“Art,” he responded. “Car accident.”
