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“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Kat told her. “There’s no way you could have known what you were dealing with.”
Dr. Poole nodded, though she didn't seem convinced. Suddenly, her eyes lit up.
“Wait. I do remember one thing: he asked me where he could buy bags to ice his leg. He didn’t specifically say around here but that’s what I assumed he meant, otherwise why ask?”
“Where did you tell him?” Kat asked.
“I mentioned a pharmacy down the block that has Ziploc bags that would work great. I told him they have bagged ice too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stopped in there.”
“Thank you,” Kat said. “We’ll get out of your way now.”
“Not so fast,” Dr. Poole said, pointing behind her.
Kat looked around to find Harvey limping in their direction, a scowl plastered across his face.
“Do you have a restroom I can use?” she asked. “I feel like this is a conversation that Gila can handle on her own.”
Poole pointed to the corner of the room, and Kat started in that direction. Behind her, Gila called out "coward!"
Kat kept walking without looking back, though she did offer an unapologetic shrug. After all, she wasn’t the one who had kicked Harvey’s ass.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Mark Haddonfield was tired of being cooped up.
Other than a brief trip to an underground clinic, followed by a subsequent stopover at a nearby pharmacy, his only visits outside his cheap weekly rental studio apartment in the last five days were to the local bodega for essential groceries, and he tried to keep even those to a minimum for his own protection.
He didn’t have much choice. As soon as his identity as the Clone Killer was revealed last Friday, he immediately became the most wanted man in Los Angeles. The only thing preventing every law enforcement agency in the city from giving the search for him their full attention was the hunt for the most wantedwomanin L.A.—Ash Pierce. Apparently, the FBI was more focused on her than him.
Mark might have resented her stealing his spotlight if not for the fact that she seemed to share the same goal as him: to destroy everything that mattered most to Jessie Hunt. He could respect that.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Pierce was holed up in a place similar to this. Was her temporary home the size of a small bedroom? Was her kitchen comprised of a sad little microwave/mini-fridge combo and a hot pot, as his was? Did she have to share two toilets and one shower with nineteen other units on the floor? Was her bed essentially a mattress raised three inches off the floor by a rickety frame?
As spartan as his accommodations were, Mark knew he was lucky to have them. He’d left his university apartment mere hours before the authorities breached it. Had he not listened to his guardian angel, he surely would have been caught.
That angel, strangely enough, was Jessie Hunt. She was the one who warned him that the discovery of his identity was likely imminent, especially after he’d tried to attack Hannah Dorsey and got his knee smashed for his efforts. Jessie was the one who had instructed him to get going and move into his backup space, this unremarkable studio apartment at the edge of Skid Row, which was populated by drug addicts, criminals, and just about anyone who was holding onto life by the fingernails.
It was the perfect place to go unnoticed, where he could pay cash for everything, keep his head down, and not get a second look from anyone passing by. He still made sure to wear disguises on the rare occasions he did leave the apartment, just in case. But scarcely a single person had made eye contact with him since he’d gotten here. Even the doctor who evaluated his knee yesterday hardly looked at him when she asked her questions.
“Don’t get cocky,” Jessie cautioned him, her tone even more biting than usual.
“I’m not,” he insisted. “I’m taking every precaution. But it’s like I don’t even exist around here, just as we hoped.”
“All it takes is one person, you sniveling little loser,” Jessie spat. “I can’t help you if you don’t listen to me.”
He was overcome with righteous indignation.
“If you had helped me back in school, none of this would even be necessary,” Mark shot back, knowing he sounded whiny and pathetic.
“This again?” Jessie replied, rolling her eyes. “Haven’t you played the victim long enough? I thought all these kills were about taking charge, about showing me who’s boss. But you just can’t let go of how I ‘wronged’ you, can you? We’re supposed to be past that, stupid.”
Mark pretended not to be stung by her words as he responded.
“I’m just saying that I transferred colleges—hell, I changed cities—to be in your classroom, to study what you know, to learn from you. But you made no effort to appreciate me. You could have helped me get into your seminar. Then, you would have seen what I was capable of. I could have become your protégé. We could be working on cases together right now. But because of your disinterest and your cruelty, everything fell apart for me. I got kicked out of school and became a pariah. I had to get payback. You gave me no choice!"
Jessie smiled nastily at him.
“And yet, despite everything, here you are, in this sad hovel, afraid to step outside. Sure, you murdered a few people. But I’m still alive and well. My tasty little treat of a sister, the one you can’t stop dreaming about at night, left you lame after you tried to get with her. I don’t see any wedding bells in your future. And while you limp around, she’s out there living her life, spending time with a boy she actually likes. You’re so pathetic.”
