The Inquisitor. Gayle Wilson

so.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “Is it him?”

      “What him?”

      The question was too harsh. He’d guarded them against everything he could possibly think of and still she’d somehow learned what had happened.

      “The man who killed Mama.”

      There was no way he could deal with this. Not from this distance. Not over the phone.

      “I don’t know.”

      “But you think so. That’s why you went down there, isn’t it?”

      “I thought I could help the cops.”

      “Because of what you know about Mama?”

      “That’s right.”

      His heart rate was beginning to slow. Maybe she’d known all along. Even at four, not much had gotten by her. And he had no idea what the social workers had told her before he’d gotten stateside. He’d never asked, and she hadn’t volunteered the information.

      “You promise that’s why you went.”

      “I promise.”

      There was no response. The silence stretched until he wondered if she’d hung up.

      “Princess? You okay?”

      “I’m okay. But…I really think that even if you haven’t finished helping them, you need to come home for Christmas. For Ryan’s sake. Tell them everything you know as soon as you can, okay?”

      “Just as soon as I can,” Sean promised. “Mind Maria, now. Tell her to give you a kiss for me.”

      “I will. I love you.”

      “I love you, too. Talk to you soon.”

      “Bye, Uncle Sean.”

      “Bye, sweetheart.”

      The line went dead before he was forced to tell another lie. He punched the off button on the cell and closed it to stick it back into his jacket pocket.

      Tell them everything you know as soon as you can….

      If only it were that simple. That clean. A collaborative effort between him and the local cops.

      He knew what was likely to happen instead. Despite the fact that the guy had murdered at least fourteen women, Sean would be arrested if he so much as touched him.

      Jenna Kincaid was his ace in the hole. No one could possibly object to his killing the bastard in order to protect a prospective victim. All he had to do was to wait until the Inquisitor made his move against the psychologist, as he was now convinced he would. Then he could avenge Makaela’s murder under the guise of preventing another one.

      There would be a couple of people on the national task force who would know what he’d done, but he could trust them to be pragmatic about the guy’s death. One less maniac on the loose. One less murderer to lose sleep over. And one less victim’s photograph to pin on their whiteboard.

      No one who had seen those pictures was going to come after the guy who’d put an end to this monster. Nobody involved in the manhunt was going to grieve for that bastard’s death. That was the one absolute certainty he had had going into this.

      It was the one he intended to cling to until this was over and he headed back to Michigan to buy a puppy for a little boy and to prove to a little girl that he still had never lied to her.

      Seven

      It was cold. It was dark. And it was beginning to rain.

      Jenna knew she was being ridiculous again, but the knowledge of how irrational this was didn’t stop her from pulling into the service station three blocks from her office, which offered a free car wash when you filled up your tank.

      She had planned to do exactly that, but when she pulled next to the pumps, she noticed a windshield squeegee and a roll of paper towels sitting in the middle of them. Nearby was a container of soapy water. With those, she could clean the writing off her car while her gas was pumping.

      That method also had the advantage of getting her home and out of the cold more quickly. Something that at this point weighed heavily in its favor.

      She stepped out of the car, her shoulders hunched against the assault of the wind and rain. She swiped her card and at the prompt lifted the nozzle. As she turned to stick it into her tank, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a black SUV pulling onto the service road she’d taken to get to the station.

      She watched as it drove by and into the lot of the upscale supermarket next door. The nozzle still in her hand, she continued to track its progress as the driver maneuvered the vehicle into a parking space. The taillights winked off. Although she waited, eyes straining at the distance, no one emerged from the car.

      Jenna started as a horn blasted at close range. Her eyes jumped from the car she’d been watching to the pickup that had pulled up behind her at the pumps. The driver rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

      “You gonna get gas or not, lady? I gotta pick up my kid at basketball practice.”

      In an unthinking response to that demand, she began once more to direct the nozzle she held toward the opening of her tank. As she did, the writing on the side of her car seemed to leap out at her.

      Help me. Sean Murphy’s idea of a practical joke? An attempt to make her believe the killer had sent her a message?

      It seemed to fit with all the rest. His contention that she’d been sympathetic to a murderer. His attempt to terrorize her by telling her she matched the victim profile. Even his mocking phone call last night.

      This had gone far enough, she decided. Too damn far.

      She turned, slamming the nozzle back into its niche on the body of the pump. She opened the car door and climbed behind the wheel. She started the engine and then maneuvered around the rear end of the car in the line in front of her.

      The man behind her yelled something through his open window, but his words were lost in the wind and growing distance between them. Her total concentration was on the SUV in the next lot.

      It was parked near the main entrance of the grocery store, where the shoppers who were coming in and out walked right by it. At this time of the evening, the place was crowded because of the deli-bakery this market was noted for. Since it was on her way home, she had often stopped here to pick up something for supper.

      In addition to the people coming in and out of the store, the lot was well-lit and patrolled by a security cart. If she was determined to confront Murphy, this was probably as safe a place as she could find. Undoubtedly safer than the deserted lot of her apartment complex last night.

      As she approached the SUV, she realized that the nearest open space was in the next row over and three or four slots down. Only when she’d pulled in and turned the key, killing the motor, did doubt about the wisdom of her actions resurface.

      Despite her initial assessment in her office that day, there was really no way to know if Murphy was dangerous. He was certainly out of line in following her. And if he had written those words on her car—

      Remembering the chill she’d felt when she’d seen them—obviously the effect he’d been trying for—she grabbed the keys from the ignition and climbed out. She hit the remote to lock the car and dropped the key ring into the pocket of her coat.

      As she walked toward the SUV, she expected him to peel out of the parking place in an attempt to avoid her. The vehicle didn’t move, however, not even when she crossed in front—clearly visible through the windshield—to get to the driver’s side.

      She glanced up long enough to verify that Sean Murphy was watching her approach. Before she could knock on the driver’s side window as she’d