An itch formed between Eban’s shoulder blades and suddenly he couldn’t shake the sensation someone was watching him. He slowly looked around but couldn’t see anyone staring. The killer was here. Eban could feel them.

* * *

I stamped my new boots on the cold pavement and burrowed deeper into a thick coat and scarf. Like everyone else, I wore a warm hat as I endeavored not to die of exposure.

It was a risk being here, but a calculated one.

Cops dotted the edge of the crowd. Slow, stupid assholes. They thought they were so tough and so clever, strutting about like peacocks in their uniforms and bulletproof vests. They were nothing but limp dicks with loaded weapons.

I slid my fingers around the knife in my pocket. Where was the best place to slide the blade in order to kill one of them? Probably in the back, point angled upward an inch above the equipment belt and below the vest. Drive the blade in hard and then twist, destroying a kidney in the process.

I looked around the huddled mass of people. Could I get away with killing one of them here, in a crowd? The idea had excitement shimmering through me.

The wind blew hard, making my eyes water until I turned my face away.

No.

It was too big a risk. I didn’t take risks. That was what got others arrested, but not me.

I glanced at the framed photograph of Adele. She’d caused me more issues than I’d expected but it had been an exciting surprise that she’d fought so fiercely to cling to life.

While I didn’t do it for fun, I did enjoy watching the life leach out of the eyes of the people I killed. Nothing quite topped that feeling of power. Not even sex could beat that rush.

I scanned the crowd, cataloging faces. Who was in mourning? Who was weeping at her loss?

My attention hooked on one man who wandered through the crowd as if looking for someone. A shiver worked its way down my spine. The FBI agent. Obviously working undercover.

He was looking for me, I realized with a jolt that went all the way through my new boots into the pavement below.

Was he here because of his past with Darby, or was he here because the FBI were onto me?

I frowned and lowered my head as if in prayer. I assumed someone would be filming this frostbite-inducing vigil and did not allow myself to give any outward sign of agitation. I could wipe away a tear with the best of them, especially in this windchill.

The Special Agent was dressed for an Alaskan winter. Black jacket, gray stocking cap, dark scruff that suited the brooding quality of his eyes.

My exhale formed frost on my scarf and I used the excuse to burrow deeper into my collar.

The guy could probably outrun me in a footrace which was a little worrying when I was standing so close.