His gaze slanted away, as if this wasn’t what he’d meant and he was trying to reword it. After another drag, he looked at me.

“You okay?”

“Me? Sure. Not having second thoughts about getting involved, if that’s what you mean.”

A small shake of his head, coupled with a look that said he’d never make that mistake. A third drag, then he passed the cigarette to me. He let me inhale, exhale, and waved it off when I offered it back.

“Might not get him,” he said, voice low, though no one was around. “Gonna try. Sure as hell gonna try. But…might not.”

“Like Quinn and I said, we don’t care who does the take-down, us or the Feds. Yes, I’d rather be the one…” I paused. “You mean—This is about that talk outside the motel—Quinn and I going on about getting this guy, making our victory celebration plans.” I felt my gaze harden. Blinked it away. “You’re worried that I’ll get cocky. Overexcited. Overeager. That I’ll screw up.”

“’Course not. You’re a pro—”

“Quinn and I were just blowing off steam, okay? Some of us need to do that. And, yes, I suppose showing it is unprofessional—”

“I never said—”

“I know we might not get this guy tonight. I know maybe no one will. And I know that if we stand a hope in hell of success, it’s going to take calm, controlled, focused effort. There’s no room for grandstanding, for cowboy bullshit—”

“That’s not—”

“I’m ready, okay? If you think I’m not, then just say so, and I’ll walk away now.”

He looked out over the road and, for one long minute, I was certain he was going to call me on that, tell me to walk away. Could I do it? My heart hammered at the thought, fingers trembling around the cigarette.

“Line’s going down,” he said, waving at the crowd. “Better get inside.”

As we climbed the steps to the new opera house, we were caught in a stream of high-school students—a band or music class—led by a woman talking excitedly about the production to come. I knew why the police hadn’t issued a warning and yet…well, I couldn’t shake the urge to grab that teacher and tell her to get the kids out of here, get as far away as they could.

The truth was, as cruel as it seemed by not letting people know of the threat, the police were doing their best to end that threat…for everyone else. This was their first chance—an excellent chance—of catching the Helter Skelter killer.

If they’d refused to play along and canceled the show, any criminal psychologist could predict the killer’s next move. Ruin his game, and he’d do something worse, as payback. Here, they could monitor every variable and ensure the guests’ safety.