She moved beneath the photo of father and son on the wall. Keeping his aim on her chest, he closed the blinds and the room darkened to late evening. The time of day did not matter to her body, though, with all her travels. She was exhausted and soon she would be dead. The fatigue excuse did not stop her from cursing herself for missing the obvious. Banks had played her during the interview on Grander just as he had played the five women he had fucked and killed. He picked up her gun and shoved it in his belt. He studied her in the poor light as if trying to read her mind.

“How did you find me? The truth.”

“You made a reference to ‘Mai Mai and the man’ and ‘The Tears of Rati’ on your tapes.”

“You went to India and China and found out who had ordered both books?”

“Yes.”

“You went by yourself?”

“No. My partner Charlie Fitzsimmons accompanied me. He expects a call from me any minute.”

“You lie. You’re a maverick. You’re Eowen. You rushed alone into battle in hope of a proud death.”

“As you said, it’s only a story.”

“But stories are our lives, Kelly. That’s how you found me. That’s how I figured you out. And I knew it was only a matter of time before you saw through me.”

“Why did you put the book orders under Grander’s name?”

“A precaution. A poor one.”

“What did you do with the women’s bodies?”

“Does it matter? I’m sorry, I don’t think we have time for a lengthy interrogation. But I understand your curiosity. You may ask one question you really care about.”

She paused. “Why?”

He must have expected it but the word deflated him. He sucked in a breath. A shudder went through his body, and he stumbled back and had to steady himself on the nearby wall. “It’s difficult to talk about,” he mumbled.

She aimed for sympathy. “You haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it?”

“No.” He blinked and in the dim light she lost the sense of his eyes. Or maybe she lost him altogether. Her terror in that moment was infinite. She was not going to psyche him into sanity. He was intelligent and methodical. He would kill her when it suited him. He straightened and came back a step. “Why do you care?” he asked.

“I want to understand you.”

“Tell me, what do they call me at Quantico?”

“The Acid Man.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Would you prefer another name?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He took another ragged breath. “Just before you reached for your gun, you made the connection between Juliet and Julie?”

“Yes.” How would he kill her? “What did she do to you?”