“I can’t. Rare genetic immunity to pain, remember? Means engaging in dangerous activities, even for training, could lead to harmful results. I can’t fight, shoot or run. You could assign me an officer. But as strange as it sounds, I’d prefer my sister. Police only practice going on the offense. Whereas, Shana has it down to a science.”

D.D. rolled her eyes. “You seriously want us to furlough your sister? You understand, of course, that she’s probably going to do more than borrow your favorite clothes?”

Adeline moved toward the doorway. “Just because my sister’s offer is highly aggressive and extremely violent doesn’t mean it’s not worth considering. You have to admit, it’s the last thing the Rose Killer would see coming.”

“Unless, of course,” Phil offered up quietly, “it’s exactly what the murderer’s been working toward all along.”

Chapter 26

Who am I? Excited new tenant, friendly new neighbor.

What do I look like? Nice, educated, professional. I might ask to borrow a cup of sugar, but I would never contemplate the texture of your skin and how it might look floating in a mason jar.

Primary motivation: Just so happy to meet you.

Purpose of operation: Up the ante, heighten tensions, twist the screws.

Net gain: All good things must end.

Happy New Neighbor was struggling. The clothes were right. Recently purchased from Goodwill, which in a city like Boston carried as many designer labels as Saks. Tailored, professional, but subdued. A disguise, like the others, designed to form an impression of a person, while leaving the actual details hazy. How did the person look? Nice. What do you mean nice? I don’t know. Nice.

The clothes were right. Next up came posture and gait. More time spent practicing in front of the mirror. Not slouchy, but comfortable and confident. Shoulders rolled back, limbs loose. It was harder to do than it looked. It meant controlling the adrenaline rush, not leaning too far forward, not giving in to the constant hum of now, now, now, I gotta do, do, do.

But once again, practice made perfect.

Clothes were right. Body language acceptable.

Yet still. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, running through it again and again, Happy New Neighbor wasn’t . . . happy.

Killing her had been hard.