D.D. nodded again, her gaze still on the carpet.

Alex moved. He crossed the space, placing his hand on her right shoulder. The motion jarred her left arm, but she willed herself not to wince.

“Our family, D.D.,” he said firmly. “We will handle this. Together. Side by side. Three good arms taking on the he/she/its of the world. Because this is what both of us do best.”

“I still can’t move my arm,” she whispered.

He didn’t talk anymore. He kissed her on top of the head. She closed her eyes and willed it to be enough.

Except it wasn’t.

A killer had walked through D.D.’s home. And she didn’t want her husband’s love or her squad’s protection.

She wanted revenge.

Chapter 15

I ENTERED THE SANCTUARY of my luxury high-rise condo building, oversize leather purse slung over my left shoulder, thoughts a million miles away as I considered my sister’s latest suicide attempt, not to mention my discussion with Detective Warren regarding my homicidal family tree. One family, two killers, an infamous legacy of death and destruction. And I heard my adoptive father’s voice once more in my head: Any family, but particularly your family, Adeline, has a gift for inflicting pain.

I wished I could talk to him now. I don’t think I ever appreciated how much his crisp, analytic presence anchored me. Then he died, and I became adrift, a well-adjusted aspiring psychiatrist suddenly visiting her older sister in prison. A successful young woman, suddenly hanging out at the airport, armed with a scalpel and a collection of slender glass vials.

The two recent murders. A killer obsessed with removing human skin. Did it mean anything? Could it mean anything?

I stepped into the elevator, thoughts still churning. The car rising. Myself, contemplating things I didn’t want to contemplate. The doors sliding open. Now telling myself I would not head straight for my walk-in closet, pry up the loose floorboards and check on my precious collection. Instead, I would take up yoga, pour a glass of wine, something, anything more befitting a woman of my education and success.

Finally arriving before my front door, still wanting what I knew I shouldn’t have.

As a shadow peeled away from the far wall and a man suddenly materialized before me.

“Dr. Adeline Glen?”

Reflexively, I grabbed my purse strap, stifled a gasp.

“How did you get up here?”

He smiled, but it was a grim expression on his face. “Judging by the news this morning, that’s about to be the least of your concerns.”

• • •

HE INTRODUCED HIMSELF as Charlie Sgarzi. The reporter who, according to Superintendent McKinnon, had been calling and writing to my sister for the past few months. He was also the cousin of Shana’s twelve-year-old victim, Donnie Johnson. Though interestingly enough, Sgarzi wasn’t volunteering that information to me.