Harv cut in. “As far as we know, Nathan’s the only person on Earth to survive a Montez interrogation. If Montez finds out Nathan’s alive, we might as well paint a target on his forehead. We’re trying to keep our involvement under wraps for as long as possible.”

“Understood. I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

Nathan let Harv continue. His thoughts were elsewhere.

“You’re a proven asset,” Harv said. “We definitely want you on our team.”

“Can you tell me anything about your past? What you guys used to do?”

“We were a Marine scout sniper team, then CIA operations officers. That’s about all we can say. Sorry.”

“I can live with that.”

“Holly said you have a master’s degree in forensics?”

“Criminal science with an emphasis on forensics.”

“You’ve already seen Kramer’s body?”

She nodded.

“What did you think?”

“Well, at that time I didn’t know a professional interrogator had killed Kramer. It looked like some sort of ritual killing, but I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Now that I know a bit more about the suspect, I’d have to say there’s a savageness to the injuries that goes beyond what an interrogator would inflict strictly to extract information. Either way, I suppose my best guess remains the same. Montez is a severely twisted individual, bordering on psychopathic.”

“He’s all that, and more,” Harv said.

The onboard nav took them east, through downtown toward the mountains. The pleasant female voice issued turn-by-turn directions and deposited them into a large complex of medical buildings and offices. He could still call this off, but each passing minute made the decision more difficult.

She parked, cut the engine, and pivoted to face Nathan. “It’s not too late.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Inside the brick building, Grangeland flashed her FBI badge to the receptionist, who made a call and said Dr. Salk would be right with them.

Nathan took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. He relaxed his hands and focused on Grangeland. She offered a reassuring smile. Harv seemed equally nervous, but was much better at concealing it.

A man in a gray business suit stepped out of a door and extended his hand to Grangeland first. Not unexpected. They’d already met.

“Thank you for seeing us,” she said. “This is Nathan McBride and Harvey Fontana.”

“I’m Dr. Jonas Salk, no relation.” No doubt he said that to everyone. In his mid-fifties, Salk had thinning hair that looked a shade too dark. “I’m the chief medical examiner.”

Dr. Salk looked over the top of his black-rimmed glasses, obviously fascinated by the scars. Nathan was sorely tempted to lean in close and turn his head from side to side so Salk could “examine” the damage in all its glory. “Doctor,” he said, and shook hands.

Salk recovered his composure. “Would you… ah… like a brief tour first?”