It was his great honor to be chosen for his task, to feel the weight of a hidden knife on his body. Of all the thirteen kills, he was tasked to carry out the most blissfully intimate one. There was a reason it was called a crime of passion. He stood out among all others as the right disciple for this job. For the beginning. What could be a bigger compliment than to be the first? To be gifted this divine cause?

He watched as the red-head greeted her guests, all there to mark the last year of her life.

It was his time now, it was his moment, to feel close to her, to feel her, to feel her being, her soul, her passion, her lust, her life.

He felt his heart beat faster and faster; his breathing became more labored, more ragged. He tried to calm himself, to take another sip of wine and to relax. He needed to be calm, he needed to be focused, and he needed to be sure.

John felt the blade where it lay against his body, comfortable, but alert.

It was time.

Pearl excused herself. She had just gotten home, after all, she needed a moment to freshen up. John's eyes followed her ascent up the stairs. There was his chance.

He felt the blade, imagining what it would be like when he finally got to use it on her.

He couldn't help but smile. He saw his opportunity. One of the sirens, one of Pearl's co-workers was talking to him, but he was no longer paying her attention.

He looked to the staircase and saw her, a silhouette looking down on him. He saw her and he wanted her.

He had to wait a while longer, sipping his wine and nodding, pretending to listen to the woman. He was ready, the time was upon him.

John did not fear retribution. He only sought the thrill of the kill.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ruby hated feeling that she had already caught the man responsible. Her gut instinct pulled her toward a killer who was already behind bars, somehow, impossibly, pulling the strings from maximum security prison.

The walls of FBI headquarters were starting to feel like their own prison. Ruby poured over the first victim's details for what felt like the hundredth time. What she hadn’t truly done was let her suspicions guide her, color her investigation.

“Twenty-six,” she mumbled to herself, the number clicking in her subconscious before it truly registered.

“What was that?” Gabe asked, looking up from the second victim’s file. If Ruby had to guess, she would bet that Gabe ranked research right under consoling family members in the list of things he wished weren’t part of the job description.