Except now, he couldn’t escape. Cade Kaiser lay in the hospital bed, cuffed to the side rails. Machines beeped quietly as the man’s chest rose and fell.

He was still alive. But barely, according to Dani Novak.

“Hello,” Grant said softly.

Kaiser’s eyes opened, but they weren’t sharp. He was probably on some heavy painkillers. Too bad. Grant wanted him to suffer. This man had been responsible for hurting so many people. Though he had tried to protect John Brewer’s stepson, Joshua.

Then tried to kill the other stepson, Michael. Kaiser was insane.

“Go to hell, Father,” Kaiser rasped.

Well, then, Grant thought. Gloves are off. The man wasn’t going to simply confess. “Maybe I will,” he said, abandoning his priest persona. “If I do, I’m sure to see you there.”

Kaiser blinked slowly. Then laughed, a broken, rusty sound. “We can get a beer. Maybe a few hookers.”

Grant pulled up the chair beside Kaiser’s bed and leaned in close. “Maybe the beer. I’m married.”

“Then you’re a . . .” Kaiser drew a labored breath. “Shitty priest.” But then something flickered in his eyes and he blanched, pressing his head into the thin pillow. “Fucking hell,” he whispered.

Grant studied the man, who looked like he’d seen a ghost. And maybe he had. Because he killed my brother. “Something wrong, Mr. Kaiser?”

Kaiser squinted, then shook his head. “Thought you looked . . . familiar.”

“I have that kind of face. Just one of the crowd.”

Kaiser swallowed hard. “Why . . . are you here?”

I’m not sure. “I wanted to meet you.” True enough. “I wanted to find out why.” Truer still. “Maybe I wanted to get your autograph,” he added.

Kaiser looked at him, clearly uncertain. “You’re crazy.”

“Probably.” He made a split-second decision, one of so many since Wesley’s partner had visited his office. “I’m a writer. I’ve interviewed a lot of killers. I like to know why. But you’re different. You killed to protect people.”

“You’re a cop,” Kaiser said flatly. “You’re trying to . . . trick me.”

“No, I’m not a cop. I promise you that.” Grant leaned a little closer. “You’re going to die, Mr. Kaiser. It’s just a matter of time. It might be here. Or it might be in prison. If you do survive, you’re standing trial for a lot of murders.”

Kaiser’s lip curled. “Fuck off, Father.”

“You will stand trial,” Grant continued as if Kaiser hadn’t spoken. “Wouldn’t you like the jury to know why you killed all those people? And if you do die, don’t you want to be remembered for the good you did?”

Kaiser’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ll be tried in a courtroom, but if the public knows the real you, you might even get a humanitarian award. John Brewer was trash. Killing him was a public service.”