He put on a pair of hiking boots, grabbed a Maglite from the shelf in the pantry. Flicked it on to make sure the batteries were strong. The beam of light shone bright as day. Of course it did. Sutton would never let the batteries die.

He glanced out the front window. The media scrum was gone for the moment, all finished with their nonexistent story and off to dreamland. The cops weren’t taking him that seriously.

He put his mobile on the counter. Why have him leave the phone? That was a bizarre request.

All the while, his brain screamed, Don’t do this, call the bloody police, let them know. And his ego said, You can handle this. Be a man, for once. Stand up for her. Stand up for your wife. Get him in your sights and you can force him to tell you what he knows.

He enjoyed the sense of blood rising, the anger—scratch that—the rage building inside him. He felt alive. He felt strong. He felt dangerous.

He was going to teach Colin Wilde a lesson. It was time.

A Corrosive Beast

A CORROSIVE BEAST

Blackmail.

It is such a simple, easy act. Find someone’s weak spot, put them in a compromising position, get proof that can be used against them, and launch the attack.

I am an expert at this. I don’t employ the tactic often, but when I do, there are serious consequences. Real people get hurt. Which is what I like the best.

People panic when you threaten all they hold dear. I have absolutely no doubt Ethan will follow suit. He will listen to my instructions to the letter. When things don’t go the way he expects, he’ll scurry to call the pretty little towheaded cop, and then I won’t have any excuse to hold back.

The cop is catching up, I will give her that. Ethan is acting as predictably as always: panicking, freaking out, shutting down, worrying. Inebriated and sloppy. He’s so banal, I simply don’t know what anyone sees in him. He is almost too dull to play with. Almost.

But the cop. The cop is interesting. She’s an acquired taste. Blunt. Very blunt. There’s no elegance to her, no finesse. That will be learned as she grows into a real investigator. Right now she’s easily led, a perfectly manipulatable puppet who can be shunted off in any direction I please. A bumper car. She’s a bumper car, fumbling through all the information provided, trying to stay upright. Trying to keep her head above water.

There’s an image. The sweet towheaded cop, water lapping at her sharp collarbones, the naked, pink flesh getting crepey and wrinkled from the soaking wetness. Dipped in silver wet and slippery green algae. The water rising higher and higher as the shadows deepen...

Sorry, we shouldn’t go there. Not just yet.

Smash cut to Sutton Montclair.