Montoya flashed his knowing smile. “Because of our boy Father John?”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it,” Montoya said, walking into the small office and hooking one knee over the corner of Bentz’s desk. “That bad-ass is under your skin.”

“The one that got away,” Bentz said, nodding. The thought still ate at him, but no longer to the point that he needed to down a beer as he stared at the arrogant bastard on the prison’s tape. So far Bentz hadn’t repeated his slipup with alcohol, didn’t intend to again.

Montoya pointed out, “The bastard’s been quiet for a few months now and it was years between his killings.”

That much was true. After the murder of the nun in the prison and the prostitute in her apartment, Father John had seemed to stop his bizarre murders. Inexplicably he’d ceased. Again. Why? Didn’t make sense. Also, though he’d once been an obsessed stalker of Dr. Sam and her radio show, he hadn’t called in, hadn’t taunted her. But of course, he could still be listening. From some dark lair.

This time, the killer was being coy. Careful. Why come back and flaunt the fact that he’d survived by killing the nun and prostitute only to disappear again?

Didn’t make sense.

“Maybe the son of a bitch is dead. You know the prostitute could have been killed by a copycat. That’s the way the department would like to spin it,” Montoya said. “To avoid another panic by the public if they thought Father John was stalking the streets of New Orleans again.”

Bentz reached over, clicked his mouse to his computer and the darkened screen illuminated, freeze-framed on the smiling, nearly gloating image of Father John looking up at the camera right after killing the nun. “The department’s spinning it in the wrong direction.” He pointed at the image. “You and I, we know, this guy, he’s the real deal.”

“Or maybe a twin.” Montoya’s dark eyes flashed.

“Don’t even joke about it.”

Montoya gave a quick nod. “A major bad dude.”

“One I have to catch.”

“We,” Montoya corrected, though they both knew it was Bentz whose shot had missed its mark in the bayou all those years before. “We.”

“Okay. We.”

Montoya’s grin grew wide and wicked as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his signature shades. “We’ll get the bastard.”

“Promise?”

“You got it.” He slid his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. “The bastard doesn’t stand a chance.”

Chuckling, Bentz slipped his badge back into its case. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s almost Halloween and that means the baby’s birthday party, so I’ve got major dad duties to perform.”

“And you love it.”

“Yeah.” No reason to lie. “I do.”