She hadn’t even noticed that Warren was right beside her, and he held McNamara down as Tara sat herself up and cuffed him.

He thrashed about wildly, cussing at Tara. When done, Warren pulled him onto his feet and Tara stood up, steadying her breathing. Warren glanced at her, checking to make sure she was okay.

“I’ll meet you inside,” he said to her as he forced McNamara forward, ushering him to the car.

Tara watched them from afar as Warren opened the back door and McNamara, now defeated, ducked his head and got inside. She was now more eager than ever to find out whose blood was on his kitchen floor. The man was clearly guilty of something or he wouldn’t have run.

She made her may back to the home and then into the kitchen. She was right; the substance was clearly blood. It streaked the floor as if someone were dragged across the ground.

Moments later Warren stood beside her. He took one look around and shook his head.

“Let’s get forensics in here immediately. Find out whose blood this is. We should head back to the station for questioning.”

Tara nodded and for the first time she wondered if this case could officially be over.

Chapter Eighteen

Kenny McNamara sat in handcuffs all alone in the interrogation room as Tara looked in on him through the one-way mirror. He sat hunched over, staring down as if he were trying to make sense of something upon the floor.

Tara heard footsteps and she looked up to see Warren entering the room.

“Anything?” he asked as he looked from Tara to Kenny through the glass that separated them.

Tara shook her head. He had been still the entire time she was viewing him. He just sat there, defeated. But there was something about his face that captured her. It was the way his muscles would tighten around his eyes and lips, and the slight shake of the head each time he had a thought. To Tara, it looked like confusion—like he was mulling over the events in his head, trying to make sense of why he was here. His eyes were red—almost watery. He was scared.

All of a sudden, she realized Warren was staring at her—his eyes moving from her to Kenny, trying to see what entranced her so.

“He seems scared to me,” she said before a pause, but in her mind she had doubts that he even understood why he was really here.

Warren leaned closer, studying the man in front of them.

“He seems nervous,” she added. “I would’ve thought the killer would be too confident for that.”

It went against everything she knew about serial killers. They were confident in their ability to get away with murder—a false empowerment. Of course every killer was different, but she had a feeling this killer, the one they were looking for, was emboldened beyond comprehension. He had taken everything at each scene, yet left only what he wanted to leave. He was manipulating, a game maker. He thought he was too good to get caught, otherwise, why leave anything at all?